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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4299-h.zip b/4299-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..98798d3 --- /dev/null +++ b/4299-h.zip diff --git a/4299-h/4299-h.htm b/4299-h/4299-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..97fa1c6 --- /dev/null +++ b/4299-h/4299-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,27264 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of The Whirlpool, by George Gissing +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Whirlpool, by George Gissing + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Whirlpool + +Author: George Gissing + +Posting Date: July 7, 2009 [EBook #4299] +Release Date: July, 2003 +First Posted: January 1, 2002 +[Last updated: October 6, 2011] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHIRLPOOL *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +The Whirlpool +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +by +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +George Gissing +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +Part the First +</H2> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="100%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap0101">CHAPTER 1</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap0102">CHAPTER 2</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap0103">CHAPTER 3</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap0104">CHAPTER 4</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap0105">CHAPTER 5</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0106">CHAPTER 6</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0107">CHAPTER 7</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0108">CHAPTER 8</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0109">CHAPTER 9</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0110">CHAPTER 10</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0111">CHAPTER 11</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0112">CHAPTER 12</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +Part the Second +</H2> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="100%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap0201">CHAPTER 1</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap0202">CHAPTER 2</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap0203">CHAPTER 3</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap0204">CHAPTER 4</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap0205">CHAPTER 5</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0206">CHAPTER 6</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0207">CHAPTER 7</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0208">CHAPTER 8</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0209">CHAPTER 9</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0210">CHAPTER 10</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0211">CHAPTER 11</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0212">CHAPTER 12</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0213">CHAPTER 13</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0214">CHAPTER 14</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0215">CHAPTER 15</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +Part the Third +</H2> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="100%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap0301">CHAPTER 1</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap0302">CHAPTER 2</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap0303">CHAPTER 3</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap0304">CHAPTER 4</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap0305">CHAPTER 5</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0306">CHAPTER 6</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0307">CHAPTER 7</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0308">CHAPTER 8</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0309">CHAPTER 9</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0310">CHAPTER 10</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0311">CHAPTER 11</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0312">CHAPTER 12</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap0313">CHAPTER 13</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0101"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +Part the First +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 1 +</H3> + +<P> +Harvey Rolfe was old enough to dine with deliberation, young and +healthy enough to sauce with appetite the dishes he thoughtfully +selected. You perceived in him the imperfect epicure. His club had no +culinary fame; the dinner was merely tolerable; but Rolfe's unfinished +palate flattered the second-rate cook. He knew nothing of vintages; it +sufficed him to distinguish between Bordeaux and Burgundy; yet one saw +him raise his glass and peer at the liquor with eye of connoisseur. All +unaffectedly; for he was conscious of his shortcoming in the art of +delicate living, and never vaunted his satisfactions. He had known the +pasture of poverty, and the table as it is set by London landladies; to +look back on these things was to congratulate himself that nowadays he +dined. +</P> + +<P> +Beyond the achievement of a vague personal distinction at the +Metropolitan Club, he had done nothing to make himself a man of note, +and it was doubtful whether more than two or three of the members +really liked him or regarded him with genuine interest. His +introduction to this circle he owed to an old friend, Hugh Carnaby, +whose social position was much more clearly defined: Hugh Carnaby, the +rambler, the sportsman, and now for a twelvemonth the son-in-law of +Mrs. Ascott Larkfield. Through Carnaby people learnt as much of his +friend's history as it concerned anyone to know: that Harvey Rolfe had +begun with the study of medicine, had given it up in disgust, +subsequently was 'in business', and withdrew from it on inheriting a +competency. They were natives of the same county, and learnt their +Latin together at the Grammar School of Greystone, the midland town +which was missed by the steam highroad, and so preserves much of the +beauty and tranquillity of days gone by. Rolfe seldom spoke of his own +affairs, but in talking of travel he had been heard to mention that his +father had engineered certain lines of foreign railway. It seemed that +Harvey had no purpose in life, save that of enjoying himself. Obviously +he read a good deal, and Carnaby credited him with profound historical +knowledge; but he neither wrote nor threatened to do so. Something of +cynicism appeared in his talk of public matters; politics amused him, +and his social views lacked consistency, tending, however, to an +indolent conservatism. Despite his convivial qualities, he had traits +of the reserved, even of the unsociable, man: a slight awkwardness in +bearing, a mute shyness with strangers, a hesitancy in ordinary talk, +and occasional bluntness of assertion or contradiction, suggesting a +contempt which possibly he did not intend. Hugh Carnaby declared that +the true Rolfe only showed himself after a bottle of wine; maintained, +moreover, that Harvey had vastly improved since he entered upon a +substantial income. When Rolfe was five and twenty, Hugh being two +years younger, they met after a long separation, and found each other +intolerable; a decade later their meeting led to hearty friendship. +Rolfe had become independent, and was tasting his freedom in a +twelvemonth's travel. The men came face to face one day on the deck of +a steamer at Port Said. Physically, Rolfe had changed so much that the +other had a difficulty in recognising him; morally, the change was not +less marked, as Carnaby very soon became aware. At thirty-seven this +process of development was by no means arrested, but its slow and +subtle working escaped observation unless it were that of Harvey Rolfe +himself. +</P> + +<P> +His guest this evening, in a quiet corner of the dining-room where he +generally sat, was a man, ten years his junior, named Morphew: slim, +narrow-shouldered, with sandy hair, and pale, delicate features of more +sensibility than intelligence; restless, vivacious, talking incessantly +in a low, rapid voice, with frequent nervous laughs which threw back +his drooping head. A difference of costume—Rolfe wore morning dress, +Morphew the suit of ceremony—accentuated the younger man's advantage +in natural and acquired graces; otherwise, they presented the contrast +of character and insignificance. Rolfe had a shaven chin, a weathered +complexion, thick brown hair; the penumbra of middle-age had touched +his countenance, softening here and there a line which told of +temperament in excess. At this moment his manner inclined to a bluff +jocularity, due in some measure to the bottle of wine before him, as +also was the tinge of colour upon his cheek; he spoke briefly, but +listened with smiling interest to his guest's continuous talk. This ran +on the subject of the money-market, with which the young man boasted +some practical acquaintance. +</P> + +<P> +'You don't speculate at all?' Morphew asked. +</P> + +<P> +'Shouldn't know how to go about it,' replied the other in his deeper +note. +</P> + +<P> +'It seems to me to be the simplest thing in the world if one is content +with moderate profits. I'm going in for it seriously—cautiously—as a +matter of business. I've studied the thing—got it up as I used to work +at something for an exam. And here, you see, I've made five pounds at a +stroke—five pounds! Suppose I make that every now and then, it's worth +the trouble, you know—it mounts up. And I shall never stand to lose +much. You see, it's Tripcony's interest that I should make profits.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm not quite sure of that.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, but it <I>is</I>! Let me explain—' +</P> + +<P> +These two had come to know each other under peculiar circumstances a +year ago. Rolfe was at Brussels, staying—his custom when abroad—at a +hotel unfrequented by English folk. One evening on his return from the +theatre, he learnt that a young man of his own nationality lay +seriously ill in a room at the top of the house. Harvey, moved by +compassion, visited the unfortunate Englishman, listened to his +ravings, and played the part of Good Samaritan. On recovery, the +stranger made full disclosure of his position. Being at Brussels on a +holiday, he had got into the company of gamblers, and, after winning a +large sum (ten thousand francs, he declared), had lost not only that, +but all else. that he possessed, including his jewellery. He had +gambled deliberately; he wanted money, money, and saw no other way of +obtaining it. In the expansive mood of convalescence, Cecil Morphew +left no detail of his story unrevealed. He was of gentle birth, and had +a private income of three hundred pounds, charged upon the estate of a +distant relative; his profession (the bar) could not be remunerative +for years, and other prospects he had none. The misery of his situation +lay in the fact that he was desperately in love with the daughter of +people who looked upon him as little better than a pauper. The girl had +pledged herself to him, but would not marry without her parents' +consent, of which there was no hope till he had at least trebled his +means. His choice of a profession was absurd, dictated merely by social +opinion; he should have been working hard in a commercial office, or at +some open-air pursuit. Naturally he turned again to the thought of +gambling, this time the great legalised game of hazard, wherein he was +as little likely to prosper as among the blacklegs of Brussels. Rolfe +liked him for his ingenuousness, and for the vein of poetry in his +nature. The love affair still went on, but Morphew seldom alluded to +it, and his seasoned friend thought of it as a youthful ailment which +would pass and be forgotten. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm convinced,' said the young man presently, 'that any one who really +gives his mind to it can speculate with moderate success. Look at the +big men—the brokers and the company promoters, and so on; I've met +some of them, and there's nothing in them—nothing! Now, there's Bennet +Frothingham. You know him, I think?' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe nodded. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, what do you think of him? Isn't he a very ordinary fellow? How +has he got such a position? I'm told he began just in a small way—by +chance. No doubt <I>he</I> found it so easy to make money he was surprised +at his success. Tripcony has told me a lot about him. Why, the +"Britannia" brings him fifteen thousand a year; and he must be in a +score of other things.' +</P> + +<P> +'I know nothing about the figures,' said Rolfe, 'and I shouldn't put +much faith in Tripcony; but Frothingham, you may be sure, isn't quite +an ordinary man.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ah, well, of course there's a certain knack—and then, experience—' +</P> + +<P> +Morphew emptied his glass, and refilled it. Nearly all the tables in +the room were now occupied, and the general hum of talk gave security +to intimate dialogue. Flushed and bright-eyed, the young man presently +leaned forward. +</P> + +<P> +'If I could count upon five hundred, she would take the step.' +</P> + +<P> +'Indeed?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, that's settled. What do you think? Plenty of people live very +well on less.' +</P> + +<P> +'You want my serious opinion?' +</P> + +<P> +'If you <I>can</I> be serious.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then I think that the educated man who marries on less than a thousand +is either mad or a criminal.' +</P> + +<P> +'Bosh! We won't talk about it.' +</P> + +<P> +They rose, and walked towards the smoking-room, Rolfe giving a nod here +and there as he passed acquaintances. In the hall someone addressed him. +</P> + +<P> +'How does Carnaby take this affair?' +</P> + +<P> +'What affair?' +</P> + +<P> +'Don't you know? Their house has been robbed—stripped. It's in the +evening papers.' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe went on into the smoking-room, and read the report of his +friend's misfortune. The Carnabys occupied a house in Hamilton Terrace. +During their absence from home last night, there had been a clean sweep +of all such things of value as could easily be removed. The +disappearance of their housekeeper, and the fact that this woman had +contrived the absence of the servants from nine o'clock till midnight, +left no mystery in the matter. The clubmen talked of it with amusement. +Hard lines, to be sure, for Carnaby, and yet harder for his wife, who +had lost no end of jewellery; but the thing was so neatly and +completely done, one must needs laugh. One or two husbands who enjoyed +the luxury of a housekeeper betrayed their uneasiness. A discussion +arose on the characteristics of housekeepers in general, and spread +over the vast subject of domestic management, not often debated at the +Metropolitan Club. In general talk of this kind Rolfe never took part; +smoking his pipe, he listened and laughed, and was at moments +thoughtful. Cecil Morphew, rapidly consuming cigarettes as he lay back +in a soft chair, pointed the moral of the story in favour of humble +domesticity. +</P> + +<P> +In half an hour, his guest having taken leave, Rolfe put on his +overcoat, and stepped out into the cold, clammy November night. He was +overtaken by a fellow Metropolitan—a grizzled, scraggy-throated, +hollow-eyed man, who laid a tremulous hand upon his arm. +</P> + +<P> +'Excuse me, Mr. Rolfe, have you seen Frothingham recently?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not for a month.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ah! I thought perhaps—I was wondering what he thought about the +Colebrook smash. To tell you the truth, I've heard unpleasant rumours. +Do you—should you think the Colebrook affair would affect the +"Britannia" in any way?' +</P> + +<P> +It was not the first time that this man had confided his doubts and +timidities to Harvey Rolfe; he had a small, but to him important, +interest in Bennet Frothingham's wide-reaching affairs, and seemed to +spend most of his time in eliciting opinion on the financier's +stability. +</P> + +<P> +'Wouldn't you be much more comfortable,' said Rolfe, rather bluntly, +'if you had your money in some other kind of security?' +</P> + +<P> +'Ah, but, my dear sir, twelve and a half per cent—twelve and a half! I +hold preference shares of the original issue.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then I'm afraid you must take your chance.' +</P> + +<P> +'But,' piped the other in alarm, 'you don't mean that—' +</P> + +<P> +'I mean nothing, and know nothing. I'm the last man to consult about +such things.' +</P> + +<P> +And Rolfe, with an abrupt 'Goodnight,' beckoned to a passing hansom. +The address he gave was Hugh Carnaby's, in Hamilton Terrace. +</P> + +<P> +Twice already the horse had slipped at slimy crossings, when, near the +top of Regent Street, it fell full length, and the abrupt stoppage +caused a collision of wheels with another hansom which was just passing +at full speed in the same direction. Rolfe managed to alight in the +ordinary way, and at once heard himself greeted by a familiar voice +from the other cab. His acquaintance showed a pallid, drawn, all but +cadaverous visage, with eyes which concealed pain or weariness under +their friendly smile. Abbott was the man's name. Formerly a lecturer at +a provincial college, he had resigned his post on marrying, and taken +to journalism. +</P> + +<P> +'I want to speak to you, Rolfe,' he said hurriedly, 'but I haven't a +moment to spare. Going to Euston—could you come along for a few +minutes?' +</P> + +<P> +The vehicles were not damaged; Abbott's driver got quickly out of the +crowd, and the two men continued their conversation. +</P> + +<P> +'Do you know anything of Wager?' inquired the journalist, with a +troubled look. +</P> + +<P> +'He came to see me a few evenings ago—late.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ha, he did! To borrow money, wasn't it?' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, yes.' +</P> + +<P> +'I thought so. He came to me for the same. Said he'd got a berth at +Southampton. Lie, of course. The fellow has disappeared, and left his +children—left them in a lodging-house at Hammersmith. How's that for +cool brutality? The landlady found my wife's address, and came to see +her. Address left out on purpose, I dare say. There was nothing for it +but to take care of the poor little brats.—Oh, damn!' +</P> + +<P> +'What's the matter?' +</P> + +<P> +'Neuralgia—driving me mad. Teeth, I think. I'll have every one +wrenched out of my head if this goes on. Never mind. What do you think +of Wager?' +</P> + +<P> +'I remember, when we were at Guy's, he used to advocate the +nationalisation of offspring. Probably he had some personal interest in +the matter, even then.' +</P> + +<P> +'Hound! I don't know whether to set the police after him or not. It +wouldn't benefit the children. I suppose it's no use hunting for his +family?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not much, I should say.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, lucky we have no children of our own. Worst of it is, I don't +like the poor little wretches, and my wife doesn't either. We must find +a home for them.' +</P> + +<P> +'I say, Abbott, you must let me go halves at that.' +</P> + +<P> +'Hang it, no! Why should you support Wager's children? They're +relatives of ours, unfortunately. But I wanted to tell you that I'm +going down to Waterbury.' He looked at his watch. 'Thirteen +minutes—shall I do it? There's a good local paper, the <I>Free Press</I>, +and I have the offer of part-ownership. I shall buy, if possible, and +live in the country for a year or two, to pick up my health. Can't say +I love London. Might get into country journalism for good. Curse this +torment!' +</P> + +<P> +In Tottenham Court Road, Rolfe bade his friend goodbye, and the cab +rushed on. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0102"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 2 +</H3> + +<P> +It was half past ten when Rolfe knocked at the door in Hamilton +Terrace. He learnt from the servant that Mr. Carnaby was at home, and +had company. In the room known as the library, four men sat smoking; +their voices pealed into the hall as the door opened, and a boisterous +welcome greeted the newcomer's appearance. +</P> + +<P> +'Come to condole?' cried Hugh, striding forward with his +man-of-the-wide-world air, and holding out his big hand. 'No doubt +they're having a high old time at the club. Does it please them? Does +it tickle them?' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, naturally. There's the compensation, my boy—you contribute to +the gaiety of your friends.' +</P> + +<P> +Carnaby was a fair example of the well-bred, well-fed Englishman—tall, +brawny, limber, not uncomely, with a red neck, a powerful jaw, and a +keen eye. Something more of repose, of self-possession, and a slightly +more intellectual brow, would have made him the best type of +conquering, civilising Briton. He came of good family, but had small +inheritance; his tongue told of age-long domination; his physique and +carriage showed the horseman, the game-stalker, the nomad. Hugh had +never bent over books since the day when he declined the university and +got leave to join Colonel Bosworth's exploring party in the Caucasus. +After a boyhood of straitened circumstances, he profited by a skilful +stewardship which allowed him to hope for some seven hundred a year; +his elder brother, Miles, a fine fellow, who went into the army, +pinching himself to benefit Hugh and their sister Ruth. Miles was now +Major Carnaby, active on the North-West Frontier. Ruth was wife of a +missionary in some land of swamps; doomed by climate, but of spirit +indomitable. It seemed strange that Hugh, at five and thirty, had done +nothing particular. Perhaps his income explained it—too small for +traditional purposes, just large enough to foster indolence. For Hugh +had not even followed up his promise of becoming an explorer; he had +merely rambled, mostly in pursuit of fowl or quadruped. When he +married, all hope for him was at an end. The beautiful and brilliant +daughter of a fashionable widow, her income a trifle more than +Carnaby's own; devoted to the life of cities, wherein she shone; an +enchantress whose spell would not easily be broken, before whom her +husband bowed in delighted subservience—such a woman might flatter +Hugh's pride, but could scarce be expected to draw out his latent +energies and capabilities. This year, for the first time, he had +visited no wild country; his journeying led only to Paris, to Vienna. +In due season he shot his fifty brace on somebody's grouse-moor, but +the sport did not exhilarate him. +</P> + +<P> +An odd and improbable alliance, that between Hugh Carnaby and Harvey +Rolfe. Yet in several ways they suited each other. Old-time memories +had a little, not much, to do with it; more of the essence of the +matter was their feeling of likeness in difference. Ten years ago +Carnaby felt inclined to call his old school-fellow a 'cad'; Harvey saw +nothing in Hugh but robust snobbishness. Nowadays they had the pleasant +sense of understanding each other on most points, and the result was a +good deal of honest mutual admiration. The one's physical vigour and +adroitness, the other's active mind, liberal thoughts, studious habits, +proved reciprocally attractive. Though in unlike ways, both were +impressively modern. Of late it had seemed as if the man of open air, +checked in his natural courses, thrown back upon his meditations, +turned to the student, with hope of guidance in new paths, of counsel +amid unfamiliar obstacles. To the observant Rolfe, his friend's +position abounded in speculative interest. With the course of years, +each had lost many a harsher characteristic, whilst the inner man +matured. That their former relations were gradually being reversed, +neither perhaps had consciously noted; but even in the jests which +passed between them on Harvey's arrival this evening, it appeared +plainly enough that Hugh Carnaby no longer felt the slightest +inclination to regard his friend as an inferior. +</P> + +<P> +The room, called library, contained one small case of books, which +dealt with travel and sport. Furniture of the ordinary kind, still new, +told of easy circumstances and domestic comfort. Round about the walls +hung a few paintings and photographs, intermingled with the stuffed +heads of animals slain in the chase, notably that of a great ibex with +magnificent horns. +</P> + +<P> +'Come, now, tell me all about it,' said Rolfe, as he mixed himself a +glass of whisky and water. 'I don't see that anything has gone from +this room.' +</P> + +<P> +'Don't you?' cried his host, with a scornful laugh. 'Where are my +silver-mounted pistols? Where's the ibex-hoof made into a paperweight? +And'—he raised his voice to a shout of comical despair—'where's my +cheque-book?' +</P> + +<P> +'I see.' +</P> + +<P> +'I wish <I>I</I> did. It must break the record for a neat house-robbery, +don't you think? And they'll never be caught—I'll bet you anything you +like they won't. The job was planned weeks ago; that woman came into +the house with no other purpose.' +</P> + +<P> +'But didn't your wife know anything about her?' +</P> + +<P> +'What can one know about such people? There were references, I +believe—as valuable as references usually are. She must be an old +hand. But I'm sick of the subject; let's drop it.—You were +interrupted, Hollings. What about that bustard?' +</P> + +<P> +A very tall, spare man, who seemed to rouse himself from a nap, resumed +his story of bustard-stalking in Spain last spring. Carnaby, who knew +the country well, listened with lively interest, and followed with +reminiscences of his own. He told of a certain boar, shot in the +Sierras, which weighed something like four hundred pounds. He talked, +too, of flamingoes on the 'marismas' of the Guadalquivir; of punting +day after day across the tawny expanse of water; of cooking his meals +on sandy islets at a fire made of tamarisk and thistle; of lying +wakeful in the damp, chilly nights, listening to frogs and bitterns. +Then again of his ibex-hunting on the Cordilleras of Castile, when he +brought down that fine fellow whose head adorned his room, the horns +just thirty-eight inches long. And in the joy of these recollections +there seemed to sound a regretful note, as if he spoke of things gone +by and irrecoverable, no longer for him. +</P> + +<P> +One of the men present had recently been in Cyprus, and mentioned it +with disgust. Rolfe also had visited the island, and remembered it much +more agreeably, his impressions seeming to be chiefly gastronomic; he +recalled the exquisite flavour of Cyprian hares, the fat francolin, the +delicious beccaficoes in commanderia wine; with merry banter from +Carnaby, professing to despise a man who knew nothing of game but its +taste. The conversation reverted to technicalities of sport, full of +terms and phrases unintelligible to Harvey; recounting feats with +'Empress' and 'Paradox', the deadly results of a 'treble A', or of +'treble-nesting slugs', and boasting of a 'right and left with No. 6'. +Hugh appeared to forget all about his domestic calamity; only when his +guests rose did he recur to it, and with an air of contemptuous +impatience. But he made a sign to Rolfe, requesting him to stay, and at +midnight the two friends sat alone together. +</P> + +<P> +'Sibyl has gone to her mother's,' began Hugh in a changed voice. 'The +poor girl takes it pluckily. It's a damnable thing, you know, for a +woman to lose her rings and bracelets and so on—even such a woman as +Sibyl. She tried to laugh it off, but I could see—we must buy them +again, that's all. And that reminds me—what's your real opinion of +Frothingham?' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey laughed. +</P> + +<P> +'When such a lot of people go about asking that question, it would make +<I>me</I> rather uneasy if I had anything at stake.' +</P> + +<P> +'They do? So it struck me. The fact is, we have a good deal at stake. +The dowager swears by Frothingham. I believe every penny she has is in +the "Britannia", one way or another.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's a wide net,' said Rolfe musingly. 'The Britannia Loan, Assurance, +Investment, and Banking Company, Limited. Very good name, I've often +thought.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; but, look here, you don't seriously doubt—' +</P> + +<P> +'My opinion is worthless. I know no more of finance than of the Cabala. +Frothingham personally I rather like, and that's all I can say.' +</P> + +<P> +'The fact is, I have been thinking of putting some of my own—yet I +don't think I shall. We're going away for the winter. Sibyl wants to +give up the house, and I think she's right. For people like us, it's +mere foolery to worry with a house and a lot of servants. We're neither +of us cut out for that kind of thing. Sibyl hates housekeeping. Well, +you can't expect a woman like her to manage a pack of thieving, lying, +lazy servants. The housekeeper idea hasn't been a conspicuous success, +you see, and there's nothing for it but hotel or boarding-house.' +</P> + +<P> +'If you remember,' said Rolfe, 'I hinted something of the kind a year +ago.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; but—well, you know, when people marry they generally look for a +certain natural consequence. If we have no children, it'll be all +right.' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe meditated for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +'You remember that fellow Wager—the man you met at Abbott's? His wife +died a year ago, and now he has bolted, leaving his two children in a +lodging-house.' +</P> + +<P> +'What a damned scoundrel!' cried Hugh, with a note of honest +indignation. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, yes; but there's something to be said for him. It's a natural +revolt against domestic bondage. Of course, as things are, someone else +has to bear the bother and expense; but that's only our state of +barbarism. A widower with two young children and no income—imagine the +position. Of course, he ought to be able to get rid of them in some +legitimate way—state institution—anything you like that answers to +reason.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know whether it would work.' +</P> + +<P> +'Some day it will. People talk such sentimental rubbish about children. +I would have the parents know nothing about them till they're ten or +twelve years old. They're a burden, a hindrance, a perpetual source of +worry and misery. Most wives are sacrificed to the next generation—an +outrageous absurdity. People snivel over the deaths of babies; I see +nothing to grieve about. If a child dies, why, the probabilities are it +<I>ought</I> to die; if it lives, it lives, and you get survival of the +fittest. We don't want to choke the world with people, most of them +rickety and wheezing; let us be healthy, and have breathing space.' +</P> + +<P> +'I believe in <I>that</I>,' said Carnaby. +</P> + +<P> +'You're going away, then. Where to?' +</P> + +<P> +'That's the point,' replied Hugh, moving uneasily. 'You see, with +Sibyl—. I have suggested Davos. Some people she knows are there—girls +who go in for tobogganing, and have a good time. But Sibyl's afraid of +the cold. I can't convince her that it's nothing to what we endure here +in the beastliness of a London winter. She hates the thought of ice and +snow and mountains. A great pity; it would do her no end of good. I +suppose we must go to the Riviera.' +</P> + +<P> +He shrugged his shoulders, and for a moment there was silence. +</P> + +<P> +'By-the-bye,' he resumed, 'I have a letter from Miles, and you'd like +to see it.' +</P> + +<P> +From a pile of letters on the table he selected one written on two +sheets of thin paper, and handed it to Rolfe. The writing was bold, the +style vigorous, the matter fresh and interesting. Major Carnaby had no +graces of expression; but all the more engrossing was his brief +narrative of mountain warfare, declaring its truthfulness in every +stroke of the pen. +</P> + +<P> +'Fine fellow!' exclaimed Rolfe, when he had read to the end. 'Splendid +fellow!' +</P> + +<P> +'Isn't he! And he's seeing life.' +</P> + +<P> +'That's where you ought to be, my boy,' remarked Rolfe, between puffs +of tobacco. +</P> + +<P> +'I dare say. No use thinking about it. Too late.' +</P> + +<P> +'If I had a son,' pursued Harvey, smiling at the hypothesis, 'I think +I'd make a fighting man of him, or try to. At all events, he should go +out somewhere, and beat the big British drum, one way or another. I +believe it's our only hope. We're rotting at home—some of us sunk in +barbarism, some coddling themselves in over-refinement. What's the use +of preaching peace and civilisation, when we know that England's just +beginning her big fight—the fight that will put all history into the +shade! We have to lead the world; it's our destiny; and we must do it +by breaking heads. That's the nature of the human animal, and will be +for ages to come.' +</P> + +<P> +Carnaby nodded assent. +</P> + +<P> +'If we were all like your brother,' Rolfe went on. 'I'm glad he's +fighting in India, and not in Africa. I can't love the buccaneering +shopkeeper, the whisky-distiller with a rifle—ugh!' +</P> + +<P> +'I hate that kind of thing. The gold grubbers and diamond bagmen! But +it's part of the march onward. We must have money, you know.' +</P> + +<P> +The speaker's forehead wrinkled, and again he moved uneasily. Rolfe +regarded him with a reflective air. +</P> + +<P> +'That man you saw here tonight,' Carnaby went on, 'the short, thick +fellow—his name is Dando—he's just come back from Queensland. I don't +quite know what he's been doing, but he evidently knows a good deal +about mines. He says he has invented a new process for getting gold out +of ore—I don't know anything about it. In the early days of mining, he +says, no end of valuable stuff was abandoned, because they couldn't +smelt it. Something about pyrites—I have a vague recollection of old +chemistry lessons. Dando wants to start smelting works for his new +process, somewhere in North Queensland.' +</P> + +<P> +'And wants money, I dare say,' remarked the listener, with a twinkle of +the eye. +</P> + +<P> +'I suppose so. It was Carton that brought him here for the first time, +a week ago. <I>Might</I> be worth thinking about, you know.' +</P> + +<P> +'I have no opinion. My profound ignorance of everything keeps me in a +state of perpetual scepticism. It has its advantages, I dare say.' +</P> + +<P> +'You're very conservative, Rolfe, in your finance.' +</P> + +<P> +'Very.' +</P> + +<P> +'Quite right, no doubt. Could you join us at Nice or some such place?' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, I rather thought of sticking to my books. But if the fogs are +very bad—' +</P> + +<P> +'And you would seriously advise us to give up the house?' +</P> + +<P> +'My dear fellow, how can you hesitate? Your wife is quite right; +there's not one good word to be said for the ordinary life of an +English household. Flee from it! Live anywhere and anyhow, but don't +keep house in England. Wherever I go, it's the same cry: domestic life +is played out. There isn't a servant to be had—unless you're a Duke +and breed them on your own estate. All ordinary housekeepers are at the +mercy of the filth and insolence of a draggle-tailed, novelette-reading +feminine democracy. Before very long we shall train an army of +menservants, and send the women to the devil.' +</P> + +<P> +'Queer thing, Rolfe,' put in his friend, with a laugh; 'I've noticed it +of late, you're getting to be a regular woman-hater.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not a bit of it. I hate a dirty, lying, incapable creature, that's +all, whether man or woman. No doubt they're more common in petticoats.' +</P> + +<P> +'Been to the Frothinghams' lately?' +</P> + +<P> +'No.' +</P> + +<P> +'I used to think you were there rather often.' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe gave a sort of grunt, and kept silence. +</P> + +<P> +'To my mind,' pursued the other, 'the best thing about Alma is that she +appreciates my wife. She has really a great admiration for Sibyl; no +sham about it, I'm sure. I don't pretend to know much about women, but +I fancy that kind of thing isn't common—real friendship and admiration +between them. People always say so, at all events.' +</P> + +<P> +'I take refuge once more,' said Rolfe, 'in my fathomless ignorance.' +</P> + +<P> +He rose from his chair, and sat down again on a corner of the table. +Carnaby stood up, threw his arms above his head, and yawned with animal +vehemence, the expression of an intolerable ennui. +</P> + +<P> +'There's something damnably wrong with us all—that's the one thing +certain.' +</P> + +<P> +'Idleness, for one thing,' said Rolfe. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. And I'm too old to do anything. Why didn't I follow Miles into +the army? I think I was more cut out for that than for anything else. I +often feel I should like to go to South Africa and get up a little war +of my own.' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe shouted with laughter. +</P> + +<P> +'Not half a bad idea, and the easiest thing in the world, no doubt.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nigger-hunting; a superior big game.' +</P> + +<P> +'There's more than that to do in South Africa,' said Harvey. 'I was +looking at a map in Stanford's window the other day, and it amused me. +Who believes for a moment that England will remain satisfied with bits +here and there? We have to swallow the whole, of course. We shall go on +fighting and annexing, until—until the decline and fall of the British +Empire. That hasn't begun yet. Some of us are so over-civilised that it +makes a reaction of wholesome barbarism in the rest. We shall fight +like blazes in the twentieth century. It's the only thing that keeps +Englishmen sound; commercialism is their curse. Happily, no sooner do +they get fat than they kick, and somebody's shin suffers; then they +fight off the excessive flesh. War is England's Banting.' +</P> + +<P> +'You'd better not talk like that to Sibyl.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, frankly, old man, I think that's your mistake. But you'll tell +me, and rightly enough, to mind my own business.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nonsense. What do you mean exactly? You think I ought to—' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh hesitated, with an air of uneasiness. +</P> + +<P> +'Well,' pursued his friend cautiously, 'do you think it's right to +suppress your natural instincts? Mightn't it give her a new interest in +life if she came round a little to your point of view?' +</P> + +<P> +'Queer thing, how unlike we are, isn't it?' said Carnaby, with a sudden +drop of his tone to amiable ingenuousness. 'But, you know; we get along +together very well.' +</P> + +<P> +'To be sure. Yet you are going to rust in the Riviera when you want to +be on the Himalayas. Wouldn't it do your wife good to give up her books +and her music for a while and taste fresh air?' +</P> + +<P> +'I doubt if she's strong enough for it.' +</P> + +<P> +'It would make her stronger. And here's a good opportunity. If you give +up housekeeping (and housekeepers), why not reform your life +altogether? Go and have a look at Australia.' +</P> + +<P> +'Sibyl hates the sea.' +</P> + +<P> +'She'd soon get over that. Seriously, you ought to think of it.' +</P> + +<P> +Carnaby set his lips and for a moment hung his head. +</P> + +<P> +'You're quite right. But—' +</P> + +<P> +'A little pluck, old fellow.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'll see what can be done. Have another whisky?' +</P> + +<P> +They went out into the hall, where a dim light through coloured glass +illumined a statue in terracotta, some huge engravings, the massive +antlers of an elk, and furniture in carved oak. +</P> + +<P> +'Queer feeling of emptiness,' said Carnaby, subduing his voice. 'I feel +as if they'd carried off everything, and left bare walls. Sibyl +couldn't stay in the place. Shall I whistle for a cab? By Jove! that +reminds me, the whistle has gone; it happened to be silver. A wedding +present from that fool Benson, who broke his neck in a steeplechase +three weeks after.' Harvey laughed, and stepped out into the watery fog. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0103"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 3 +</H3> + +<P> +A cab crawling at the upper end of the terrace took him quickly home. +He entered with his latch-key as a church clock tolled one. +</P> + +<P> +It was a large house, within a few minutes' walk of Royal Oak Station. +Having struck a match, and lit a candle which stood upon the hall table +(indicating that he was the last who would enter tonight), Harvey put +up the door-chain and turned the great key, then went quietly upstairs. +His rooms were on the first floor. A tenancy of five years, with long +absences, enabled him to regard this niche in a characterless suburb as +in some sort his home; a familiar smell of books and tobacco welcomed +him as he opened the door; remnants of a good fire kept the air warm, +and dispersed a pleasant glow. On shelves which almost concealed the +walls, stood a respectable collection of volumes, the lowest tier +consisting largely of what secondhand booksellers, when invited to +purchase, are wont to call 'tomb-stones' that is to say, old folios, of +no great market value, though good brains and infinite labour went to +the making of them. A great table, at one end of which was a tray with +glasses and a water-bottle, occupied the middle of the floor; nearer +the fireplace was a small writing-desk. For pictures little space could +be found; but over the mantelpiece hung a fine water-colour, the flood +of Tigris and the roofs of Bagdad burning in golden sunset. Harvey had +bought it at the gallery in Pall Mall not long ago; the work of a man +of whom he knew nothing; it represented the farthest point of his own +travels, and touched profoundly his vague historico-poetic +sensibilities. +</P> + +<P> +Three letters lay on the desk. As soon as he had lit his lamp, and +exchanged his boots for slippers, he looked at the envelopes, and chose +one addressed in a woman's hand. The writer was Mrs. Bennet Frothingham. +</P> + +<P> +'We have only just heard, from Mrs. Carnaby, that you are back in town. +<I>Could</I> you spare us tomorrow evening? It would be so nice of you. The +quartet will give Beethoven's F minor, and Alma says it will be well +done—the conceit of the child! We hope to have some interesting people +What a shocking affair of poor Mrs. Carnaby's! I never knew anything +<I>quite</I> so bad.—Our united kind regards.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey thrust out his lips, in an ambiguous expression, as he threw the +sheet aside. He mused before opening the next letter. This proved to be +of startling contents: a few lines scribbled informally, undated, +without signature. A glance at the postmark discovered 'Liverpool'. +</P> + +<P> +'The children are at my last address,—you know it. I can do no more +for them. If the shabby Abbotts refuse—as I dare say they will—it +wouldn't hurt you to keep them from the workhouse. But it's a devilish +hard world, and they must take their chance.' +</P> + +<P> +After a stare and a frown, Harvey woke the echoes with boisterous +laughter. It was long since any passage in writing had so irresistibly +tickled his sense of humour. Well, he must let Abbott know of this. It +might be as well, perhaps, if he called on Mrs. Abbott tomorrow, to +remove any doubt that might remain in her mind. The fellow Wager being +an old acquaintance of his, he could not get rid of a sense of far-off +responsibility in this matter; though, happily, Wager's meeting with +Mrs. Abbott's cousin, which led to marriage and misery, came about quite +independently of him. +</P> + +<P> +The last letter he opened without curiosity, but with quiet interest +and pleasure. It was dated from Greystone; the writer, Basil Morton, +had a place in his earliest memories, for, as neighbours' children, +they had played together long before the grammar-school days which +allied him with Hugh Carnaby. +</P> + +<P> +'For aught I know,' began Morton, 'you may at this moment be drifting +on the Euphrates, or pondering on the site of Alexandreia Eschate. It +is you who owe me an account of yourself; nevertheless, I am prompted +to write, if only to tell you that I have just got the complete set of +the Byzantine Historians. A catalogue tempted me, and I did buy.' +</P> + +<P> +And so on in the same strain, until, in speaking of nearer matters, his +style grew simpler. +</P> + +<P> +'Our elder boy begins to put me in a difficulty. As I told you, he has +been brought up on the most orthodox lines of Anglicanism; his +mother—best of mothers and best of wives, but in this respect +atavistic—has had a free hand, and I don't see how it could have been +otherwise. But now the lad begins to ask awkward questions, and to put +me in a corner; the young rascal is a vigorous dialectician and +rationalist—odd result of such training. It becomes a serious question +how I am to behave. I cannot bear to distress his mother, yet how can I +tell him that I literally believe those quaint old fables? <I>Solvetur +vivendo</I>, of course, like everything else, but just now it worries me a +little. Generally I can see a pretty clear line of duty; here the duty +is divided, with a vengeance. Have you any counsel?' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey Rolfe mumbled impatiently; all domestic matters were a trial to +his nerves. It seemed to him an act of unaccountable folly to marry a +woman from whom one differed diametrically on subjects that lay at the +root of life; and of children he could hardly bring himself to think at +all, so exasperating the complication they introduced into social +problems which defied common-sense. He disliked children; fled the +sight and the sound of them in most cases, and, when this was not +possible, regarded them with apprehension, anxiety, weariness, anything +but interest. In the perplexity that had come upon him, Basil Morton +seemed to have nothing more than his deserts. 'Best of mothers and of +wives', forsooth! An excellent housekeeper, no doubt, but what shadow +of qualification for wifehood and motherhood in this year 1886? The +whole question was disgusting to a rational man—especially to that +vigorous example of the class, by name Harvey Rolfe. +</P> + +<P> +Late as it was, he did not care to go to bed. This morning he had +brought home a batch of books from the London Library, and he began to +turn them over, with the pleasure of anticipation. Not seldom of late +had Harvey flattered himself on the growth of intellectual gusto which +proceeded in him together with a perceptible decline of baser +appetites, so long his torment and his hindrance. His age was now seven +and thirty; at forty he might hope to have utterly trodden under foot +the instincts at war with mental calm. He saw before him long years of +congenial fellowship, of bracing travel, of well-directed studiousness. +Let problems of sex and society go hang! He had found a better way. +</P> + +<P> +On looking back over his life, how improbable it seemed, this happy +issue out of crudity, turbulence, lack of purpose, weakness, +insincerity, ignorance. First and foremost he had to thank good old Dr +Harvey, of Greystone; then, his sister, sleeping in her grave under the +old chimes she loved; then, surely himself, that seed of good within +him which had survived all adverse influences—watched, surely, by his +unconscious self, guarded long, and now deliberately nurtured. Might he +not think well of himself. +</P> + +<P> +His library, though for the most part the purchase of late years, +contained books which reminded him of every period of his life. Up +yonder, on the top shelf, were two score volumes which had belonged to +his father, the share that fell to him when he and his sister made the +ordained division: scientific treatises out of date, an old magazine, +old books of travel. Strange that, in his times of folly, he had not +sold these as burdensome rubbish; he was very glad now, when love and +reverence for things gone by began to take hold upon him. There, at the +same height, stood a rank of school-books preserved for him by his +sister till she died; beside them, medical works, relics of his +abortive study when he was neither boy nor man. Descending, the eye +fell upon yellow and green covers, dozens of French novels, acquired at +any time from the year of his majority up to the other day; in the +mass, they reminded him of a frothy season, when he boasted a cheap +Gallicism, and sneered at all things English. A sprinkling of +miscellaneous literature accounted for ten years or more when he cared +little to collect books, when the senses raged in him, and only by +miracle failed to hurl him down many a steep place. Last came the +serious acquisitions, the bulk of his library: solid and expensive +works—historians, archaeologists, travellers, with noble volumes of +engravings, and unwieldy tomes of antique lore. Little enough of all +this had Rolfe digested, but more and more he loved to have erudition +within his reach. He began to lack room for comely storage; already a +large bookcase had intruded into his bedroom. If he continued to +purchase, he must needs house himself more amply; yet he dreaded the +thought of a removal. +</P> + +<P> +He knew enough and to spare of life in lodgings. His experience began +when he came up as a lad to Guy's Hospital, when all lodgings in London +shone with the glorious light of liberty. It took a wider scope when, +having grasped his little patrimony, he threw physic to the dogs, and +lived as a gentleman at large. In those days he grew familiar with many +kinds of 'apartments' and their nomadic denizens. Having wasted his +substance, he found refuge in the office of an emigration agent, where, +by slow degrees, he proved himself worth a couple of hundred pounds per +annum. This was the 'business' to which Hugh Carnaby vaguely referred +when people questioned him concerning his friend's history. +</P> + +<P> +Had he possessed the commercial spirit, Harvey might have made his +position in this office much more lucrative. Entering nominally as a +clerk, he undertook from the first a variety of duties which could only +be discharged by a man of special abilities; for instance, the literary +revision of seductive pamphlets and broadsheets issued by his employer +to the public contemplating emigration. These advertisements he +presently composed, and, from the point of view of effectiveness, did +it remarkably well. How far such work might be worthy of an honest man, +was another question, which for several years scarcely troubled his +conscience. Before long a use was found for his slender medical +attainments; it became one of his functions to answer persons who +visited the office for information as to the climatic features of this +or that new country, and their physical fitness for going out as +colonists. Of course, there was demanded of him a radical +unscrupulousness, and often enough he proved equal to the occasion; but +as time went on, bringing slow development of brain and character, he +found these personal interviews anything but agreeable. He had +constantly before him the spectacle of human misery and defeat, now and +then in such dread forms that his heart sank and his tongue refused to +lie. When disgust made him contemplate the possibility of finding more +honourable employment, the manifest difficulties deterred him. +</P> + +<P> +He held the place for nearly ten years, living in the end so soberly +and frugally that his two hundred pounds seemed a considerable income; +it enabled him to spend his annual month of holiday in continental +travel, which now had a significance very different from that of his +truancies in France or Belgium before he began to earn a livelihood. +Two deaths, a year's interval between them, released him from his +office. Upon these events and their issue he had not counted; +independence came to him as a great surprise, and on the path of +self-knowledge he had far to travel before the significance of that and +many another turning-point grew clear to his backward gaze. +</P> + +<P> +Seeking for a comfortable abode, he discovered these rooms in +Bayswater. They were to let furnished, the house being occupied by a +widow not quite of the ordinary type of landlady, who entertained only +bachelors, and was fairly conscientious in the discharge of her +obligations. Six months later, during Harvey's absence abroad, this +woman died, and on his return the house had already been stripped of +furniture. For a moment he inclined to take a house of his own, but +from this perilous experiment he was saved by an intimation that, if he +were willing to supply himself with furniture and service, an incoming +tenant would let him occupy his old quarters. Harvey grasped at the +offer. His landlord was a man named Buncombe, a truss manufacturer, who +had two children, and seemingly no wife. The topmost storey Buncombe +assigned to relatives of his own—a middle-aged woman, Mrs. Handover, +with a sickly grownup son, who took some part in the truss business. +For a few weeks Rolfe was waited upon by a charwoman, whom he paid +extravagantly for a maximum of dirt and discomfort; then the +unsatisfactory person fell ill, and, whilst cursing his difficulties, +Harvey was surprised by a visit from Mrs. Handover, who made an +unexpected suggestion—would Mr. Rolfe accept her services in lieu of +the charwoman's, paying her whatever he had been accustomed to give? +The proposal startled him. Mrs. Handover seemed to belong pretty much +to his own rank of life; he was appalled at the thought of bidding her +scrub floors and wash plates; and indeed it had begun to dawn upon him +that, for a man with more than nine hundred a year, he was living in a +needlessly uncomfortable way. On his reply that he thought of removing, +Mrs. Handover fell into profound depression, and began to disclose her +history. Very early in life she had married a man much beneath her in +station, with the natural result. After some years of quarrelling, +which culminated in personal violence on her husband's part, she +obtained a judicial separation. For a long time the man had ceased to +send her money, and indeed he was become a vagabond pauper, from whom +nothing could be obtained; she depended upon her son, and on the +kindness of Buncombe, who asked no rent. If she could earn a little +money by work, she would be much happier, and with tremulous hope she +had taken this step of appealing to her neighbour in the house. +</P> + +<P> +Harvey could not resist these representations. When the new arrangement +had been in operation for a week or so, Harvey began to reflect upon +Mrs. Handover's personal narrative, and in some respects to modify his +first impulsive judgment thereon. It seemed to him not impossible that +Mr. Handover's present condition of vagabond pauper might be traceable +to his marriage with a woman who had never learnt the elements of +domestic duty. Thoroughly well-meaning, Mrs. Handover was the most +incompetent of housewives. Yet such was Harvey Rolfe's delicacy, and so +intense his moral cowardice, that year after year he bore with Mrs. +Handover's defects, and paid her with a smile the wages of two +first-rate servants. Dust lay thick about him; he had grown accustomed +to it, as to many another form of sluttishness. After all, he possessed +a quiet retreat for studious hours, and a tolerable sleeping-place, +with the advantage of having his correspondence forwarded to him when +he chose to wander. To be sure, it was not final; one would not wish to +grow old and die amid such surroundings; sooner or later, circumstance +would prompt the desirable change. Circumstance, at this stage of his +career, was Harvey's god; he waited upon its direction with an air of +wisdom, of mature philosophy. +</P> + +<P> +Of his landlord, Buncombe, he gradually learnt all that he cared to +know. The moment came when Buncombe grew confidential, and he, too, had +a matrimonial history to disclose. Poverty played no part in it; his +business flourished, and Mrs. Buncombe, throughout a cohabitation of +five years, made no complaint of her lot. All at once—so asserted +Buncombe—the lady began to talk of dullness; for a few months she +moped, then of a sudden left home, and in a day or two announced by +letter that she had taken a place as barmaid at a music-hall. There +followed an interview between husband and wife, with the result, said +Buncombe, that they parted the best of friends, but with an +understanding that Mrs. Buncombe should be free to follow her own walk +in life, with a moderate allowance to supplement what she could earn. +That was five years ago. Mrs. Buncombe now sang at second-rate halls, +and enjoyed a certain popularity, which seemed to her an ample +justification of the independence she had claimed. She was just thirty, +tolerably good-looking, and full of the enjoyment of life. Her +children, originally left in the care of her mother, whom Buncombe +supported, were now looked after by the two servants of the house, and +Buncombe seemed to have no conscientious troubles on that score; to +Harvey Rolfe's eye it was plain that the brother and sister were +growing up as vicious little savages, but he permitted himself no +remark on the subject. +</P> + +<P> +After a few conversations, he gained an inkling of Buncombe's motive in +taking a house so much larger than he needed. This magnificence was +meant as an attraction to the roaming wife, whom, it was clear, +Buncombe both wished and hoped to welcome back before very long. She +did occasionally visit the house, though only for an hour or two; just +to show, said Buncombe, that there was no ill-feeling. On his part, +evidently, there was none whatever. An easy-going, simple-minded +fellow, aged about forty, with a boyish good temper and no will to +speak of, he seemed never to entertain a doubt of his wife's honesty, +and in any case would probably have agreed, on the least persuasion, to +let bygones be bygones. He spoke rather proudly than otherwise of Mrs. +Buncombe's artistic success. +</P> + +<P> +'It isn't every woman could have done it, you know, Mr. Rolfe.' +</P> + +<P> +'It is not,' Harvey assented. +</P> + +<P> +Only those rooms were furnished which the little family used, five or +six in all; two or three stood vacant, and served as playgrounds for +the children in bad weather. Of his relatives at the top, Buncombe +never spoke; he either did not know, or viewed with indifference, the +fact that Mrs. Handover served his lodger in a menial capacity. About +once a month he invited three or four male friends to a set dinner, and +hilarity could be heard until long after midnight. Altogether it was a +strange household, and, as he walked about the streets of the +neighbourhood, Harvey often wondered what abnormalities even more +striking might be concealed behind the meaningless uniformity of these +heavily respectable housefronts. As a lodger he was content to dwell +here; but sometimes by a freak of imagination he pictured himself a +married man, imprisoned with wife and children amid these leagues of +dreary, inhospitable brickwork, and a great horror fell upon him. +</P> + +<P> +No. In his time he had run through follies innumerable, but from the +supreme folly of hampering himself by marriage, a merciful fate had +guarded him. It was probably the most remarkable fact of his life; it +heightened his self-esteem, and appeared to warrant him in the +assurance that a destiny so protective would round the close of his +days with tranquillity and content. +</P> + +<P> +Upon this thought he lay down to rest. For half an hour Basil Morton's +letter had occupied his mind: he had tried to think out the problem it +set forth, not to leave his friend quite unanswered; but weariness +prevailed, and with it the old mood of self-congratulation. +</P> + +<P> +Next morning the weather was fine; that is to say, one could read +without artificial light, and no rain fell, and far above the +house-tops appeared a bluish glimmer, shot now and then with pale +yellowness. Harvey decided to carry out his intention of calling upon +Mrs. Abbott. She lived at Kilburn, and thither he drove shortly before +twelve o'clock. He was admitted to a very cosy room, where, amid books +and pictures, and by a large fire, the lady of the house sat reading. +Whatever the cause, it seemed to him that his welcome fell short of +cordiality, and he hastened to excuse himself for intruding at so early +an hour. +</P> + +<P> +'I received a letter last night which I thought you had better know of +without delay.' +</P> + +<P> +'From that man—Mr. Wager?' said Mrs. Abbott quickly and hopefully, her +face brightening. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. But there's nothing satisfactory in it. He writes from Liverpool, +and merely says that the children are at his lodgings, and he can do no +more for them.' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Abbott set her lips in an expression almost of sullenness. Rolfe +had never seen her look thus, but it confirmed a suspicion which he had +harboured concerning her. Why, he hardly knew—for she always presented +a face of amiability, and talked in gentle, womanly tones—doubt as to +Abbott's domestic felicity haunted his mind. Perhaps he now saw her, +for the first time, as she commonly appeared to her husband—slightly +peevish, unwilling to be disturbed, impatient when things did not run +smoothly. +</P> + +<P> +'You saw my husband yesterday?' was her next remark, not very +graciously uttered. +</P> + +<P> +'We met in the street last night—before I got Wager's letter. He was +suffering horribly from neuralgia.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey could not forbear to add this detail, but he softened his voice +and smiled. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't wonder at it,' returned the lady; 'he takes no care of +himself.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey glanced about the room. Its furnishing might be called +luxurious, and the same standard of comfort prevailed through the +house. Considering that Edgar Abbott, as Rolfe knew, married on small +means, and that he had toiled unremittingly to support a home in which +he could seldom enjoy an hour's leisure, there seemed no difficulty in +explaining this neglect of his own health. It struck the visitor that +Mrs. Abbott might have taken such considerations into account, and have +spoken of the good fellow more sympathetically. In truth, Harvey did +not quite like Mrs. Abbott. Her age was about seven and twenty. She +came of poor folk, and had been a high-school teacher; very clever and +successful, it was said, and Harvey could believe it. Her features were +regular, and did not lack sweetness; yet, unless an observer were +mistaken, the last year or two had emphasised a certain air of +conscious superiority, perchance originating in the schoolroom. She had +had one child; it struggled through a few months of sickly life, and +died of convulsions during its mother's absence at a garden-party. To +all appearances, her grief at the loss betokened tenderest feeling. +When, in half a year's time, she again came forth into the world, a +change was noted; her character seemed to have developed a new energy, +she exhibited wider interests, and stepped from the background to +become a leader in the little circle of her acquaintances. +</P> + +<P> +'Have you read this?' asked his hostess abruptly, holding up to him a +French volume, Ribot's <I>L'Heredite Psychologique</I>. +</P> + +<P> +'No. That kind of thing doesn't interest me much.' +</P> + +<P> +'Indeed! I find it <I>intensely</I> interesting.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey rose; he was in no mood for this kind of small-talk. But no +sooner had he quitted his chair, than Mrs. Abbott threw her book aside, +and spoke in another tone, seriously, though still with a perceptible +accent of annoyance. +</P> + +<P> +'Of course that man's children are here, and I suppose it is our duty +to provide for them till some other arrangement is made. But I think we +ought to put the matter in the hands of the police. Don't you, Mr +Rolfe?' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm afraid there's small chance of making their father support them. +He is certainly out of England by now, and won't easily be caught.' +</P> + +<P> +'The worst of it is, they are anything but <I>nice</I> children. What could +one expect with such a father? Since their poor mother died, they have +been in the hands of horrible people—low-class landladies, no doubt; +their talk shocks me. The last amusement they had, was to be taken by +somebody to Tussaud's, and now they can talk of nothing but "the hunted +murderer"—one sees it on the walls, you know; and they play at being +murderer and policeman, one trying to escape the other. Pretty play for +children of five and seven, isn't it?' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe made a gesture of disgust. +</P> + +<P> +'I know the poor things can't help it,' pursued Mrs. Abbott, with +softer feeling, 'but it turns me against them. From seeing so little of +their father, they have even come to talk with a vulgar pronunciation, +like children out of the streets almost. It's dreadful! When I think of +my cousin—such a sweet, good girl, and <I>these</I> her children—oh, it's +horrible!' +</P> + +<P> +'They are very young,' said Harvey, in a low voice, perturbed in spite +of himself. 'With good training——' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, of course we must put them in good hands somewhere.' +</P> + +<P> +Plainly it had never occurred to Mrs. Abbott that such a task as this +might, even temporarily, be undertaken by herself; her one desire was +to get rid of the luckless brats, that their vulgarity might not pain +her, and the care of them encumber her polite leisure. +</P> + +<P> +After again excusing himself for this call, and hearing his apology +this time more graciously received, Harvey withdrew from the cosy +study, and left Mrs. Abbott to her <I>Heredite Psychologique</I>. On his way +to lunch in town, he thought of the overworn journalist groaning with +neuralgia, and wondered how Mrs. Abbott would relish a removal to the +town of Waterbury. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0104"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 4 +</H3> + +<P> +Uncertain to the last moment, Harvey did at length hurry into his dress +clothes, and start for Fitzjohn Avenue. He had little mind for the +semi-fashionable crowd and the amateur music, but he could not answer +Mrs. Bennet Frothingham with any valid excuse, and, after all, she +meant kindly towards him. Why he enjoyed so much of this lady's favour +it was not easy to understand; intellectual sympathy there could be +none between them, and as for personal liking, on his side it did not +go beyond that naturally excited by a good-natured, feather-brained, +rather pretty woman, whose sprightliness never passed the limits of +decorum, and who seemed to have better qualities than found scope in +her butterfly existence. Perhaps he amused her, being so unlike the +kind of man she was accustomed to see. His acquaintance with the family +dated from their social palingenesis, when, after obscure prosperity in +a southern suburb, they fluttered to the northern heights, and were +observed of the paragraphists. Long before that, Bennet Frothingham had +been known in the money-market; it was the 'Britannia'—Loan, +Assurance, Investment, and Banking Company, Limited—that made him +nationally prominent, and gave an opportunity to his wife (in second +marriage) and his daughter (by the first). Three years ago, when +Carnaby (already lured by the charms of Sibyl Larkfield) presented his +friend Rolfe as 'the man who had been to Bagdad', Alma Frothingham, not +quite twenty-one, was studying at the Royal Academy of Music, and, +according to her friends, promised to excel alike on the piano and the +violin, having at the same time a 'really remarkable' contralto voice. +Of late the young lady had abandoned singing, rarely used the +pianoforte, and seemed satisfied to achieve distinction as a violinist. +She had founded an Amateur Quartet Society, whose performances were +frequently to be heard at the house in Fitzjohn Avenue. +</P> + +<P> +Last winter Harvey had chanced to meet Alma and her stepmother at +Leipzig, at a Gewandhaus concert. He was invited to go with them to +hear the boys' motet at the Thomaskirche; and with this intercourse +began the change in their relations from mere acquaintance to something +like friendship. Through the following spring Rolfe was a familiar +figure at the Frothinghams'; but this form of pleasure soon wearied +him, and he was glad to escape from London in June. He knew the shadowy +and intermittent temptation which beckoned him to that house; music had +power over him, and he grew conscious of watching Alma Frothingham, her +white little chin on the brown fiddle, with too exclusive an interest. +When 'that fellow' Cyrus Redgrave, a millionaire, or something of the +sort, began to attend these gatherings with a like assiduity, and to +win more than his share of Miss Frothingham's conversation, Harvey felt +a disquietude which happily took the form of disgust, and it was easy +enough to pack his portmanteau. +</P> + +<P> +Through the babble of many voices in many keys, talk mingling with +laughter more or less melodiously subdued, he made his way up the great +staircase. As he neared the landing, there sounded the shrill squeak of +a violin and a 'cello's deep harmonic growl. His hostess, small, +slender, fair, and not yet forty, a jewel-flash upon her throat and in +the tiara above her smooth low forehead, took a step forward to greet +him. +</P> + +<P> +'Really? How delightful! I shot at a venture, and it was a hit after +all!' +</P> + +<P> +'They are just beginning?' +</P> + +<P> +'The quartet—yes. Herr Wilenski has promised to play afterwards.' +</P> + +<P> +He moved on, crossed a small drawing-room, entered the larger room +sacred to music, and reached a seat in the nick of time. Miss +Frothingham, the violin against her shoulder, was casting a final +glance at the assembly, the glance which could convey a noble severity +when it did not forthwith impose silence. A moment's perfect stillness, +and the quartet began. There were two ladies, two men. Miss Frothingham +played the first violin, Mr. AEneas Piper the second; the 'cello was in +the hands of Herr Gassner, and the viola yielded its tones to Miss Dora +Leach. Harvey knew them all, but had eyes only for one; in truth, only +one rewarded observation. Miss Leach was a meagre blonde, whose form, +face, and attitude enhanced by contrast the graces of the First Violin. +Alma's countenance shone—possibly with the joy of the artist, perhaps +only with gratified vanity. As she grew warm, the rosy blood mantled in +her cheeks and flushed her neck. Every muscle and nerve tense as the +strings from which she struck music, she presently swayed forward on +the points of her feet, and seemed to gain in stature, to become a more +commanding type. Her features suggested neither force of intellect or +originality of character: but they had beauty, and something more. She +stood a fascination, an allurement, to the masculine sense. Harvey +Rolfe had never so responded to this quality in the girl; the smile +died from his face as he regarded her. Of her skill as a musician, he +could form no judgment; but it seemed to him that she played very well, +and he had heard her praised by people who understood the matter; for +instance, Herr Wilenski, the virtuoso, from whom—in itself a great +compliment—Alma was having lessons. +</P> + +<P> +He averted his eyes, and began to seek for known faces among the +audience. His host he could not discover; Mr. Frothingham must be away +from home this evening; it was seldom he failed to attend Alma's +concerts. But near the front sat Mrs. Ascott Larkfield, a dazzling +figure, and, at some distance, her daughter Mrs. Carnaby, no shadow of +gloom upon her handsome features. Hugh was not in sight; probably he +felt in no mood for parties. Next to Mrs. Carnaby sat 'that fellow', +Cyrus Redgrave, smiling as always, and surveying the people near him +from under drooping brows, his head slightly bent. Mr. Redgrave had +thin hair, but a robust moustache and a short peaked beard; his +complexion was a rifle sallow; he lolled upon the chair, so that, at +moments, his head all but brushed Mrs. Carnaby's shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +Long before the close of the piece, Rolfe had ceased to listen, his +thoughts drifting hither and hither on a turbid flood of emotion. +During the last passage—<I>Allegro molto leggieramente</I>—he felt a +movement round about him as a general relief, and when, on the last +note, there broke forth (familiar ambiguity) sounds of pleasure and of +applause, he at once stood up. But he had no intention of pressing into +the throng that rapidly surrounded the musicians. Seeing that Mr. +Redgrave had vacated his place, whilst Mrs. Carnaby remained seated, he +stepped forward to speak with his friend's wife. She smiled up at him, +and lifted a gloved finger. +</P> + +<P> +'No! Please don't!' +</P> + +<P> +'Not sit down by you?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, certainly. But I saw condolence in your face, and I'm tired of it. +Besides, it would be mere hypocrisy in you.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey gave a silent laugh. He had tried to understand Sibyl Carnaby, +and at different times had come to very different conclusions regarding +her. All women puzzled, and often disconcerted, him; with Sibyl he +could never talk freely, knowing not whether to dislike or to admire +her. He was not made on the pattern of Cyrus Redgrave, who probably +viewed womankind with instinctive contempt, yet pleased all with the +flattery of his homage. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, then, we won't talk of it,' he said, noticing, in the same +moment, that her person did not lack the adornment of jewels. Perhaps +she had happened to be wearing these things on the evening of the +robbery; but Rolfe felt a conviction that, under any circumstances, +Sibyl would not be without rings and bracelets. +</P> + +<P> +'They certainly improve,' she remarked, indicating the quartet with the +tip of her fan. +</P> + +<P> +Her opinions were uttered with calm assurance, whatever the subject. An +infinite self-esteem, so placid that it never suggested the vulgarity +of conceit, shone in her large eyes and dwelt upon the beautiful curve +of her lips. No face could be of purer outline, of less sensual +suggestiveness; it wore at times an air of cold abstraction which was +all but austerity. Rolfe imagined her the most selfish of women, +thought her incapable of sentiment; yet how was her marriage to be +accounted for, save by supposing that she fell in love with Hugh +Carnaby? Such a woman might surely have sold herself to great +advantage; and yet—odd incongruity—she did not impress one as +socially ambitious. Her mother, the ever-youthful widow, sped from +assembly to assembly, unable to live save in the whirl of fashion; not +so Sibyl. Was she too proud, too self-centred? And what ambition did +she nourish? +</P> + +<P> +Or was it all an illusion of the senses? Suppose her a mere graven +image, hollow, void. Call her merely a handsome woman, with the face of +some remarkable ancestress, with just enough of warmth to be subdued by +the vigorous passion of such a fine fellow as Carnaby. On the whole, +Rolfe preferred this hypothesis. He had never heard her say anything +really bright, or witty, or significant. But Hugh spoke of her fine +qualities of head and heart; Alma Frothingham made her an exemplar, and +would not one woman see through the vacuous pretentiousness of another? +</P> + +<P> +Involuntarily, he was gazing at her, trying to read her face. +</P> + +<P> +'So you think we ought to go to Australia,' said Sibyl quietly, +returning his look. +</P> + +<P> +Hugh had repeated the conversation of last night; indiscreet, but +natural. One could not suppose that Hugh kept many secrets from his +wife. +</P> + +<P> +'I?' He was confused. 'Oh, we were talking about the miseries of +housekeeping——' +</P> + +<P> +'I hate the name of those new countries.' +</P> + +<P> +It was said smilingly, but with what expression in the word 'hate'! +</P> + +<P> +'Vigorous cuttings from the old tree,' said Rolfe. 'There is England's +future.' +</P> + +<P> +'Perhaps so. At present they are barbarous, and I have a decided +preference for civilisation. So have you, I am quite sure.' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe murmured his assent; whereupon Sibyl rose, just bent her head to +him, and moved with graceful indolence away. +</P> + +<P> +'Now she hates <I>me</I>,' Harvey said in his mind; 'and much I care!' +</P> + +<P> +As a matter of courtesy, he thought it well to move in Miss +Frothingham's direction. The crowd was thinning; without difficulty he +approached to within a few yards of her, and there exchanged a word or +two with the player of the viola, Miss Leach—a good, ingenuous +creature, he had always thought; dangerous to no man's peace, but +rather sentimental, and on that account to be avoided. Whilst talking, +he heard a man's voice behind him, pretentious, coarse, laying down the +law in a musical discussion. +</P> + +<P> +'No, no; Beethoven is not <I>Klaviermaszig</I>. His thoughts ate +symphonic—they need the orchestra.... A string quartet is to a +symphony what a delicate water-colour is to an oil-painting.... Oh, I +don't care for his playing at all! he has not—what shall I call +it?—<I>Sehnsucht</I>.' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe turned at length to look. A glance showed him a tall, bony young +man, with a great deal of disorderly hair, and shaven face; +harsh-featured, sensual, utterly lacking refinement. He inquired of +Miss Leach who this might be, and learnt that the man's name was Felix +Dymes. +</P> + +<P> +'Isn't he a humbug?' +</P> + +<P> +The young lady was pained and shocked. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, he is very clever,' she whispered. 'He has composed a most +beautiful song—don't you know it?—"Margot". It's very likely that +Topham may sing it at one of the Ballad Concerts.' +</P> + +<P> +'Now I've offended <I>her</I>,' said Rolfe to himself. 'No matter.' +</P> + +<P> +Seeing his opportunity, he took a few steps, and stood before Alma +Frothingham. She received him very graciously, looking him straight in +the face, with that amused smile which he could never interpret. Did it +mean that she thought him 'good fun'? Had she discussed him with Sibyl +Carnaby, and heard things of him that moved her mirth? Or was it pure +good nature, the overflowing spirits of a vivacious girl? +</P> + +<P> +'So good of you to come, Mr. Rolfe. And what did you think of us?' +</P> + +<P> +This was characteristic. Alma delighted in praise, and never hesitated +to ask for it. She hung eagerly upon his unready words. +</P> + +<P> +'I only show my ignorance when I talk of music. Of course, I liked it.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ah! then you didn't think it very good. I see——' +</P> + +<P> +'But I <I>did</I>! Only my opinion is worthless.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma looked at him, seemed to hesitate, laughed; and Harvey felt the +conviction that, by absurd sincerity, he had damaged himself in the +girl's eyes. What did it matter? +</P> + +<P> +'I've been practising five hours a day,' said Alma, in rapid, ardent +tones. Her voice was as pleasant to the ear as her face to look upon; +richly feminine, a call to the emotions. 'That isn't bad, is it?' +</P> + +<P> +'Tremendous energy!' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, music is my religion, you know. I often feel sorry I haven't to +get my living by it; it's rather wretched to be only an amateur, don't +you think?' +</P> + +<P> +'Religion shouldn't be marketable,' joked Harvey. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, but you know what I mean. You are so critical, Mr. Rolfe. I've a +good mind to ask Father to turn me out of house and home, with just +half-a-crown. Then I might really do something. It would be splendid!— +Oh, what do you think of that shameful affair in Hamilton Terrace? Mrs +Carnaby takes it like an angel. They're going to give up housekeeping. +Very sensible, I say. Everybody will do it before long. Why should we +be plagued with private houses?' +</P> + +<P> +'There are difficulties——' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course there are, and men seem to enjoy pointing them out. They +think it a crime if women hate the bother and misery of housekeeping.' +</P> + +<P> +'I am not so conservative.' +</P> + +<P> +He tried to meet her eyes, which were gleaming fixedly upon him; but +his look fell, and turned as quickly from the wonderful white +shoulders, the throbbing throat, the neck that showed its colour +against swan's-down. To his profound annoyance, someone intervened—a +lady bringing someone else to be introduced. Rolfe turned on his heel, +and was face to face with Cyrus Redgrave. Nothing could be suaver or +more civil than Mr. Redgrave's accost; he spoke like a polished +gentleman, and, for aught Harvey knew, did not misrepresent himself. +But Rolfe had a prejudice; he said as little as possible, and moved on. +</P> + +<P> +In the smaller drawing-room he presently conversed with his hostess. +Mrs. Frothingham's sanguine and buoyant temper seemed proof against +fatigue; at home or as a guest she wore the same look of enjoyment; +vexations, rivalries, responsibilities, left no trace upon her beaming +countenance. Her affections were numberless; her ignorance, as an +observer easily discovered, was vast and profound; but the desire to +please, the tact of a 'gentlewoman, and thorough goodness of heart, +appeared in all her sayings and doings; she was never offensive, never +wholly ridiculous. Small-talk flowed from her with astonishing +volubility, tone and subject dictated by the characteristics of the +person with whom she gossiped; yet her preference was for talk on +homely topics, reminiscences of a time when she knew not luxury. 'You +may not believe it,' she said to him in a moment of confidence, 'but I +assure you I am a very good cook.' Rolfe did not quite credit the +assurance, but he felt it not improbable that Mrs. Frothingham would +accept a reverse of fortune with much practical philosophy; he could +imagine her brightening a small house with the sweetness of her +disposition, and falling to humble duties with sprightly goodwill. In +this point she was a noteworthy exception among the prosperous women of +his acquaintance. +</P> + +<P> +'And what have you been doing?' she asked, not as a mere phrase of +civility, but in a voice and which a look of genuine interest. +</P> + +<P> +'Wasting my time, for the most part.' +</P> + +<P> +'So you always say; but it can't be true. I know the kind of man who +wastes his time, and you're not a bit like him. Nothing would gratify +my curiosity more than to be able to watch you through a whole day. +What did you think of the quartet?' +</P> + +<P> +'Capital!' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm sure they would make wonderful progress, and Alma does work so +hard! I'm only afraid she may injure her health.' +</P> + +<P> +'I see no sign of it yet.' +</P> + +<P> +'She's certainly looking very well,' said Mrs. Frothingham, with +manifest pride and affection. Of Alma she always spoke thus; nothing of +the step-mother was ever observable. +</P> + +<P> +'Mr. Frothingham is not here this evening!' +</P> + +<P> +'I really don't know why,' replied the hostess, casting her eyes round +the room. 'I quite expected him. But he has been dreadfully busy the +last few weeks. And people do worry him so. Somebody called whilst we +were at dinner, and refused to believe that Mr. Frothingham was not at +home, and made quite a disturbance at the door—so they told me +afterwards. I'm really quite nervous sometimes; crazy people are always +wanting to see him—people who really ought not to be at large. No +doubt they have had their troubles, poor things; and everybody thinks +my husband can make them rich if only he chooses.' +</P> + +<P> +A stout, important-looking man paused before Mrs. Frothingham, and +spoke familiarly. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm looking for B. F. Hasn't he put in an appearance yet?' +</P> + +<P> +'I really hope he's enjoying himself somewhere else,' replied the +hostess, rising, with a laugh. 'You leave him no peace.' +</P> + +<P> +The stout man did not smile, but looked gravely for a moment at Rolfe, +a stranger to him, and turned away. +</P> + +<P> +Herr Wilenski, the virtuoso, was about to play something; the guests +moved to seat themselves. Rolfe, however, preferred to remain in this +room, where he could hear the music sufficiently well. He had not quite +recovered from his chagrin at the interruption of his talk with Alma—a +foolishness which made him impatient with himself. At the same time, he +kept thinking of the 'crazy people' of whom Mrs. Frothingham spoke so +lightly. A man such as Bennet Frothingham must become familiar with +many forms of 'craziness', must himself be responsible for a good deal +of folly such as leads to downright aberration. Recalling Mrs. +Frothingham's innocent curiosity concerning his own life, Harvey +wished, in turn, that it were possible for him to watch and comprehend +the business of a great finance-gambler through one whole day. What +monstrous cruelties and mendacities might underlie the surface of this +gay and melodious existence! Why was the stout man looking for 'B. F.'? +Why did he turn away with such a set countenance? Why was that old bore +at the club in such a fidget about the 'Britannia'? +</P> + +<P> +Ha! There indeed sounded the violin! It needed no technical +intelligence to distinguish between the playing of Wilenski and that of +Alma Frothingham. Her religion, forsooth! Herr Wilenski, one might be +sure, talked little enough about his 'religion'. What did Alma think as +she listened? Was she overcome by the despair of the artist-soul +struggling in its immaturity? Or did she smile, as ever, and +congratulate herself on the five hours a day, and tell herself how soon +she would reach perfection if there were real necessity for it? +Hopeless to comprehend a woman. The senses warred upon the wit; seized +by calenture, one saw through radiant mists. +</P> + +<P> +He did not like the name 'Alma'. It had a theatrical sound, a +suggestion of unreality. +</P> + +<P> +The <I>maestro</I> knew his audience; he played but for a quarter of an +hour, and the babble of tongues began again. Rolfe, sauntering before +the admirable pictures which hung here as a mere symbol of wealth, +heard a voice at his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm very thirsty. Will you take me down?' +</P> + +<P> +His heart leapt with pleasure; Alma must have seen it in his eyes as he +turned. +</P> + +<P> +'What did Wilenski play?' he asked confusedly, as they moved towards +the staircase. +</P> + +<P> +'Something of Grieg's Mr. Wilbraham is going to sing "Wie bist du, +meine Koniginn"—Brahms, you know. But you don't really care for music.' +</P> + +<P> +'What an astounding accusation!' +</P> + +<P> +'You don't really care for it. I've known that since we were at +Leipzig.' +</P> + +<P> +'I have never pretended to appreciate music as you do. That needs +education, and something more. Some music wearies me, there's no +denying it.' +</P> + +<P> +'You like the Melody in F?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, I do.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma laughed, with superiority, but not ill-naturedly. +</P> + +<P> +'And I think it detestable—but of course that doesn't matter. When I +talk about books you think me a nincompoop.—That word used to amuse me +so when I was a child. I remember laughing wildly whenever I saw or +heard it. It <I>is</I> a funny word, isn't it?' +</P> + +<P> +'The last I should apply to you,' said Rolfe in an absent undertone, as +he caught a glimpse of the white teeth between her laughing lips. +</P> + +<P> +They entered the supper-room, where as yet only a few people were +refreshing themselves. Provisions for a regiment spread before the +gaze; delicacies innumerable invited the palate: this house was famed +for its hospitable abundance. Alma, having asked her companion to get +her some lemonade, talked awhile with two ladies who had begun to eat +and drink in a serious spirit; waiting for her, Rolfe swallowed two +glasses of wine to counteract a certain dullness and literalness which +were wont to possess him in such company. +</P> + +<P> +'I won't sit down,' she said. 'No, thanks, nothing to eat. I wonder +where Papa is? Now, <I>he</I> enjoys music, though he is no musician. I +think Papa a wonderful man. For years he has never had more than six +hours sleep; and the work he does! He <I>can't</I> take a holiday; idleness +makes him ill. We were down in Hampshire in July with some relatives of +Mamma's—the quietest, sleepiest village—and Papa tried to spend a few +days with us, but he had to take to flight; he would have perished of +ennui.' +</P> + +<P> +'Life at high pressure,' remarked Rolfe, as the least offensive comment +he could make. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; and isn't it better than life at low?' exclaimed the girl, with +animation. 'Most people go through existence without once exerting all +the powers that are in them. I should hate to die with the thought that +I hadn't really lived myself <I>out</I>. A year ago Papa took me into the +City to see the offices of <I>Stock and Share</I>, just after the paper +started. It didn't interest me very much; but I pretended it did, +because Papa always takes an interest in <I>my</I> affairs. But I found +there was something else. After we had seen the printing machinery, and +so on, he took me up to the top of the building into a small room, +where there was just a table and a chair and a bookshelf; and he told +me it was his first office, the room in which he had begun business +thirty years ago. He has always kept it for his own, and just as it +was—a fancy of his. There's no harm in my telling you; he's very proud +of it, and so am I. That's energy!' +</P> + +<P> +'Very interesting indeed.' +</P> + +<P> +'I must go up again,' she added quickly. 'Oh, there's miss Beaufoy; do +let me introduce you to Miss Beaufoy.' +</P> + +<P> +She did so, unaware of Rolfe's groaning reluctance, and at once +disappeared. +</P> + +<P> +The supper-room began to fill. As soon as he could escape from Miss +Beaufoy, who had a cavalier of her own, Harvey ascended the stairs +again, and found a quiet corner, where he sat for a quarter of an hour +undisturbed. Couples and groups paused to talk near him, and whenever +he caught a sentence it was the merest chatter, meaningless repetition +of commonplaces which, but for habit, must have been an unutterable +weariness to the least intelligent of mortals. He was resolved never to +come here again; never again to upset his peace of mind and sully his +self-respect by grimacing amid such a crowd. He enjoyed human +fellowship, timely merry-making; but to throng one's house with people +for whom, with one or two exceptions, one cared not a snap of the +fingers, what was this but sheer vulgarism? As for Alma Frothingham, +long ago he had made up his mind about her. Naturally, inevitably, she +absorbed the vulgarity of her atmosphere. All she did was for effect: +it was her cue to pose as the artist; she would keep it up through +life, and breathe her last, amid perfumes, declaring that she had +'lived herself out'. +</P> + +<P> +In his peevishness he noticed that women came up from supper with +flushed cheeks and eyes unnaturally lustrous. What a grossly sensual +life was masked by their airs and graces! He had half a mind to start +tomorrow for the Syrian deserts. +</P> + +<P> +'Do let us see you again soon,' said his hostess, as he took leave of +her. 'Come in at five o'clock on Wednesday, that's our quiet day; only +a few of our <I>real</I> friends. We shall be in town till Christmas, for +certain.' +</P> + +<P> +On the stairs he passed Mr. Felix Dymes, the composer of 'Margot'. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, it's the easiest thing in the world,' Mr. Dymes was saying, 'to +compose a song that will be popular. I'll give you the recipe, and +charge nothing You must have a sudden change to the minor, and a waltz +refrain—that's all. Oh yes, there's money in it. I know a man who——' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe had never left the house in such a bad temper. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0105"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 5 +</H3> + +<P> +When he awoke next morning, the weather was so gloomy that he seriously +resumed his thought of getting away from London. Why, indeed, did he +make London his home, when it would be easy to live in places vastly +more interesting, and under a pure sky? He was a citizen of no city at +all, and had less desire than ever to bind himself to a permanent +habitation. All very well so long as he kept among his male friends, at +the club and elsewhere; but this 'society' played the deuce with him, +and he had not the common-sense, the force of resolve, to keep out of +it altogether. +</P> + +<P> +Well, he must go to his bank this morning, to draw cash. +</P> + +<P> +It was about twelve o'clock when he stood at the counter, waiting with +his cheque. The man before him talked with the teller. +</P> + +<P> +'Do you know that the "Britannia" has shut up?' +</P> + +<P> +'The bank? No!' +</P> + +<P> +'But it has. I passed just now, and there were a lot of people standing +about. Closed at half-past eleven, they say. +</P> + +<P> +Harvey had a singular sensation, a tremor at his heart, a flutter of +the pulses, a turning cold and hot; then he was quite calm again, and +said to himself, 'Of course.' For a minute or two the quiet routine of +the bank was suspended; the news passed from mouth to mouth; newcomers +swelled a gossiping group in front of the counter, and Harvey listened. +The general tone was cynical; there sounded scarcely a note of +indignation; no one present seemed to be personally affected by the +disaster. The name of Bennet Frothingham was frequently pronounced, +with unflattering comments. +</P> + +<P> +'Somebody'll get it hot,' remarked one of the speakers; and the others +laughed. +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe, having transacted his business, walked away. It struck him that +he would go and look at the closed bank, but he did not remember the +address; a policeman directed him, and he walked on, the distance not +being very great. At the end of the street in which the building stood, +signs of the unusual became observable—the outskirts of a crowd, +hanging loose in animated talk, as after some exciting occurrence; and +before the bank itself was gathered a throng of men, respectability's +silk hats mingling with the felts and caps of lower strata. Here and +there a voice could be heard raised in anger, but the prevailing +emotion seemed to be mere curiosity. The people who would suffer most +from the collapse of this high-sounding enterprise could not reach the +scene of calamity at half an hour's notice; they were dwellers in many +parts of the British Isles, strangers most of them to London city, with +but a vague mental picture of the local habitation of the Britannia +Loan, Assurance, Investment, and Banking Company, Limited. +</P> + +<P> +His arm was seized, and a voice said hoarsely in his ear— +</P> + +<P> +'By God! too late.' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh Carnaby had tumbled out of a cab, and saw his friend in the same +moment that he got near enough to perceive that the doors of the bank +were shut. +</P> + +<P> +'The thieves have lost no time,' he added, pale with fury. +</P> + +<P> +'You had warning of it?' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh pulled him a few yards away, and whispered—— +</P> + +<P> +'Bennet Frothingham shot himself last night.' +</P> + +<P> +Again Harvey experienced that disagreeable heart-shock, with the +alternation of hot and cold. +</P> + +<P> +'Where? At home?' +</P> + +<P> +'At the office of <I>Stock and Share</I>. Come farther away. It'll be in the +evening papers directly, but I don't want those blackguards to hear me. +I got up late this morning, and as I was having breakfast, Sibyl rushed +in. She brought the news; had it from some friend of her mother's, a +man connected somehow with <I>Stock and Share</I>. I thought they would shut +up shop, and came to try and save Sibyl's balance—a couple of hundred, +that's all—but they've swallowed it with the rest.' +</P> + +<P> +'With the rest?' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh laughed mockingly. +</P> + +<P> +'Of hers. Devilish bad luck Sibyl has. It was just a toss-up that a +good deal of my own wasn't in, one way or another.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you know any more about Frothingham?' +</P> + +<P> +'No. Only the fact. Don't know when it was, or when it got known. We +shall have it from the papers presently. I think every penny Mrs +Larkfield had was in.' +</P> + +<P> +'But it may not mean absolute ruin,' urged Harvey. +</P> + +<P> +'I know what to think when B. F. commits suicide. We shall hear that +some of the others have bolted. It'll be as clean a sweep as our +housekeeper's little job.' +</P> + +<P> +'I've had queer presentiments,' Harvey murmured. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, damn it, so have I! So had lots of people. But nobody ever does +anything till it's too late. I must get home again with my agreeable +news. You'll be going to the club, I dare say? They'll have plenty to +talk about for the next month or two.' +</P> + +<P> +'Try to come round tonight to my place.' +</P> + +<P> +'Perhaps. It depends on fifty chances. There's only one thing I know +for certain—that I shall get out of this cursed country as soon as +possible.' +</P> + +<P> +They parted, and Harvey walked westward. He had no reason for hurry; as +usual, the tumult of the world's business passed him by; he was merely +a looker-on. It occurred to him that it might be a refreshing and a +salutary change if for once he found himself involved in the anxieties +to which other men were subject; this long exemption and security +fostered a too exclusive regard of self, an inaptitude for sympathetic +emotion, which he recognised as the defect of his character. This +morning's events had startled him, and given a shock to his +imagination; but already he viewed them and their consequences with a +self-possession which differed little from unconcern. Bennet +Frothingham, no doubt, had played a rascally game, foreseeing all along +the issues of defeat. As to his wife and daughter, it would be strange +if they were not provided for; suffer who might, they would probably +live on in material comfort, and nowadays that was the first +consideration. He was surprised that their calamity left him so +unmoved; it showed conclusively how artificial were his relations with +these persons; in no sense did he belong to their world; for all his +foolish flutterings, Alma Frothingham remained a stranger to him, alien +from every point of view, personal, intellectual, social. And how many +of the people who crowded to her concert last night would hear the news +this morning with genuine distress on her account? Gratified envy would +be the prevailing mood, with rancorous hostility in the minds of those +who were losers by Bennet Frothingham's knavery or ill-fortune. Hugh +Carnaby's position called for no lament; he had a sufficient income of +his own, and would now easily overcome his wife's pernicious influence; +with or without her, he would break away from a life of corrupting +indolence, and somewhere beyond seas 'beat the British drum'—use his +superabundant vitality as nature prompted. +</P> + +<P> +After all, it promised to clear the air. These explosions were +periodic, inevitable, wholesome. The Britannia Loan, &c, &c, &c, had +run its pestilent course; exciting avarice, perturbing quiet industry +with the passion of the gamester, inflating vulgar ambition, now at +length scattering wreck and ruin. This is how mankind progresses. +Harvey Rolfe felt glad that no theological or scientific dogma +constrained him to a justification of the laws of life. +</P> + +<P> +At lunchtime, newspaper boys began to yell. The earliest placards +roared in immense typography. In the Metropolitan Club, sheets moist +from the press suddenly descended like a fall of snow. Rolfe stood by a +window and read quietly. This first report told him little that he had +not already learnt, but there were a few details of the suicide. +Frothingham, it appeared, always visited the office of <I>Stock and +Share</I> on the day before publication. Yesterday, as usual, he had +looked in for half an hour at three o'clock; but unexpectedly he came +again at seven in the evening, and for a third time at about eleven, +when the printing of the paper was in full swing. 'It was supposed by +the persons whom he then saw that Mr. Frothingham finally quitted the +office; whether he actually left the building or not seems to remain +uncertain. If so, he re-entered without being observed, which does not +seem likely. Between two and three o'clock this morning, when <I>Stock +and Share</I> was practically ready for distribution, a man employed on +the premises is said, for some unexplained reason, to have ascended to +the top floor of the building, and to have entered a room ordinarily +unused. A gas-jet was burning, and the man was horrified to discover +the dead body of Mr. Frothingham, at full length on the floor, in his +hand a pistol. On the alarm being given, medical aid was at once +summoned, and it became evident that death had taken place more than an +hour previously. That no one heard the report of a pistol can be easily +explained by the noise of the machinery below. The dead man's face was +placid. Very little blood had issued from the wound, and the shot must +have been fired with a remarkably steady hand.' +</P> + +<P> +'A room on the top floor of the building, ordinarily unused——' What +story was it that Alma Frothingham told last night, of her visit to the +office of <I>Stock and Share</I>? Rolfe had not paid much attention to it at +the time; now he recalled the anecdote, and was more impressed by its +significance. That room, his first place of business, the scene of poor +beginnings, Bennet Frothingham had chosen for his place of death. +Perhaps he had long foreseen this possibility, had mused upon the +dramatic fitness of such an end; for there was a strain of melancholy +in the man, legible on his countenance, perceptible in his private +conversation. Just about the time when Alma laughingly told the story, +her father must have been sitting in that upper room, thinking his last +thoughts; or it might be that he lay already dead. +</P> + +<P> +Later issues contained much fuller reports. The man who found the body +had explained his behaviour in going up to the unused room, and it +relieved the dark affair with a touch of comedy. Before coming to work, +he had quarrelled with his wife, and, rather than go home in the early +hours of the morning, he hit upon the idea of finding a sleeping-place +here on the premises, to which he could slink unnoticed. 'It's little +enough sleep I get in my own house,' was his remark to the reporter who +won his confidence. Clubmen were hilarious over this incident, +speculating as to the result of its publication on the indiscreet man's +domestic troubles. +</P> + +<P> +It was not unremarked that a long time elapsed between the discovery of +the suicide and its being heard of by anyone who had an interest in +making it generally known. With the exception of two persons, all who +were engaged upon the production of the newspaper went home in complete +ignorance of what had happened, so cautiously and successfully was the +situation dealt with by the sub-editor and his informant. When, after +an examination by the doctor, who had been summoned in all secrecy, it +became necessary to communicate with the police, the employees had all +gone away, and the printed sheets had been conveyed to the distributing +agents. Naturally, the subeditor of <I>Stock and Share</I>' preserved a +certain reticence in the matter; but one could hardly be mistaken in +assuming that the directors of the Britannia Company—two or three of +them, at all events—had an opportunity of surveying their position +long before the hour when this momentous news got abroad. +</P> + +<P> +With regard to the company's affairs, only conjecture could be as yet +indulged in. In view of the immediate stoppage of business, it was +pretty safe to surmise that alarming disclosures awaited the public. No +one, of course, would be justified in prejudging the case against the +unhappy man who, amid seemingly brilliant circumstances, had been +driven to so desperate an act. +</P> + +<P> +And so on, and so on, in one journal after another, in edition upon +edition. Harvey Rolfe read them till he was weary, listened to the +gossip of the club till he was nauseated. He went home at length with a +headache, and, having carefully avoided contact with Buncombe or Mrs +Handover, made an effort to absorb himself in a volume of Gregorovius, +which was at present his study. The attempt was futile. Talk still +seemed to buzz about him; his temples throbbed; his thoughts wandered +far and wide. Driven to bed long before his accustomed hour, he heard +raucous voices rending the night, bellowing in hideous antiphony from +this side of the street and the other, as the vendors of a halfpenny +paper made the most of what Providence had sent them. +</P> + +<P> +The first thing after breakfast next morning, he posted a line to Hugh +Carnaby. 'Is there any way in which I can be of use to you? If you +think not, I shall be off tomorrow to Greystone for a few days. I feel +as if we were all being swept into a ghastly whirlpool which roars over +the bottomless pit. Of course, I will stay if I can do anything, no +matter what. Otherwise, address for a week to Basil Morton's.' +</P> + +<P> +This he dropped into the nearest pillar-box, and, as the sun was +endeavouring to shine, he walked the length of the street, a pretence +of exercise. On his way back he was preceded by a telegraph boy, who +stopped at Buncombe's front door, and awoke the echoes with a twofold +double knock. Before the servant could open, Harvey was on the steps. +</P> + +<P> +'What name?' +</P> + +<P> +'Rolfe.' +</P> + +<P> +'For me, then.' +</P> + +<P> +He tore open the envelope. +</P> + +<P> +'Could you come at once? Something has happened.—Abbott.' +</P> + +<P> +The boy wished to know if there would be a reply. Harvey shook his +head, and stepped into the hall, where he stood reflecting. What could +have happened that Edgar Abbott should summon him? Had his wife run +away?— Ah, to be sure, it must have something to do with Wager's +children—an accident, a death. But why send for <I>him</I>? +</P> + +<P> +He made a little change in his dress, and drove forthwith to Kilburn. +As his cab stopped, he saw that all the blinds in the front of the +Abbotts' house were drawn down. Death, then, obviously. It was with a +painful shaking of the nerves that he knocked for admission. +</P> + +<P> +'Mr. Abbott——?' +</P> + +<P> +The servant girl, who had a long-drawn face, said nothing, but left him +where he stood, returning in a moment with a mumbled 'Will you please +to come in, sir?' He followed her to the room in which he had talked +with Mrs. Abbott two days ago; and she it was who again received him. +Her back to the light, she stood motionless. +</P> + +<P> +'Your husband has telegraphed for me——' +</P> + +<P> +A voice that struggled with a sob made thick reply—— +</P> + +<P> +'No—I—he is dead!' +</P> + +<P> +The accent of that last monosyllable was heart-piercing. It seemed to +Harvey as though the word were new-minted, so full it sounded of +dreadful meaning. +</P> + +<P> +'Dead?' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Abbott moved, and he could see her face better. She must have wept +for hours. +</P> + +<P> +'He has been taking morphia—he couldn't sleep well—and then his +neuralgia. The girl found him this morning, at seven o'clock—there.' +</P> + +<P> +She pointed to the couch. +</P> + +<P> +'You mean that he had taken an overdose—by accident——' +</P> + +<P> +'It <I>must</I> have been so. He had to work late—and then he must have +lain down to sleep.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why here?' +</P> + +<P> +'A flood of anguish whelmed her. She uttered a long moan, all the more +terrible for its subdual to a sound that could not pass beyond the +room. Her struggle for self-command made her suffering only the more +impressive, the more grievous to behold.' +</P> + +<P> +'Mr. Rolfe, I sent for you because you are his old friend. I meant to +tell you all the truth, as I know it. I <I>can't</I> tell it before +strangers—in public! I <I>can't</I> let them know—the shame—the shame!' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey's sympathy gave way to astonishment and strange surmise. +Hurriedly he besought her not to reveal anything in her present +distress; to wait till she could reflect calmly, see things in truer +proportion. His embarrassment was heightened by an inability to +identify this woman with the Mrs. Abbott he had known; the change in +her self-presentment seemed as great and sudden as that in her +circumstances. Face and voice, though scarce recognisable, had changed +less than the soul of her—as Harvey imaged it. This entreaty she +replied to with a steadiness, a resolve, which left him no choice but +to listen. +</P> + +<P> +'I cannot, dare not, think that he did this knowingly. No! He was too +brave for that. He would never have left me in that way—to my despair. +But it was my fault that made him angry—no, not angry; he was never +that with me, or never showed it. But I had behaved with such utter +selfishness——' +</P> + +<P> +Her misery refused to word itself. She sank down upon a chair and +sobbed and moaned. +</P> + +<P> +'Your grief exaggerates every little fault,' said Harvey. +</P> + +<P> +'No—you must hear it all—then perhaps I can hide my shame from +strangers. What use would it be if they knew? It alters nothing—it's +only in my own heart. I have no right to pain you like this. I will +tell you quietly. You know that he went to Waterbury, on business. Did +he tell you?—it was to buy a share in a local newspaper. I, in my +blindness and selfishness, disliked that. I wanted to live here; the +thought of going to live in the country seemed unbearable. That Edgar +was overworked and ill, seemed to me a trifle. Don't you remember how I +spoke of it when you came here the other morning?—I can't understand +myself. How could I think so, speak so!' +</P> + +<P> +The listener said nothing. +</P> + +<P> +'He did what he purposed—made a bargain, and came back to conclude the +purchase by correspondence. But his money—the small capital he counted +upon—was in "Britannia" shares; and you know what happened +yesterday—yesterday, the very day when he went to sell the shares, +thinking to do so without the least difficulty.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey gave a grim nod. +</P> + +<P> +'He came home, and I showed that I was glad——' +</P> + +<P> +'No! You accuse yourself unreasonably.' +</P> + +<P> +'I tell you the truth, as my miserable conscience knows it. I was crazy +with selfishness and conceit. Rightly, he left me to my cowardly +temper, and went out again, and was away for a long time. He came back +to dinner, and then the suffering in his face all but taught me what I +was doing. I wanted to ask him to forgive me—to comfort him for his +loss; but pride kept me from it. I couldn't speak—I couldn't! After +dinner he said he had a lot of work to do, and came into this room. At +ten o'clock I sent him coffee. I wished to take it myself—O God! if +only I had done so! I <I>wished</I> to take it, and speak to him, but still +I couldn't. And I knew he was in torture; I saw at dinner that pain was +racking him. But I kept away, and went to my own bed, and slept—whilst +he was lying here.' +</P> + +<P> +A rush of tears relieved her. Harvey felt his own eyes grow moist. +</P> + +<P> +'It was only that he felt so worn out,' she pursued. 'I know how it +was. The pain grew intolerable, and he went upstairs for his draught, +and then—not having finished his work—he thought he would lie down on +the sofa for a little; and so sleep overcame him. He never meant +<I>this</I>. If I thought it, I couldn't live!' +</P> + +<P> +'Undoubtedly you are right,' said Harvey, summoning an accent of +conviction. 'I knew him very well, and he was not the man to do that.' +</P> + +<P> +'No? You are sure of it? You feel it impossible, Mr. Rolfe?' +</P> + +<P> +'Quite impossible. There are men—oh, you may assure yourself that it +was pure accident. Unfortunately, it happens so often.' +</P> + +<P> +She hung on his words, leaning towards him, her eyes wide and lips +parted. +</P> + +<P> +'So often! I have seen so many cases, in the papers. And he was +absent-minded. But what right have I to seek comfort for myself? Was I +any less the cause of his death? But must I tell all this in public? Do +you think I ought to?' +</P> + +<P> +With comfortable sincerity Rolfe was able to maintain the needlessness +of divulging anything beyond the state of Abbott's health and his +pecuniary troubles. +</P> + +<P> +'It isn't as if we had lived on ill terms with each other,' said the +widow, with a sigh of gratitude. 'Anything but that. Until of late we +never knew a difference, and the change that came was wholly my fault. +I hadn't the honesty to speak out and say what was in my mind. I never +openly opposed his wish to leave London. I pretended to agree to +everything, pretended. He showed me all his reasons, put everything +simply and plainly and kindly before me, and if I had said what I +thought, I feel sure he would have given it up at once. It was in my +own hands to decide one way or the other.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why should you reproach yourself so with mere thoughts, of which he +never became aware?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, it was yesterday, when he came back from the City. He knew then +that I was glad he couldn't carry out his purpose. He looked at me as +he never had done before—a look of surprise and estrangement. I shall +always see that look on his face.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey talked in the strain of solace, feeling how extraordinary was +his position, and that of all men he had least fitness for such an +office. It relieved him when, without undue abruptness, he could pass +to the practical urgencies of the case. Were Wager's children still in +the house? Alas! they were, and Mrs. Abbott knew not what to do about +them. +</P> + +<P> +'You can't think of anyone who would take them—for a day or two, even?' +</P> + +<P> +Among her acquaintances there was not one of whom she could venture to +ask such a service. 'People have such a dread of children.' Her sister +was a governess in Ireland; other near relatives she had none. Edgar +Abbott's mother, old and in feeble health, lived near Waterbury; how +was the dreadful news to be conveyed to her? +</P> + +<P> +Harvey bestirred himself. Here, at all events, was a call to active +usefulness; he felt the privilege of money and leisure. +</P> + +<P> +'Can you give me the name of any one at Waterbury who would be a fit +person to break the news to Mrs. Abbott?' +</P> + +<P> +Two names were mentioned, and he noted them. +</P> + +<P> +'I will send telegrams at once to both.' +</P> + +<P> +'You will say it was an accident——' +</P> + +<P> +'That shall be made clear. As for the children, I think I can have them +taken away this morning. In the house where I live there is a decent +woman who I dare say would be willing to look after them for the +present. Will you leave this entirely in my hands?' +</P> + +<P> +'I am ashamed—I don't know how to thank you.' +</P> + +<P> +'No time shall be lost.' He rose. 'If Mrs. Handover will help us, I +will bring her here; then I shall see you again. In any case, of +course, I will come back—there will be other business. But you ought +to have some friend—some lady.' +</P> + +<P> +'There's <I>no</I> one I can ask.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, but of all the people you know in London—surely!' +</P> + +<P> +'They are not friends in that sense. I understand it now—fifty +acquaintances; no friend.' +</P> + +<P> +'But let me think—let me think. What was the name of that lady I met +here, whose children you used to teach?' +</P> + +<P> +'Mrs. Langland. She is very kind and friendly, but she lives at +Gunnersbury—so far—and I couldn't trouble her.' +</P> + +<P> +Upon one meeting and a short conversation, with subsequent remarks from +Edgar Abbott, Rolfe had grounded a very favourable opinion of Mrs +Langland. She dwelt clearly in his mind as 'a woman with no nonsense +about her', likely to be of much helpfulness at a crisis such as the +present. With difficulty he persuaded Mrs. Abbott to sit down and write +a few lines, to be posted at once to Gunnersbury. +</P> + +<P> +'I haven't dared to ask her to come. But I have said that I am alone.' +</P> + +<P> +'Quite enough, I think, if she is at home.' +</P> + +<P> +He took his leave, and drove back to Bayswater, posting the letter and +despatching two telegrams on the way. +</P> + +<P> +Of course, his visit to Greystone was given up. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0106"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 6 +</H3> + +<P> +Hugh Carnaby was gratified by the verdict of <I>felo de se</I>. He applauded +the jury for their most unexpected honesty. One had taken for granted +the foolish tag about temporary madness, which would have been an +insult to everybody's common-sense. +</P> + +<P> +'It's a pity they no longer bury at four cross-roads, with a stake in +his inside. (Where's that from? I remember it somehow.) The example +wouldn't be bad.' +</P> + +<P> +'You're rather early-Victorian,' replied Sibyl, who by this term was +wont to signify barbarism or crudity in art, letters, morality, or +social feeling. 'Besides, there's no merit in the verdict. It only +means that the City jury is in a rage. Yet every one of them would be +dishonest on as great a scale if they dared, or had the chance.' +</P> + +<P> +'Something in that, I dare say,' conceded Hugh. +</P> + +<P> +He admired his wife more than ever. Calm when she lost her trinkets, +Sibyl exhibited no less self-command now that she was suddenly deprived +of her whole fortune, about eight hundred a year. She had once remarked +on the pleasantness and fitness of a wife's possessing in her own name +an income equal to that of her husband; yet she resigned it without +fuss. Indeed, Sibyl never made a fuss about anything. She intimated her +wishes, and, as they were always possible of gratification, obtained +them as a matter of course. Naturally, since their marriage, she and +Hugh had lived to the full extent of their means. Carnaby had reduced +his capital by a couple of thousand pounds in preliminary expenses, and +debt to the amount of two or three hundred was outstanding at the end +of the first twelvemonth; but Sibyl manifested no alarm. +</P> + +<P> +'We have been great fools,' she said, alluding to their faith in Bennet +Frothingham. +</P> + +<P> +'It's certain that <I>I</I> have,' replied her husband. 'I oughtn't to have +let your mother have her way about that money. If there had been a +proper settlement, you would have run no risk. Trustees couldn't have +allowed such an investment.' +</P> + +<P> +The same day Sibyl bought a fur for her neck which cost fifteen +guineas. The weather was turning cold, and she had an account at the +shop. +</P> + +<P> +That afternoon, too, she went to see her mother, and on returning at +six o'clock looked into the library, where Hugh sat by the fire, a book +in his hand. Carnaby found the days very long just now. He shunned his +clubs, the Metropolitan and the Ramblers', because of a fear that his +connection with the 'Britannia' was generally known; to hear talk on +the subject would make him savage. He was grievously perturbed in mind +by his position and prospects; and want of exercise had begun to affect +his health. As always, he greeted his wife's entrance with a smile, and +rose to place a chair for her. +</P> + +<P> +'Thanks, I won't sit down,' said Sibyl. 'You look comfortable.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well?' +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him reflectively, and said in balanced tones—— +</P> + +<P> +'I really think I can boast of having the most selfish mother in +England.' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh had his own opinion concerning Mrs. Ascott Larkfield, but would +not have ventured to phrase it. +</P> + +<P> +'How's that?' +</P> + +<P> +'I never knew anyone who succeeded so well in thinking steadily and +exclusively of herself. It irritates me to see her since this affair; I +shan't go again. I really didn't know what a detestable temper she has. +Her talk is outrageous. She doesn't behave like a lady. Could you +believe that she has written a violent letter to Mrs. +Frothingham—"speaking her mind", as she says? It's disgraceful!' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm sorry she has done that. But it isn't every one that can bear +injury as you do, Sibyl.' +</P> + +<P> +'I supposed she could behave herself. She raises her voice, and uses +outrageous words, and shows temper with the servants. I wouldn't spend +a day in that house now on any account. And, after all, I find she +hasn't lost much more than I have. She will be able to count on six +hundred a year at least.' +</P> + +<P> +Carnaby received the news with a brightened visage. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh come! That's something.' +</P> + +<P> +'She took very good care, you see, not to risk everything herself.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's possible,' said Hugh, 'that she hadn't control of all her money.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh yes, she had. She let that fact escape in her fury—congratulated +herself on being so far prudent. Really, I never knew a more hateful +woman.' +</P> + +<P> +It was said without vehemence, with none of that raising of the voice +which so offended her: a deliberate judgment, in carefully chosen +words. Hugh tried to smile, but could not quite command his features; +they expressed an uneasy thoughtfulness. +</P> + +<P> +'Do you go out this evening?' he asked, after a pause. +</P> + +<P> +'No; I'm rather tired and out of sorts. Dinner is at seven. I shall go +to bed early.' +</P> + +<P> +The police had as yet failed to get upon the track of the felonious +housekeeper, known as Mrs. Maskell. Mrs. Carnaby's other servants still +kept their places, protesting innocence, and doubtless afraid to leave +lest they should incur suspicion. Domestic management was now In the +hands of the cook. Sibyl always declared that she could not eat a +dinner she had had the trouble of ordering, and she seemed unaffectedly +to shrink from persons of the menial class, as though with physical +repulsion. Perforce she submitted to having her hair done by her maid, +but she found the necessity disagreeable. +</P> + +<P> +The dinner was simple, but well cooked. Sibyl never ate with hearty +appetite, and declined everything not of excellent quality; unlike +women in general, she was fastidious about wine, yet took of it +sparingly; liqueurs, too, she enjoyed, and very strong coffee. To a +cigarette in the mouth of a woman she utterly objected; it offended her +sense of the becoming, her delicate perception of propriety. When +dining alone or with Hugh, she dressed as carefully as for a +ceremonious occasion. Any approach to personal disorder or neglect was +inconceivable in Sibyl. Her husband had, by accident, heard her called +'the best-groomed woman in London'; he thought the praise well merited, +and it flattered him. +</P> + +<P> +At table they talked of things as remote as possible from their +immediate concerns, and with the usual good humour. When he rose to +open the door, Hugh said—— +</P> + +<P> +'Drawing-room or library?' +</P> + +<P> +'Library. You would like to smoke.' +</P> + +<P> +For ten minutes he sat with his arms on the table, his great +well-shapen hands loosely clenched before him. He drank nothing. His +gaze was fixed on a dish of fruit, and widened as if in a growing +perplexity. Then he recovered himself, gave a snort, and went to join +his wife. +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl was reading a newspaper. Hugh lit his pipe in silence, and sat +down opposite to her. Presently the newspaper dropped, and Sibyl's eyes +were turned upon her husband with a smile. +</P> + +<P> +'Well?' +</P> + +<P> +'Well?' +</P> + +<P> +They smiled at each other amiably. +</P> + +<P> +'What do you suggest, Birdie?' +</P> + +<P> +The fondling name was not very appropriate, and had not been used of +late; Carnaby hit upon it in the honeymoon days, when he said that his +wife was like some little lovely bird, which he, great coarse fellow, +had captured and almost feared to touch lest he should hurt it. Hugh +had not much originality of thought, and less of expression. +</P> + +<P> +'There are places, you know, where one lives very comfortably on very +little,' said Sibyl. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; but it leads to nothing.' +</P> + +<P> +'What <I>would</I> lead to anything?' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, you see, I have capital, and some use ought to be made of it. +Everybody nowadays goes in for some kind of business.' +</P> + +<P> +She listened with interest, smiling, meditative. +</P> + +<P> +'And a great many people come out of it—wishing they had done so +before.' +</P> + +<P> +'True,' said Carnaby; 'there's the difficulty. I had a letter from +Dando this morning. He has got somebody to believe in his new smelting +process—somebody in the City; talks of going out to Queensland +shortly. Really—if I could be on the spot——' +</P> + +<P> +He hesitated, timidly indicating his thoughts. Sibyl mused, and slowly +shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +'No; wait for reports.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; but it's those who are in it first, you see.' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl seemed to forget the immediate subject, and to let her thoughts +wander in pleasant directions. She spoke as if on a happy impulse. +</P> + +<P> +'There's one place I think I should like—though I dread the voyage.' +</P> + +<P> +'Where's that?' +</P> + +<P> +'Honolulu.' +</P> + +<P> +'What has put that into your head?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, I have read about it. The climate is absolute perfection, and the +life exquisite. How do you get there?' +</P> + +<P> +'Across America, and then from San Francisco. It's anything but a cheap +place, I believe.' +</P> + +<P> +'Still, for a time. The thing is to get away, don't you think?' +</P> + +<P> +'No doubt of that.—Honolulu—by Jove! it's an idea. I should like to +see those islands myself.' +</P> + +<P> +'And it isn't commonplace,' remarked Sibyl. 'One would go off with a +certain eclat. Very different from starting for the Continent in the +humdrum way.' +</P> + +<P> +The more Carnaby thought of it, the better he liked this suggestion. +That Sibyl should voluntarily propose so long a journey surprised and +delighted him. The tropics were not his favourite region, and those +islands of the Pacific offered no scope for profitable energy; he did +not want to climb volcanoes, still less to lounge beneath bananas and +breadfruit-trees, however pleasant such an escape from civilisation +might seem at the first glance. A year of marriage, of idleness amid +amusements, luxuries, extravagances, for which he had no taste, was +bearing its natural result in masculine restiveness. His robust +physique and temper, essentially combative, demanded liberty under +conditions of rude or violent life. He was not likely to find a +satisfying range in any mode of existence that would be shared by +Sibyl. But he clutched at any chance of extensive travel. It might be +necessary—it certainly would be—to make further incision into his +capital, and so diminish the annual return upon which he could count +for the future; but when his income had already become ludicrously +inadequate, what did that matter? The years of independence were past; +somehow or other, he must make money. Everybody did it nowadays, and an +'opening' would of course present itself, something would of course +'turn up'. +</P> + +<P> +He stretched his limbs in a sudden vast relief. +</P> + +<P> +'Bravo! The idea is excellent. Shall we sell all this stuff?' waving a +hand to indicate the furniture. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, I think not. Warehouse it.' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh would have rejoiced to turn every chair and table into hard cash, +not only for the money's sake, but for the sense of freedom that would +follow; but he agreed, as always, to whatever his wife preferred. They +talked with unwonted animation. A great atlas was opened, routes were +fingered; half the earth's circumference vanished in a twinkling. +Sibyl, hitherto mewed within the circle of European gaieties and +relaxations, all at once let her fancy fly—tasted a new luxury in +experiences from which she had shrunk. +</P> + +<P> +'I'll order my outfit tomorrow. Very light things, I suppose? Who could +advise me about that?' +</P> + +<P> +Among a number of notes and letters which she wrote next day was one to +Miss Frothingham. 'Dear Alma,' it began, and it ended with 'Yours +affectionately'—just as usual. +</P> + +<P> +'Could you possibly come here some day this week? I haven't written +before, and haven't tried to see you, because I felt sure you would +rather be left alone. At the same time I feel sure that what has +happened, though for a time it will sadden us both, cannot affect our +friendship. I want to see you, as we are going away very soon, first of +all to <I>Honolulu</I>. Appoint your own time; I will be here.' +</P> + +<P> +By return of post came the black-edged answer, which began with +'Dearest Sibyl,' and closed with 'Ever affectionately'. +</P> + +<P> +'I cannot tell you how relieved I am to get your kind letter. These +dreadful days have made me ill, and one thing that increased my misery +was the fear that I should never hear from you again. I should not have +dared to write. How noble you are!—but then I always knew that. I +cannot come tomorrow—you know why—but the next day I will be with you +at three o'clock, if you don't tell me that the hour is inconvenient.' +</P> + +<P> +They met at the appointed time. Mrs. Carnaby's fine sense of the +becoming declared itself in dark array; her voice was tenderly subdued; +the pressure of her hand, the softly lingering touch of her lips, +conveyed a sympathy which perfect taste would not allow to become +demonstrative. Alma could at first say nothing. The faint rose upon her +cheek had vanished; her eyes were heavy, and lacked their vital gleam; +her mouth, no longer mobile and provocative, trembled on the verge of +sobs, pathetic, childlike. She hung her head, moved with a languid, +diffident step, looked smaller and slighter, a fashionable garb of woe +aiding the unhappy transformation. +</P> + +<P> +'I oughtn't to have given you this trouble,' said Sibyl. 'But perhaps +you would rather see me here——' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes—oh yes—it was much better——' +</P> + +<P> +'Sit down, dear. We won't talk of wretched things, will we? If I could +have been of any use to you——' +</P> + +<P> +'I was so afraid you would never——' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, you know me better than that,' broke in Mrs. Carnaby, almost with +cheerfulness, her countenance already throwing off the decorous shadow, +like a cloak that had served its turn. 'I hope I am neither foolish nor +worldly-minded.' +</P> + +<P> +'Indeed, indeed not! You are goodness itself.' +</P> + +<P> +'How is Mrs. Frothingham?' +</P> + +<P> +The question was asked with infinite delicacy, head and body bent +forward, eyes floatingly averted. +</P> + +<P> +'Really ill, I'm afraid. She has fainted several times—yesterday was +unconscious for nearly half an hour.' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl flinched. Mention of physical suffering affected her most +disagreeably; she always shunned the proximity of people in ill health, +and a possibility of infection struck her with panic. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, I'm so sorry. But it will pass over.' +</P> + +<P> +'I hope so. I have done what I could.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm sure you have.' +</P> + +<P> +'But it's so hard—when every word of comfort sounds heartless—when +it's kindest to say nothing——' +</P> + +<P> +'We won't talk about it, dear. You yourself—I can see what you have +gone through. You must get away as soon as possible; this gloomy +weather makes everything worse.' +</P> + +<P> +She paused, and with an air of discreet interest awaited Alma's reply. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, I hope to get away. I shall see if it's possible.' +</P> + +<P> +The girl's look strayed with a tired uncertainty; her hands never +ceased to move and fidget; only the habits of good breeding kept her +body still. +</P> + +<P> +'Of course, it is too soon for you to have made plans.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's so difficult,' replied Alma, her features more naturally +expressive, her eyes a little brighter. 'You see, I am utterly +dependent upon Mamma. I had better tell you at once—Mamma will have +enough to live upon, however things turn out. She has money of her own; +but of course I have nothing—nothing whatever. I think, most likely, +Mamma will go to live with her sister, in the country, for a time. She +couldn't bear to go on living in London, and she doesn't like life +abroad. If only I could do as I wish!' +</P> + +<P> +'I guess what that would be,' said the other, smiling gently. +</P> + +<P> +'To take up music as a profession—yes. But I'm not ready for it.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, half a year of serious study; with your decided talent, I should +think you couldn't hesitate. You are a born musician.' +</P> + +<P> +The words acted as a cordial. Alma roused herself, lifted her drooping +head and smiled. +</P> + +<P> +'That's the praise of a friend.' +</P> + +<P> +'And the serious opinion of one not quite unfit to judge,' rejoined +Sibyl, with her air of tranquil self-assertion. 'Besides, we have +agreed—haven't we?—that the impulse is everything. What you wish for, +try for. Just now you have lost courage; you are not yourself. Wait +till you recover your balance.' +</P> + +<P> +'It isn't that I want to make a name, or anything of that sort,' said +Alma, in a voice that was recovering its ordinary pitch and melody. 'I +dare say I never should; I might just support myself, and that would be +all. But I want to be free—I want to break away.' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course!' +</P> + +<P> +'I have been thinking that I shall beg Mamma to let me have just a +small allowance, and go off by myself. I know people at Leipzig—the +Gassners, you remember. I could live there on little enough, and work, +and feel free. Of course, there's really no reason why I shouldn't. I +have been feeling so bound and helpless; and now that nobody has any +right to hinder me, you think it would be the wise thing?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma had occasionally complained to her friend, as she did the other +evening to Harvey Rolfe, that easy circumstances were not favourable to +artistic ambition, but no very serious disquiet had ever declared +itself in her ordinary talk. The phrases she now used, and the look +that accompanied them, caused Sibyl some amusement. Only two years +older than Alma, Mrs. Carnaby enjoyed a more than proportionate +superiority in knowledge of the world; her education had been more +steadily directed to that end, and her natural aptitude for the study +was more pronounced. That she really liked Alma seemed as certain as +that she felt neither affection nor esteem for any other person of her +own sex. Herself not much inclined to feminine friendship, Alma had +from the first paid voluntary homage to Sibyl's intellectual claims, +and thought it a privilege to be admitted to her intimacy; being +persuaded, moreover, that in Sibyl, and in Sibyl alone, she found +genuine appreciation of her musical talent. Sibyl's choice of a husband +had secretly surprised and disappointed her, for Hugh Carnaby was not +the type of man in whom she felt an interest, and he seemed to her +totally unworthy of his good fortune; but this perplexity passed and +was forgotten. She saw that Sibyl underwent no subjugation; nay, that +the married woman did but perfect herself in those qualities of mind +and mood whereby she had shone as a maiden. It was a combination of +powers and virtues which appeared to Alma little short of the ideal in +womanhood. The example influenced her developing character in ways she +recognised, and in others of which she remained quite unconscious. +</P> + +<P> +'I think you couldn't do better,' Mrs. Carnaby replied to the last +question; 'provided that——' +</P> + +<P> +She paused intentionally, with an air of soft solicitude, of bland +wisdom. +</P> + +<P> +'That's just what I wanted,' said Alma eagerly. 'Advise me—tell me +just what you think.' +</P> + +<P> +'You want to live alone, and to have done with all the silly +conventionalities and proprieties—our old friend Mrs. Grundy, in fact.' +</P> + +<P> +'That's it! You understand me perfectly, as you always do.' +</P> + +<P> +'If it had been possible, we would have lived together.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ah! how delightful! Don't speak of what can't be.' +</P> + +<P> +'I was going to say,' pursued Sibyl thoughtfully, 'that you will meet +with all sorts of little troubles and worries, which you have never had +any experience of. For one thing, you know'—she leaned back, smiling, +at ease—'people won't behave to you quite as you have been accustomed +to expect. Money is very important even to a man; but to a woman it +means more than you can imagine.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, but I shan't be living among the kind of people——' +</P> + +<P> +'No, no. Perhaps you don't quite understand me yet. It isn't the people +you seek who matter, but the people that will seek <I>you</I>; and some of +them will have very strange ideas—very strange indeed.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma looked self-conscious, kept her eyes down, and at length nodded. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. I think I understand.' +</P> + +<P> +'That's why I said "provided". You are not the ordinary girl, and you +won't imagine that I feared for you; I know you too well. It's a +question of being informed and on one's guard. I don't think there's +anyone else who would talk to you like this. It doesn't offend you?' +</P> + +<P> +'Sibyl!' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, then, that's all right. Go into the world by all means, but go +prepared—armed; the word isn't a bit too strong, as I know perfectly. +Some day, perhaps—but there's no need to talk about such things now.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma kept a short silence, breaking it at length with note of +exultation. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm quite decided now. I wanted just to hear what you would say. I +shan't wait a day longer than I can help. The old life is over for me. +If only it had come about in some other way, I should be singing with +rapture. I'm going to begin to live!' +</P> + +<P> +She quivered with intensity of feeling, or with that excitement of the +nerves which simulates intense feeling in certain natures. A flush +stole to her cheek; her eyes were once more full of light. Sibyl +regarded her observantly and with admiration. +</P> + +<P> +'You never thought of the stage, Alma?' +</P> + +<P> +'The stage? Acting?' +</P> + +<P> +'No; I see you never did. And it wouldn't do—of course it wouldn't do. +Something in your look—it just crossed my mind—but of course you have +much greater things before you. It means hard work, and I'm only afraid +you'll work yourself all but to death.' +</P> + +<P> +'I shouldn't wonder,' replied the girl, with a little laugh of pride in +this possibility. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I too am going away, you know.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma's countenance fell, shame again crept over it, and she murmured, +'O Sibyl——!' +</P> + +<P> +'Don't distress yourself the least on my account. That's an understood +thing; no mention, no allusion, ever between us. And the truth is that +my position is just a little like yours: on the whole, I'm rather glad. +Hugh wants desperately to get to the other end of the world, and I dare +say it's the best thing I could do to go with him. No roughing it, of +course; that isn't in my way.' +</P> + +<P> +'I should think not, indeed!' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, I may rise to those heights, who knows! If the new sensation ever +seemed worth the trouble.—In a year or two, we shall meet and compare +notes. Don't expect long descriptive letters; I don't care to do +indifferently what other people have done well and put into print—it's +a waste of energy. But you are sure to have far more interesting and +original things to tell about; it will read so piquantly, I'm sure, at +Honolulu.' +</P> + +<P> +They drank tea together, and talked, in all, for a couple of hours. +When she rose to leave, Alma, but for her sombre drapings, was totally +changed from the limp, woebegone, shrinking girl who had at first +presented herself. +</P> + +<P> +'There's no one else,' she said, 'who would have behaved to me so +kindly and so nobly.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nonsense! But <I>that's</I> nonsense, too. Let us admire each other; it +does us good, and is so very pleasant.' +</P> + +<P> +'I shall say goodbye to no one but you. Let people think and say of me +what they like; I don't care a snap of the fingers. In deed, I <I>hate</I> +people.' +</P> + +<P> +'Both sexes impartially?' +</P> + +<P> +It was a peculiarity of their intimate converse that they never talked +of men, and a jest of this kind had novelty sufficient to affect Alma +with a slight confusion. +</P> + +<P> +'Impartially—quite,' she answered. +</P> + +<P> +'Do make an exception in favour of Hugh's friend, Mr. Rolfe. I abandon +all the rest.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma betrayed surprise. +</P> + +<P> +'Strange! I really thought you didn't much like Mr. Rolfe,' she said, +without any show of embarrassment. +</P> + +<P> +'I didn't when I first knew him; but he grows upon one. I think him +interesting; he isn't quite easy to understand.' +</P> + +<P> +'Indeed he isn't.' +</P> + +<P> +They smiled with the confidence of women fancy-free, and said no more +on the subject. +</P> + +<P> +Carnaby came home to dinner brisk and cheerful; he felt better than for +many a day. Brightly responsive, Sibyl welcomed his appearance in the +drawing-room. +</P> + +<P> +'Saw old Rolfe for a minute at the club. In a vile temper. I wonder +whether he really has lost money, and won't confess? Yet I don't think +so. Queer old stick.' +</P> + +<P> +'By-the-bye, what <I>is</I> his age?' asked Alma unconcernedly. +</P> + +<P> +'Thirty-seven or eight. But I always think of him as fifty.' +</P> + +<P> +'I suppose he'll never marry?' +</P> + +<P> +'Rolfe? Good heavens, no! Too much sense—hang it, you know what I +mean! It would never suit <I>him</I>. Can't imagine such a thing. He gets +more and more booky. Has his open-air moods, too, and amuses me with +his Jingoism. So different from his old ways of talking; but I didn't +care much about him in those days. Well, now, look here, I've had a +talk with a man I know, about Honolulu, and I've got all sorts of +things to tell you.—Dinner? Very glad; I'm precious hungry.' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0107"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 7 +</H3> + +<P> +About the middle of December, Alma Frothingham left England, burning +with a fever of impatience, resenting all inquiry and counsel, making +pretence of settled plans, really indifferent to everything but the +prospect of emancipation. The disaster that had befallen her life, the +dishonour darkening upon her name, seemed for the moment merely a price +paid for liberty. The shock of sorrow and dismay had broken innumerable +bonds, overthrown all manner of obstacles to growth of character, of +power. She gloried in a new, intoxicating sense of irresponsibility. +She saw the ideal life in a release from all duty and obligation—save +to herself. +</P> + +<P> +Travellers on that winter day from Antwerp into Germany noticed the +English girl, well dressed, and of attractive features, whose excited +countenance and restless manner told of a journey in haste, with +something most important, and assuredly not disagreeable, at the end of +it. She was alone, and evidently quite able to take care of herself. +Unlike the representative English <I>Fraulein</I>, she did not reject +friendly overtures from strangers; her German was lame, but she spoke +it with enjoyment, laughing at her stumbles and mistakes. With her in +the railway carriage she kept a violin-case. A professional musician? +'Noch nicht' was her answer, with a laugh. She knew Leipzig? Oh dear, +yes, and many other parts of Germany; had travelled a good deal; was an +entirely free and independent person, quite without national prejudice, +indeed without prejudice of any kind. And in the same breath she spoke +slightingly, if not contemptuously, of England and everything English. +</P> + +<P> +At Leipzig she stayed until the end of April, living with a family +named Gassner, people whom she had known for some years. Only on +condition that she would take up her abode with this household had Mrs. +Frothingham consented to make her an allowance and let her go abroad. +Alma fretted at the restriction; she wished to have a room of her own +in a lodging-house; but the family life improved her command of +German—something gained. To music, meanwhile, she gave very little +attention, putting off with one excuse after another the beginning of +her serious studies. She seemed to have quite forgotten that music was +her 'religion', and, for the matter of that, appeared to have no +religion at all. 'Life' was her interest, her study. She made +acquaintances, attended concerts and the theatre, read multitudes of +French and German novels. But her habits were economical. All the +pleasures she desired could be enjoyed at very small expense, and she +found her stepmother's remittances more than sufficient. +</P> + +<P> +In April she gained Mrs. Frothingham's consent to her removal from +Leipzig to Munich. A German girl with whom she had made friends was +going to Munich to study art. For reasons, vague even to herself (so +ran her letters to Mrs. Frothingham), she could not 'settle' at +Leipzig. The climate did not seem to suit her. She had suffered from +bad colds, and, in short, was doing no good. At Munich lived an +admirable violinist, a friend of Herr Wilenski's, who would be of great +use to her. 'In short, dear Mamma, doesn't it seem to you rather +humiliating that at the age of four-and-twenty I should be begging for +permission to go here and there, do this or that? I know all your +anxieties about me, and I am very grateful, and I feel ashamed to be +living at your expense, but really I must go about making a career for +myself in my own way.' Mrs. Frothingham yielded, and Alma took lodgings +in Munich together with her German friend. +</P> + +<P> +English newspapers were now reporting the trial of the directors of the +Britannia Company, for to this pass had things come. The revelations of +the law-court satisfied public curiosity, and excited indignant +clamour. Alma read, and tried to view the proceedings as one for whom +they had no personal concern; but her sky darkened, her heart grew +heavy. The name of Bennet Frothingham stood for criminal recklessness, +for huge rascality; it would be so for years to come. She had no +courage to take up her violin; the sound of music grew hateful to her, +as if mocking at her ruined ambition. +</P> + +<P> +Three months had passed since she received her one and only letter from +Honolulu; two months since she had written to Sibyl. On a blue day of +spring, when despondency lowered upon her, and all occupation, all +amusements seemed a burden, she was driven to address her friend on the +other side of the world, to send a cry of pain and hopelessness to the +dream-island of the Pacific. +</P> + +<P> +'What is the use of working at music? The simple truth is, that since I +left England I have given it up. I am living here on false pretences; I +shall never care to play the violin again. What sort of a reception +could I expect from an English audience? If I took another name, of +course it would get known who I was, and people would just come to +stare at me—pleasant thought! And I have utterly lost confidence in +myself. The difficulties are great, even where there is great talent, +and I feel I have nothing of the kind. I might toil for years, and +should do no good. I feel I am not an artist—I am beaten and +disgraced. There's nothing left but to cry and be miserable, like any +other girl who has lost her money, her hopes, everything. Why don't you +write to me? If you wait till you get this, it will be six or seven +weeks before I could possibly hear. And a letter from you would do me +so much good.' +</P> + +<P> +Some one knocked at her door. She called '<I>Herein</I>!' and there appeared +a little boy, the child of her landlady, who sometimes ran errands for +her. He said that a gentleman was asking to see her. +</P> + +<P> +'<I>Ein Deutscher</I>?' +</P> + +<P> +'<I>Nein. Ein Englander, glaub'ich, und ein schnurriges Deutsch ist's, +das er verbricht</I>!' +</P> + +<P> +Alma started up, shut her unfinished letter in the blotting-case, and +looked anxiously about the room. +</P> + +<P> +'What is his name? Ask him to give you his name.' +</P> + +<P> +The youngster came back with a card, and Alma was astonished to read +the name of 'Mr. Felix Dymes'. Why, she had all but forgotten the man's +existence. How came he here? What right had he to call? And yet she was +glad—nay, delighted. Happily, she had the sitting-room (shared with +her art-studying friend) to herself this morning. +</P> + +<P> +'Bring him up here,' she said to the boy hurriedly, 'and ask him to +wait a minute for me.' +</P> + +<P> +And she escaped to make a rapid change of dress. For Alma was not like +Sibyl Carnaby in perpetual regard for personal finish; she dressed +carelessly, save when the occasion demanded pains; she liked the ease +of gowns and slippers, of loose hair and free throat; and this taste +had grown upon her during the past months. But she did not keep Mr. +Dymes waiting very long, and on her entrance he gazed at her with very +frank admiration. Frank, too, was his greeting—that of a very old and +intimate friend, rather than of a drawing-room acquaintance. He came +straight from England, he said; a spring holiday, warranted by the +success of his song 'Margot', which the tenor, Topham, had sung at St +James's Hall. A few days ago he had happened to see Miss Leach, who +gave him Miss Frothingham's address, and he could not deny himself the +pleasure of calling. Chatting thus, he made himself comfortable in a +chair, and Alma sat over against him. The man was loud, conceited, +vulgar; but, after all, he composed very sweet music, which promised to +take the public ear; and he brought with him a waft from the happiness +of old days; and how could one expect small proprieties of a bohemian, +an artist? Alma began to talk eagerly, joyously. +</P> + +<P> +'And what are you doing, Miss Frothingham?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, fiddling a little. But I haven't been very well.' +</P> + +<P> +'I can see that. Yet in another sense you look a better than ever.' +</P> + +<P> +He began to hum an air, glancing round the room. +</P> + +<P> +'You haven't a piano. Just listen to this; how do you think it will +do?' He hummed through a complete melody. 'Came into my head last +night. Wants rather sentimental words—the kind of thing that goes down +with the British public. Rather a good air, don't you think?' +</P> + +<P> +Felix Dymes had two manners of conversation. In a company at all +ceremonious, and when it behoved him to make an impression, he talked +as the artist and the expert in music, with many German phrases, which +he pronounced badly, to fill up the gaps in his knowledge. His familiar +stream of talk was very different: it discarded affectation, and had a +directness, a vigour, which never left one in doubt as to his actual +views of life. How melody of any kind could issue from a nature so +manifestly ignoble might puzzle the idealist. Alma, who had known a +good many musical people, was not troubled by this difficulty; in her +present mood, she submitted to the arrogance of success, and felt a +pleasure, an encouragement, in Dymes's bluff <I>camaraderie</I>. +</P> + +<P> +'Let me try to catch it on the violin,' she said when, with nodding +head and waving arm, he had hummed again through his composition. +</P> + +<P> +She succeeded in doing so, and Dymes raised his humming to a +sentimental roar, and was vastly pleased with himself. +</P> + +<P> +'I like to see you in a place like this,' he said. 'Looks more +business-like—as if you really meant to do something. Do you live here +alone?' +</P> + +<P> +'With a friend.' +</P> + +<P> +Something peculiar in Dymes's glance caused her to add, 'A German girl, +an art student.' Whereat the musician nodded and smiled. +</P> + +<P> +'And what's your idea? Come now, let's talk about it. I wonder whether +I could be of any use to you—awfully glad if I could.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma was abashed, stammered her vague projects, and reddened under the +man's observant eye. +</P> + +<P> +'Look here,' he cried, with his charming informality, 'didn't you use +to sing? Somebody told me you had a pretty good voice.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, that was long ago.' +</P> + +<P> +'I wish you'd let me hear you.' +</P> + +<P> +'No, no! I don't sing at all.' +</P> + +<P> +'Pity, if it's true. I want to write a serio-comic opera, a new sort of +thing, and it struck me you were just cut out for that kind of singing. +You have the face and the—you know—the refinement; sort of thing not +easy to find. It's a poor chance, I'm afraid, coming out as a +violinist.' +</P> + +<P> +Half inclined to resent his impertinence, yet subdued by the practical +tone and air of superior knowledge, Alma kept a grave face. Dymes, +crossing his legs, went on with talk of projects he had in view, all +intended to be lucrative. He had capital; nothing great, just a +comfortable sum which he was bent on using to the best advantage. His +songs would presently be bringing him in a few hundreds a year—so he +declared—and his idea of life was to get as much enjoyment as possible +without working over-hard for it. The conversation lasted for a couple +of hours, Dymes growing even more genial and confidential, his eyes +seldom moving from Alma's face. +</P> + +<P> +'Well,' he said at length, rising, 'it's very jolly to see you again, +after all this time. I shall be staying here for a few days. You'll let +me call tomorrow?' +</P> + +<P> +At once glad and sorry to see him go, Alma laughingly gave the desired +permission. When, that evening, she looked at her unfinished letter, it +seemed such a miserable whine that she tore it up in annoyance. Dymes's +visit had done her good; she felt, if not a renewal of hope, at all +events the courage which comes of revived spirits. +</P> + +<P> +The next day she awaited his arrival with a pleasant expectation. He +entered humming an air—another new composition—which again she caught +from him and played on the violin. +</P> + +<P> +'Good, don't you think? I'm in great vein just now—always am in the +spring, and when the weather's fine. I say, you're looking much better +today—decidedly more fit. What do you do here for exercise? Do you go +to the Englische Garten? Come now, will you? Let's have a drive.' +</P> + +<P> +With sudden coldness Alma excused herself. The musician scrutinised her +rapidly, bit his lip, and looked round to the window; but in a moment +he had recovered his loud good humour. +</P> + +<P> +'You'll hardly believe it, but it's the plain truth, that I came all +this way just to see you. I hadn't thought of coming to Germany till I +met Miss Leach and heard about you. Now I'm so far, I might as well go +on into Italy, and make a round of it. I wish you were coming too.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma made no reply. He scrutinised her as before, and his features +worked as if with some emotion. Then, abruptly, he put a blunt question. +</P> + +<P> +'Do you think people who go in for music, art, and that kind of thing, +ought to marry?' +</P> + +<P> +'I never thought about it at all,' Alma replied, with a careless laugh, +striking a finger across the strings of the violin which she held on +her lap. +</P> + +<P> +'We're generally told they shouldn't,' pursued Dymes, in a voice which +had lost its noisy confidence, and was a little uncertain. 'But it all +depends, you know. If people mean by marriage the ordinary kind of +thing—of course, that's the deuce. But it needn't be. Lots of people +marry nowadays and live in a rational way—no house, or bother of that +kind; just going about as they like, and having a pleasant, reasonable +life. It's easy enough with a little money. Sometimes they're a good +deal of help to each other; I know people who manage to be.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, I dare say,' said Alma when he paused. 'It all depends, as you +say. You're going on to Italy at once?' +</P> + +<P> +Her half-veiled eyes seemed to conceal amusement, and there was +good-humoured disdain in the setting of her lips. With audacity so +incredible that it all but made her laugh, Dymes, not heeding her +inquiry, jerked out the personal application of his abstract remarks. +Yes, it was a proposal of marriage—marriage on the new plan, without +cares or encumbrance; a suggestion rather than a petition; off-hand, +unsentimental, yet perfectly serious, as look and tone proclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +'There's much to be said for your views,' Alma replied, with humorous +gravity, 'but I haven't the least intention of marrying.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I've mentioned it.' He waved his hand as if to overcome an +unwonted embarrassment. 'You don't mind?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not a bit.' +</P> + +<P> +'I hope we shall meet again before long, and—some day, you know—you +may see the thing in another light. You mustn't think I'm joking.' +</P> + +<P> +'But it <I>is</I> rather a joke.' +</P> + +<P> +'No; I never was more in earnest about anything, believe me. And I'm +convinced it's a good idea. However, you know one thing—if I can be of +use to you, I shall. I'll think it over—your chances and so on; +something may suggest itself. You're not cut out for everyday things.' +</P> + +<P> +'I try to hope not.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ah, but you can take my word for it.' +</P> + +<P> +With this comforting assurance, Felix Dymes departed. No melodrama; a +hand-grip, a significant nod, a loud humming as he went downstairs. +</P> + +<P> +Alma presently began a new letter to Sibyl Carnaby. It was written in a +cheery humour, though touched by the shadow of distressful +circumstance. She told the story of Mr. Dymes's visit, and made merry +over it. 'I am sure this is the very newest thing in "proposals". +Though I live in such a dull, lonely way, it has made me feel that I am +still in touch with civilisation. And really, if the worst come to the +worst—but it's dangerous to joke about such things.' She touched +lightly on the facts of her position. 'I'm afraid I have not been doing +very much. Perhaps this is a fallow time with me; I may be gaining +strength for great achievements. Unfortunately, I have a lazy +companion. Miss Steinfeld (you know her from my last letter, if you got +it) only pretends to work. I like her for her thorough goodness and her +intelligence; but she is just a little <I>melancholisch</I>, and so not +exactly the companion I need. Her idea just now is that we both need +"change" and she wants me to go with her to Bregenz, on the Bodensee. +Perhaps I shall when the weather gets hot.' +</P> + +<P> +It had surprised her to be told by Felix Dymes that he obtained her +address at Munich from Miss Leach, for the only person in England to +whom she had yet made known her departure from Leipzig was her +step-mother. Speak of her how they might, her acquaintances in London +still took trouble to inform themselves of her movements. Perhaps the +very completeness of the catastrophe in which she was involved told in +her favour; possibly she excited much more interest than could ever +have attached to her whilst her name was respected. There was new life +in the thought. She wrote briefly to Dora Leach, giving an account of +herself, which, though essentially misleading, was not composed in a +spirit of conscious falsehood. For all her vanity, Alma had never aimed +at effect by practice of deliberate insincerities. Miss Leach was +informed that her friend could not find much time for correspondence. +'I am living in the atmosphere of art, and striving patiently. Some day +you shall hear of me.' And when the letter was posted, Alma mused long +on the effect it would produce. +</P> + +<P> +With the distinguished violinist; the friend of Herr Wilenski, spoken +of to Mrs. Frothingham, she had as yet held no communication, and +through the days of early summer she continued to neglect her music. +Indolence grew upon her; sometimes she spent the whole day in a +dressing-gown, seated or reclining, with a book in her hand, or totally +unoccupied. Sometimes the military bands in the public gardens tempted +her to walk a little, or she strolled with Miss Steinfeld through the +picture galleries; occasionally they made short excursions into the +country. The art student had acquaintances in Munich, but did not see +much of them, and they were not the kind of people with whom Alma cared +to associate. +</P> + +<P> +In July it was decided that they should go for a few weeks to Bregenz; +their health called for the change, which, as Miss Steinfeld knew of a +homely <I>pension</I>, could be had at small expense. Before their departure +the art student was away for a few days, and, to relieve the dreariness +of an existence which was becoming burdensome, Alma went out alone one +afternoon, purposing a trip by steam-tram to the gardens at +Nymphenburg. She walked to the Stiglmeyerplatz, where the tram starts, +and there stood waiting. A carriage drove past, with a sound of English +voices, which drew her attention. She saw three children, a lady, and a +gentleman. The last-mentioned looked at her, and she recognised Cyrus +Redgrave. Whether he knew her face seemed uncertain. Hoping to escape +unobserved, she turned quickly, and walked a few yards. Before she +faced round again, a quick footstep approached her, and the next moment +Mr. Redgrave stood, hat in hand, courteously claiming her acquaintance. +</P> + +<P> +'I thought I could not possibly be mistaken!' +</P> + +<P> +The carriage, having stopped for him to alight, was driving away. +</P> + +<P> +'That is my sister and her children,' said Redgrave, when he had warmly +shaken hands and expressed his pleasure at the meeting. 'You never met +her. Her husband is in India, and you see me in full domesticity. This +morning I posted a note to you; of course, you haven't received it yet.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma did her best to behave with dignity. In any case it would have +been trying to encounter such a man as Redgrave—wealthy, elegant, a +figure in society, who must necessarily regard her as banished from +polite circles; and in her careless costume she felt more than abashed. +For the first time a sense of degradation, of social inferiority, +threatened to overwhelm her self-respect. +</P> + +<P> +'How did you know my address?' she asked, with an involuntary imitation +of hauteur, made pathetic by the flush on her face and the lingering +half-smile. +</P> + +<P> +'Mrs. Frothingham kindly gave it me.—You were walking this way, I +think?—My sister is living at Stuttgart, and I happened to come over +just in time to act as her courier on a journey to Salzburg. We got +here yesterday, and go on tomorrow, or the day after. I dropped you a +note, asking if I might call.' +</P> + +<P> +'Where have you seen Mamma lately?' asked Alma, barely attentive to the +explanations he was giving her. +</P> + +<P> +'In London, quite by chance. In fact, it was at Waterloo Station. Mrs +Frothingham was starting for the country, and I happened to be going to +Wimbledon. I told her I might possibly see you on my way through +Munich.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma began to recover herself. That Cyrus Redgrave should still take an +interest in her was decidedly more gratifying than the eccentric +compliment of Felix Dymes. She strove to forget the humiliation of +having been found standing in a public place, waiting for a tram-car. +In Redgrave's manner no change was perceptible, unless, indeed, he +spoke with more cordiality, which must be prompted by kind feeling. +Their acquaintance covered only a year or two, and had scarcely +amounted to what passes for friendship, but Redgrave seemed oblivious +of late unpleasant events. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm glad you didn't call unexpectedly,' she said, trying to strike a +light note. 'I'm a student now—no longer an amateur—and live as a +student must.' +</P> + +<P> +'So much the better. I'm a natural bohemian myself, and like nothing so +well as to disregard ceremony. And, by-the-bye, that's the very reason +why I ran away from my sister to speak to you; I knew you would dislike +formalities. I'm afraid I was rather glad than otherwise to escape. We +have been taking the children for a drive—charming little rascals, but +for the moment my domestic instincts are satisfied. Mrs. Frothingham +mentioned that you were living with a friend—an art student.' +</P> + +<P> +'We go away for a holiday in a day or two,' said Alma, more at her +ease. 'To Bregenz—do you know it?' +</P> + +<P> +'By name only. You go in a day or two? I wish you would let me know +your address there,' he added, with frank friendliness. 'I go on with +my sister to Salzburg, and then turn off on my own account; I might be +able to pass your way, and I should so much like to have a talk with +you—a real talk, about music and all sorts of things. Did I ever tell +you of my little place at Riva, head of Lake Garda? Cosy little nook, +but I'm not there very often; I half thought of going for a week or +two's quietness. Quite cool there by the lake. But I really must try to +see you at Bregenz—do let me.' +</P> + +<P> +He begged it as a favour, a privilege, and Alma without hesitation told +him where she would be living. +</P> + +<P> +'For a few weeks? Oh, then, I shall make a point of coming that way. +You're not working too hard, I hope? I know you don't do things by +halves. When I first heard you were going in seriously for music, I +said to myself, "<I>Tant mieux</I>, another great violinist!"' +</P> + +<P> +The listener reddened with delight; her step became elastic; she +carried her head gallantly, and feared not the glances Redgrave cast at +her. +</P> + +<P> +'I have learnt not to talk about myself,' she said, bestowing a smile +upon him. 'That's the first bad habit to be overcome by the amateur +converted.' +</P> + +<P> +'Capital! An axiom worth putting into print, for the benefit of all and +sundry. Now I must say goodbye; that fellow yonder will take me back to +the domesticities.' He hailed an empty carriage. 'We shall meet again +among the mountains. <I>Auf Wiedersehen</I>!' +</P> + +<P> +Alma continued to walk along the Nymphenburg road, unconscious of +external things. The tram for which she had been waiting passed by; she +no longer cared to go out into the country. It was enough to keep +moving in the bright sunshine, and to think her thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +No; people had by no means forgotten her. Whilst she was allowing +herself to fall into gloom and indolence, her acquaintances, it was +evident, made her a constant subject of talk, of speculation; just what +she had desired, but had lost courage to believe. They expected great +things of her; her personal popularity and her talents had prevailed +against the most prejudicial circumstance; people did not think of her +as the daughter of Bennet Frothingham,—unless to contrast the +hopefulness of her future with the black calamity that lay behind. +</P> + +<P> +She waxed philosophical. How everything in this world tends to good! At +her father's death she had mourned bitterly; it had struck her to the +heart; his imprudence (she could never use, even in thought, a harsher +word) pained more than it shamed her, and not a day passed but she +sorrowed over the dishonour that darkened his memory. Yet were not +these woes and disasters the beginning of a new life for <I>her</I>! In +prosperity, what would she ever have become? Nothing less than being +thrown out into the world could have given her the impulse needed to +realise a high ambition. '<I>Tant mieux</I>, another great violinist!' How +sincerely, how inspiringly, it was said! +</P> + +<P> +And Alma's feet had brought her home again before she paused to reflect +that, for all purposes of ambition, the past half-year had been utterly +wasted. Never mind; after her return from Bregenz! +</P> + +<P> +On her table lay Redgrave's note; a very civil line or two, requesting +permission to call. There was another letter, black-bordered, which +came from her step-mother. Mrs. Frothingham said that she had been +about to write for several days, but all sorts of disagreeable business +had hindered her; even now, she could only write hurriedly. In the last +fortnight she had had to go twice to London. 'And really I think I +shall be obliged to go and live there again, for a time; so many things +have to be seen to. It might be best, perhaps, if I took a small flat. +I was going to say, however, that the last time I went up, I met Mr. +Redgrave, and we had quite a long talk—about <I>you</I>. He was most +sincerely interested in your future; indeed it quite surprised me, for +I will confess that I had never had a very high opinion of him. I fancy +he suffered <I>no loss</I>. His behaviour to me was that of a gentleman, +very different from that of some people I could name. But it was <I>you</I> +he spoke of most. He said he was shortly going to Germany, and begged +me to let him have your address, and really I saw no harm in it. He may +call upon you. If so, let me hear all about it, for it will interest me +very much.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma had half a mind to reply at once, but on reflection decided to +wait. After all, Mr. Redgrave might not keep his promise of coming to +see her at Bregenz, and in that event a very brief report of what had +happened would suffice. But she felt sure that he meant to come. +</P> + +<P> +And decidedly she hoped it; why, she was content to leave a rosy +vagueness. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0108"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 8 +</H3> + +<P> +Alma and her German friend silently agreed in foreseeing that they +would not live together much longer. Miss Steinfeld, eager at first to +talk English, was relapsing into her native tongue, and as Alma lazily +avoided German, they conversed in different languages, each with a +sprinkling of foreign phrase. The English girl might have allied +herself with a far worse companion; for, in spite of defects which +resembled Alma's own, vagueness of purpose, infirmity of will, Miss +Steinfeld had a fund of moral principle which made her talk wholesome +and her aspirations an influence for good. She imagined herself in love +with an artist whom she had seen only two or three times, and no strain +could have been more exalted than that in which she confided her +romance to the sympathetic Alma. Sympathetic, that is, within her +limits; for Miss Frothingham had never been in love, and rarely +indulged a mood of sentiment. Her characteristic emotions she of course +did not reveal, save unconsciously, and Miss Steinfeld knew nothing of +the tragic circumstances which explained her friend's solitude. +</P> + +<P> +In the first days at Bregenz they felt a renewal of pleasure in each +other's society; Alma's spirits were much improved; she enjoyed the +scenery, and lived in the open air. There was climbing of mountains, +the Pfander with its reward of noble outlook, and the easier +Gebhardsberg, with its hanging woods; there was boating on the lake, +and rambling along its shores, with rest and refreshment at some +Gartenwithschaft. Miss Steinfeld, whose reading and intelligence were +superior to Alma's, liked to explore the Roman ruins and linger in the +museum. Alma could not long keep up a pretence of interest in the +relics of Brigantium; but she said one day, with a smile—— +</P> + +<P> +'I know someone who would enjoy this kind of thing—an Englishman—very +learned——' +</P> + +<P> +'Old?' inquired her friend significantly. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes—no. Neither old nor young. A strange man; rather interesting. +I've a good mind,' she added mischievously, 'to send him a photograph.' +</P> + +<P> +'Of yourself?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh dear, no! He wouldn't care for that. A view of the Alt-Stadt.' +</P> + +<P> +And in her mood of frolic she acted upon the thought. She purchased two +or three views, had them done up for post, and addressed them to Harvey +Rolfe, Esq, at the Metropolitan Club; for his private address she could +not remember, but the club remained in her mind from Sibyl's talk of +it. When the packet was gone, of course she regretted having sent it. +More likely than not, Mr. Rolfe considered himself to have ended all +acquaintance with the disgraced family, and, if he recognised her +handwriting, would just throw the photographs aside. Let him; it +mattered nothing, one way or the other. +</P> + +<P> +When a week had passed, the novelty of things wore off; the friends +began to wander apart; Miss Steinfeld made acquaintances in the +<I>pension</I>, and Alma drifted into solitude. At the end of a fortnight +she was tired of everything, wished to go away, thought longingly of +England. It was plain that Mr. Redgrave would not come; he had never +seriously meant it; his <I>Auf Wiedersehen</I> was a mere civility to get +rid of her in the street. Why had he troubled to inquire about her at +all? Of course it didn't matter—nothing mattered—but if ever she met +him again! Alma tried her features in expression of cold scornfulness. +</P> + +<P> +On the next day, as she was returning from an idle walk with her friend +along the Lindau road, Mr. Redgrave met them. He was dressed as she had +never seen him, in flannels, with a white necktie loosely knotted and a +straw hat. Not till he had come near enough to salute did she recognise +him; he looked ten years younger. +</P> + +<P> +They talked as if the meeting were of daily occurrence. Redgrave +addressed himself to Miss Steinfeld as often as to Alma, and showed a +graceful command of decorous commonplace. He had arrived early this +morning, had put up at the Oesterreichischer Hof, was already delighted +with Brogenz. Did Miss Steinfeld devote herself to landscape? Had she +done anything here? Had Miss Frothingham brought her violin? They +strolled pleasantly to the Hafen promenade, and parted at length with +assurances of meeting again, as if definite appointment were needless. +</P> + +<P> +'That is my idea of the English gentleman,' said Miss Steinfeld +afterwards. 'I think I should have taken him for a lord. No doubt he is +very rich?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, pretty well off,' Alma replied, with assumed indifference. 'Ten +thousand pounds a year, I dare say.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ten thousand! <I>Lieber Himmel</I>! And married?' +</P> + +<P> +'No.' +</P> + +<P> +'In Parliament, I suppose?' +</P> + +<P> +'No.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then, what does he do?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, amuses himself.' +</P> + +<P> +Each became occupied with her thoughts. Alma's were so agreeable, that +Miss Steinfeld, observing her, naturally fell into romantic speculation. +</P> + +<P> +Redgrave easily contrived that his next walk should be with Miss +Frothingham alone. He overtook her next morning, soon after she had +left the house, and they rambled in the Gebhardsberg direction. +</P> + +<P> +'Now let us have the promised talk,' he began at a favourable moment. +'I've been thinking about you all the time.' +</P> + +<P> +'Did you go to your place on Lake Garda?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; just to look at it, and get it put in order. I hope to be there +again before long. You didn't doubt I should come?' +</P> + +<P> +'You left it uncertain.' +</P> + +<P> +'To be sure. Life is uncertain. But I should have been desperately +disappointed if I hadn't found you here. There are so many things to be +said about going in for music as a profession. You have the talent, you +have the physical strength, I think.' His eye flattered her from head +to foot. 'But, to be a great artist, one must have more than technical +qualifications. It's the soul that must be developed.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma laughed. +</P> + +<P> +'I know it. And what is your receipt for developing the soul?' +</P> + +<P> +Redgrave paused in his walk. Smiling, he gave a twist to his moustache, +and appeared to meditate profoundly. +</P> + +<P> +'The soul—well, it has a priggish sound. Let us say the character; and +that is developed through experience of life.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm getting it.' +</P> + +<P> +'Are you? In the company of Miss Steinfeld? I'm afraid that won't carry +you very far. Experience means emotion; certainly, for a woman. Believe +me, you haven't begun to live yet. You may practise on your violin day +and night, and it won't profit you—until you have <I>lived</I>.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma was growing serious. These phrases harmonised well enough with her +own insubstantial thoughts and idly-gathered notions. When preparing to +escape from England, she had used much the same language. But, after +all, what did it mean? What, in particular, did Cyrus Redgrave mean, +with his expressive eyes, and languid, earnest tone? +</P> + +<P> +'You will say that a girl has few opportunities. True, thanks to her +enslavement by society.' +</P> + +<P> +'I care nothing for society,' Alma interposed. +</P> + +<P> +'Good! I like the sound of that defiance; it has the right ring. A man +hasn't often the pleasure of hearing that from a woman he can respect. +It's easy, of course, to defy the laws of a world one doesn't belong +to; but you, who are a queen in your circle, and may throne, at any +moment, in a wider sphere—it means much when you refuse to bow down +before the vulgar idols, to be fettered by superstitions.' +</P> + +<P> +His aim was dark to her, but she tasted the compliment which ignored +her social eclipse. Redgrave's conversation generally kept on the +prosaic levels—studiously polite, or suavely cynical. It was a new +experience to see him borne on a wave of rhetoric; yet not borne away, +for he spoke with an ease, a self-command, which to older ears would +have suggested skill rather than feeling. He had nothing of the ardour +of youth; his poise and deliberation were quite in keeping with the two +score years that subtly graved his visage; the passions in him were +sportive, half-fantastical, as though, together with his brain, they +had grown to a ripe worldliness. He inspired no distrust; his good +nature seemed all-pervading; he had the air of one who lavishes +disinterested counsel, and ever so little exalts himself with his +facile exuberance of speech. +</P> + +<P> +'I have seen much of artists; known them intimately, and studied their +lives. One and all, they date their success from some passionate +experience. From a cold and conventional existence can come nothing but +cold and conventional art. You left England, broke away from the common +routine, from the artificial and the respectable. That was an +indispensable first step, and I have told you how I applauded it. But +you cannot stop at this. I begin to fear for you. There is a convention +of unconventionality: poor quarters, hard life, stinted pleasures—all +that kind of thing. I fear its effect upon you.' +</P> + +<P> +'What choice have I?' exclaimed Alma, moved to familiar frankness. 'If +I <I>am</I> poor, I must live poorly.' +</P> + +<P> +He smiled graciously upon her, and raised his hand almost as though he +would touch her with reassuring kindness; but it was only to stroke his +trimmed beard. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, you have a choice, believe me,' came his airy answer. 'There's no +harm in poverty that doesn't last too long. You may have profited by +it; it is an experience. But now—Don't let us walk so far as to tire +you. Yes, we will turn. Variety of life, travel, all sorts of joys and +satisfactions—these are the things you need.' +</P> + +<P> +'And if they are not within my reach?' she asked, without looking at +him. +</P> + +<P> +'By-the-bye'—he disregarded her question—'your friend, Mrs. Carnaby, +has taken a long flight.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes.' +</P> + +<P> +The monosyllable was dropped. Alma walked with her eyes on the ground, +trailing her sunshade. +</P> + +<P> +'I didn't think she had much taste for travel. But you know her so much +better than I do.' +</P> + +<P> +'She is enjoying herself,' said Alma. +</P> + +<P> +'No need for <I>you</I> to go so far. Down yonder'—he nodded southward—'I +was thinking, the other day, of the different kinds of pleasure one +gets from scenery in different parts of the world. I have seen the +tropics; they left me very much where I was, intellectually. It's the +human associations of natural beauty that count. You have no desire to +go to the islands of the Pacific?' +</P> + +<P> +'I can't say that I have.' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course not. The springs of art are in the old world. Among the +vines and the olives one hears a voice. I must really try to give you +some idea of my little place at Riva.' +</P> + +<P> +He began a playful description—long, but never tedious; alluring, yet +without enthusiasm—a dreamy suggestion of refined delights and +luxuries. +</P> + +<P> +'I have another place in the Pyrenees, to suit another mood; and not +long ago I was sorely tempted by the offer of a house not far from +Antioch, in the valley of the Orontes—a house built by an Englishman. +Charming place, and so entirely off the beaten track. Isn't there a +fascination in the thought of living near Antioch? Well away from bores +and philistines. No Mrs. Grundy with her clinking tea-cups. I dare say +the house is still to be had.—Oh, do tell me something about your +friend, Fraulein Steinfeld. Is she in earnest? Will she do anything?' +</P> + +<P> +His eloquence was at an end. Thenceforward he talked of common things +in unemotional language; and when Alma parted from him, it was with a +sense of being tired and disappointed. +</P> + +<P> +On the following day she did not see him at all. He could not have left +Bregenz, for, of course, he would have let her know. She thought of him +incessantly, reviewing all his talk, turning over this and that +ambiguous phrase, asking herself whether he meant much or little. It +was natural that she should compare and contrast his behaviour with +that of Felix Dymes. If his motive were not the same, why did he seek +her society? And if it were? If at length he spoke out, summing his +hints in the plain offer of all those opportunities she lacked? +</P> + +<P> +A brilliant temptation. To leave the world as Alma Frothingham, and to +return to it as Mrs. Cyrus Redgrave! +</P> + +<P> +But, in that event, what of her musical ambitions? He spoke of her art +as the supreme concern, to which all else must be subordinate. And +surely that was his meaning when he threw scorn upon 'bores and +philistines'. Why should the fact of his wealth interfere with her +progress as an artist? Possibly, on the other hand, he did not intend +that she should follow a professional career. Cannot one be a great +artist without standing on public platforms? Was it his lordly thought +to foster her talents for his own delectation and that of the few +privileged? +</P> + +<P> +Her brain grew confused with interpreting and picturing. But once more +she had made an advance in self-esteem. She could await the next +meeting with a confidence and pride very unlike her sensations in the +Stiglmeyerplatz at Munich. +</P> + +<P> +It took place on the second day. This time Redgrave did not wait upon +accident; he sent a note, begging that he might have the pleasure of +another talk with her. He would call at a certain hour, and take his +chance of finding her at home. When he presented himself, Alma was +sitting in the common room of the <I>pension</I> with two German ladies; +they in a few minutes withdrew, and familiar conversation became +possible. As the windows stood open, and there were chairs upon the +balcony, Redgrave shortly proposed a move in that direction. They sat +together for half an hour. +</P> + +<P> +When Redgrave took his leave, it was without shaking of hands—with no +<I>Auf Wiedersehen</I>. He smiled, he murmured civilities; Alma neither +smiled nor spoke. She was pale, and profoundly agitated. +</P> + +<P> +So this was his meaning?—made plain enough at last, though with the +most graceful phrasing. Childish vanity and ignorance had forbidden her +to dream of such an issue. She had not for a moment grasped the +significance to a man of the world of the ruin and disgrace fallen upon +her family. In theory she might call herself an exile from the polite +world; none the less did she imagine herself still illumined by the +social halo, guarded by the divinity which doth hedge a member of the +upper-middle class. Was she not a lady? And who had ever dared to offer +a lady an insult such as this? Shop-girls, minor actresses, the +inferior sort of governess, must naturally be on their guard; their +insecurity was traditional; novel and drama represented their moral +vicissitudes. But a lady, who had lived in a great house with many +servants, who had founded an Amateur Quartet Society, the hem of whose +garment had never been touched with irreverent finger—could <I>she</I> +stand in peril of such indignity? +</P> + +<P> +Not till now had she called to mind the forewarnings of Sibyl Carnaby, +which, at the time of hearing them, she did not at all understand. +'People,' said Sibyl, 'would approach her with strange ideas.' This she +might have applied to the grotesque proposal (as it seemed to her) of +Felix Dymes, or to the risk of being tempted into premature publicity +by a business offer from some not very respectable impresario. What +Sibyl meant was now only too clear; but how little could Mrs. Carnaby +have imagined that her warning would be justified by one of her own +friends—by a man of wealth and consideration. +</P> + +<P> +She durst not leave the house for fear of encountering Redgrave, who, +if they crossed by chance, might fancy she invited another meeting. She +dreaded the observation of women, especially of Miss Steinfeld. The +only retreat was her bedroom, and here she secluded herself till +dinner-time. At this meal she must needs face the company or incur +remark. She tried to return her friend's smile with the ordinary +unconcern. After dinner there was no avoiding Miss Steinfeld, whose air +of extreme discretion showed that she had an inkling of events, and +awaited confidences. +</P> + +<P> +'Mr. Redgrave has gone—he called to say goodbye.' +</P> + +<P> +'<I>So</I>?' +</P> + +<P> +Irritated by self-consciousness, revolting against a misinterpretation +which would injure her vanity, though it was not likely to aim at her +honour, Alma had recourse to fiction. +</P> + +<P> +'I daresay you guess?—Yes, and I refused.' +</P> + +<P> +Miss Steinfeld was puzzled. It did not astonish her that a girl should +reject ten thousand pounds per annum, for that she was too high-minded; +but she had thought it beyond doubt that Alma's heart was engaged. +Here, it had seemed to her, was the explanation of a mystery attaching +to this original young Englishwoman; unhoped, the brilliant lover, the +secretly beloved, had sought her in her retirement. And after all, it +was a mistake. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't care for him a bit,' Alma went on. 'It had to be got over and +done with, that was all.' +</P> + +<P> +She felt ashamed of herself. In childhood she had told falsehoods +freely, but with the necessity for that kind of thing the habit had +fallen away. Solace, however, was at hand, for the German girl looked +at her with a new interest, a new sympathy, which Alma readily +construed as wonder and admiration, if not gentle envy. To have refused +an offer of marriage from a handsome man of great wealth might be +counted for glory. And Alma's momentary shame yielded to a +gratification which put her outwardly at ease. +</P> + +<P> +The restless night brought torment of the mind and harassed spirits. +Redgrave's proposal echoed in the vacant chambers of her life, sounding +no longer an affront, but an allurement. Why, indeed, had she repelled +it so unthinkingly? It did not necessarily mean scandal. He had not +invited her to open defiance of the world. 'You can absolutely trust +me; I am discretion itself. All resources are at my command.' Why had +she rejected with scorn and horror what was, perhaps, her great +opportunity, the one hope of her struggling and sinking ambition? She +had lost faith in herself; in her power to overcome circumstances, not +yet in her talent, in her artistic birthright. Redgrave would have made +her path smooth. 'I promise you a great reputation in two or three +years' time.' And without disgrace, without shadow of suspicion, it +would all be managed, he declared, so very easily. For what alternative +had she rebuffed him? +</P> + +<P> +Redgrave's sagacity had guided him well up to a certain point, but it +had lost sight of one thing essential to the success of his scheme. +Perhaps because he was forty years of age, perhaps because he had so +often come and seen and conquered, perhaps because he made too low an +estimate of Bennet Frothingham's daughter,—he simply overlooked +sentimental considerations. It was a great and a fatal oversight. He +went far in his calculated appeal to Alma's vanity; had he but credited +her with softer passions, and given himself the trouble to play upon +them, he would not, at all events, have suffered so sudden a defeat. +Men of Redgrave's stamp grow careless, and just at the time of life +when, for various causes, the art which conceals art has become +indispensable. He did not flatter himself that Alma was ready to fall +in love with him; and here his calm maturity served him ill. To his own +defect of ardour he was blinded by habit. After all, the affair had +little consequence. It had only suggested itself after the meeting in +Munich, and perhaps—he said to himself—all things considered, the +event was just as well. +</P> + +<P> +But Alma felt the double insult, to her worldly honour, to her +womanhood. The man had not even made pretence of loving her; and this, +whilst it embittered her disappointment, strengthened her to cast from +her mind the baser temptation. Marriage she would have accepted, though +doubtless with becoming hesitancy; the offer could not have been made +without one word of tenderness (for Cyrus Redgrave was another than +Felix Dymes), and she had not felt it impossible to wed this polished +capitalist. Out of the tumult of her feelings, as another day went by, +issued at length that one simple and avowable sense of disappointment. +She had grasped the prize, and heated her imagination in regarding it; +had overcome natural reluctances, objections personal and moral; was +ready to sit down and write to Mrs. Frothingham the splendid, startling +announcement. And here she idled in her bedroom, desolate, hopeless, +wishing she had courage to steal down at night to the waters of the +Bodensee, and end it all. +</P> + +<P> +On the third day she returned to Munich, having said farewell to her +friend, who was quite prepared for the parting. From Munich she +proceeded to Leipzig, and there entered again the family circle of the +Gassners. She had no intention of staying for very long; the pretence +of musical study could not be kept up; but her next step was quite +uncertain. +</P> + +<P> +A fortnight later, Mrs. Frothingham wrote thus:—— +</P> + +<P> +'I am sending you on a letter which, if I am not mistaken, comes from +Mr. Rolfe. Do tell me if I am right. Odd that he should write to you, if +it is he. You have not told me yet whether you saw Mr. Redgrave again. +But I see that you don't care much, and perhaps it is as well.' +</P> + +<P> +The forwarded letter had been originally addressed to the care of Mrs +Frothingham, and Alma, at a glance, recognised Harvey Rolfe's writing. +He dated from London. Was he mistaken, he began, in thinking that +certain photographs from Bregenz had come to him by Miss Frothingham's +kindness? For his part, he had spent June in a ramble in South-west +France, chiefly by the Dordogne, and through a strange, interesting bit +of marsh-country, called La Double. 'I hardly know how I got there, and +I shall not worry you by writing any account of the expedition. But at +a miserable village called La Roche Chalais, where I had a most +indigestible supper and a bed unworthy of the name, I managed to fall +ill, and quite seriously thought, "Ah, here is the end!" It has to come +somewhere, and why not on a <I>grabat</I> at La Roche Chalais? A mistake; I +am here again, wasting life as strenuously as ever. Would you let me +hear from you? I should think it a great addition to your kindness in +sending the views. And so, with every good wish, he remained, &c. +</P> + +<P> +Having nothing better to do, Alma got out a map of France, and searched +for La Roche Chalais; but the place was too insignificant to be marked. +On the morrow, being still without occupation, she answered Rolfe's +letter, and in quite a playful vein. She had no time to correspond with +people who 'wasted their lives'. To her, life was a serious matter +enough. But he knew nothing of the laborious side of a musician's +existence, and probably doubted its reality. As an afterthought, she +thanked him gravely for his letter, and hoped that some day, when she +had really 'done something', they might meet and renew their friendship. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0109"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 9 +</H3> + +<P> +On an afternoon in September, Harvey Rolfe spent half an hour at a +certain London bookseller's, turning over books that dealt with the +theory and practice of elementary education. Two or three of them he +selected, and ordered to be sent to a lady at Gunnersbury. On his way +out he came upon an acquaintance making a purchase in another +department of the shop. It was some months since he had seen Cecil +Morphew, who looked in indifferent health, and in his dress came near +to shabbiness. They passed out together, Morphew carrying an enwrapped +volume, which he gave Rolfe to understand was a birthday present—for +<I>her</I>. The elder man resisted his inclination to joke, and asked how +things were going on. +</P> + +<P> +'Much the same as usual, except that her father is in very bad health. +It's brutal, but I wish he would die.' +</P> + +<P> +'Naturally.' +</P> + +<P> +'That's what one's driven to, you see. And anyone but you, who know me, +would set me down as a selfish, calculating beast. Can't help it. I had +rather have her penniless.—Will you come in here with me? I want to +buy some pyrogallic acid.' +</P> + +<P> +In the street again, Morphew mentioned that he had taken up photography. +</P> + +<P> +'It gives me something to do, and it takes me out into the open air. +This beastly town is the ruin of me, in every way.—Come to my rooms +for an hour, will you? I'll show you some attempts; I've only just +tried my hand at developing. And it's a long time since we had a talk.' +</P> + +<P> +They made for a Chelsea omnibus and mounted. +</P> + +<P> +'I thought you were never in town at this time,' Morphew resumed. 'I +want to get away, but can't afford it; devilish low-water with me. I +must have a bicycle. With that and the camera I may just manage to +live; often there seems little enough to live for.—Tripcony? Oh, +Tripcony's a damned swindler; I've given him up. Speculation isn't +quite so simple as I imagined. I made a couple of hundred, though—yes, +and lost nearly three.' +</P> + +<P> +The young man's laugh was less pleasant to hear than formerly. +Altogether, Rolfe observed in him a decline, a loss of refinement as +well as of vitality. +</P> + +<P> +'Why don't you go into the country?' he said. 'Take a cottage and grow +cabbages; dig for three hours a day. It would do you no end of good.' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course it would. I wish I had the courage.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm going to spend the winter in Wales,' said Harvey. 'An +out-of-the-world place in Carnarvonshire—mountains and sea. Come along +with me, and get the mephitis blown out of you. You've got town +disease, street-malaria, lodging-house fever.' +</P> + +<P> +'By Jove, I'll think of it,' replied the other, with a strange look of +eagerness. 'But I don't know whether I can. No, I can't be sure. But +I'll try.' +</P> + +<P> +'What holds you?' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I like to be near, you know, to <I>her</I>. And then—all sorts of +difficulties——' +</P> + +<P> +Morphew had his lodgings at present in a street near Chelsea Hospital, +a poor-looking place, much inferior to those in which Rolfe had +formerly seen him. His two rooms were at the top, and he had converted +a garret into a dark chamber for his photographic amusement. Dirt and +disorder made the sitting-room very uninviting; Rolfe looked about him, +and wondered what principle of corruption was at work in the young +man's life. +</P> + +<P> +Morphew showed a new portrait of his betrothed, Henrietta Winter; a +comely face, shadowed with pensiveness. 'Taken at Torquay; she sent it +a day or two ago.—I've been thinking of giving her up. If I do, I +shall do it brutally and savagely, to make it easy for her. I've spoilt +her life, and I'm pretty sure I've ruined my own.' +</P> + +<P> +He brought out a bottle of whisky and half filled two tumblers. His own +measure he very slightly diluted, and drank it off at once. +</P> + +<P> +'You're at a bad pass, my boy,' remarked Rolfe. 'What's wrong? +Something more than usual, I know. Make a clean breast of it.' +</P> + +<P> +Morphew continued to declare that he was only low-spirited from the +longstanding causes, and, though Rolfe did not believe him, nothing +more could at present be elicited. The talk turned to photography, but +still had no life in it. +</P> + +<P> +'I think you had better dine with me this evening,' said Harvey. +</P> + +<P> +'Impossible. I wish I could. An engagement.' +</P> + +<P> +The young man shuffled about, and after a struggle with embarrassment, +aided by another tumbler of whisky, threw out something he wished to +say. +</P> + +<P> +'It's deuced hard to ask you, but—could you lend me some money?' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course. How much? Why do you make such a sputter about it?' +</P> + +<P> +'I've been making a fool of myself—got into difficulties. Will you let +me have fifty pounds?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, if you'll promise to clear at once out of this dust-bin, and in a +month or so come into Wales.' +</P> + +<P> +'You're an awfully good fellow, Rolfe,—and I'm a damned fool. I +promise! I will! I'll get out of it, and then I'll think about breaking +with that girl. Better for both of us—but you shall advise me.— I'll +tell you everything some day. I can't now. I'm too ashamed of myself.' +</P> + +<P> +When he got home, Harvey wrote a cheque for fifty pounds, and posted it +at once. +</P> + +<P> +Not many days after, there came to him a letter from Mrs. Frothingham. +With this lady he had held no communication since the catastrophe of +last November; knowing not how to address her without giving more pain +than his sympathy could counterbalance, he remained silent. She wrote +from the neighbourhood of Swiss Cottage, where she had taken a flat; it +was her wish, if possible, to see him 'on a matter of business', and +she requested that he would make an appointment. Much wondering in what +business of Mrs. Frothingham's he could be concerned, Harvey named his +time, and went to pay the call. He ascended many stairs, and was +conducted by a neat servant-maid into a pleasant little drawing-room, +where Mrs. Frothingham rose to receive him. She searched his face, as +if to discern the feeling with which he regarded her, and her timid +smile of reassurance did not lack its pathos. +</P> + +<P> +'Mr. Rolfe, it seems years since I saw you.' +</P> + +<P> +She was aged a little, and her voice fell in broken notes, an unhappy +contrast to the gay, confident chirping of less than twelve months ago. +</P> + +<P> +'I have only been settled here for a week. I thought of leaving London +altogether, but, after all, I had to come backwards and forwards so +often,—it was better to have a home here, and this little flat will +just suit me, I think.' +</P> + +<P> +She seemed desirous of drawing attention to its modest proportions. +</P> + +<P> +'I really don't need a house, and lodgings are so wretched. These flats +are a great blessing—don't you think? I shall manage here with one +servant, only one.' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe struggled with the difficulty of not knowing what to say. There +was nothing for it but to discourse as innocently as might be on the +advantages of flats, their increasing popularity, and the special +charms of this particular situation. Mrs. Frothingham eagerly agreed +with everything, and did her best to allow no moment of silence. +</P> + +<P> +'You have heard from Miss Frothingham, I think?' she presently let +fall, with a return of anxiety. +</P> + +<P> +'Not very long ago. From Leipzig.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. Yes.—I don't know whether she will stay there. You know she is +thinking of taking up music professionally?—Yes. Yes.—I do so hope +she will find it possible, but of course that kind of career is so very +uncertain. I'm not sure that I shouldn't be glad if she turned to +something else.' +</P> + +<P> +The widow was growing nervous and self-contradictory. With a quick +movement of her hands, she suddenly resumed in another tone. +</P> + +<P> +'Mr. Rolfe, I do so wish you would let me speak to you in confidence. I +want to ask your help in a most delicate matter. Not, of course, about +my step-daughter, though I shall have to mention her. It is something +quite personal to myself. If I could hope that you wouldn't think it +tiresome—I have a special reason for appealing to you.' +</P> + +<P> +He would gladly, said Harvey, be of any use he could. +</P> + +<P> +'I want to speak to you about painful things,' pursued his hostess, +with an animation and emphasis which made her more like the lady of +Fitzjohn Avenue. 'You know everything—except my own position, and that +is what I wish to explain to you. I won't go into details. I will only +say that a few years ago my husband made over to me a large sum of +money—I had none of my own—and that it still belongs to me. I say +belongs to me; but there is my trouble. I fear I have no right whatever +to call it mine. And there are people who have suffered such dreadful +losses. Some of them you know. There was a family named Abbott. I +wanted to ask you about them. Poor Mr. Abbott—I remember reading——' +</P> + +<P> +She closed her eyes for an instant, and the look upon her face told +that this was no affectation of an anguished memory. +</P> + +<P> +'It was accident,' Rolfe hastened to say. 'The jury found it accidental +death.' +</P> + +<P> +'But there was the loss—I read it all. He had lost everything. Do tell +me what became of his family. Someone told me they were friends of +yours.' +</P> + +<P> +'Happily they had no children. There was a small life-insurance. Mrs +Abbott used to be a teacher, and she is going to take that up again.' +</P> + +<P> +'Poor thing! Is she quite young?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, about thirty, I should say.' +</P> + +<P> +'Will she go into a school?' +</P> + +<P> +'No. Private pupils at her own house. She has plenty of courage, and +will do fairly well, I think.' +</P> + +<P> +'Still, it is shocking that she should have lost all—her husband, too, +just at that dreadful time. This is what I wanted to say, Mr. Rolfe. Do +you think it would be possible to ask her to accept something——? I do +so feel,' she hurried on, 'that I ought to make some sort of +restitution—what I can—to those who lost everything. I am told that +things are not quite hopeless; something may be recovered out of the +wreck some day. But it will be such a long time, and meanwhile people +are suffering so. And here am I left in comfort—more than comfort. It +isn't right; I couldn't rest till I did something. I am glad to say +that I have been able to help a little here and there, but only the +kind of people whom it's easy to help. A case like Mrs. Abbott's is far +worse, yet there's such a difficulty in doing anything; one might only +give offence. I'm sure my name must be hateful to her—as it is to so +many.' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe listened with a secret surprise. He had never thought ill of Mrs +Frothingham; but, on the other hand, had never attributed to her any +save superficial qualities, a lightsome temper, pleasure in +hospitality, an easy good nature towards all the people of her +acquaintance. He would not have supposed her capable of substantial +sacrifices; least of all, on behalf of strangers and inspired by a +principle. She spoke with the simplest sincerity; it was impossible to +suspect her motives. The careless liking with which he had always +regarded her was now infused with respect; he became gravely attentive, +and answered in a softer voice. +</P> + +<P> +'She was embittered at first, but is overcoming it. To tell you the +truth, I think she will benefit by this trial. I don't like the words +that are so often used in cant; I don't believe that misery does any +good to most people—indeed, I know very well that it generally does +harm. But Mrs. Abbott seems to be an exception; she has a good deal of +character; and there were circumstances—well, I will only say that she +faces the change in her life very bravely.' +</P> + +<P> +'I do wish I knew her. But I daren't ask that. It's too much to expect +that she could bear to see me and listen to what I have to say.' +</P> + +<P> +'The less she's reminded of the past the better, I think.' +</P> + +<P> +'But would it not be possible to do something? I am told that the sum +was about fifteen hundred pounds. The whole of that I couldn't restore; +but half of it—I could afford so much. Could I offer to do so—not +directly, in my own name, but through you?' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey reflected, his head and body bent forward, his hands folded +together. In the flat beneath, someone was jingling operetta on a piano +not quite in tune; the pertinacious vivacity of the airs interfered +with Harvey's desire to view things seriously. He had begun to wonder +how large a capital Mrs. Frothingham had at her command. Was it not +probable that she could as easily bestow fifteen hundred pounds as the +half of that sum? But the question was unworthy. If in truth she had +set herself to undo as much as possible of the wrong perpetrated by her +husband, Mrs. Frothingham might well limit her benefactions, be her +fortune what it might. +</P> + +<P> +'I will do whatever you desire,' he said, with deliberation. 'I cannot +answer for Mrs. Abbott, but, if you wish it, she shall know what you +have in mind.' +</P> + +<P> +'I do wish it,' replied the lady earnestly. 'I beg you to put this +before her, and with all the persuasion you can use. I should be very, +very glad if she would allow me to free my conscience from a little of +this burden. Only that I dare not speak of it, I would try to convince +you that I am doing what my dear husband himself would have wished. You +can't believe it; no one will ever believe it; even Alma, I am +afraid—and that is so cruel, so dreadful; but he did not mean to wrong +people in this way. It wasn't in his nature. Who knew him better than +I, or so well? I know—if he could come back to us——' +</P> + +<P> +Her voice broke. The piano below jingled more vivaciously than ever, +and a sound of shrill laughter pierced through the notes. Afraid to sit +silent, lest he should seem unsympathetic and sceptical, Rolfe murmured +a few harmless phrases, tending to nervous incoherence. +</P> + +<P> +'I am thinking so much about Alma,' pursued the widow, recovering +self-command. 'I am so uncertain about my duty to her. Of her own, she +has nothing; but I know, of course, that her father wished her to share +in what he gave me. It is strange, Mr. Rolfe, that I should be talking +to you as if you were a relative—as if I had a right to trouble you +with these things. But if you knew how few people I dare speak to. +Wasn't it so much better for her to lead a very quiet life? And so I +gave her only a little money, only enough to live upon in the simplest +way. I hoped she would get tired of being among strangers, and come +back. And now I fear she thinks I have behaved meanly and selfishly. +And we were always so kindly disposed to each other, such thorough +friends; never a word that mightn't have passed between a mother and +her own child.' +</P> + +<P> +'I gathered from her letter,' interposed Harvey, 'that she was well +contented and working hard at her music.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you think so? I began to doubt—she wrote in low spirits. Of +course, one can't say whether she would succeed as a violinist. Oh, I +don't like to think of it! I must tell you that I haven't said a word +to her yet of what I am doing; I mean, about the money. I know I ought +to consider <I>her</I> as much as other people. Poor girl, who has suffered +more, and in so many ways? But I think of what I keep for myself as +hers. I was not brought up in luxury, Mr. Rolfe. It wouldn't seem to me +hard to live on a very little. But in this, too, I must consider Alma. +I daren't lose all my acquaintances. I must keep a home for Alma, and a +home she wouldn't feel ashamed of. Here, you see, she could have her +friends. I have thought of going to Leipzig; but I had so much rather +she came to London—if only for us just to talk and understand each +other.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey preserved the gravest demeanour. Of Alma he would not permit +himself to speak, save in answer to a direct question; and that was not +long in coming. +</P> + +<P> +'I am sure you think I should be quite open with her?' +</P> + +<P> +'That would seem to me the best.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; she shall know all my thoughts. But with regard to Mrs. Abbott, I +know so well what she would say. I beg you to do me that kindness, Mr +Rolfe.' +</P> + +<P> +'I will write to Mrs. Abbott at once.' +</P> + +<P> +The interview was at an end; neither had anything more to say. They +parted with looks of much mutual kindliness, Harvey having promised to +make another call when Mrs. Abbott's reply had reached him. +</P> + +<P> +After exchanging letters with Mrs. Abbott, Harvey went over to see her; +for the sake of both persons concerned, he resolved to leave no +possibility of misunderstanding. A few days passed in discussions and +reflections, then, at the customary hour for paying calls, he again +ascended the many stairs to Mrs. Frothingham's flat. It had rained all +day, and in this weather there seemed a certainty that the lady would +be at home. But, as he approached the door, Harvey heard a sound from +within which discomposed him. Who, save one person, was likely to be +playing on the violin in these rooms? He paused, cast about him a +glance of indecision, and finally pressed the electric bell. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Frothingham was not at home. She might return very shortly. +</P> + +<P> +'Is—Miss Frothingham at home?' +</P> + +<P> +The servant did not straightway admit him, but took his name. On his +entering the drawing-room, three figures appeared before him. He saw +Alma; he recognised Miss Leach; the third lady was named to him as Miss +Leach's sister. +</P> + +<P> +'You knew I was in London?' Alma remarked rather than inquired. +</P> + +<P> +'I had no idea of it—until I heard your violin.' +</P> + +<P> +'My violin, but not my playing. It was Miss Leach.' +</P> + +<P> +From the first word—her 'Ah, how d'you do' as he entered—Alma's tone +and manner appeared to him forced, odd, unlike anything he remembered +of her. In correcting him, she gave a hard, short laugh, glancing at +Dora Leach in a way verging upon the ill-bred. Her look had nothing +amiable, though she continuously smiled, and when she invited the +visitor to be seated, it was with off-hand familiarity very +unflattering to his ear. +</P> + +<P> +'You came to see Mamma, of course. I dare say she won't be long. She +had to go through the rain on business with someone or other—perhaps +you know. Have you been in London all the summer? Oh no, I remember you +told me you had been somewhere in France; on the Loire, wasn't it?' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe dropped a careless affirmative. His temper prompted him to ask +whether Miss Frothingham knew the difference between the Loire and the +Garonne; but on the whole he was more puzzled than offended. What had +come over this young woman? Outwardly she was not much altered—a +little thinner in the face, perhaps; her eyes seeming a trifle darker +and deeper set; but in the point of demeanour she had appreciably +suffered. Her bearing and mode of speech were of that kind which, in a +man, would be called devil-may-care. Was it a result of student-life? +If her stinted allowance had already produced effects such as this, Mrs +Frothingham was justified in uneasiness. +</P> + +<P> +He turned to Miss Leach, and with her talked exclusively for some +minutes. As soon as civility permitted, he would rise and make his +escape. Alma, the while, chatted with the younger sister, whom she +addressed as 'Gerda'. Then the door opened, and Mrs. Frothingham came +in, wearing her out-of-doors and gave him cordial welcome, though in +few and nervous costume; she fixed her eyes on Rolfe with a peculiar +intensity, words. +</P> + +<P> +'I am no longer alone, you see.' She threw a swift side-glance at Alma. +'It is a great pleasure.' +</P> + +<P> +'Does it rain still, Mamma?' asked Alma in a high voice. +</P> + +<P> +'Not just now, my dear; but it's very disagreeable.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then I'll walk with you to the station.' She addressed the sisters. +'Dora and Gerda can't stay; they have an appointment at five o'clock. +They'll come again in a day or two.' +</P> + +<P> +After the leave-takings, and when Alma, with a remark that she would +not be long, had closed the door behind her, Mrs. Frothingham seated +herself and began to draw off her gloves. The bonnet and cloak she was +wearing, though handsome and in the mode, made her look older than at +Rolfe's last visit. She was now a middle-aged woman, with emphasis on +the qualifying term; in home dress she still asserted her sex, grace of +figure and freshness of complexion prevailing over years and sorrows. +At this moment, moreover, weariness, and perhaps worry, appeared in her +countenance. +</P> + +<P> +'Thank you so much for coming,' she said quietly. 'You must have been +surprised when you saw——' +</P> + +<P> +'I was, indeed.' +</P> + +<P> +'And my surprise was still greater, when, without any warning, Alma +walked into the room two days ago. But I was so glad, so very glad.' +</P> + +<P> +She breathed a little sigh, looking round. +</P> + +<P> +'Hasn't Alma given her friends any tea? I must ring—Thank you.—Oh, +the wretched, wretched day! I seem to notice the weather so much more +than I used to. Does it affect you at all?' +</P> + +<P> +Not till the tea-tray was brought in, and she had sipped from her cup, +did Mrs. Frothingham lay aside these commonplaces. With abrupt gravity, +and in a subdued voice, she at length inquired the result of Rolfe's +delicate mission. +</P> + +<P> +'I think,' he replied, 'that I made known your wish as clearly and +urgently as possible. I have seen Mrs. Abbott, and written to her +twice. It will be best, perhaps, if I ask you to read her final letter. +I have her permission to show it to you.' +</P> + +<P> +He drew the letter from its envelope, and with a nervous hand Mrs +Frothingham took it for perusal. Whilst she was thus occupied, Rolfe +averted his eyes; when he knew that she had read to the end, he looked +at her. She had again sighed, and Harvey could not help imagining it an +involuntary signal of relief. +</P> + +<P> +'I am very glad to have read this, Mr. Rolfe. If you had merely told me +that Mrs. Abbott refused, I should have felt nothing but pain. As it +is, I understand that she <I>could</I> only refuse, and I am most grateful +for all she says about me. I regret more than ever that I don't know +her.' +</P> + +<P> +As she handed the letter back, it shook like a blown leaf. She was +pale, and spoke with effort. But in a few moments, when conversation +was resumed, her tone took a lightness and freedom which confirmed +Rolfe's impression that she had escaped from a great embarrassment; and +this surmise he inevitably connected with Alma's display of strange +ill-humour. +</P> + +<P> +Not another word passed on the subject. With frequent glances towards +the door, Mrs. Frothingham again talked commonplace. Harvey, eager to +get away, soon rose. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, you are not going? Alma will be back in a moment.' +</P> + +<P> +And as her step-mother spoke, the young lady reappeared. +</P> + +<P> +'Why didn't you give your friends tea, dear?' +</P> + +<P> +'I forgot all about it. That comes of living alone. Dora has composed a +gavotte, Mamma. She was playing it when Mr. Rolfe came. It's capital! +Is Mr. Rolfe going?' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey murmured his peremptory resolve. Mrs. Frothingham, rising, said +that she was almost always at home in the afternoon; that it would +always give her so much pleasure—— +</P> + +<P> +'You remain in England?' asked Harvey, barely touching the hand which +Alma cavalierly offered. +</P> + +<P> +'I really don't know. Perhaps I ought to, just to look after Mamma.' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Frothingham uttered a little exclamation, and tried to laugh. On +the instant, Harvey withdrew. +</P> + +<P> +By the evening's post on the following day he was surprised to receive +a letter addressed in Alma's unmistakable hand. The contents did not +allay his wonder. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +DEAR MR ROLFE, +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +I am sure you will not mind if I use the privilege of a fairly long +acquaintance and speak plainly about something that I regard as +important. I wish to say that I am quite old enough, and feel quite +competent, to direct the course of my own life. It is very kind of you, +indeed, to take an interest in what I do and what I hope to do, and I +am sure Mamma will be fittingly grateful for any advice you may have +offered with regard to me. But I feel obliged to say quite distinctly +that I must manage my own affairs. Pray excuse this freedom, and +believe me, yours truly, +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +He gasped, and with wide eyes read the missive again and again. As soon +as his nerves were quieted, he sat down and replied thus:—— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +DEAR MISS FROTHINGHAM, +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +Your frankness can only be deemed a compliment. It is perhaps a +triviality on my part, but I feel prompted to say that I have at no +time discussed your position or prospects with Mrs. Frothingham, and +that I have neither offered advice on the subject nor have been +requested to do so. If this statement should appear to you at all +germane to the matter, I beg you will take it into consideration.—And +I am, yours truly, +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +HARVEY RADCLIFFE ROLFE +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0110"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 10 +</H3> + +<P> +This reply despatched, Harvey congratulated himself on being quits with +Miss Frothingham. Her letter, however amusing, was deliberate +impertinence; to have answered it in a serious tone would have been to +encourage ill-mannered conceit which merited nothing but a snub. +</P> + +<P> +But what had excited her anger? Had Mrs. Frothingham been guilty of +some indiscretion, or was it merely the result of hotheaded surmises +and suspicions on the girl's part? Plainly, Alma had returned to +England in no amiable mood; in all probability she resented her +step-mother's behaviour, now that it had been explained to her; there +had arisen 'unpleasantness' on the old, the eternal subject—money. +Ignoble enough; but was it a new thing for him to discern ignoble +possibilities in Alma's nature? +</P> + +<P> +Nevertheless, his thoughts were constantly occupied with the girl. Her +image haunted him; all his manhood was subdued and mocked by her +scornful witchery. From the infinitudes of reverie, her eyes drew near +and gazed upon him—eyes gleaming with mischief, keen with curiosity; a +look now supercilious, now softly submissive; all the varieties of +expression caught in susceptible moments, and stored by a too faithful +memory. Her hair, her lips, her neck, grew present to him, and lured +his fancy with a wanton seduction. In self-defence—pathetic stratagem +of intellectual man at issue with the flesh—he fell back upon the +idealism which ever strives to endow a fair woman with a beautiful +soul; he endeavoured to forget her body in contemplation of the +spiritual excellencies that might lurk behind it. To depreciate her was +simpler, and had generally been his wont; but subjugation had reached +another stage in him. He summoned all possible pleadings on the girl's +behalf: her talents, her youth, her grievous trials. Devotion to +classical music cannot but argue a certain loftiness of mind; it might, +in truth, be somehow akin to 'religion'. Remembering his own follies +and vices at the age of four-and-twenty, was it not reason, no less +than charity, to see in Alma the hope of future good? Nay, if it came +to that, did she not embody infinitely more virtue, in every sense of +the word, than he at the same age? +</P> + +<P> +One must be just to women, and, however paltry the causes, do honour to +the cleanliness of their life. Nothing had suggested to him that Alma +was unworthy of everyday respect. Even when ill-mannered, she did not +lose her sexual dignity. And after all she had undergone, there would +have been excuse enough for decline of character, to say nothing of a +lapse from the articles of good breeding. This letter of hers, what did +it signify but the revolt of a spirit of independence, irritated by all +manner of sufferings, great and small? Ought he not to have replied in +other terms? Was it worthy of him—man of the world, with passions, +combats, experience multiform, assimilated in his long, slow growth—to +set his sarcasm against a girl's unhappiness? +</P> + +<P> +He was vexed with himself. He had not behaved as a gentleman. And how +many a time, in how many situations, had he incurred this form of +self-reproach! +</P> + +<P> +When a week went by without anything more from Alma, Harvey ceased to +trouble. As the fates directed, so be it. He began to pack the books +which he would take with him into Wales. +</P> + +<P> +One day he found himself at Kensington High Street, waiting for a City +train. In idleness, he watched the people who alighted from carriages +on the opposite side of the platform, and among them he saw Alma. On +her way towards the stairs she was obliged to pass him; he kept his +position, and only looked into her face when she came quite near. She +bent her head with a half-smile, stopped, and spoke in a low voice, +without sign of embarrassment. +</P> + +<P> +'I was quite wrong. I found it out soon after I had written, and I have +wanted to beg your pardon.' +</P> + +<P> +'It is my part to do that,' Harvey replied. 'I ought not to have +answered as I did.' +</P> + +<P> +'Perhaps not—all things considered. I'm rather in a hurry. +Good-morning!' +</P> + +<P> +As a second thought, she offered her hand. Harvey watched her trip up +the stairs. +</P> + +<P> +Next morning he had a letter from her. 'Dear Mr. Rolfe,' she wrote, +'did you let Mamma know of my hasty and foolish behaviour? If not—and +I very much hope you didn't—please not to reply to this, but let us +see you on Wednesday afternoon, just in the ordinary way. If Mamma +<I>has</I> been told, still don't trouble to write, and in that case I dare +say you will not care to come. If you are engaged this Wednesday, +perhaps you could come next.' And she signed herself his sincerely. +</P> + +<P> +He did not reply, and Wednesday saw him climbing once more to the +little flat; ashamed of being here, yet unable to see how he could have +avoided it, except by leaving London. For that escape he had no longer +much mind. Quite consciously, and with uneasiness which was now taking +a new form, he had yielded to Alma's fascination. However contemptible +and unaccountable, this was the state of things with him, and, as he +waited for the door to be opened, it made him feel more awkward, more +foolish, than for many a long year. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Frothingham and her step-daughter were sitting alone, the elder +lady occupied with fancy-work, at her feet a basket of many-coloured +silks, and the younger holding a book; nothing could have been quieter +or more home-like. No sooner had he entered than he overcame all +restraint, all misgiving; there was nothing here today but peace and +good feeling, gentle voices and quiet amiability. Whatever shadow had +arisen between the two ladies must have passed utterly away; they spoke +to each other with natural kindness, and each had a tranquil +countenance. +</P> + +<P> +Alma began at once to talk of their common friends, the Carnabys, +asking whether Rolfe knew that they were in Australia. +</P> + +<P> +'I knew they had decided to go,' he answered. 'But I haven't heard for +at least two months.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, then I can give you all the news; I had a letter yesterday. When +Mrs. Carnaby wrote, they had spent a fortnight at Melbourne, and were +going on to Brisbane. Mr. Carnaby is going to do something in +Queensland—something about mines. I'll read you that part.' +</P> + +<P> +The letter lay in the book she was holding. Sibyl wrote indefinitely, +but Harvey was able to gather that the mining engineer, Dando, had +persuaded Carnaby to take an active interest in his projects. +Discussion on speculative enterprises did not recommend itself to the +present company, and Rolfe could only express a hope that his friend +had at last found a pursuit in which he could interest himself. +</P> + +<P> +'But fancy Sibyl at such places!' exclaimed Alma, with amusement. 'How +curious I shall be to see her when she comes back! Before she left +England, I'm sure she hadn't the least idea in what part of Australia +Brisbane was, or Melbourne either. I didn't know myself; had to look at +a map. You'll think that a shameful confession, Mr. Rolfe.' +</P> + +<P> +'My own ideas of Australian geography are vague enough.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, but haven't you been there?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not to any of the new countries; I don't care about them. A defect, I +admit. The future of England is beyond seas. I would have children +taught all about the Colonies before bothering them with histories of +Greece and Rome. I wish I had gone out there myself as a boy, and grown +up a sheep-farmer.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma laughed. +</P> + +<P> +'That's one of the things you say just to puzzle people. It contradicts +all sorts of things I've heard you say at other times.—Do <I>you</I> think, +Mamma, that Mr. Rolfe missed his vocation when he didn't become a +sheep-farmer?' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Frothingham gently shook her head. No trace of nervousness +appeared in her today; manipulating the coloured silks, she only now +and then put in a quiet word, but followed the talk with interest. +</P> + +<P> +'But I quite thought you had been to Australia,' Alma resumed. 'You +see, it's very theoretical, your admiration of the new countries. And I +believe you would rather die at once in England than go to live in any +such part of the world.' +</P> + +<P> +'Weakness of mind, that's all.' +</P> + +<P> +'Still, you admit it. That's something gained. You always smile at +other people's confessions, and keep your own mind mysterious.' +</P> + +<P> +'Mysterious? I always thought one of my faults was over-frankness.' +</P> + +<P> +'That only shows how little we know ourselves.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey was reflecting on the incompleteness of his knowledge of Alma. +Intentionally or not, she appeared to him at this moment in a perfectly +new light; he could not have pictured her so simple of manner, so +direct, so placid. Trouble seemed to have given her a holiday, and at +the same time to have released her from self-consciousness. +</P> + +<P> +'But you have never told us,' she went on, 'about your wanderings in +France this summer. English people don't go much to that part, do they?' +</P> + +<P> +'No. I happened to read a book about it. It's the old fighting-ground +of French and English—interesting to any one pedantic enough to care +for such things.' +</P> + +<P> +'But not to people born to be sheep-farmers. And you had a serious +illness.—Did Mr. Rolfe tell you, Mamma dear, that he nearly died at +some miserable roadside inn?' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Frothingham looked startled, and declared she knew nothing of it. +Harvey, obliged to narrate, did so in the fewest possible words, and +dismissed the matter. +</P> + +<P> +'I suppose you have had many such experiences,' said Alma. 'And when do +you start on your next travels?' +</P> + +<P> +'I have nothing in view. I half thought of going for the winter to a +place in North Wales—Carnarvonshire, on the outer sea.' +</P> + +<P> +The ladies begged for more information, and he related how, on a ramble +with a friend last spring (it was Basil Morton), he had come upon this +still little town between the mountains and the shore, amid a country +shining with yellow gorse, hills clothed with larch, heathery moorland, +ferny lanes, and wild heights where the wind roars on crag or cairn. +</P> + +<P> +'No railway within seven miles. Just the place for a pedant to escape +to, and live there through the winter with his musty books.' +</P> + +<P> +'But it must be equally delightful for people who are not pedants!' +exclaimed Alma. +</P> + +<P> +'In spring or summer, no doubt, though even then the civilised person +would probably find it dull.' +</P> + +<P> +'That's your favourite affectation again. I'm sure it's nothing but +affectation when you speak scornfully of civilised people.' +</P> + +<P> +'Scornfully I hope I never do.' +</P> + +<P> +'Really, Mamma,' said Alma, with a laugh, 'Mr. Rolfe is in his very +mildest humour today. We mustn't expect any reproofs for our good. He +will tell us presently that we are patterns of all the virtues.' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Frothingham spoke in a graver strain. +</P> + +<P> +'But I'm sure it is possible to be too civilised—to want too many +comforts, and become a slave to them. Since I have been living here, Mr +Rolfe, you can't think how I have got to enjoy the simplicity of this +kind of life. Everything is so easy; things go so smoothly. Just one +servant, who can't make mistakes, because there's next to nothing to +do. No wonder people are taking to flats.' +</P> + +<P> +'And is that what you mean by over-civilisation?' Alma asked of Rolfe. +</P> + +<P> +'I didn't say anything about it. But I should think many people in +large and troublesome houses would agree with Mrs. Frothingham. It's +easy to imagine a time when such burdens won't be tolerated. Our +misfortune is, of course, that we are not civilised enough.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not enough to give up fashionable nonsense. I agree with that. We're +wretched slaves, most of us.' +</P> + +<P> +It was the first sentence Alma had spoken in a tone that Rolfe +recognised. For a moment her face lost its placid smile, and Harvey +hoped that she would say more to the same purpose; but she was silent. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm sure,' remarked Mrs. Frothingham, with feeling, 'that most +happiness is found in simple homes.' +</P> + +<P> +'Can we be simple by wishing it?' asked Alma. 'Don't you think we have +to be born to simplicity?' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm not sure that I know what you mean by the word,' said Harvey. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm not sure that I know myself. Mamma meant poverty, I think. But +there may be a simple life without poverty, I should say. I'm thinking +of disregard for other people's foolish opinions; living just as you +feel most at ease—not torturing yourself because it's the custom.' +</P> + +<P> +'That's just what requires courage,' Rolfe remarked. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; I suppose it does. One knows people who live in misery just +because they daren't be comfortable; keeping up houses and things they +can't afford, when, if they only considered themselves, their income +would be quite enough for everything they really want. If you come to +think of it, that's too foolish for belief.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey felt that the topic was growing dangerous. He said nothing, but +wished to have more of Alma's views in this direction. They seemed to +strike her freshly; perhaps she had never thought of the matter in this +way before. +</P> + +<P> +'That's what I meant,' she continued, 'when I said you must be born to +simplicity. I should think no one ever gave up fashionable extravagance +just because they saw it to be foolish. People haven't the strength of +mind. I dare say,' she added, with a bright look, 'anyone who <I>was</I> +strong enough to do that kind of thing would be admired and envied.' +</P> + +<P> +'By whom?' Rolfe asked. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, by their acquaintances who were still slaves.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know. Admiration and envy are not commonly excited by merely +reasonable behaviour.' +</P> + +<P> +'But this would be something more than merely reasonable. It would be +the beginning of a revolution.' +</P> + +<P> +'My dear,' remarked Mrs. Frothingham, smiling sadly, 'people would +never believe that it didn't mean loss of money.' +</P> + +<P> +'They might be made to believe it. It would depend entirely on the +persons, of course.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma seemed to weary of the speculation, and to throw it aside. Harvey +noticed a shadow on her face again, which this time did not pass +quickly. +</P> + +<P> +He was so comfortable in his chair, the ladies seemed so entirely at +leisure, such a noiseless calm brooded about them, unbroken by any new +arrival, that two hours went by insensibly, and with lingering +reluctance the visitor found it time to take his leave. On reviewing +the afternoon, Harvey concluded that it was probably as void of meaning +as of event. Alma, on friendly terms once more with her step-mother, +felt for the moment amiably disposed towards everyone, himself +included; this idle good humour and insignificant talk was meant, no +doubt, for an apology, all he had to expect. It implied, of course, +thorough indifference towards him as an individual. As a member of +their shrunken circle, he was worth retaining. Having convinced herself +of his innocence of undue pretensions, Alma would, as the children say, +be friends again, and everything should go smoothly. +</P> + +<P> +He lived through a week of the wretchedest indecision, and at the end +of it, when Wednesday afternoon came round, was again climbing the many +stairs to the Frothinghams' flat; even more nervous than last time, +much more ashamed of himself, and utterly doubtful as to his reception. +The maid admitted him without remark, and showed him into an empty +room. When he had waited for five minutes, staring at objects he did +not see, Alma entered. +</P> + +<P> +'Mamma went out to lunch,' she said, languidly shaking hands with him, +'and hasn't come back yet.' +</P> + +<P> +No greeting could have conveyed less encouragement. She seated herself +with a lifeless movement, looked at him, and smiled as if discharging a +duty. +</P> + +<P> +'I thought'—he blundered into speech—'that Wednesday was probably +your regular afternoon.' +</P> + +<P> +'There is nothing regular yet. We haven't arranged our life. We are +glad to see our friends whenever they come.—Pray sit down.' +</P> + +<P> +He did so, resolving to stay for a few minutes only. In the silence +that followed, their eyes met, and, as though it were too much trouble +to avert her look, Alma continued to regard him. She smiled again, and +with more meaning. +</P> + +<P> +'So you have quite forgiven me?' fell from her lips, just when Harvey +was about to speak. +</P> + +<P> +'As I told you at the station, I feel that there is more fault on my +side. You wrote under such a strange misconception, and I ought to have +patiently explained myself.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh no! You were quite right in treating me sharply. I don't quite +remember what I said, but I know it must have been outrageous. After +that, I did what I ought to have done before, just had a talk with +Mamma.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then you took it for granted, without any evidence, that I came here +as a meddler or busybody?' +</P> + +<P> +His voice was perfectly good-humoured, and Alma answered in the same +tone. +</P> + +<P> +'I <I>thought</I> there was evidence. Mamma had been talking about her +affairs, and mentioned that she had consulted you about something—Oh, +about Mrs. Abbott.' +</P> + +<P> +'Very logical, I must say,' remarked Rolfe, laughing. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think logic is my strong point.' +</P> + +<P> +She sat far back in the easy chair, her head supported, her hands +resting upon the chair arms. The languor which she hardly made an +effort to overcome began to invade her companion, like an influence +from the air; he gazed at her, perceiving a new beauty in the +half-upturned face, a new seductiveness in the slim, abandoned body. A +dress of grey silk, trimmed with black, refined the ivory whiteness of +her flesh; its faint rustling when she moved affected Harvey with a +delicious thrill. +</P> + +<P> +'There's no reason, now,' she continued, 'why we shouldn't talk about +it—I mean, the things you discussed with Mamma. You imagine, I dare +say, that I selfishly objected to what she was doing. Nothing of the +kind. I didn't quite see why she had kept it from me, that was all. It +was as if she felt afraid of my greediness. But I'm not greedy; I don't +think I'm more selfish than ordinary people. And I think Mamma is doing +exactly what she ought; I'm very glad she felt about things in that +way.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey nodded, and spoke in a subdued voice. +</P> + +<P> +'I was only consulted about one person, whom I happened to know.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes—Mrs. Abbott.' +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes were again fixed upon him, and he read their curiosity. Just +as he was about to speak, the servant appeared with tea. Alma slowly +raised herself, and, whilst she plied the office of hostess, Harvey got +rid of the foolish hat and stick that encumbered him. He had now no +intention of hurrying away. +</P> + +<P> +As if by natural necessity, they talked of nothing in particular whilst +tea was sipped. Harvey still held his cup, when at the outer door +sounded a rat-tat-tat, causing him silently to execrate the intruder, +whoever it might be. Unheeding, and as if she had not heard, Alma +chatted of trifles. Harvey's ear detected movements without, but no one +entered; in a minute or two, he again breathed freely. +</P> + +<P> +'Mrs. Abbott——' +</P> + +<P> +Alma just dropped the name, as if beginning a remark, but lapsed into +silence. +</P> + +<P> +'Shall I tell you all about her?' said Rolfe. 'Her husband's death left +her in great difficulties; she had hardly anything. A friend of hers, a +Mrs. Langland, who lives at Gunnersbury, was very kind and helpful. +They talked things over, and Mrs. Abbott decided to take a house at +Gunnersbury, and teach children;—she was a teacher before her +marriage.' +</P> + +<P> +'No children of her own?' +</P> + +<P> +'No. One died. But unfortunately she has the care of two, whose +mother—a cousin of hers—is dead, and whose father has run away.' +</P> + +<P> +'Run away?' +</P> + +<P> +'Literally. Left the children behind in a lodging-house garret to +starve, or go to the workhouse, or anything else. A spirited man; +independent, you see; no foolish prejudices.' +</P> + +<P> +'And Mrs. Abbott has to support them?' +</P> + +<P> +'No one else could take them. They live with her.' +</P> + +<P> +'You didn't mention that to Mamma.' +</P> + +<P> +'No. I thought it needless.' +</P> + +<P> +The silence that followed was embarrassing to Harvey. He broke it by +abruptly changing the subject. +</P> + +<P> +'Have you practised long today?' +</P> + +<P> +'No,' was the absent reply. +</P> + +<P> +'I thought you looked rather tired, as if you had been working too +hard.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, I don't work too hard,' said Alma impatiently. +</P> + +<P> +'Forgive me. I remember that it is a forbidden subject.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not at all. You may ask <I>me</I> anything you like about myself. I'm not +working particularly hard just now; thinking a good deal, though. +Suppose you let me have your thoughts on the same subject. No harm. But +I dare say I know them, without your telling me.' +</P> + +<P> +'I hardly think you do,' said Rolfe, regarding her steadily. 'At all +events'—his voice faltered a little—'I'm afraid you don't.' +</P> + +<P> +'Afraid? Oh'—she laughed—'don't be afraid. I have plenty of courage, +and quite enough obstinacy. It rather does me good when people show +they have no faith in me.' +</P> + +<P> +'You didn't understand,' murmured Harvey. +</P> + +<P> +'Then make me understand,' she exclaimed nervously, moving in the chair +as if about to stand up, but remaining seated and bent forward, her +eyes fixed upon him in a sort of good-humoured challenge. 'I believe I +know what you mean, all the time. You didn't discuss me with Mamma, as +I suspected, but you think about me just as she does.—No, let me go +on, then you shall confess I was right. You have no faith in my powers, +to begin with. It seems to you very unlikely that an everyday sort of +girl, whom you have met in society and know all about, should develop +into a great artist. No faith—that's the first thing. Then you are so +kind as to have fears for me—yes, it was your own word. You think that +you know the world, whilst I am ignorant of it, and that it's a sort of +duty to offer warnings.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey's all but angry expression, as he listened and fidgeted, +suddenly stopped her. +</P> + +<P> +'Well! Can you deny that these things are in your mind?' +</P> + +<P> +'They are not in my mind at this moment, that's quite certain,' said +Harvey bluntly. +</P> + +<P> +'Then, what is?' +</P> + +<P> +'Something it isn't easy to say, when you insist on quarrelling with +me. Why do you use this tone? Do I strike you as a pedagogue, a +preacher—something of that sort?' +</P> + +<P> +His energy in part subdued her. She smiled uneasily. +</P> + +<P> +'No. I don't see you in that light.' +</P> + +<P> +'So much the better. I wanted to appear to you simply a man, and one +who has—perhaps—the misfortune to see in <I>you</I> only a very beautiful +and a very desirable woman.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma sat motionless. Her smile had passed, vanishing in a swift gleam +of pleasure which left her countenance bright, though grave. In the +same moment there sounded again a rat-tat at the outer door. Through +his whirling senses, Harvey was aware of the threatened interruption, +and all but cursed aloud. That Alma had the same expectation appeared +in her moving so as to assume a more ordinary attitude; but she uttered +the word that had risen to her lips. +</P> + +<P> +'The misfortune, you call it?' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey followed her example in disposing his limbs more conventionally; +also in the tuning of his voice to something between jest and earnest. +</P> + +<P> +'I said <I>perhaps</I> the misfortune.' +</P> + +<P> +'It makes a difference, certainly.' She smiled, her eyes turned to the +door. '<I>Perhaps</I> is a great word; one of the most useful in the +language.—Don't you think so, Mamma?' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Frothingham had just entered. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0111"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 11 +</H3> + +<P> +The inconceivable had come to pass. By a word and a look Harvey had +made real what he was always telling himself could never be more than a +dream, and a dream of unutterable folly. Mrs. Frothingham's unconscious +intervention availed him nothing; he had spoken, and must speak again. +For a man of sensitive honour there could be no trilling in such a +matter as this with a girl in Alma Frothingham's position. And did he +not rejoice that wavering was no longer possible? +</P> + +<P> +This was love; but of what quality? He no longer cared, or dared, to +analyse it. Too late for all that. He had told Alma that he loved her, +and did not repent it; nay, hoped passionately to hear from her lips +the echoed syllable. It was merely the proof of madness. A shake of the +head might cure him; but from that way to sanity all his blood shrank. +</P> + +<P> +He must consider; he must be practical. If he meant to ask Alma to +marry him, and of course he did, an indispensable preliminary was to +make known the crude facts of his worldly position. +</P> + +<P> +Well, he could say, with entire honesty, that he had over nine hundred +pounds a year. This was omitting a disbursement of an annual fifty +pounds, of which he need not speak—the sum he had insisted on paying +Mrs. Abbott that she might be able to maintain Wager's children. With +all the difficulty in the world had he gained his point. Mrs. Abbott +did not wish the children to go into other hands; she made it a matter +of conscience to keep them by her, and to educate them, yet this seemed +barely possible with the combat for a livelihood before her. Mrs. +Abbott yielded, and their clasp of hands cemented a wholesome +friendship—frank, unsuspicious—rarest of relations between man and +woman. But all this there was certainly no need of disclosing. +</P> + +<P> +At midnight he was penning a letter. It must not be long; it must not +strike the lyrical note; yet assuredly it must not read like a +commercial overture. He had great difficulty in writing anything that +seemed tolerable. Yet done it must be, and done it was; and before +going to bed he had dropped his letter into the post. He durst not +leave it for reperusal in the morning light. +</P> + +<P> +Then came torture of expectancy. The whole man aching, sore, with +impatience; reason utterly fled, intellect bemused and baffled; a +healthy, competent citizen of nigh middle age set all at once in the +corner, crowned with a fool's cap, twiddling his thumbs in nervous +fury. Dolorous spectacle, and laughable withal. +</P> + +<P> +He waited four-and-twenty hours, then clutched at Alma's reply. 'Dear +Mr. Rolfe,—Will you come again next Wednesday?' That was all. Did it +amuse her to keep him in suspense? The invitation might imply a +fulfilment of his hopes, but Alma's capriciousness allowed no +certainty; a week's reflection was as likely to have one result as +another. For him it meant a week of solitude and vacancy. +</P> + +<P> +Or would have meant it, but for that sub-vigorous element in his +character, that saving strain of practical rationality, which had +brought him thus far in life without sheer overthrow. An hour after +receiving Alma's enigmatical note, he was oppressed by inertia; another +hour roused him to self-preservation, and supplied him with a project. +That night he took the steamer from Harwich to Antwerp, and for the +next four days wandered through the Netherlands, reviving his memories +of a journey, under very different circumstances, fifteen years ago. +The weather was bright and warm; on the whole he enjoyed himself; he +reached London again early on Wednesday morning, and in the afternoon, +with a touch of weather on his cheek, presented himself at Alma's door. +</P> + +<P> +She awaited him in the drawing-room, alone. This time, he felt sure, no +interruption was to be feared; he entered with confident step and a +cheery salutation. A glance showed him that his common-sense had served +him well; it was Alma who looked pale and thought-worn, who betrayed +timidity, and could not at once command herself. +</P> + +<P> +'What have you been doing?' she asked, remarking his appearance. +</P> + +<P> +'Rambling about a little,' he replied good-humouredly. +</P> + +<P> +'Where? You look as if you had been a voyage.' +</P> + +<P> +'So I have, a short one.' +</P> + +<P> +And he told her how his week had passed. +</P> + +<P> +'So that's how you would like to spend your life—always travelling?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh no! I did it to kill time. You must remember that a week is +something like a year to a man who is waiting impatiently.' +</P> + +<P> +She dropped her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. But I never thought you very +impatient. You always seemed to take things philosophically.' +</P> + +<P> +'I generally try to.' +</P> + +<P> +There was a pause. Alma, leaning forward in her chair, kept her eyes +down, and did not raise them when she again spoke. +</P> + +<P> +'You have surprised and perplexed and worried me. I thought in a week's +time I should know what to say, but—Doesn't it strike you, Mr. Rolfe, +that we're in a strange position towards each other? You know very +little of me—very little indeed, I'm sure. And of you, when I come to +think of it, all I really know is that you hardly care at all for what +has always been my one great interest.' +</P> + +<P> +'That is putting it in a matter-of-fact way—or you think so. I see +things rather differently. In one sense, I care very much indeed for +everything that really makes a part of your life. And simply because I +care very much about you yourself. I don't know you; who knows any +other human being? But I have formed an idea of you, and an idea that +has great power over my thoughts, wishes, purposes—everything. It has +made me say what I thought I should never say to any woman—and makes +me feel glad that I have said it, and full of hope.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma drew in her breath and smiled faintly. Still she did not look at +him. +</P> + +<P> +'And of course I have formed an idea of you.' +</P> + +<P> +'Will you sketch the outline and let me correct it?' +</P> + +<P> +'You think I am pretty sure to be wrong?' she asked, raising her eyes +and regarding him for a moment with anxiety. +</P> + +<P> +'I should have said "complete" it. I hope I have never shown myself to +you in an altogether false light.' +</P> + +<P> +'That is the one thing I have felt sure about,' said Alma, slowly and +thoughtfully. 'You have always seemed the same. You don't change with +circumstances—as people generally do.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey had a word on his lips, but checked it, and merely gazed at her +till her eyes again encountered his. Then Alma smiled more naturally. +</P> + +<P> +'There was something you didn't speak of in your letter. What kind of +life do you look forward to?' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm not sure that I understand. My practical aims—you mean?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes,' she faltered, with embarrassment. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, I'm afraid I have none. I mentioned the facts of my position, and +I said that I couldn't hope for its improvement——' +</P> + +<P> +'No, no, no! You misunderstand me. I am not thinking about money. I +hate the word, and wish I might never hear it again!' She spoke with +impetuosity. 'I meant—how and where do you wish to live? What thoughts +had you about the future?' +</P> + +<P> +'None very definite, I confess. And chiefly because, if what I desired +came to pass, I thought of everything as depending upon you. I have no +place in the world. I have no relatives nearer than cousins. Of late +years I have been growing rather bookish, and rather fond of +quietness—but of course that resulted from circumstances. When a man +offers marriage, of course he usually says: My life is this and this; +will you enter into it, and share it with me? I don't wish to say +anything of the kind. My life may take all sorts of forms; when I ask +you to share it, I ask you to share liberty, not restraint.' +</P> + +<P> +'A gipsy life?' she asked, half playfully. +</P> + +<P> +'Is your inclination to that?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +'No, I am tired of homelessness.—And,' she added as if on an impulse, +'I am tired of London.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then we agree. I, too, am tired of both.' +</P> + +<P> +Her manner altered; she straightened herself, and spoke with more +self-possession. +</P> + +<P> +'What about my art—my career?' +</P> + +<P> +'It is for me to ask that question,' replied Harvey, gazing steadfastly +at her. +</P> + +<P> +'You don't mean that it would all necessarily come to an end.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why? I mean what I say when I speak of sharing liberty. Heaven forbid +that I should put an end to any aim or hope of yours—to anything that +is part of yourself. I want you to be yourself. Many people nowadays +revolt against marriage because it generally means bondage, and they +have much to say for themselves. If I had been condemned to a wearisome +occupation and a very small income, I'm sure I should never have asked +anyone to marry me; I don't think it fair. It may seem to you that I +haven't much right to call myself an independent man as it is——' +</P> + +<P> +Alma broke in, impatiently. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't speak of money? You have enough—more than enough.' +</P> + +<P> +'So it seems to me. You are afraid this might prevent you from becoming +a professional musician?' +</P> + +<P> +'I know it would,' she answered with quiet decision. +</P> + +<P> +'I should never dream of putting obstacles in your way. Do understand +and believe me. I don't want to shape you to any model of my own; I +want you to be your true self, and live the life you are meant for.' +</P> + +<P> +'All the same, you would rather I did not become a professional +musician. Now, be honest with me! Be honest before everything. You +needn't answer, I know it well enough; and if I marry you, I give up my +music.' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe scrutinised her face, observed the tremulous mouth, the nervous +eyelid. +</P> + +<P> +'Then,' he said, 'it will be better for you not to marry me.' +</P> + +<P> +And silence fell upon the room, a silence in which Harvey could hear a +deep-drawn breath and the rustle of silk. He was surprised by a voice +in quite a new tone, softly melodious. +</P> + +<P> +'You give me up very easily.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not more easily than you give up your music.' +</P> + +<P> +'There's a difference. Do you remember what we were saying, last +Wednesday, about simplicity of living?' +</P> + +<P> +'Last Wednesday? It seems a month ago. Yes, I remember.' +</P> + +<P> +'I have thought a good deal of that. I feel how vulgar the life is that +most people lead. They can't help it; they think it impossible to do +anything else. But I should like to break away from it altogether—to +live as I chose, and not care a bit what other people said.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey had the same difficulty as before in attaching much significance +to these phrases. They were pleasant to hear, for they chimed with his +own thoughts, but he could not respond with great seriousness. +</P> + +<P> +'The wife of a man with my income won't have much choice, I fancy.' +</P> + +<P> +'How can you say that?' exclaimed Alma. 'You know that most people +would take a house in a good part of London, and live up to the last +penny—making everyone think that their income must be two or three +thousand pounds. I know all about that kind of thing, and it sickens +me. There's the choice between vulgar display with worry, and a simple, +refined life with perfect comfort. You fancied I should want a house in +London?' +</P> + +<P> +'I hardy thought anything about it.' +</P> + +<P> +'But it would ease your mind if I said that I would far rather live in +a cottage, as quietly and simply as possible?' +</P> + +<P> +'What does ease my mind—or rather, what makes me very happy, is that +you don't refuse to think of giving me your companionship.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma flushed a little. +</P> + +<P> +'I haven't promised. After all my thinking about it, it came to +this—that I couldn't make up my mind till I had talked over everything +with you. If I marry, I must know what my life is going to be. And it +puzzles me that you could dream of making anyone your wife before you +had asked her all sorts of questions.' +</P> + +<P> +In his great contentment, Harvey laughed. +</P> + +<P> +'Admirable, theoretically! But how is a man to begin asking questions? +How many would he ask before he got sent about his business?' +</P> + +<P> +'That's the very way of putting his chance to the test!' said Alma +brightly. 'If he <I>is</I> sent about his business, how much better for him +than to marry on a misunderstanding.' +</P> + +<P> +'I agree with you perfectly. I never heard anyone talk better sense on +the subject.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma looked pleased, as she always did when receiving a compliment. +</P> + +<P> +'Will you believe, then, Mr. Rolfe, that I am quite in earnest in +hating show and pretences and extravagance, and wishing to live in just +the opposite way?' +</P> + +<P> +'I will believe it if you cease to address me by that formal name—a +show and a pretence, and just a little extravagant.' +</P> + +<P> +Her cheeks grew warm again +</P> + +<P> +'That reminds me,' she said; 'I didn't know you had a second name—till +I got that letter.' +</P> + +<P> +'I had almost forgotten it myself, till I answered a certain other +letter. I didn't know till then that <I>you</I> had a second name. Your +"Florence" called out my "Radcliffe"—which sounds fiery, doesn't it? I +always felt that the name over-weighted me. I got it from my mother.' +</P> + +<P> +'And your first—Harvey?' +</P> + +<P> +'My first I got from a fine old doctor, about whom I'll tell you some +day—Alma.' +</P> + +<P> +'I named your name. I didn't address you by it.' +</P> + +<P> +'But you will?' +</P> + +<P> +'Let us talk seriously.—Could you live far away from London, in some +place that people know nothing about?' +</P> + +<P> +'With you, indeed I could, and be glad enough if I never saw London +again.' +</P> + +<P> +An exaltation possessed Alma; her eyes grew very bright, gazing as if +at a mental picture, and her hands trembled as she continued to speak.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't mean that we are to go and be hermits in a wilderness. Our +friends must visit us—our real friends, no one else; just the people +we really care about, and those won't be many. If I give up a public +career—as of course I shall—there's no need to give up music. I can +go on with it in a better spirit, for pure love of it, without any wish +for making money and reputation. You don't think this a mere dream?' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey thought more than he was disposed to say. He marvelled at her +sudden enthusiasm for an ideal he had not imagined her capable of +pursuing. If he only now saw into the girl's true character, revealed +by the awakening of her emotions, how nobly was his ardour justified! +All but despising himself for loving her, he had instinctively chosen +the one woman whose heart and mind could inspire him to a life above +his own. 'I should think it a dream,' he answered, 'if I didn't hear it +from your lips.' +</P> + +<P> +'But it is so easy! We keep all the best things, and throw off only the +worthless—the things that waste time and hurt the mind. No crowded +rooms, no wearying artificial talk, no worry with a swarm of servants, +no dressing and fussing. The whole day to one's self, for work and +pleasure. A small house—just large enough for order and quietness, and +to keep a room for the friend who comes. How many people would like +such a life, but haven't the courage to live it!' +</P> + +<P> +'Where shall it be, Alma?' +</P> + +<P> +'I have given no promise. I only say this is the life that IJ should +like. Perhaps you would soon weary of it?' +</P> + +<P> +'I? Not easily, I think.' +</P> + +<P> +'There might be travel, too,' she went on fervently. 'We should be +rich, when other people, living in the ordinary vulgar way, would have +nothing to spare. No tours where the crowd goes; real travel in +out-of-the-way parts.' +</P> + +<P> +'You are describing just what I should choose for myself; but I +shouldn't have dared to ask it of you. +</P> + +<P> +'And why? I told you that you knew so little of me. We are only just +beginning to understand each other.' +</P> + +<P> +'What place have you in mind?' +</P> + +<P> +'None. That would have to be thought about Didn't you say you were +going to some beautiful spot in Wales?' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey reflected. +</P> + +<P> +'I wonder whether you would like that——' +</P> + +<P> +'We are only supposing, you know. But show me where it is. If you wait +a moment, I'll fetch a map.' +</P> + +<P> +She rose quickly. He had just time to reach the door and open it for +her; and as she rapidly passed him, eyes averted, the faintest and +sweetest of perfumes was wafted upon his face. There he stood till her +return, his pulses throbbing. +</P> + +<P> +'This is my old school atlas,' she said gaily; 'I always use it still.' +</P> + +<P> +She opened it upon the table and bent forward. +</P> + +<P> +'North Wales, you said? Show me——' +</P> + +<P> +He pointed with a finger that quivered. His cheek was not far from +hers; the faint perfume floated all about him; he could Imagine it the +natural fragrance of her hair, of her breath. +</P> + +<P> +'I see,' she murmured. 'That's the kind of place far off, but not too +far. And the railway station?' +</P> + +<P> +As he did not answer, she half turned towards him. +</P> + +<P> +'The station?—Yes.—Alma!—— +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0112"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 12 +</H3> + +<P> +Mrs. Frothingham was overjoyed. In private talk with Harvey she sang +the praises of her step-daughter, whom, she declared, any man might be +proud to have won. For Alma herself had so much pride; the +characteristic, said Mrs. Frothingham, which had put dangers in her +path, and menaced her prospects of happiness. +</P> + +<P> +'There's no harm in saying, Mr. Rolfe, that I never dared to hope for +this. I thought perhaps that you—but I was afraid Alma wouldn't listen +to any one. Just of late, she seemed to feel her position so much more +than at first. It was my fault; I behaved so foolishly; but I'm sure +you'll both forgive me. For months I really wasn't myself. It made the +poor girl bitter against all of us. But how noble she is! How +high-minded! And how much, much happier she will be than if she had +struggled on alone—whatever she might have attained to.' +</P> + +<P> +It was clear to Harvey that the well-meaning lady did not quite +understand Alma's sudden enthusiasm for the 'simple life', that she had +but a confused apprehension of the ideal for which Alma panted. But the +suggestion of 'economy' received her entire approval. +</P> + +<P> +'I feel sure you couldn't do better than to go and live in the country +for a time. There are so many reasons why Alma will be happier there, +at first, than in London. I don't know whether that place in North +Wales would be quite—but I mustn't meddle with what doesn't concern +me. And you will be thoroughly independent; at any moment you can make +a change.' +</P> + +<P> +To a suggestion that she should run down into Carnarvonshire, and see +her proposed home before any practical step was taken, Alma replied +that she had complete faith in Harvey Rolfe's judgment. Harvey's only +doubt was as to the possibility of finding a house. He made the journey +himself, and after a few days' absence returned with no very hopeful +report; at present there was nothing to be had but a cottage, literally +a cotter's home, and this would not do. He brought photographs, and +Alma went into raptures over the lovely little bay, with its grassy +cliffs, its rivulet, its smooth sand, and the dark-peaked mountains +sweeping nobly to a sheer buttress above the waves. 'There must be a +house! There <I>shall</I> be a house!' Of course, said Harvey, one could +build, and cheaply enough; but that meant a long delay. Regarding the +date of the marriage nothing was as yet decided, but Harvey had made up +his mind to be 'at home' for Christmas. When he ventured to hint at +this, Alma evaded the question. +</P> + +<P> +A correspondent would inform him if any house became tenantless. 'I +shall bribe someone to quit!' he cried. 'One might advertise that all +expenses would be paid, with one year's rent of a house elsewhere.' +Harvey was in excellent spirits, though time hung rather heavily on his +hands. +</P> + +<P> +On an appointed day the ladies paid him a visit at his rooms. Mrs +Handover, requested to prepare tea for a semi-ceremonious occasion, was +at once beset with misgivings, and the first sight of the strangers +plunged her into profound despondency. She consulted her indifferent +relative, Buncombe; had he any inkling of the possibility that Mr. +Rolfe was about to change his condition? Buncombe knew nothing and +cared nothing; his own domestic affairs were giving him more than usual +anxiety just now. 'I didn't think he was fool enough'—thus only he +replied to Mrs. Handover's anxious questions. +</P> + +<P> +Alma surveyed the book-shelves, and took down volumes with an air of +interest; she looked over a portfolio of photographs, inspected +mementoes of travel from Cyprus, Palestine, Bagdad. Mrs. Frothingham +noted to herself how dusty everything was. +</P> + +<P> +'That woman neglects him scandalously,' she said afterwards to Alma. 'I +wish I had to look after her when she is at work.' +</P> + +<P> +'I didn't notice any neglect. The tea wasn't very well made, perhaps.' +</P> + +<P> +'My dear child! the room is in a disgraceful state—never dusted, never +cleaned—oh dear!' +</P> + +<P> +Alma laughed. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm quite sure, Mamma, you are much happier now—in one way—than when +you never had to think of such things. You have a genius for domestic +operations. When I have a house of my own I shall be rather afraid of +you.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, of course you will have good servants, my dear.' +</P> + +<P> +'How often have I to tell you, Mamma, that we're not going to live in +that way at all! The simplest possible furniture, the simplest possible +meals—<I>everything</I> subordinate to the higher aims and pleasures.' +</P> + +<P> +'But you must have servants, Alma! You can't sweep the rooms yourself, +and do the cooking?' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm thinking about it,' the girl answered gravely. 'Of course, I shall +not waste my time in coarse labour; but I feel sure we shall need only +one servant—a competent, trustworthy woman, after your own heart. It's +snobbish to be ashamed of housework; there are all sorts of things I +should like to do, and that every woman is better for doing.' +</P> + +<P> +'That is very true indeed, Alma. I can't say how I admire you for such +thoughts. But——' +</P> + +<P> +'The thing is to reduce such work to the strictly necessary. Think of +all the toil that is wasted in people's houses, for foolish display and +luxury. We sweep all that away at one stroke! Wait till you see. I'm +thinking it out, making my plans.' +</P> + +<P> +In the pleasant little drawing-room, by the fireside (for it was now +October and chilly), Harvey and Alma had long, long conversations. +Occasionally they said things that surprised each other and led to +explanations, debates, but harmony was never broken. Rolfe came away +ever more enslaved; more impressed by the girl's sweet reasonableness, +and exalted by her glowing idealism. Through amorous mists he still +endeavoured to discern the real Alma; he reflected ceaselessly upon her +character; yet, much as she often perplexed him, he never saw reason to +suspect her of disingenuousness. At times she might appear to excite +herself unduly, to fall into excess of zeal; it meant, no doubt, that +the imaginative fervour she had been wont to expend on music was turned +in a new quarter. Alma remained herself—impulsive, ardent, +enthusiastic, whether yearning for public triumphs, or eager to lead a +revolution in domestic life. Her health manifestly improved; languor +was unknown to her; her cheeks had a warmer hue, a delicate carnation, +subtly answering to her thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +She abhorred sentimentality. This was one of her first intimate +declarations, and Harvey bore it in mind. He might praise, glorify, +extol her to the uttermost, and be rewarded by her sweetest smiles; but +for the pretty follies of amatory transport she had no taste. Harvey +ran small risk of erring in this direction; he admired and reverenced +her maidenly aloofness; her dignity he found an unfailing charm, the +great support of his own self-respect. A caress was not at all times +forbidden, but he asserted the privilege with trembling diffidence. It +pleased her, when he entered the room, to be stately and rather distant +of manner, to greet him as though they were still on formal terms; this +troubled Harvey at first, but he came to understand and like it. In Mrs +Frothingham's presence, Alma avoided every sign of familiarity, and +talked only of indifferent things. +</P> + +<P> +Early in November there came news that a certain family in the little +Welsh town would be glad to vacate their dwelling if a tenant could at +once be found for it. The same day Harvey travelled northwards, and on +the morrow he despatched a telegram to Alma. He had taken the house, +and could have possession in a week or two. Speedily followed a letter +of description. The house was stone-built and substantial, but very +plain; it stood alone and unsheltered by the roadside, a quarter of a +mile from the town, looking seaward; it had garden ground and primitive +stabling. The rooms numbered nine, exclusive of kitchen; small, but not +diminutive. The people were very friendly (Harvey wrote), and gave him +all aid in investigating the place, with a view to repairs and so on; +by remaining for a few days he would be able to consult with a builder, +so as to have necessary work set in train as soon as the present +occupants were gone. +</P> + +<P> +Alma's engagement had been kept strictly secret. When Harvey returned +after a week of activity, he found her still reluctant to fix a day, or +even the month, for their wedding. He did not plead, but wrote her a +little letter, saying that the house could be ready by—at all +events—the second week in December; that he would then consult with +her about furniture, and would go down to superintend the final putting +in order. 'After that, it rests with you to say when you will enter +into possession. I promise not to speak of it again until, on coming +into the room, I see your atlas lying open on the table; that shall be +a sign unto me.' +</P> + +<P> +On his return to London he received a note from Mrs. Frothingham, +requesting him to be at home at a certain hour, as she wished to call +and speak privately with him. This gave him an uneasy night; he +imagined all manner of vexatious or distracting possibilities; but Mrs +Frothingham brought no ill news. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't be frightened,' she began, reading his anxious face. 'All's +well, and I am quite sure Alma will soon have something to say to you. +I have come on a matter of business—strictly business.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey felt a new kind of uneasiness. +</P> + +<P> +'Let me speak in a plain way about plain things,' pursued the widow, +with that shadow on her face which always indicated that she was +thinking of the mournful past. 'I know that neither Alma nor you would +hear of her accepting money from me; I know I mustn't speak of it. All +the better that you have no need of money. But now that you are my +relative—will be so very soon—I want to tell you how my affairs +stand. Will you let me? Please do!' +</P> + +<P> +Impossible to refuse a hearing to the good little woman, who delighted +in confidential gossip, and for a long time had been anxious to pour +these details into Harvey's ear. So she unfolded everything. Her +capital at Bennet Frothingham's death amounted to more than sixteen +thousand pounds, excellently invested—no 'Britannia' stocks or shares! +Of this, during the past six months, she had given away nearly six +thousand to sufferers by the great catastrophe. Her adviser and +administrator in this affair was an old friend of her husband's, a City +man of honourable repute. He had taken great trouble to discover worthy +recipients of her bounty, and as yet had kept the source of it unknown. +</P> + +<P> +'I mustn't give very much more,' she said, looking at Harvey with a +pathetic deprecation of criticism. 'I want to keep an income of three +hundred pounds. I could live on less, much less; but I should like +still to have it in my power to do a little good now and then, and I +want to be able to leave something to my sister, or her children. The +truth is, Mr. Rolfe—no, I will call you Harvey, once for all—the +truth is, I couldn't live now without giving a little help here and +there to people poorer than myself. Don't think it foolish.' Her voice +quivered. 'I feel that it will be done in the name of my poor husband +as if he himself were doing it, and making amends for a wrong he never, +never intended. If I had given up everything—as some people say I +ought to have done—it wouldn't have seemed the same to me. I couldn't +earn my own living, and what right had I to become a burden to my +relatives? I hope I haven't done very wrong. Of course, I shall give up +the flat as soon as Alma is married. In taking it I really thought more +of her than of my own comfort. I shall live with my sister, and come up +to town just now and then, when it is necessary.' +</P> + +<P> +The listener was touched, and could only nod grave approval. +</P> + +<P> +'There's another thing. Alma thinks with me in everything—but she says +I ought to let it be known who has given that money. She says it would +make many people less bitter against her father's memory. Now, what is +your opinion? If she is right in that——' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey would offer no counsel, and Mrs. Frothingham did not press him. +She must think about it. The disclosure, if wise, could be made at any +time. +</P> + +<P> +'That's all I had to say, Harvey. Now tell me about the house, and then +go arid see Alma. I have business in the City.' +</P> + +<P> +He went, but only to be disappointed; Alma was not at home. To make +amends, she sent him a note that evening, asking him to call at twelve +the next day, and to stay to luncheon. When he entered the room, the +first object his eye fell upon was the old school atlas, lying open on +the table at the map of England and Wales. +</P> + +<P> +And the day appointed was the twentieth of December. +</P> + +<P> +The wedding was to be the simplest conceivable. No costume, no +bridesmaid or hulking groomsman, no invitations; no announcement to +anyone until the day had passed, save only to Dora Leach, who would be +summoned as if for some ordinary occasion of friendship, and then be +carried off to the church. +</P> + +<P> +'It will insure my smiling all through the ordeal,' said Alma to her +step-mother; 'Dora's face will be such a study!' +</P> + +<P> +'My dear,' began Mrs. Frothingham very earnestly, 'you are <I>quite</I> +sure——' +</P> + +<P> +'More than sure, if that's possible. And Harvey throws up his hat at +being let off so easily. He dreaded the ceremony.' +</P> + +<P> +Which was very true, though Rolfe had not divulged it. +</P> + +<P> +His personal possessions were now to be made ready for removal. The +books represented nearly all that he could carry away from his old +rooms, but they were a solid addendum to the garnishing of home. For a +moment he thought of selling a few score of volumes. Would he ever +really want those monumental tomes—the six folios of Muratori, for +instance, which he liked to possess, but had never used? Thereby hung +the great, the unanswerable question: How was he going to spend his +life as a married man? Was it probable that he would become a serious +student, or even that he would study as much as heretofore? No +foreseeing; the future must shape itself, even as the past had done. +After all, why dismember his library for the sake of saving a few +shillings on carriage? If he did not use the books himself—— +</P> + +<P> +A thought flashed through him which made his brain, unsteady. If he did +not use the books himself, perhaps—— +</P> + +<P> +He tried to laugh, but for five minutes was remarkably sober. No, no; +of course he would keep his library intact. +</P> + +<P> +And now there was a duty to perform: he must write to his friends, make +known his marriage; the letters to be posted only on the day of fate. +Dear old Basil Morton—how he would stare! Morton should soon come down +into Wales, and there would be great quaffing and smoking and talking +into the small hours; a jolly anticipation! And Hugh Carnaby! Hugh +would throw up his great arms, clench his huge red fists, and roar with +mocking laughter. Good old boy! out there on the other side of the +world, perhaps throwing away his money, with the deft help of a +swindler. And the poor lad, Cecil Morphew! who assuredly would never +pay back that fifty pounds—to which he was heartily welcome. Morphew +had kept his promise to quit the garret in Chelsea, but what was since +become of him Harvey knew not; the project of their going together into +Wales had, of course, fallen through. +</P> + +<P> +Lastly, Mary Abbott—for so had Harvey come to name his friend's widow. +Mary Abbott! how would she receive this news? It would come upon her as +the strangest surprise; not the mere fact of his marrying, but that he +had chosen for a wife, out of the whole world, the daughter of Bennet +Frothingham. Would she be able to think kindly of him after this? Of +Mrs. Frothingham she could speak generously, seeming to have outlived +natural bitterness; but the name must always be unwelcome to her ears. +Alma would cease to bear that name, and perhaps, in days to come, Mary +Abbott might forget it. He could only hope so, and that the two women +might come together. On Alma's side, surely, no reluctance need be +feared; and Mary, after her ordeal, was giving proof of sense and +character which inspired a large trust. He would write to her in the +most open-hearted way; indeed, no other tone was possible, having +regard to the relations that had grown up between them. +</P> + +<P> +How the aspect of his little world was changing! A year ago, what +things more improbable than that he should win Alma Frothingham for a +wife, and become the cordial friend of Mary Abbott? +</P> + +<P> +When the revelation could be postponed no longer, he made known to Mrs +Handover that he was about to be married. It cost him an extraordinary +effort, for in a double sense he was shamed before the woman. Mrs +Handover, by virtue of her sex, instinctively triumphed over him. He +saw in her foolish eyes the eternal feminine victory; his head was +bowed before her slatternly womanhood. Then again, he shrank from +announcing to the poor creature that she could no longer draw upon him +for her livelihood. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm very sorry, Mr. Rolfe,' she began, in her most despondent voice. +'That is, of course, I'm very glad you're going to be married, and I'm +sure I wish you every happiness—I do indeed. But we are sorry to lose +you—indeed we are.' +</P> + +<P> +Of her sincerity herein there could be no sort of doubt. Harvey +coughed, and looked at the window—which had not been cleaned for some +months. +</P> + +<P> +'May I ask, without rudeness, whether it is the young lady who came——' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, Mrs. Handover.' +</P> + +<P> +He was uncommonly glad that Alma's name had never been spoken. There, +indeed, would have been matter for gossip. +</P> + +<P> +'A very handsome young lady, Mr. Rolfe, and I'm sure I wish her all +happiness, as well as yourself.' She fidgeted. 'Of course, I don't know +what your plans may be, sir, but—perhaps there's no harm if I mention +it—if ever you should be in need of a housekeeper—you've known me a +long time, sir——' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes—yes—certainly.' Harvey perspired. 'Of course, I should bear you +in mind.' +</P> + +<P> +Thereupon he had to listen whilst Mrs. Handover discoursed at large +upon her dubious prospects. At the close of the Interview, he gave her +a cheque for ten pounds, concealed in an envelope. 'A little +present—of course, I shall be hearing of you—every good wish——' +</P> + +<P> +On the eve of his marriage day he stood in the dismantled rooms, at +once joyful and heavy at heart. His books were hidden in a score of +packing-cases, labelled, ready to be sent away. In spite of open +windows, the air was still charged with dust; since the packing began, +everyone concerned in it had choked and coughed incessantly; on the +bare floor, footsteps were impressed in a thick flocky deposit. These +rooms could have vied with any in London for supremacy of filthiness. +Yet here he had known hours of still contentment; here he had sat with +friends congenial, and heard the walls echo their hearty laughter; here +he had felt at home—here his youth had died. +</P> + +<P> +Where all else was doubtful, speculative, contingent, that one thing he +certainly knew; he was no longer a young man. The years had passed like +a shadow, unnoted, uncounted, and had brought him to this point of +pause, of change momentous, when he must needs look before and after. +In all likelihood much more than half his life was gone. His mother did +not see her thirtieth year; his father died at little over forty; his +grandparents were not long-lived; what chance had he of walking the +earth for more than half the term already behind him? Did the life of +every man speed by so mockingly? Yesterday a school-boy; +tomorrow—'Rolfe? you don't say so? Poor old fellow!' +</P> + +<P> +And he was going to be married. Incredible, laughter-moving, but a +fact. No more the result of deliberate purpose than any other change +that had come about in his life, than the flight of years and the +vanishment of youth. Fate so willed it, and here he stood. +</P> + +<P> +Someone climbed the stairs, breaking upon his reverie. It was Buncombe, +who smiled through a settled gloom. +</P> + +<P> +'All done? I shan't be much longer here myself. House too big for me.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ah! it is rather large.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm thinking of changes.—You know something about my +affairs.—Yes—changes——' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe had never seen the man so dismal before; he tried to inspirit +him, but with small result. +</P> + +<P> +'It's the kids that bother me,' said Buncombe. Then he dropped his +voice, and brought his head nearer. +</P> + +<P> +'You're going to get married.' His eyes glinted darkly. 'I'm—going to +get divorced.' +</P> + +<P> +And with a grim nod the man moved away. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + +<A NAME="chap0201"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +Part the Second +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 1 +</H3> + +<P> +A morning of April, more than two years after his marriage, found +Harvey Rolfe in good health and very tolerable spirits. As his wont +was, he came down at half-past eight, and strolled in the open air +before breakfast. There had been rain through the night; a grey mist +still clung about the topmost larches of Cam Bodvean, and the Eifel +summits were densely wrapped. But the sun and breeze of spring promised +to have their way; to drive and melt the clouds, to toss white wavelets +on a blue sea, to make the gorse shine in its glory, and all the hills +be glad. +</P> + +<P> +A gardener was at work in front of the house; Harvey talked with him +about certain flowers he wished to grow this year. In the small +stable-yard a lad was burnishing harness; for him also the master had a +friendly word, before passing on to look at the little mare amid her +clean straw. In his rough suit of tweed and shapeless garden hat, with +brown face and cheery eye, Rolfe moved hither and thither as though +native to such a life. His figure had filled out; he was more robust, +and looked, indeed, younger than on the day when he bade farewell to +Mrs. Handover and her abominations. +</P> + +<P> +At nine o'clock he entered the dining-room, where breakfast was ready, +though as yet no other person had come to table. The sun would not +touch this window for several hours yet, but a crackling fire made the +air pleasant, and brightened all within. Seats were placed for three. +An aroma of coffee invited to the meal, which was characterised by no +suggestion of asceticism. Nor did the equipment of the room differ +greatly from what is usual in middle-class houses. The clock on the +mantelpiece was flanked with bronzes; engravings and autotypes hung +about the walls; door and window had their appropriate curtaining; the +oak sideboard shone with requisite silver. Everything unpretentious; +but no essential of comfort, as commonly understood, seemed to be +lacking. +</P> + +<P> +In a minute or two appeared Mrs. Frothingham; alert, lightsome, much +improved in health since the first year of her widowhood. She had been +visiting here for a fortnight, and tomorrow would return to her home in +the south. Movement, variety, intimate gossip, supported her under the +affliction which still seemed to be working for her moral good. Her +bounty (or restitution) had long ago ceased to be anonymous, but she +did not unduly pride herself upon the sacrifice of wealth; she was glad +to have it known among her acquaintances, because, in certain quarters, +the fact released her from constraint, and restored her to friendly +intercourse. For her needs and her pleasures a very modest income +proved quite sufficient. To all appearances, she found genuine and +unfailing satisfaction in the exercise of benevolent sympathies. +</P> + +<P> +'Alma will not come down,' was her remark, as she entered. 'A little +headache—nothing. We are to send her some tea and dry toast.' +</P> + +<P> +'I thought she didn't seem quite herself last night,' said Harvey, as +he cut into a ham. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Frothingham made no remark, but smiled discreetly, taking a place +at the head of the table. +</P> + +<P> +'We shall have to go somewhere,' Harvey continued. 'It has been a long +winter. She begins to feel dull, I'm afraid.' +</P> + +<P> +'A little, perhaps. But she's quite well—it's nothing——' +</P> + +<P> +'Why won't she go on with her water-colours? She was beginning to do +really good things—then all at once gives it up.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, she must! I think those last sketches simply wonderful. Anyone +would suppose she had worked at it all her life, instead of just a few +months. How very clever she is!' +</P> + +<P> +'Alma can do anything,' said Harvey, with genial conviction. +</P> + +<P> +'Almost anything, I really think. Now <I>don't</I> let her lose interest in +it, as she did in her music. You have only to show that you think her +drawings good, and speak about them. She depends rather upon +encouragement.' +</P> + +<P> +'I know. But it wasn't for lack of <I>my</I> encouragement that she dropped +her violin.' +</P> + +<P> +'So unfortunate! Oh, she'll come back to it, I'm sure.' +</P> + +<P> +When Mrs. Frothingham paid her first visit to the newly-married couple, +it amused her to find a state of things differing considerably from her +anxious expectations. True, they had only one servant within doors, the +woman named Ruth, but she did not represent the whole establishment. +Having bought a horse and trap, and not feeling called upon to act as +groom, Harvey had engaged a man, who was serviceable in various +capacities; moreover, a lad made himself useful about the premises +during the day. Ruth was a tolerable cook, and not amiss as a +housemaid. Then, the furnishing of the house, though undeniably +'simple', left little to be desired; only such things were eschewed as +serve no rational purpose and are mostly in people's way. Alma, as +could at once be perceived, ran no risk of overexerting herself in +domestic duties; she moved about of mornings with feather-brush, and +occasionally plied an unskilful needle, but kitchenward she never +turned her steps. Imprudently, Mrs. Frothingham remarked that this +life, after all, much resembled that of other people; whereat Alma +betrayed a serious annoyance, and the well-meaning lady had to +apologise, to admit the absence of 'luxuries', the homeliness of their +diet, the unmistakable atmosphere of plain living and high thinking. +</P> + +<P> +She remained for nearly a month, greatly enjoying herself. Late in +autumn, Alma begged her to come again, and this time the visit lasted +longer; for in the first week of December the house received a new +inhabitant, whose arrival made much commotion. Alma did not give birth +to her son without grave peril. Day after day Harvey strode about the +wintry shore under a cloud of dread. However it had been with him a +year ago, he was now drawn to Alma by something other than the lures of +passion; the manifold faults he had discerned in her did not seriously +conflict with her peculiar and many-sided charm; and the birth of her +child inspired him with a new tenderness, an emotion different in kind +from any that he had yet conceived. That first wail of feeblest +humanity, faint-sounding through the silent night, made a revolution in +his thoughts, taught him on the moment more than he had learnt from all +his reading and cogitation. +</P> + +<P> +It seemed to be taken as a matter of course that Alma would not nurse +the baby; only to Harvey did this appear a subject for regret, and he +never ventured to speak of it. The little mortal was not vigorous; his +nourishment gave a great deal of trouble; but with the coming of spring +he took a firmer hold on life, and less persistently bewailed his lot. +The names given to him were Hugh Basil. When apprised of this, the +strong man out in Australia wrote a heart-warming letter, and sent with +it a little lump of Queensland gold, to be made into something, or kept +intact, as the parents saw fit. Basil Morton followed the old +tradition, and gave a silver tankard with name and date of the new +world-citizen engraved upon it. +</P> + +<P> +Upon her recovery, Harvey took his wife to Madeira, where they spent +three weeks. Alma's health needed nothing more than this voyage; she +returned full of vitality. During her absence Mrs. Frothingham +superintended the household, the baby being in charge of a competent +nurse. It occurred to Harvey that this separation from her child was +borne by Alma with singular philosophy; it did not affect in the least +her enjoyment of travel. But she reached home again in joyous +excitement, and for a few days kept the baby much in view. Mrs +Frothingham having departed, new visitors succeeded each other: Dora +and Gerda Leach, Basil Morton and his wife, one or two of Alma's +relatives. Little Hugh saw less and less of his mother, but he +continued to thrive; and Harvey understood by now that Alma must not be +expected to take much interest in the domestic side of things. It +simply was not her forte. +</P> + +<P> +She had ceased to play upon her violin, save for the entertainment and +admiration of friends. After her return from Madeira she made the +acquaintance of a lady skilled in water-colour drawing, and herewith +began a new enthusiasm. Her progress was remarkable, and corresponded +to an energy not less than that she had long ago put forth in music. In +the pursuit of landscape she defied weather and fatigue; she would pass +half the night abroad, studying moonlight, or rise at an unheard-of +hour to catch the hues of dawn. When this ardour began to fail, her +husband was vexed rather than surprised. He knew Alma's characteristic +weakness, and did not like to be so strongly reminded of it. For about +this time he was reading and musing much on questions of heredity. +</P> + +<P> +In a moment of confidence he had ventured to ask Mrs. Frothingham +whether she could tell him anything of Alma's mother. The question, +though often in his mind, could hardly have passed his lips, had not +Mrs. Frothingham led up to it by speaking of her own life before she +married: how she had enjoyed the cares of country housekeeping; how +little she had dreamt of ever being rich; how Bennet Frothingham, who +had known her in his early life, sought her out when he began to be +prosperous, therein showing the fine qualities of his nature, for she +had nothing in the world but gentle birth and a lady's education. Alma +was then a young girl of thirteen, and had been motherless for eight +years. Thus came Harvey's opportunity. Alma herself had already +imparted to him all she knew: that her mother was born in England, +emigrated early with her parents to Australia, returned to London as a +young woman, married, and died at twenty-seven. To this story Mrs. +Frothingham could add little, but the supplement proved interesting. +Bennet Frothingham spoke of his first marriage as a piece of folly; it +resulted in unhappiness, yet, the widow was assured, with no glaring +fault on either side. Alma's mother was handsome, and had some natural +gifts, especially a good voice, which she tried to use in public, but +without success. Her education scarcely went beyond reading and +writing. She died suddenly, after an evening at the theatre, where, as +usual, she had excited herself beyond measure. Mrs. Frothingham had seen +an old report of the inquest that was held, the cause of death being +given as cerebral haemorrhage. In these details Harvey Rolfe found new +matter for reflection. +</P> + +<P> +Their conversation at breakfast this morning was interrupted by the +arrival of letters; two of them particularly welcome, for they bore a +colonial postmark. Hugh Carnaby wrote to his friend from an +out-of-the-way place in Tasmania; Sibyl wrote independently to Alma +from Hobart. +</P> + +<P> +'Just as I expected,' said Harvey, when he had glanced over a few +lines. 'He talks of coming home:—"There seems no help for it. Sibyl is +much better in health since we left Queens land, but I see she would +never settle out here. She got to detest the people at Brisbane, and +doesn't like those at Hobart much better. I have left her there whilst +I'm doing a little roaming with a very decent fellow I have come +across, Mackintosh by name. He has been everywhere and done +everything—not long ago was in the service of the Indo-European +Telegraph Company at Tehran, and afterwards lived (this will interest +you) at Badgered, where he got a <I>date-boil</I>, which marks his face and +testifies to his veracity. He has been trying to start a timber +business here; says some of the hard woods would be just the thing for +street paving. But now his father's death is taking him back home, and +I shouldn't wonder if we travel together. One of his ideas is a bicycle +factory; he seems to know all about it, and says it'll be the most +money-making business in England for years to come. What do you think? +Does this offer a chance for <I>me</I>?"' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey interrupted himself with a laugh. Smelting of abandoned gold +ores, by the method of the ingenious Dando, had absorbed some of Hugh's +capital, with very little result, and his other schemes for +money-making were numerous. +</P> + +<P> +'"The fact is, I must get money somehow. Living has been expensive ever +since we left England, and it's madness to go on till one's resources +have practically run out. And Sibyl <I>must</I> get home again; she's +wasting her life among these people. How does she write to your wife? I +rather wish I could spy at the letters. (Of course, I don't seriously +mean that.) She bears it very well, and, if possible, I have a higher +opinion of her than ever."' +</P> + +<P> +Again Harvey laughed. +</P> + +<P> +'Good old chap! What a pity he can't be cracking crowns somewhere!' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! I'm sure I'd rather see him making bicycles.' +</P> + +<P> +''Tisn't his vocation. He ought to go somewhere and get up a little war +of his own—as he once told me he should like to. We can't do without +the fighting man.' +</P> + +<P> +'Will you bring Hughie up to it, then?' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey fixed his eyes on a point far off. +</P> + +<P> +'I fear he won't have the bone and muscle. But I should like him to +have the pluck. I'm afraid he mayn't, for I'm a vile coward myself.' +</P> + +<P> +'I should like a child never to hear or know of war,' said Mrs +Frothingham fervently. +</P> + +<P> +'And so should I,' Harvey answered, in a graver tone. +</P> + +<P> +When Mrs. Frothingham went upstairs with the letter for Alma, he broke +open another envelope. It was from Mary Abbott, who wrote to him twice +a year, when she acknowledged the receipt of his cheque. She sent the +usual careful report concerning Wager's children—the girl now seven +years old, and the boy nine. Albert Wager, she thought, was getting too +old for her; he ought to go to a boys' school. Neither he nor his +sister had as yet repaid the care given to them; never were children +more difficult to manage. Harvey read this between the lines; for Mary +Abbott never complained of the task she had undertaken. He rose and +left the room with a face of anxious thoughtfulness. +</P> + +<P> +The day was wont to pass in a pretty regular routine. From half-past +nine to half-past one Harvey sat alone in his study, not always +energetically studious, but on the whole making progress in his chosen +field of knowledge. He bought books freely, and still used the London +Library. Of late he had been occupying himself with the authorities on +education; working, often impatiently, through many a long-winded +volume. He would have liked to talk on this subject with Mary Abbott, +but had not yet found courage to speak of her paying them a visit. The +situation, difficult because of Alma's parentage, was made more awkward +by his reticence with Alma regarding the payment he made for those +luckless children. The longer he kept silence, the less easily could he +acquaint his wife with this matter—in itself so perfectly harmless. +</P> + +<P> +This morning he felt indisposed for study, and cared just as little to +go out, notwithstanding the magnificent sky. From his windows he looked +upon the larch-clad slopes of Cam Bodvean; their beauty only reminded +him of grander and lovelier scenes in far-off countries. From time to +time the wanderer thus awoke in him, and threw scorn upon the +pedantries of a book-lined room. He had, moreover, his hours of regret +for vanished conviviality; he wished to step out into a London street, +collect his boon-companions, and hold revel in the bygone way. These, +however, were still but fugitive moods. All in all, he regretted +nothing. Destiny seemed to have marked him for a bookish man; he grew +more methodical, more persistent, in his historical reading; this, +doubtless, was the appointed course for his latter years. It led to +nothing definite. His life would be fruitless—— +</P> + +<P> +Fruitless? There sounded from somewhere in the house a shrill little +cry, arresting his thought, and controverting it without a syllable. +Nay, fruitless his life could not be, if his child grew up. Only the +chosen few, the infinitesimal minority of mankind, leave spiritual +offspring, or set their single mark upon the earth; the multitude are +but parents of a new generation, live but to perpetuate the race. It is +the will of nature, the common lot. And if indeed it lay within his +power to shape a path for this new life, which he, nature's slave, had +called out of nothingness,—to obviate one error, to avert one +misery,—to ensure that, in however slight degree, his son's existence +should be better and happier than his own,—was not this a sufficing +purpose for the years that remained to him, a recompense adequate to +any effort, any sacrifice? +</P> + +<P> +As he sat thus in reverie, the door softly opened, and Alma looked in +upon him. +</P> + +<P> +'Do I interrupt you?' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm idling. How is your headache?' +</P> + +<P> +She answered with a careless gesture, and came forward, a letter in her +hand. +</P> + +<P> +'Sibyl says she will certainly be starting for home in a few weeks. +Perhaps they're on the way by now. You have the same news, I hear.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. They must come to us straight away,' replied Harvey, knocking the +ash out of his pipe 'Or suppose we go to meet them? If they come by the +Orient Line, they call at Naples. How would it be to go overland, and +make the voyage back with them?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma seemed to like the suggestion, and smiled, but only for a moment. +She had little colour this morning, and looked cold, as she drew up to +the fire, holding a white woollen wrap about her shoulders. A slow and +subtle modification of her features was tending to a mature beauty +which would make bolder claim than the charm that had characterised her +in maidenhood. It was still remote from beauty of a sensual type, but +the outlines, in becoming a little more rounded, more regular, gained +in common estimate what they lost to a more refined apprehension. Her +eyes appeared more deliberately conscious of their depth and gleam; her +lips, less responsive to the flying thought, grew to an habitual +expression—not of discontent, but something akin unto it; not of +self-will, but something that spoke a spirit neither tranquil nor +pliant. +</P> + +<P> +'Had you anything else?' she asked, absently. +</P> + +<P> +'A letter from Mrs. Abbott.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma smiled, with a shade of pleasantry not usual upon her countenance. +Harvey generally read her extracts from these letters. Their allusion +to money imposed the reserve; otherwise they would have passed into +Alma's hands. From his masculine point of view, Harvey thought the +matter indifferent; nothing in his wife's behaviour hitherto had led +him to suppose that she attached importance to it. +</P> + +<P> +'The usual report of progress?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. I fancy those two children are giving her a good deal of trouble. +She'll have to send the boy to a boarding school.' +</P> + +<P> +'But can she afford it?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know.' +</P> + +<P> +'I've never understood yet why you take so much interest in those +children.' +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes rested upon him with a peculiarly keen scrutiny, and Harvey, +resenting the embarrassment due to his own tactics, showed a slight +impatience. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, partly because I wish to help Mrs. Abbott with advice, if I can: +partly because I'm interested in the whole question of education.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, it's interesting, of course. She has holidays, I suppose?' +</P> + +<P> +'It's holiday time with her now.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then why don't you ask her to come and see us?' +</P> + +<P> +'I would at once,' Harvey replied, with hesitation, 'if I felt sure +that——' He broke off, and altered the turn of his sentence. 'I don't +know whether she can leave those children.' +</P> + +<P> +'You were going to make a different objection. Of course there's a +little awkwardness. But you said long ago that all that sort of thing +would wear away, and surely it ought to have done by now. If Mrs. +Abbott is as sensible as you think, I don't see how she can have any +unpleasant feeling towards me.' +</P> + +<P> +'I can't suppose that she has.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then now is the opportunity. Send an invitation.—Why shouldn't I +write it myself?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma had quite shaken off the appearance of lassitude; she drew herself +up, looked towards the writing-table, and showed characteristic +eagerness to carry out a project. Though doubtful of the result, Harvey +assented without any sign of reluctance, and forthwith she moved to the +desk. In a few minutes she had penned a letter, which was held out for +her husband's perusal. +</P> + +<P> +'Admirable!' he exclaimed. 'Couldn't be better. <I>Nihil quod tetigit non +ornavit</I>.' +</P> + +<P> +'And pray what does that mean?' asked Alma, her countenance a trifle +perturbed by the emotions which blended with her delight in praise. +</P> + +<P> +'That my wife is the most graceful of women, and imparts to all she +touches something of her own charm.' +</P> + +<P> +'All that?' +</P> + +<P> +'Latin, you must know, is the language of compression.' +</P> + +<P> +They parted with a laugh. As she left the study, Alma saw her little +son just going out; the nurse had placed him in his mail-cart, where he +sat smiling and cooing. Mrs. Frothingham, who delighted in the child, +had made ready for a walk in the same direction, and from the doorway +called to Alma to accompany them. +</P> + +<P> +'I may come after you, perhaps,' was the reply. 'Ta-ta, Hughie!' +</P> + +<P> +With a wave of her hand, Alma passed into the sitting-room, where she +stood at the window, watching till Mrs. Frothingham's sunshade had +disappeared. Then she moved about, like one in search of occupation; +taking up a book only to throw it down again, gazing vacantly at a +picture, or giving a touch to a bowl of flowers. Here, as in the +dining-room, only the absence of conventional superfluities called for +remark; each article of furniture was in simple taste; the result, an +impression of plain elegance. On a little corner table lay Alma's +colour-box, together with a drawing-board, a sketching-block, and the +portfolio which contained chosen examples of her work. Not far away, +locked in its case, lay her violin, the instrument she had been wont to +touch caressingly; today her eyes shunned it. +</P> + +<P> +She went out again into the little hall. The front door stood open; +sunshine flooded the garden; but Alma was not tempted to go forth. All +the walks and drives of the neighbourhood had become drearily familiar; +the meanest of London streets shone by contrast as a paradise in her +imagination. With a deep sigh of ennui, she turned and slowly ascended +the stairs. +</P> + +<P> +Above were six rooms; three of them the principal chambers (her own, +Harvey's, and the guest-room), then the day-nursery, the night nursery, +and the servant's bedroom. On her first coming, she had thought the +house needlessly spacious; now it often seemed to her oppressively +small, there being but one spare room for visitors. She entered her own +room. It could not be called disorderly, yet it lacked that scrupulous +perfection of arrangement, that dainty finish, which makes an +atmosphere for the privacy of a certain type of woman. Ruth had done +her part, preserving purity unimpeachable; the deficiency was due to +Alma alone. To be sure, she had neither dressing-room nor lady's-maid; +and something in Alma's constitution made it difficult for her to +dispense with such aids to the complete life. +</P> + +<P> +She stood before the mirror, and looked at herself, blankly, gloomily. +Her eyes fell a little, and took a new expression, that of anxious +scrutiny. Gazing still, she raised her arms, much as though she were +standing to be measured by a dressmaker; then she turned, so as to +obtain a view of her figure sideways. Her arms fell again, +apathetically, and she moved away. +</P> + +<P> +Somehow, the long morning passed. In the afternoon she drove with +Harvey and Mrs. Frothingham, conversing much as usual, giving no verbal +hint of her overwhelming ennui. No reference was made to Mrs. Abbott. +Harvey had himself written her a letter, supporting Alma's invitation +with all possible cordiality; but he gravely feared that she would not +come. +</P> + +<P> +At tea, according to custom, little Hugh was brought into the room, to +be fondled by his mother, who liked to see him when he was prettily +dressed, and to sit upon his father's knee. Hugh, aged sixteen months, +began to have a vocabulary of his own, and to claim a share in +conversation; he had a large head, well formed, and slight but shapely +limbs; the sweet air of sea and mountain gave a healthful, though very +delicate, colouring to his cheeks; his eyes were Alma's, dark and +gleaming, but with promise of a keener intelligence. Harvey liked to +gaze long at the little face, puzzled by its frequent gravity, +delighted by its flashes of mirth. Syllables of baby-talk set him +musing and philosophising. How fresh and young, yet how wondrously old! +Babble such as this fell from a child's lips thousands of years ago, in +the morning of the world; it sounded on through the ages, infinitely +reproduced; eternally a new beginning; the same music of earliest human +speech, the same ripple of innocent laughter, renewed from generation +to generation. But he, listening, had not the merry, fearless pride of +fathers in an earlier day. Upon him lay the burden of all time; he must +needs ponder anxiously on his child's heritage, use his weary knowledge +to cast the horoscope of this dawning life. +</P> + +<P> +'Why are you looking at him in that way?' exclaimed Alma. 'You'll +frighten him.' +</P> + +<P> +'How did I look?' +</P> + +<P> +'As if you saw something dreadful.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey laughed, and ran his fingers through the soft curls, and bade +himself be of good heart. Had he not thrown scorn upon people who make +a 'fuss' about their children. Had he not despised and detested chatter +about babies? To his old self what a simpleton would he have seemed! +</P> + +<P> +On the morrow Mrs. Frothingham took her departure; leaving it, as +usual, uncertain when she would come again, but pleasantly assured that +it could not be very long. She thought Harvey the best of husbands; he +and Alma, the happiest of married folk. In secret, no doubt, she sadly +envied them. If her own lot had fallen in such tranquil places! +</P> + +<P> +Two more days, and Alma received a reply to her invitation. Yes, Mrs +Abbott would come, and be with them for a week; longer she could not. +Her letter was amiable and well-worded as Alma's own. Harvey felt a +great relief, and it pleased him not a little to see his wife's +unfeigned satisfaction. This was Monday; the visitor promised to arrive +on Tuesday evening. +</P> + +<P> +'Of course you'll drive over with me to meet her,' said Harvey. +</P> + +<P> +'I think not. I dislike making acquaintance at railway stations. If it +should rain, you'll have to have a covered carriage, and imagine us +three shut up together!' +</P> + +<P> +Alma laughed gaily at the idea. Harvey, though at a loss to interpret +her merriment, answered it with a smile, and said no more. Happily, the +weather was settled; the sun shone gallantly each morning; and on +Tuesday afternoon Harvey drove the seven miles, up hill and down, +between hedges of gorse and woods of larch, to the little market-town +where Mary Abbott would alight after her long journey. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0202"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 2 +</H3> + +<P> +Half an hour after sunset Alma heard the approach of wheels. She had +long been ready to receive her visitor, and when the horse stopped, she +stood by the open door of the sitting-room, commanding her nervousness, +resolute to make an impression of grace and dignity. It would have +eased her mind had she been able to form some idea of Mrs. Abbott's +personal appearance; Harvey had never dropped a hint on the subject, +and she could not bring herself to question him. The bell rang; Ruth +hastened to answer it; Harvey's voice sounded. +</P> + +<P> +'It turns chilly after the warm sunshine. I'm afraid we ought to have +had a covered carriage.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then I should have seen nothing,' was replied in softer tones. 'The +drive was most enjoyable.' +</P> + +<P> +There came into the lamplight a rather tall figure in plain, +serviceable travelling-costume. Alma discerned a face which gave her a +shock of surprise, so unlike was it to anything she had imagined; the +features regular and of intelligent expression, but so thin, pallid, +worn, that they seemed to belong to a woman of nearly forty, weighted +by years of extreme suffering. The demeanour which Alma had studiously +prepared underwent an immediate change; she stepped forward with an air +of frank kindliness, of cordial hospitality. +</P> + +<P> +'Wasn't your train late? How tired you must be—and how cold! In these +fine spring days we have been living as if it were midsummer, but I'm +sure you oughtn't to have had that long drive in the open trap so late. +Harvey thinks everybody as robust as himself——' +</P> + +<P> +But the guest was in very good spirits, though manifestly fatigued. She +spoke with pleasure of the beautiful wild country, glowing in sunset. A +little tired, yes; she had not travelled so far for a long time; but +the air had braced her wonderfully, and after a night's rest—— +</P> + +<P> +At dinner Alma behaved with the same friendliness, closely observing +her guest, and listening to all she said, as if anxious not to miss a +word. Mrs. Abbott conversed in a very low voice; her manner was marked +by a subdual which might partly be attributable to weariness, but +seemed in a measure the result of timidity under novel circumstances. +If she looked at either of her companions, her eyes were instantly +withdrawn. A smile never lingered on her features; it came and passed, +leaving the set expression of preoccupied gravity. She wore a dress of +black silk, close at the neck; and Alma perceived that it was by no +means new. +</P> + +<P> +An hour after the meal she begged permission to retire to her room. The +effort to talk had become impossible; she was at the end of her +strength, and could hold up no longer. +</P> + +<P> +When Alma came down again, she stood for a minute before the fire, +smiling and silent. Harvey had picked up a newspaper; he said nothing. +</P> + +<P> +'How very nice she is!' fell at length from Mrs. Rolfe's lips. +</P> + +<P> +'Astonishingly altered,' was her husband's murmured reply. +</P> + +<P> +'Indeed? In what way?' +</P> + +<P> +'Looks so wretchedly ill, for one thing.' +</P> + +<P> +'We must take her about. What do you think of doing tomorrow?' +</P> + +<P> +By feminine device of indirect question, Alma obtained some +understanding of the change that had come upon Mrs. Abbott during the +past three years. Harvey's disclosures did not violate the reticence +imposed upon him by that hour in which he had beheld a woman's +remorseful anguish; he spoke only of such things as were manifest to +everyone who had known Mary Abbott before her husband's death; of her +social pleasures, her intellectual ambitions, suddenly overwhelmed by a +great sorrow. +</P> + +<P> +'I suppose she ought to be doing much better things than teaching +children,' said Alma. +</P> + +<P> +'Better things?' repeated Harvey, musing. 'I don't know. It all depends +how you regard it.' +</P> + +<P> +'Is she very clever?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not appallingly,' he answered, with a laugh. 'It's very possible she +is doing just what she ought to be—neither more nor less. Her health +seems to be the weak point.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you think she has enough to live upon?' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey knitted his brows and looked uneasy. +</P> + +<P> +'I hope so. Of course it must be a very small income; but I dare say +those friends of hers at Gunnersbury make life a little easier.' +</P> + +<P> +'I feel quite sorry for her,' said Alma, with cheerfulness. 'I hadn't +realised her position. We must make her stay as long as she can. Yes, +if it's fine again, we might drive to Tre'r Caeri. That would interest +her, no doubt. She likes history, doesn't she?—the same things that +you are fond of.' +</P> + +<P> +At breakfast Mrs. Abbott appeared with a much brighter countenance; +refreshed in body and mind, she entered gladly into the plans that had +been made for the day, talked with less restraint, and showed an +interest in all her surroundings. But her demeanour still had the air +of self-subdual which seemed at moments to become a diffidence +bordering on humility. This was emphasised by its contrast with the +bearing of her hostess. Alma had never shown herself to more brilliant +advantage; kind interpretation might have thought that she had set +herself to inspirit the guest in every possible way. Her face was +radiant with good humour and vivacity; she looked the incarnation of +joyous, healthy life. The flow of her spirited talk seemed to aim at +exhibiting the joys and privileges of existence in places such as this. +She represented herself as glorying in the mountain heights, and in +solitary tracts of shore. Here were no social burdens, or restrictions, +or extravagances; one lived naturally, simply, without regrets for +wasted time, and without fear of the morrow. To all this Mary Abbott +paid the tribute of her admiration, perhaps of her envy; and Alma grew +the more animated, the more she felt that she had impressed her hearer. +</P> + +<P> +Harvey wondered at this sudden revival of his wife's drooping energies. +But he did not consider the phenomenon too curiously; enough that Alma +was brilliant and delightful, that she played her part of hostess to +perfection, and communicated to their guest something of her own +vitality. +</P> + +<P> +They had an exhilarating drive through the mountains to Tre'r Caeri, a +British fastness on a stern bare height; crumbled dwellings amid their +great protecting walls, with cairn and cromlech and mystic circles; +where in old time the noise of battle clanged amid these grey hills, +now sleeping in sunlight. And from Tre'r Caeri down into the rocky +gloom of the seaward chasm, Nant Gwrtheyrn, with its mound upon the +desolate shore, called by legend the burial-place of Vortigern. Here +Mrs. Abbott spoke of the prehistoric monuments she had seen in +Brittany, causing Alma to glance at her with a sudden surprise. The +impulse was very significant. Thinking of her guest only as a +poverty-stricken teacher of children, Alma forgot for the moment that +this subdued woman had known happier days, when she too boasted of +liberty, and stored her mind in travel. After all, as soon appeared, +the travels had been of very modest extent; and Alma, with her +knowledge of many European countries, and her recent ocean voyage, +regained the confident superiority which kept her in such admirable +humour. +</P> + +<P> +Mary Abbott, reluctant to converse on things that regarded herself, +afforded Alma every opportunity of shining. She knew of Mrs. Rolfe's +skill as a musician, and this same evening uttered a hope that she +might hear her play. The violin came forth from its retirement. +Playing, it seemed at first, without much earnestness, as though it +were but a pastime, Alma presently chose one of her pageant pieces, and +showed of what she was capable. Lack of practice had told upon her +hand, but the hearers were uncritical, as she well knew. +</P> + +<P> +'That's magnificent,' said Harvey, with a mischievous smile. 'But do +condescend now to the primitive ear. Let us have something of less +severity.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma glanced at Mrs. Abbott, who had softly murmured her thanks; then +turned an eye upon her husband, saying wickedly, 'Home, Sweet Home?' +</P> + +<P> +'I've no doubt you could play it wonderfully—as you would "Three Blind +Mice".' +</P> + +<P> +Alma looked good-natured disdain, and chose next a Tarantelle of +Schubert. The exertion of playing brought warm colour into her face; it +heightened her beauty, and she was conscious of it; so that when she +chanced to find Mrs. Abbott's look fixed upon her, a boundless +gratification flashed from her own dark eyes, and spoke in the quiver +of her lips. +</P> + +<P> +Next evening, when again requested to play, she sat down to the piano. +On this instrument Alma had not the same confidence as with the violin; +but she could not refrain from exhibiting such skill as she possessed, +Mrs. Abbott having declared that her own piano-playing was elementary. +Meantime, the portfolio of water-colours had of course been produced +for exhibition. In this art, though she did not admit it, Mrs. Abbott +had formerly made some progress; she was able to form a judgment of +Alma's powers, and heard with genuine surprise in how short a time this +point had been attained. Alma again glowed with satisfaction. +</P> + +<P> +She found a new source of pride in her motherhood. Not having been +told, or having forgotten, that Mrs. Abbott had lost a child, she +playfully offered assurance that the guest should not be worried with +nursery talk. +</P> + +<P> +'Children are anything but a delight to you, I'm afraid; you must have +too much of them.' +</P> + +<P> +'They often give me trouble,' Mrs. Abbott replied. 'But I wish I had +one more to trouble me. My little girl would have been six years old by +now. +</P> + +<P> +Alma gave one of those looks which occasionally atoned for many less +amiable glances. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm so sorry—I didn't know——' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Abbott did not dwell on the subject. Her reserve was still +unbroken, though there never appeared the least coldness in her manner; +she talked with perfect freedom of everything that contained no +allusion to herself. The change was manifestly doing her good; even by +the second day she showed an increase of vigour, and no longer wore the +preoccupied, overstrained look. Becoming familiar with her face, Alma +thought it more attractive than at first, and decidedly younger. She +still had a great deal of curiosity to satisfy with regard to Mrs +Abbott; especially it seemed strange to her that Harvey and his friend +were so little inclined for conversation; they talked only of formal, +uninteresting things, and she wondered whether, after all, they really +had much in common. +</P> + +<P> +'Take Mrs. Abbott for a walk tomorrow morning,' she said in private; +'you must have so many things to talk about—by yourselves.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know that we have,' Harvey returned, looking at her with some +surprise. 'I want to hear a little more about those youngsters, that's +all.' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Abbott wished to climb Cam Bodvean the great hill, clad in tender +green of larch-woods, which overlooked the town. For the toil of this +ascent Alma had no mind; pleasantly excusing herself, she proposed at +breakfast that Harvey and Mrs. Abbott should go alone; they might +descend on the far side of the mountain, and there, at a certain point +known to her husband, she would meet them with the dogcart. Harvey +understood this to mean that the man would drive her; for Alma had not +yet added the art of driving to her various accomplishments; she was, +indeed, timid with the reins. He readily assented to the plan, which, +for some reason, appeared to amuse and exhilarate her. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't be in a hurry,' she said. 'There'll be a good view on a day like +this, and you can have a long rest at the top. If you meet me at +half-past one, we shall be back for lunch at two.' +</P> + +<P> +When they started, Alma came out to the garden gate, and dismissed them +with smiling benignity; one might have expected her to say 'Be good!' +as when children are trusted to take a walk without superintendence. On +re-entering, she ran quickly to an upper room, where from the window +she could observe them for a few minutes, as they went along in +conversation. Presently she bade her servant give directions for the +dogcart to be brought round at one o'clock. +</P> + +<P> +'Williams to drive, ma'am?' said Ruth, who had heard something of the +talk at breakfast. +</P> + +<P> +'No,' Alma replied with decision. 'I shall drive myself.' +</P> + +<P> +The pedestrians took their way along a winding road, between boulder +walls thick-set with the new leaves of pennywort; then crossed the one +long street of the town (better named a village), passing the fountain, +overbuilt with lichened stone, where women and children filled their +cans with sweet water, sparkling in the golden light. Rolfe now and +then received a respectful greeting. He had wished to speak Welsh, but +soon abandoned the endeavour. He liked to hear it, especially on the +lips of children at their play. An old, old language, symbol of the +vitality of a race; sounding on those young lips as in the time when +his own English, composite, hybrid, had not yet begun to shape itself. +</P> + +<P> +Beyond the street and a row of cottages, they began to climb; at first +a gentle ascent, on either hand high hedges of flowering blackthorn, +banks strewn with primroses and violets, and starred with the white +stitchwort; great leaves of foxglove giving promise for future days. +The air was bland, yet exquisitely fresh; scented from innumerable +sources in field and heath and wood. When the lane gave upon open +ground, they made a pause to look back. Beneath them lay the little +grey town, and beyond it the grassy cliffs, curving about a blue bay. +Near by rose the craggy slopes of a bare hill, and beyond it, a few +miles to the north, two lofty peaks, wreathed against the cloudless +heaven with rosy mist. +</P> + +<P> +'Sure it won't be too much for you?' said Harvey looking upwards to the +wooded height. +</P> + +<P> +'I feel equal to anything,' answered his companion brightly. 'This air +has given me new life.' +</P> + +<P> +There was a faint colour on her cheeks, and for the first time Harvey +caught an expression which reminded him of the face he had known years +ago, when Mrs. Abbott looked upon life much as Alma did now. +</P> + +<P> +They entered upon a rising heath, green with mosses where the moisture +of a hidden stream drew downwards, brown with dead bracken on dry +slopes. Just above was a great thicket of flowering gorse; a blaze of +colour, pure, aerial, as that of the sky which illumined it. Through +this they made their way, then dropped into a green nook of pasture, +among sheep that raised their heads distrustfully, and loud-bleating +lambs, each running to its mother. +</P> + +<P> +'If you can scale this wall, it will save us a quarter of an hour.' +</P> + +<P> +'If you can, I can,' was the laughing reply. +</P> + +<P> +Protruding boulders made it an easy clamber. They were then at the base +of Cam Bodvean, and before them rose steep mountain glades. Mrs. Abbott +gazed upwards with unspoken delight. +</P> + +<P> +'There are no paths,' said Harvey. 'It's honest woodland. Some day it +will be laid out with roads and iron benches, with finger-posts, "To +the summit".' +</P> + +<P> +'You think so?' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, of course. It's the destiny of every beautiful spot in Britain. +There'll be a pier down yonder, and a switchback railway, and leagues +of lodging-houses, and brass bands.' +</P> + +<P> +'Let us hope we shall be dead.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes—but those who come after us? What sort of a world will it be for +Hugh? I often think I should be wrong if I taught him to see life as I +do. Isn't it only preparing misery for him? I ought to make him delight +in piers, and nigger minstrels, and switchbacks. A man should belong to +his time.' +</P> + +<P> +'But a man helps to make his time,' replied Mary Abbott. +</P> + +<P> +'True. You are hopeful, are you?' +</P> + +<P> +'I try very hard to be. What use am I, if I don't put a few thoughts +into children's heads which will help to make their lives a little +better?' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey nodded. +</P> + +<P> +Their feet sank in the mossy ruin of immemorial summers. Overhead, the +larch-boughs dangled green tresses, or a grove of beech shook sunlight +through branches decked with translucent gold. Now and then they came +out into open spaces, where trees rent from the soil, dead amid +spring's leafage, told of a great winter storm; new grass grew thickly +about the shattered trunks, and in the hollows whence the roots had +been torn. One moment they stood in shadow; the next, moved upward into +a great splash of sunshine, thrown upon moss that still glistened with +the dews of the night, and on splints of crag painted green and gold +with lichen. Sun or shadow; the sweet fir-scents breathed upon their +faces, mingled with many a waft of perfume from little woodland plants. +</P> + +<P> +More than once Mrs. Abbott had to pause. Midway she was tempted by a +singular resting-place. It was a larch tree, perhaps thirty feet high; +at the beginning of its growth, the stem had by some natural means been +so diverted as to grow horizontally for a yard or more at a couple of +feet above the ground; it had then made a curve downwards, and finally, +by way of a perfect loop across itself, had shot again in the true +direction, growing at last, with straight and noble trunk, like its +undistorted neighbours. Much wondering at so strange a deformity, Mrs +Abbott seated herself on the level portion, and Harvey, as he stood +before her, told a fancy that had come to him when for the first time +he chanced to climb this way. Might not the tree represent some human +life? A weak, dubious, all but hopeless beginning; a check; a return +upon itself; a laboured circling; last a healthful maturity, upright, +triumphing. He spoke with his eyes on the ground. Raising them at the +end, he was astonished to see that his companion had flushed deeply; +and only then it occurred to him that this parable might be applied by +the hearer to herself. +</P> + +<P> +'To make a confession,' he added at once, 'it forcibly reminded me of +my own life—except that I can't pretend to be "triumphing".' +</P> + +<P> +His laugh did not cover the embarrassment with which he discovered +that, if anything, he had made matters worse. Here was an instance of +his incorrigible want of tact; much better to have offered no +application of the fable at all, and to have turned the talk. He had +told a simple truth, but with the result of appearing to glorify +himself, and possibly at his friend's expense. Vexed beyond measure, he +crushed his heel into the soft ground. +</P> + +<P> +'That is a very striking thought,' said Mary Abbott, her look still +downcast. 'I shall never forget it.' +</P> + +<P> +And she rose to move onward. They climbed in silence, the flank of the +mountain growing steeper. +</P> + +<P> +'I should have brought you my old alpenstock,' jested Harvey. 'Go +slowly; we have plenty of time.' +</P> + +<P> +'I like to exert myself. I feel so well, and it does me good!' +</P> + +<P> +He ventured to look at her again. All her confusion had passed away; +she had the light of enjoyment in her eyes, and returned his look with +a frankness hitherto lacking. +</P> + +<P> +'You must stay a second week. Alma won't let you go.' +</P> + +<P> +'Go, I must. The two children can't be left longer at Mrs. +Langland's—it would be presuming upon her kindness.' +</P> + +<P> +'I want to talk about them, but one hasn't much breath here. When we +get to the top——' +</P> + +<P> +Last of all came a slippery scramble on broken stones, to where a +shapeless cairn rose above tree-tops, bare to the dazzling sky. As they +issued from the shelter of the wood, a breeze buffeted about them, but +only for a moment; then the air grew still, and nothing was audible but +a soft whispering among the boughs below. The larches circling this +stony height could not grow to their full stature; beaten, riven, +stunted, by fierce blasts from mountain or from wave, their trunks were +laden, and their branches thickly matted, with lichen so long and hoary +that it gave them an aspect of age incalculable. Harvey always looked +upon them with reverence, if not with awe. +</P> + +<P> +In the sunny stillness their eyes wandered far and wide, around a vast +horizon. On two sides lay the sea; to the west, bounded only where it +met the blue sky above (though yonder line of cloud might perchance be +the hills of Wicklow); eastward, enfolded by the shores of a great bay, +with mountains on the far side, faintly visible through silvery vapour. +Northward rose a noble peak, dark, stern, beautiful in the swift fall +of curving rampart to the waves that broke at its foot; loftier by the +proximity of two summits, sharp-soaring like itself, but unable to vie +with it. Alone among the nearer mountains, this crest was veiled; +smitten by sea-gusts, it caught and held them, and churned them into +sunny cloudlets, which floated away in long fleecy rank, far athwart +the clear depths of sky. Farther inland, where the haze of the warm +morning hung and wavered, loomed at moments some grander form, to be +imagined rather than descried; a glimpse of heights which, as the day +wore on, would slowly reveal themselves and bask in the broad glow +under crowning Snowdon. +</P> + +<P> +'We have time! We can stay here!' said Mrs. Abbott, moved with a +profound delight. +</P> + +<P> +'We have an hour at least. The sun is too hot; you must sit on the +shadowed side of the cairn.' +</P> + +<P> +The great silence had nothing of that awesomeness which broods in the +mountain calm of wilder solitudes. Upon their ear fell the long low +hushing of the wood, broken suddenly from time to time by a fitful +wind, which flapped with hollow note around the great heap of stones, +whirled as if in sport, and was gone. Below, in leafy hollows, sounded +the cry of a jay, the laugh of a woodpecker; from far heath and meadow +trembled the bleat of lambs. Nowhere could be discovered a human form; +but man's dwellings, and the results of his labour, painted the wide +landscape in every direction. On mountain sides, and across the +undulating lowland, wall or hedge mapped his conquests of nature, +little plots won by the toil of successive generations for pasture or +for tillage, won from the reluctant wilderness, which loves its fern +and gorse, its mosses and heather. Near and far were scattered the +little white cottages, each a gleaming speck, lonely, humble; set by +the side of some long-winding, unfrequented road, or high on the green +upland, trackless save for the feet of those who dwelt there. +</P> + +<P> +From talk of the scenery they passed, by no agreeable transition, to +the subject which as yet they had not found an opportunity of +discussing. It was necessary to arrive at some new arrangement +regarding Wager's children; for the boy, Albert, would soon be nine +years old, and, as Mrs. Abbott confessed, he had given her a great deal +of trouble. Both the children were intractable, hated lessons, and +played alarming pranks; Master Albert's latest feat might have cost him +his life, for he struck furiously through a pane of glass at a child +mocking him from the other side, and was all but fainting from loss of +blood when Mrs. Abbott came to his help. Plainly this youngster must be +sent to a boarding-school. Minnie, his sister, would be more easily +managed after he had gone. +</P> + +<P> +'He'll grow up a fighter,' said Harvey. 'We can't do without fighters. +I'll make inquiry at once about a school for him, and in a year or two +we'll take counsel with his teachers. Perhaps he might go into the +navy.' +</P> + +<P> +'The cost of it all,' fell from his companion in a nervous undertone. +</P> + +<P> +'We had that out long ago. Don't think about it.' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course, you will send only half the money when Albert leaves me,' +said Mrs. Abbott earnestly. 'I shall be in no difficulty. I have had +letters from several people, asking me to take their little children to +live with me. Albert's place will be filled at once. I can't take more +into the house; there's no room. With them, and my kindergarten, and +the lessons I give in the evening, I can live very well.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey mused. Wishing to feel himself in complete sympathy with his +friend, he knew that something of the old criticism still tempered his +liking. Mary Abbott had fine qualities, but lacked the simplicity, the +directness, which would have made her courage wholly admirable. He +suspected that she continually mourned over what seemed to her a waste +of life. Proud of her 'culture', remembering her distinction as a +teacher of grown-up girls, she had undertaken as a penitence the care +of little children, and persevered in it with obstinacy rather than +with inspired purpose. Mary Abbott, doubtless, had always regarded life +as a conflict; she had always fought for her own hand. When such a +nature falls into genuine remorse, asceticism will inevitably follow; +with it comes the danger of more or less conscious embitterment. Harvey +had a conviction of his friend's sincerity, and believed her in every +way a better woman than in the days before her great sorrow; but he +could not yet assure himself that she had found her true vocation. +</P> + +<P> +They spoke of the people who were so anxious to be relieved of their +children. +</P> + +<P> +'One lady wrote to me that she would pay almost anything if I would +take her little boy and keep him all the year round; she has only a +small house, and the child utterly upsets her life. Of course, I +understand her; I should have sympathised with her once.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's intelligible enough,' replied Harvey, with a laugh. 'Presently +there will be huge establishments for the young children of +middle-class people. Naturally, children are a nuisance; especially so +if you live in a whirlpool.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, I know it too well, the whirlpool way of life,' said Mrs. Abbott, +her eyes on the far mountains. 'I know how easily one is drawn into it. +It isn't only idle people.' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course not. There's the whirlpool of the furiously busy. Round and +round they go; brains humming till they melt or explode. Of course, +they can't bother with children.' +</P> + +<P> +'One loses all sense of responsibility.' +</P> + +<P> +'Rather, they have never had it, and it has no chance of developing. +You know, it isn't a matter of course for people to see that they are +under an enormous obligation to the children they bring into the world; +except in a parent here and there, that comes only with very favourable +circumstances. When there's no leisure, no meditation, no peace and +quietness,—when, instead of conversing, people just nod or shout to +each other as they spin round and round the gulf,—men and women +practically return to the state of savages in all that concerns their +offspring. The brats have come into existence, and must make the best +of it. Servants, governesses, schoolmasters—anybody but the +parents—may give thought to children. Well, it's a matter for the +individual. I shouldn't feel comfortable myself.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's a matter for the world, too,' said Mary. +</P> + +<P> +Harvey nodded. As he sat at the foot of the piled stones, his hand +touched a sprig of last year's heather; the stem was hung with dry, +rustling, colourless bells, which had clung there all through the cold, +stormy months, telling of beauty that was past, and of beauty that was +to come. He broke it off, and showed it to his companion. Until the +time for moving, they talked of simpler things, and Mary Abbott +recovered her spirits. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0203"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 3 +</H3> + +<P> +Turning regretfully from the place of rest, with its lulling sounds and +noble prospects, they began to descend the other side of the mountain, +which was more rugged than that by which they had come up. Harvey timed +the walk so well, that they reached the point of the road where Alma +would meet them, at a few minutes before the time agreed upon. No one +was in sight. The road in its inland direction could be scanned for a +quarter of a mile; the other way it curved rapidly, and was soon hidden +by gorse-bushes. +</P> + +<P> +'I hear nothing,' said Rolfe, when they had stood silent for a little. +'A mistake is impossible; the man has driven to meet us here before. +Shall we walk on?' +</P> + +<P> +They proceeded slowly, stopping from time to time. Harvey was puzzled +by this unpunctuality; it would soon be a quarter to two. He began to +feel hungry, and his companion looked tired. Of a sudden they heard the +sound of a vehicle approaching behind them. +</P> + +<P> +'It can't be Alma. She wouldn't have gone farther than——' +</P> + +<P> +But the horse appeared round the curve of the road, and behind it was a +dogcart, and in the dogcart sat Alma, alone. At sight of them she +pulled up abruptly, so abruptly that the horse reared a little. Harvey +walked forward. +</P> + +<P> +'You've been driving yourself?' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course. Why not?' replied Alma in a strangely high key. +</P> + +<P> +'How have we missed you?' +</P> + +<P> +As he put this question he became aware of something very unusual in +his wife's appearance. Alma was pallid and shaking; her small felt hat +had got out of position, and her hair was disordered, giving her a +wild, rakish aspect. He saw, too, that the horse dripped with sweat; +that it glared, panted, trembled, and could not for a moment stand +still. +</P> + +<P> +'What on earth have you been doing? She's run away with you!' +</P> + +<P> +'No, no!' cried Alma, laughing, as she looked at Mrs. Abbott, who had +just come up. 'She was rather fresh, and I gave her a good run, that's +all. I'm sorry I missed you at the place——' +</P> + +<P> +'Why didn't Williams drive?' asked Harvey in a voice turning to anger. +</P> + +<P> +'Williams? Why should Williams drive?' Alma returned, her eyes +flashing. 'I'm only a few minutes late; I don't see anything to make a +fuss about!' +</P> + +<P> +This temper was as strange in Alma as the personal appearance she +presented. Harvey said no more, but, after quickly examining the horse, +helped Mrs. Abbott to a seat at the back of the vehicle; he then jumped +up to his wife's side, and without a word took the reins from her hand. +Alma made no remark as she surrendered them. +</P> + +<P> +'Put your hat straight,' he said to her in a low voice. +</P> + +<P> +'My hat? What's the matter with it The wind, I suppose. Did you enjoy +it, Mrs. Abbott?' +</P> + +<P> +She turned, in speaking, so as to have her back towards Harvey, and +kept this position all the way, talking with her guest as if nothing +had happened. Rolfe, his face grimly set, uttered only a word or two. +He had to drive very slowly and with all caution, for the animal shied +every other minute, and he felt heartily glad when they all alighted. +Williams, who ran out from the stable, stood in astonishment at sight +of the horse's condition. +</P> + +<P> +'Rather fresh this morning,' said Harvey, as the ladies went in. 'Mrs +Rolfe had a little trouble with her.' +</P> + +<P> +This mild explanation by no means satisfied the coachman, though he +pretended to acquiesce. Seeing him give a look at the horse's knees, +Harvey did the same; nothing was wrong there. Williams pointed to marks +on one of the wheels; the cart had evidently grazed against a wall. +Alma must have lost control of the horse, and have been carried a +considerable distance before, somehow, it was stopped. Without doubt, +she had had a very narrow escape. Her anger seemed to be the result of +nerves upset and mortified vanity; she wished to show Mrs. Abbott that +she could drive—the explanation of the whole matter. Harvey was vexed +at such a piece of childishness; irritated, too, by the outbreak of +temper with which Alma had replied to his very natural alarm. Of +course, he would say nothing more; it would be interesting to await the +outcome of his wife's mature reflection on her folly. +</P> + +<P> +As he stepped into the house, something like a cry for help sounded +from above stairs. He shouted, 'What's that?' and in the same moment +Mary Abbott called to him that Mrs. Rolfe had fainted. On rushing up, +he found Mary with difficulty supporting Alma's unconscious form. +</P> + +<P> +'I saw she could hardly get upstairs,' said Mrs. Abbott. 'Just here on +the landing she gave a moan and fell back. I was luckily close by her.' +</P> + +<P> +They carried her into her room, and gave what help they could whilst +the doctor was being summoned. In a few minutes Alma regained +consciousness, and declared herself quite well again; but when she +tried to rise, strength failed her; she began to moan in physical +distress. Harvey went downstairs, whilst Mrs. Abbott and Ruth tended +the sufferer. +</P> + +<P> +Their ordinary medical man was far away among the hills; his assistant +had to be searched for, and came only after the lapse of two hours, by +which time Rolfe had worked himself into a fever. Whilst Mrs. Abbott, +faint with agitation and weariness, took a hurried meal, he went to the +bedside, and tried to learn whether Alma was suffering merely from +shock, or had sustained an actual injury; but she still nursed her +grievance against him, and would say very little. Why did not the +doctor come? She wished to see the doctor; no one else was of any use. +</P> + +<P> +'Go down and have lunch with Mrs. Abbott properly. Do go, please; I +hate all this fuss, and it's quite unnecessary. Let me be alone till +the doctor comes.' +</P> + +<P> +Before the arrival of Dr Evans's assistant she again fainted, and upon +that followed an attack of hysteria. When at length the medical man had +seen her, Harvey received an adequate, but far from reassuring, +explanation of the state of things. At nightfall Dr Evans came in +person, and was with the patient for a long time. He spoke less gravely +of the case, offered a lucid diagnosis, and thought that the services +of an ordinary nurse for a few days would meet every necessity. +Williams was sent with a hired vehicle to the market town, seven miles +away, and late at night returned with the woman recommended. Alma +meanwhile had lain quietly, and the household at length went to rest +without renewal of alarms. +</P> + +<P> +Twice before dawn Harvey left his room and stepped silently to Alma's +door. The first time, he heard low voices; the second, there was no +sound. When, about eight o'clock, he went down and out into the garden, +he was surprised to meet Mrs. Abbott. She had already seen the nurse +this morning, and reported that all was going well. Rolfe talked +cheerfully again, and would not listen to his guest's timid suggestion +that she should take leave today. Not a bit of it; she was to go down +to the seashore and enjoy the sunshine, and worry herself just as +little as possible. At breakfast-time came a message from Alma to the +same effect. Mrs. Abbott was on no account to cut short her visit, and +Harvey was to do his duty as host. She herself, said Mrs. Rolfe, would +be as well as ever in a day or two. +</P> + +<P> +For all that, when the appointed day for the guest's departure came, +Alma still lay blanched and feeble, not likely to leave her bed for +another week. She was, however, in a remarkably cheerful frame of mind. +Having to start on her journey as early as half-past eight, Mrs. Abbott +bade good-bye to her hostess the evening before, and nothing could have +been kinder or more amiable than Alma's behaviour. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't bear a grudge against me for spoiling your holiday,' she said, +holding her guest's hand and smiling brightly. 'If I say all is for the +best, perhaps you'll understand me, and perhaps you won't; it sounds +pious at all events, doesn't it? We must see each other again, you +know—here or somewhere else. I'm quite sure we can be friends. Of +course, Harvey will go with you in the morning.' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Abbott begged he would do nothing of the kind, but Alma was +imperative. +</P> + +<P> +'Of course he will! If it rains, a covered carriage will be here in +time. And write to me—mind you write to me; not only to say you've got +safe home, but in future. You promise?' +</P> + +<P> +In the morning it did rain, and heavily, so Harvey and his friend drove +to the station shut up together, with scarce a glimpse of anything +beyond the boulder walls and gorse hedges and dripping larch-trees. +They spoke a good deal of Alma. As soon as she was well again, said +Rolfe, he must take her for a thorough change. In truth, he was +beginning, he said, to doubt whether she could live in this +out-of-the-world place much longer. She liked it—oh yes, she liked +it—but he feared the solitude was telling upon her nerves. Mrs. Abbott +admitted that there might be something in this. +</P> + +<P> +'Should you return to London?' she asked. +</P> + +<P> +Whereupon Harvey stared before him, and looked troubled, and could only +answer that he did not know. +</P> + +<P> +When, two days after, the promised letter came from Mrs. Abbott, Harvey +took it up to the invalid's room, and sat by her whilst she read it. +</P> + +<P> +'She writes so nicely,' said Alma, who never in her life had showed +such sweetness of disposition as during this convalescence. 'Read it +for yourself, Harvey. Isn't it a nice letter? I feel so sorry we +haven't known each other before. But we're going to be friends now.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm sure I'm very glad.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nothing from Mamma? I almost think I could write to her to-day. Of +course, she'll fall into a dreadful state of mind, and want to know why +she wasn't sent for, and lament over—everything. But it's no use her +coming here now. When we go away we must manage to see her.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. Have you thought where you would like to go?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not yet. There's plenty of time.' +</P> + +<P> +Not a word had passed between them with reference to the perilous +drive. Alma spoke as if her illness were merely natural, due to nothing +in particular; but her husband fancied that she wished to atone, by +sweet and affectionate behaviour, for that unwonted ill-usage of him. +He saw, too, beyond doubt, that the illness seemed to her a blessing; +its result, which some women would have wept over, brought joy into her +eyes. This, in so far as it was unnatural, caused him some disturbance; +on the other hand, he was quite unable to take a regretful view of what +had happened, and why should he charge upon Alma as a moral fault that +which he easily condoned in himself? +</P> + +<P> +A few days more and the convalescent was allowed to leave her room. As +if to welcome her, there arrived that morning a letter from Melbourne, +with news that Sibyl and her husband would sail for England in a +fortnight's time after the date of writing, by the Orient Line steamer +<I>Lusitania</I>. +</P> + +<P> +'You know what you suggested?' cried Alma delightedly. 'Shall we go?' +</P> + +<P> +'What—to Naples? We should have to be off immediately. If they come by +the next ship after the one that brought this letter, they are now only +a fortnight from the end of the voyage. That means—allowing for their +nine days from Naples to London—that we should have to be at Naples in +four or five days from now.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well? That's easily managed, isn't it?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not by anyone in your state of health,' replied Harvey gently. +</P> + +<P> +'I am perfectly well! I could travel night and day. Why not? One eats +and sleeps as usual. Besides, are you quite sure They may be longer +than you think. Telegraph to the London office and ask when the +<I>Lusitania</I> will reach Naples.' +</P> + +<P> +'If you like. But, for one thing, it's quite certain you oughtn't to +travel in less than a week; and then—what about Hughie?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma's face darkened with vexation. +</P> + +<P> +'It doesn't matter,' she said coldly. 'I had counted on it; but, of +course, that's nothing. There's the baby to be considered first.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey had never been so near the point of answering his wife in rough, +masculine fashion. This illness of hers had unsettled his happy frame +of mind, perturbing him with anxious thoughts, and making confusion of +the quiet, reasonable prospect that lay before him only a week or two +ago. He, too, could much have enjoyed the run to Naples and the voyage +back, and disappointment taxed his patience. Irritated against Alma, +and ashamed of himself for not being better tempered, he turned and +left the room. A few minutes afterwards he walked to the post-office, +where he addressed a telegram of inquiry to the Orient Line people in +London. It was useless, of course; but he might as well satisfy Alma. +</P> + +<P> +The reply telegram was delivered to him as he sauntered about in the +garden. It merely confirmed his calculation; there might possibly be a +clear five days before the <I>Lusitania</I> touched at Naples—most likely +not more than four. He went into the sitting-room, but Alma was not +there; he looked into the study, and found it vacant. As Ruth happened +to pass, he bade her take the telegram to Mrs. Rolfe upstairs. +</P> + +<P> +He had no mind for reading or for any other occupation. He shut his +door, and began to smoke. In the whiffs curling from his pipe he +imagined the smoke of the great steamer as she drove northward from +Indian seas; he heard the throb of the engines, saw the white wake. +Naples; the Mediterranean; Gibraltar frowning towards the purple +mountains of Morocco; the tumbling Bay; the green shores of Devon;—his +pulses throbbed as he went voyaging in memory. And he might start this +very hour, but for the child, who could not be left alone to servants. +With something like a laugh, he thought of the people who implored Mary +Abbott to relieve them of their burdensome youngsters. And at that +moment Alma opened the door. +</P> + +<P> +Her face, thinned a little by illness, had quite recovered its amiable +humour. +</P> + +<P> +'Of course you are quite right, Harvey. We can't rush across Europe at +a moment's notice.' +</P> + +<P> +He rose up, the lover's light in his eyes again, and drew her to him, +and held her in a laughing embrace. +</P> + +<P> +'What has been wrong between us? It's a new thing for you and me to be +scowling and snarling.' +</P> + +<P> +'I hope I neither scowled nor snarled, dear boy, though I'm not sure +that <I>you</I> didn't. No doubt, Mrs. Abbott went away thinking we lead +rather a cat and dog life.' +</P> + +<P> +'Hang it, no! How could she have any such thoughts?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, the drive home that day.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, whose fault was that? I should have been all right, except that I +couldn't understand why you had run the chance of killing yourself.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think I should have cared very much that morning,' said Alma +idly. 'I was more miserable than you can imagine.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, I don't know—foolishness. But you never gave me a word of praise, +and I'm sure I deserved it. Why, she galloped with me like mad for +nearly two miles, and I never lost hold of the reins, and I pulled her +up by myself and got her round, and drove back to meet you as if +nothing had happened. I told Mrs. Abbott all about it, and she was +astonished at my pluck.' +</P> + +<P> +'Must have been. So am I.' +</P> + +<P> +'I doubt it. I doubt whether you ever think much of anything I do.' +</P> + +<P> +'That's rather unkind, because you know it isn't true.' +</P> + +<P> +'I always thought very much the same, you know.' +</P> + +<P> +'Rubbish! But come, what are we going to do? Naples seems out of the +question; but there's no reason why we shouldn't go to meet them in +London.' +</P> + +<P> +'You would much rather wait here, and let them come,' said Alma. 'I +don't care particularly about going away. So long as we keep on good +terms with each other—that's the chief thing.' +</P> + +<P> +'There has never been a dream of anything else. We are on good terms as +a matter of course. It's part of the order of the universe.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm very sorry, dear, that I threatened the universe with catastrophe; +but I won't do it again—indeed I won't. I will watch your face, and be +on my guard. And really, you know, under ordinary circumstances, I am +good-tempered enough.' +</P> + +<P> +'What's all this about?' cried Harvey. For she seemed to be in earnest, +and spoke with a soft humility, such as might have become the least +original of wives. 'Watch my face, and be on your guard? Since when +have I desired you to be a simpleton?' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm quite serious. It isn't foolish at all. I want to please you; +that's all I mean, dear.' +</P> + +<P> +He gazed at her, wondering, inclined to laugh, yet withheld from it by +an uneasy feeling. +</P> + +<P> +'This kind of talk means defective circulation, lost appetite, and so +on,' was his half-joking answer. 'The way to please me is to get some +colour into your cheeks again, and snub me for my ignorance of music, +and be your own arrogant self. But listen. You're quite mistaken in +thinking I want to stay here till Hugh and his wife come. It won't do. +You're getting far too sweet and docile, and everything detestable. I +had no idea of marrying an angel; it's too bad if you turn seraphic +upon my hands. I wonder, now, whether, by way of pleasing me, you would +answer a plain question?' +</P> + +<P> +'I'll try.' +</P> + +<P> +'Have you been wanting to get away from this place—I mean, to live +somewhere else?' +</P> + +<P> +'I? What can have made you think so?' +</P> + +<P> +'That isn't trying to answer a question, you know.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma, after looking keenly at him, had turned her face to the window. +She kept silence, and wore a look of calm reflectiveness. +</P> + +<P> +'Have you been bored and wearied by this life?' Harvey asked in his +most good-natured tone. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think I have ever for a moment shown a sign of it,' replied +Alma, with grave conviction. +</P> + +<P> +'So much the worse, if it meant that you concealed your thoughts.' +</P> + +<P> +'I shall always be content, Harvey, so long as I see you are living the +kind of life that suits you.' +</P> + +<P> +He uttered a shout of humorous, yet half-genuine, exasperation. +</P> + +<P> +'Do you want me to swear it's a long time since I lost the habit, but +it might strike you as manly, and perhaps I had better practise again. +What has it to do with <I>you</I>, the kind of life that suits <I>me</I>? Don't +you remember my talking about that before we were married? I've had a +suspicion that you were getting rather into that state of mind. You +dropped your music, and partly, I've no doubt, because you didn't find +enough intelligent sympathy in me. You went in for painting, and you've +dropped that——' +</P> + +<P> +'It was winter, you see,' Alma interrupted. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, but that wasn't the only reason. It meant general failure of +energy—the kind of thing I've known myself, only too well.' +</P> + +<P> +'What—here?' asked Alma, with some alacrity. +</P> + +<P> +'I meant now and again, all through my life. No; here I've gone on +right enough, with a tolerably even mind; and for that very reason I +haven't noticed any signs of the other thing in you—till just now, +when you lost your head. Why haven't you been frank with me?' +</P> + +<P> +'You take it for granted that I had anything to be frank about,' Alma +remarked. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes—and you don't contradict me.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then what were you going to say, Harvey?' +</P> + +<P> +She bent towards him, with that air of sweet reasonableness which +showed her features at their best: eye tranquil and intelligent, lips +ingenuously smiling; a countenance she wore not thrice in a +twelvemonth, but by Harvey well remembered amid all changes, and held +to express the true being of the woman he loved. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, I was going to say, dear,' he replied tenderly, 'that no good can +come of sacrificing your instincts. You have not to ask yourself +whether I am lazily comfortable—for that's what it amounts to—but +what you are making of your life. Remember, for one thing, that I am +considerably older——' +</P> + +<P> +'Please!' She checked him with an extended hand. 'I don't want to +remember anything of the kind.' +</P> + +<P> +'There's no harm in it, I hope.' He laughed a little. 'The difference +isn't distressing, but just enough to be taken into account. At forty, +or near it, a man who is happily married gets used to his slippers and +his pipe—especially if comfort, and all the rest of it, have come +after half a lifetime of homelessness. I might often say to myself that +I was wasting time, rusting, and so on; but the next day I should fall +back into the easy-chair again, and hate the thought of changes. But +you, with thirty still far ahead, slippers and pipe have no particular +attraction for you.' +</P> + +<P> +He saw a thought in her eyes, and paused. +</P> + +<P> +'Hughie will soon be able to talk,' fell from Alma, her look no longer +that of ingenuous sweetness, but of virtue just a trifle +self-conscious. And her husband, though he read this meaning in the +change, was yet pleased by the words that accompanied it. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; and then there will be more for you to do, you were going to say. +But that won't occupy you entirely, and it doesn't bind you to any +particular spot.' +</P> + +<P> +'Perhaps not.' +</P> + +<P> +She had become almost demure. Harvey took his eyes away. +</P> + +<P> +'It comes to this—you're not to subordinate your life to mine. That's +the old idea, and it still works well with some people. Yet I don't +know; perhaps it doesn't, really; one knows little enough about +people's lives. At all events, it won't work in our case, and remember +that we never thought it would. We talked it all over, with no humbug +on either side—rather an unusual sort of talk, when one comes to think +of it. I liked you for the common-sense you showed, and I remember +patting myself on the back for a rational bit of behaviour at a time +when I felt rather crazy.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma laughed in her gayest key. +</P> + +<P> +'You were delicious. I didn't quite know what to make of you. And +perhaps that was the very reason——' +</P> + +<P> +'Reason for what?' asked Harvey, when she broke off and looked not +quite so pale as a moment before. +</P> + +<P> +'I forget what I was going to say. But please go on. It's very +interesting—as your talk always is.' +</P> + +<P> +'I've said about all. You're not to be dutiful and commonplace; that's +the matter in a nutshell.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think you can accuse me of ever being commonplace.' +</P> + +<P> +'Perhaps not,' said Harvey. +</P> + +<P> +'And as for dutiful, our duty is to be consistent, don't you think?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes—if by consistency you mean the steady resolve to make the most of +yourself. That's what you had in mind when you came here. As soon as +you begin to grow limp, it's time to ask what is the matter. I don't +offer any advice; you know yourself better than I can know you. It's +for you to tell me what goes on in your mind. What's the use of our +living together if you keep your most serious thoughts to yourself?' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey Rolfe glowed with a sense of his own generous wisdom. He had +never felt so keen a self-approval. Indeed, that emotion seldom came to +solace him; for the most part he was the severest critic of his own +doings and sayings. But for once it appeared to him that he uttered +golden words, the ripe fruit of experience and reflection. That +personal unrest had anything to do with the counsel he offered to his +wife, he did not for the moment even suspect. Alma had touched him with +her unfamiliar note of simple womanhood, and all at once there was +revealed to him a peril of selfishness, from which he strongly +recoiled. He seemed to be much older, and Alma much more youthful, than +he was wont to perceive. Very gently and sweetly she had put him in +mind of this fact; it behoved him to consider it well, and act upon the +outcome of such reflection. Heavens! was he in danger of becoming the +typical husband—the man who, as he had put it, thinks first of his +pipe and slippers? From the outside, no man would more quickly or more +contemptuously have noted the common-sense moral of this present +situation. Being immediately concerned, he could see nothing in his +attitude but a wise and noble disinterestedness. And thus, at a moment +when he wittingly held the future in his hands, he prided himself on +leaving to Alma an entire responsibility—making her, in the ordinary +phrase, mistress of her own fate, and waiting upon her decisions. +</P> + +<P> +'I will think a little longer,' said Alma, sighing contentedly, 'and +then we'll talk about it again. It's quite true I was getting a little +run down, and perhaps—but we'll talk about it in a day or two.' +</P> + +<P> +'Could we decide anything for the present? Would you care to go and +meet the steamer at Plymouth?' +</P> + +<P> +'And take Hughie? Suppose I wrote very nicely to Mamma, and asked if we +might leave Hughie with her, in Hampshire, for a few days? I dare say +she would be delighted, and the other people too. The nurse could be +with him, I dare say. We could call there on our way. And Ruth would +look after the house very well.' +</P> + +<P> +'Write and ask.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then you and I'—Alma began to talk joyously—'might ramble about +Devonshire till the ship comes. Let me see—if we travelled on Monday, +that would give us several days, wouldn't it? And the Carnabys might +either land at Plymouth, or we go on with them in the ship to London. +That's a very good plan. But why lose time by writing? Send a telegram +to Mamma—"Could we leave Hughie and nurse with you for a day or two?"' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey again turned his steps to the post-office, and this message was +despatched. A few hours elapsed before the reply came, but it was +favourable. +</P> + +<P> +'Then we'll leave on Monday!' exclaimed Alma, whose convalescence was +visibly proceeding. 'Just send another telegram—a word or two, that +they may be ready.' +</P> + +<P> +'Might as well have mentioned the day in the other,' said Harvey, +though glad to have something more to do. +</P> + +<P> +'Of course; how thoughtless!' +</P> + +<P> +And they laughed, and were in the best of tempers. +</P> + +<P> +On the morrow, Sunday, they walked together as they had used to do in +the first spring after their marriage; along the grassy cliffs, then +down to the nook where the sand is full of tiny shells, and round the +little headland into the next bay, where the quaint old fishing-village +stands upon the edge of the tide. And Alma was again in love, and held +her husband's hand, and said the sweetest things in the most wonderful +voice. She over-tired herself a little, so that, when they ascended the +cliff again, Harvey had to support her; and in the sunny solitude she +thanked him with her lips—in two ways. +</P> + +<P> +It was a second honeymoon. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0204"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 4 +</H3> + +<P> +Mrs. Frothingham's sister, who lived near Basingstoke, gave a warm +welcome to little Hugh Rolfe; and Mrs. Frothingham, who had all but +forgotten that the child was not really her grandson, took charge of +him with pride and joy. He stayed a week; he stayed a fortnight;—he +stayed two months. +</P> + +<P> +For when the Carnabys—who landed at Plymouth and rested there for a +couple of days—made known their intention of straightway taking a flat +in town, it seemed to Alma that the very best thing for her health +would be to spend a week or two in London, and see her old friends, and +go to a few concerts. The time was favourable, for June had only just +set in. Harvey, nothing loath, took his wife to a quiet hotel in the +Portman Square region, whither also went their friends from abroad; his +project being to look for furnished rooms, where child and nurse could +join them. But Mrs. Frothingham thought it a pity of pities to take +little Hugh into the town, when all was so pleasantly arranged for him +down in Hampshire; and, as Alma evidently inclined to the same view, +the uninviting thought of 'apartments' was laid aside. They might as +well remain at the hotel, said Harvey. Alma, with a pretty show of +economical hesitation, approved the plan, saying that she would be +quite ready to go home again when Sibyl had established herself in a +flat. This event came to pass in about three weeks; the Carnabys found +a flat which suited them very well at Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, +and thither, with the least possible delay, transferred a portion of +their furniture, which had lain in warehouse. Thereupon, sweetly +reasonable, Mrs. Rolfe made known that it was time to fetch her baby +and return to Carnarvonshire. She felt incalculably better; the change +had been most refreshing; now for renewed enjoyment of her dear home! +</P> + +<P> +But Harvey wore his wisest countenance; no owl could have surpassed it +for sage gravity. +</P> + +<P> +'You are very much better, and don't you think you would be better +still after another week or two? The concerts are in full swing; it +seems a pity—now you are here——' +</P> + +<P> +Alma looked gracefully reluctant. Were not the hotel expenses rather +heavy? +</P> + +<P> +'Pooh! You must remember that at home we live on half our income, or +less. If that's all that troubles you——' +</P> + +<P> +'You are very kind, Harvey!' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, as for that, I'm enjoying myself. And I like to see you in such +capital spirits.' +</P> + +<P> +So, with a happy sigh, Alma gave up the packing of her trunk, and wrote +to Mrs. Frothingham that if baby <I>really</I> was not a trouble, they might +stay for another fortnight. 'Harvey is in such capital spirits, and +does so enjoy himself, that I don't think he ought to go home whilst +all the life of the season is in full swing. Of course, I could leave +him here, but—if you will credit it—he seems really to wish to have +me with him. If I tried to say how thoroughly good and kind he is, I +should make you laugh. It amuses me to see him turned into a sort of +bachelor again. This is no contradiction; I mean that here, among his +men friends, he shows a new side of himself, seems younger (to tell the +truth), and has a kind of gaiety quite different from his good humour +at home. You can't think how he enjoys a dinner at the club, for +instance, quite in a boyish way; and then he comes back with all sorts +of stories and bits of character and I don't know what; we forget the +time, and sit talking till I daren't tell you when. But I am doing the +same thing now, for it is half-past twelve (noon), and I have promised +to lunch with Sibyl at half-past one. Her flat is just finished, and +looks very pretty indeed. A thousand kisses to my little darling! Try +and make him understand that <I>mum-mum</I> has not gone for ever.' +</P> + +<P> +She dressed with care (her wardrobe had undergone a complete renewal), +and drove off in a hansom to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions. It was to +be a luncheon of intimacy, for Sibyl had not yet gathered her +acquaintances. When Alma entered, Mrs. Carnaby was sitting just as in +the days before her great migration, perfectly at ease, admirably +self-possessed, her beauty arrayed with all the chastity of effect +which distinguished her among idle and pleasure-loving women. She had +found a new way of doing her hair, a manner so young, so virginal, that +Alma could not but gaze with wonder and admiration. +</P> + +<P> +'You do look sweet today!' +</P> + +<P> +'Do I? I'm glad you think so.—I want your opinion. Would you have the +piano there, or <I>there</I>?' +</P> + +<P> +This matter was discussed, and then they obeyed the tuneful gong that +summoned them to the dining-room. Alma surveyed everything, and felt a +secret envy. Here was no demonstration of the simple life; things +beautiful and luxurious filled all available space, and indeed +over-filled it, for Sibyl had tried to use as much as possible of the +furniture formerly displayed in Hamilton Terrace, with such alterations +and novelties as were imposed by the fashion of today. She offered her +guest a most dainty little meal; a luncheon such as Alma could not +possibly have devised, in spite of all her reminiscences. +</P> + +<P> +'Civilisation is a great thing,' Sibyl remarked. 'It's good to have +been in savagery, just to appreciate one's privileges.' +</P> + +<P> +'But you liked Honolulu?' +</P> + +<P> +'Honolulu—yes. I was thinking of Queensland. There's no barbarism at +Honolulu, if you keep out of sight of the Americans and Europeans. Yes, +I enjoyed myself there. I think I could go back and live out my life at +Waikiki.' +</P> + +<P> +'It astonished me that you didn't make an effort to go with Hugh to +that great volcano. I have read about it since, and I'm sure I should +have faced anything.' +</P> + +<P> +'Kilauea,' murmured Sibyl, with a dreamy air, as she raised the +wine-glass to her lips. 'I was lazy, no doubt. The climate, you know; +and then I don't care much about bubbling lava. It was much nicer to +watch the gold-fish at Waikiki.—Where is your husband today?' +</P> + +<P> +'Of all things in the world, gone to Lord's! He says he never saw a +cricket match in his life, and it struck him this morning that it +really was a defect in his education. Of course, he was thinking of +Hughie. He wants Hughie to be a cricketer and horseman and everything +that's robust.' +</P> + +<P> +'Just like Hugh,' replied Sibyl, laughing. 'I should feel the same if I +had a boy. I like open-air men—though I shouldn't care always to live +among them.' +</P> + +<P> +'Hugh at Coventry still?' Alma inquired. +</P> + +<P> +Her hostess gave a nod, with a look intimating that she would say more +when the servant left them free to talk. She added—— +</P> + +<P> +'Do you know Mrs. Strangeways?' +</P> + +<P> +'I seem to remember a Mr. Strangeways,' replied Alma, 'but I can't +think how or where.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, he's a man who goes about a good deal. His wife was the widow of +that artist who promised so well, and got into a scrape, and died +miserably—Edward—no, Egbert Dover. Don't you know that big landscape +that hangs in Mrs. Holt's boudoir?—that was one of his. He hid himself +away, and died in a garret or a workhouse—something cheerful. I met +Mrs. Strangeways at Brisbane; she and her husband were globe-trotting. +She might look in this afternoon. I don't know whether you would care +for her; she's rather—rapid, you know. But she remembers hearing you +play somewhere—spoke of you with great admiration.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma's eyes shone. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, I should be glad to meet her! Are you going to let me stay with +you all the afternoon, then?' +</P> + +<P> +'If you have nothing better to do. I suppose I shall be losing you +presently. I'm very sorry. I wish you lived in London.' +</P> + +<P> +'On this one account,' replied Alma, 'I wish I did. But I've got so out +of it. Don't you think I carry a rustic atmosphere about with me?' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl laughed, in the tone her friend wished to hear. Alma would have +been profoundly mortified if Mrs. Carnaby had seemed ever so little to +agree with her. +</P> + +<P> +For all that, they were not quite so well attuned to each other as when +the young married woman, indifferent seemingly to social distinction, +patronised the ambitious girl, and, by the mere bestowal of confidence, +subtly flattered her. In those days Alma did not feel it as patronage, +for Sibyl's social position was perhaps superior to her own, and in +things of the intellect (apart from artistic endowment) she sincerely +looked up to her friend. Together they trod ground above the heads of +ordinary women in their world. But changes had been at work. Alma now +felt herself, to say the least, on equal terms with Mrs. Carnaby. +Economically, she was secure; whereas Sibyl, notwithstanding the show +she made, drew daily nearer to a grave crisis, and might before long +find herself in a very unpleasant situation. Intellectually, Alma saw +herself in a less modest light than before marriage; the daily +companionship of such a man as her husband had been to her as a second +education; she had quite overtaken Sibyl, if not gone a little beyond +her. The deference she still showed was no longer genuine, and this +kind of affectation, hard to support and readily perceived, is very +perilous to friendship. Conscious of thoughts she must not utter, Alma +naturally attributed to her friend the same sort of reticence. She +feared that Sibyl must often have in mind the loss she had suffered +three years ago, and would contrast her own precarious circumstances +with the comfort of Bennet Frothingham's daughter. Moreover, Mrs. +Carnaby was not in all respects her own self; she had lost something on +her travels; was it a shade of personal delicacy, of mental refinement? +She seemed more inclined to self-assertion, to aim somewhat at worldly +success, to be less careful about the friends she made. Alma felt this +difference, though not clear as to its nature, and insensibly it helped +to draw them apart. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, Hugh is at Coventry,' said Sibyl, when the servant had withdrawn. +'He'll go backwards and forwards, you know. I don't think he'll have +very much to do practically with the business; but just at first he +likes to see what's going on.' +</P> + +<P> +'I hope it will prosper.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, no doubt it will. It was a very good idea.' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl spoke as though she had never contemplated the possibilities +which were in Alma's mind. Her husband, as Alma knew from Rolfe, was in +anything but a sanguine mood; he saw his position in all its gravity, +and could hardly rest for fear that this latest enterprise should not +succeed. Sibyl, however, enjoyed her lunch with complete tranquillity. +She had the air of being responsible for nothing. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm not at all sorry we went away for a time. Travelling suits Hugh; +it has done him a great deal of good. I believe he would have liked to +stay in Tasmania; but he saw it wouldn't do for me, and the good fellow +could think of nothing else but my comfort. I have a great admiration +for Hugh,' she added, with a smile, not exactly of superiority or +condescension, but of approval distinct from tenderness. 'Of course, I +always had, and it has increased since I've travelled with him. He +shows to far more advantage on a ship than in a drawing-room. On this +last voyage we had some very bad weather, and then he was at his best. +I admired him immensely!' +</P> + +<P> +'I can quite imagine how he would be,' said Alma. +</P> + +<P> +'And how glad I was when I heard you had married his best friend! It +had crossed my mind more than once. Perhaps you don't remember—you +didn't notice it at the time—but I ventured a discreet hint before we +parted. You couldn't have done a more sensible thing, Alma.' +</P> + +<P> +Though quite willing to believe this, Alma, for some reason, did not +care to hear it thus asserted. The manner of the remark, for all its +friendliness, reminded her that marriage had signified her defeat, the +end of high promises, brave aspirations. +</P> + +<P> +'I couldn't tell you how it happened,' she said, with a little +awkwardness. 'And I dare say you would say the same about your own +marriage.' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course So would every woman. One never does know how it happens' +</P> + +<P> +And Sibyl laughed with quiet merriment which had a touch of cynicism. +Alma had not yet spoken of the impulse which carried her away to the +little house in Carnarvonshire, to the life of noble simplicity and +calm retirement, and she had no disposition now to touch on the matter. +Even in her early letters to Sybil not much was said of it, for she +felt that her friend might have a difficulty in sympathising with such +enthusiasm. She would have liked to make Sibyl understand that her +rustication was quite voluntary; but the subject embarrassed her, and +she preferred to keep silence. +</P> + +<P> +'I didn't hear very much about your time in Germany,' Mrs. Carnaby +resumed. 'Nothing much to tell, I suppose.' +</P> + +<P> +'Very little.' +</P> + +<P> +'Any—any adventures?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh no!' +</P> + +<P> +Alma felt herself grow warm, less at the thought of the adventures +which really had befallen her than from vexation at the feeling of +insignificance. She understood very well what Sibyl meant by her +smiling question, and it would almost have been a relief to tell +certain stories, in proof that she had not utterly fallen out of sight +and mind on her self-banishment from society. There was no reason, +indeed, why she should not make fun of Felix Dymes and his proposal; +but the episode seemed idle in comparison with another, on which she +had never ceased to reflect. Perhaps a certain glory attached to that +second incident; Sibyl might be impressed alike with the character of +the temptation and with her friend's nobility in scorning it. But the +opportunity had gone by. +</P> + +<P> +On rising from table, Sibyl remarked that she wished to make one or two +purchases; would Alma accompany her to the shop? They went forth, and +drove as far as Regent Street. Mrs. Carnaby's requirements were one or +two expensive trifles, which she chose with leisurely gratification of +her taste. It surprised Alma to see this extravagance; one would have +thought the purchaser had never known restricted means, and dreamt of +no such thing; she bought what she happened to desire, as a matter of +course. And this was no ostentation for Alma's benefit. Evidently Sibyl +had indulged herself with the same freedom throughout her travels; for +she had brought back a museum of beautiful and curious things, which +must have cost a good deal. Perhaps for the first time in her life Alma +experienced a sense of indignation at the waste of money. She was +envious withal, which possibly helped to explain the other impulse. +</P> + +<P> +They returned in an hour's time. Sibyl then withdrew for a few minutes, +and reappeared in an exquisite tea-gown, which made her friend's frock, +though new and handsome, look something less than suitable to the +occasion. Alma, glancing about the room, spoke as if in pursuance of a +train of thought. +</P> + +<P> +'People <I>do</I> make a lot of money out of bicycles, I think?' +</P> + +<P> +'I have heard so,' answered her hostess indifferently. 'Will you play +me something? The piano has been tuned; I should like to know if you +think it all right.' +</P> + +<P> +'I have quite given up playing the piano.' +</P> + +<P> +'Indeed? And the violin too?' +</P> + +<P> +'No, no; the violin is my instrument. Whose is that little +water-colour, Sibyl? I tried for just that effect of sun through mist +not long ago.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh yes, to be sure, you have gone in for water-colours; you told me in +a letter. I must see some of your things. Of course, I shall +becoming——' +</P> + +<P> +The door opened, and a small page, very smartly equipped, to Alma; she +had not as yet seen this functionary; but Mrs. announced Mrs. Herbert +Strangeways. The page was a surprise Strangeways drew her attention. A +lady of perhaps thirty-five, with keen, thin face, and an artificial +bloom on her hollow cheeks; rather overdressed, yet not to the point of +vulgarity; of figure very well proportioned, slim and lissom. Her voice +was a trifle hard, but pleasant; her manner cordial in excess. +</P> + +<P> +'So here you are, <I>chez vous</I>. Charming! Charming! The prettiest room I +have seen for a long time. Mrs. Rolfe? Oh, Mrs. Rolfe, the name put me +out for a moment; but I remember you perfectly, perfectly. It was at +the Wigrams'; you played the violin wonderfully!' +</P> + +<P> +Alma did not much care to be reminded of this. Mr. Wigram, one of her +father's co-directors, was lying at this moment in durance vile, and +his wife lived somewhere or other on charity. But Mrs. Strangeways +uttered the name without misgiving, and behaved as though nothing +conceivable could have afforded her more delight than to meet Alma +again. It was her habit to speak in superlatives, and to wear a +countenance of corresponding ecstasy. Any casual remark from either of +the ladies she received with a sort of rapture; her nerves seemed to be +in a perpetual thrill. If she referred to herself, it was always with +depreciation, and not at all the kind of depreciation which invites +compliment, but a tremulous self-belittlement, such as might be natural +in a person who had done something to be ashamed of, and held her place +in society only on sufferance. +</P> + +<P> +'You still play, of course?' she said to Mrs. Rolfe presently. 'I so +hope I may have the pleasure of hearing you again. I wonder whether I +could persuade you to come next Wednesday? We have a little house in +Porchester Terrace. Of course, I don't mean to ask you to play; I +shouldn't venture to. Just a few friends in the evening—if you didn't +think it tiresome? I'll send you a card.' +</P> + +<P> +There entered a tall young man of consumptive features, accompanied by +a stout, florid woman, older than himself; and upon this couple +followed half-a-dozen miscellaneous callers, some of whom Alma knew. +These old acquaintances met her with a curiosity they hardly troubled +to disguise; she herself was reserved, and took no part in the general +chatter. Mrs. Strangeways withdrew into a corner, as if wishing to +escape observation. When Mrs. Rolfe took a chair by her side, she +beamed with gratitude, and their gossip grew quite intimate. Alma could +not understand why Sibyl had stigmatised this woman as 'rapid'—that is +to say, 'fast'; she gabbled, indeed, at a great rate, but revealed no +startling habits of life or thought, and seemed to have rather an +inclination for childish forms of amusement. Before they parted, Alma +gave a promise that she would go to Mrs. Strangeways 'at home' next +Wednesday. +</P> + +<P> +'And your husband, if he would care to come. I should be so delighted +to know him. But perhaps he doesn't care about that kind of thing. I +hate to bore anyone—don't you? But then, of course, you're never in +danger of doing it. So very, <I>very</I> glad to have met you! And so +exceedingly kind of you to promise!—so <I>very</I> kind!' +</P> + +<P> +As Sibyl also was going to Porchester Terrace, they arranged to +chaperon each other and to start from Mrs. Rolfe's hotel. +</P> + +<P> +'It's no use making Harvey uncomfortable,' said Alma. 'He would go if I +asked him but sorely against the grain. He always detested 'at +homes'—except when he came to admire <I>me</I>! And he likes to see me +going about independently.' +</P> + +<P> +'Does he?' said Sibyl, with an inquiring look. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes—seriously. We do our best not to encumber each other. Don't you +think it's the best way?' +</P> + +<P> +'No doubt whatever.' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Carnaby smiled, and the smile grew to a laugh; but she would not +explain what she meant by it. +</P> + +<P> +On the Wednesday evening, they reached Mrs. Strangeways' house at ten +o'clock. Carriages and cabs made a queue up to the door, and figures +succeeded each other rapidly on the red cloth laid down across the +pavement. Alma was nervous. More than three years had passed since the +fatal evening when, all unconsciously, she said goodbye to social +splendours; from then till now she had taken part in no festivity. The +fact that her name was no longer Frothingham gave her some +encouragement; but she must expect to be recognised, perhaps to be +stared at. Well, and would it be so very disagreeable? An hour before, +the mirror had persuaded her that she need not shrink from people's +eyes; her dress defied criticism, and she had not to learn how to bear +herself with dignity. Sibyl was unusually lavish of compliments, and in +a matter such as this Sibyl's judgment had weight. As soon as she found +herself on the stairs, amid perfumes and brilliances, she breathed +freely; it was the old familiar atmosphere; her heart leaped with a +sudden joy, as in a paradise regained. +</P> + +<P> +Already the guests were very numerous, and they continued to arrive. +The drawing-rooms filled; a crowd of men smoked in the 'library' and +the billiard-room; women swarmed in passages and staircase. After +welcoming Mrs. Rolfe with the ardour of a bosom friend and the +prostration of a devotee, the hostess turned to the next comer with +scarcely less fervency. And Alma passed on, content for the present to +be lost amid thronging strangers. +</P> + +<P> +'Who are all these people?' she asked of Sibyl, who had moved along by +her side. +</P> + +<P> +'Nobodies, most of them, I should imagine. There's no need to stay very +long, you know. That's Mr. Strangeways, the little man with a red face +talking to that mountain of a woman in green. Mercy, what a dress! He's +coming this way; I'll introduce him to you.' +</P> + +<P> +The host had a jovial carriage and a bluff way of speaking, both +obviously affected. His eyes wandered as he talked, and never met +anyone else's with a steady look. Alma thought him offensively +familiar, but he did not inflict himself upon her for long. +</P> + +<P> +When the hostess began to go hither and thither, she pounced eagerly on +Mrs. Rolfe, and soon made her the centre of a group. Alma began to +taste the old delight of homage, though she perceived that her new +acquaintances were not of the world in which she had formerly shone. +About midnight, when she was a little tired of the crush, and thought +of going, there fell upon her ear a voice which startled and aroused +her like an unexpected grasp. On the instant she saw an open place in +Munich; the next, a lake and mountains. +</P> + +<P> +'I wasn't in town then. I got out of sorts, and ran away to a little +place I have on the Lake of Garda.' +</P> + +<P> +The speaker was immediately behind her. She all but turned her head, +and grew hot in the effort to command herself. Amid the emotions +naturally excited in her she was impressed by a quality in the voice, a +refinement of utterance, which at once distinguished it from that of +the men with whom she had been talking. It belonged to a higher social +grade, if it did not express a superiority of nature. For some moments +she listened, catching now and then a word; then other voices +intervened. At length, turning where she stood, she let her eyes range, +expressionless, over the faces near by. That which she sought was not +discoverable, but at the same moment the hostess came up to her. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Rolfe, do you know Mr. Cyrus Redgrave?' +</P> + +<P> +'Mr. Redgrave——?' +</P> + +<P> +The confused, hesitating repetition of the name was taken by Mrs +Strangeways for a reply in the negative. +</P> + +<P> +'A charming man, and a great friend of mine—oh, a very old friend. Let +me bring him.' +</P> + +<P> +She rustled away, and Mrs. Rolfe sank back on to the <I>causeuse</I> from +which she had newly risen. Quickly the hostess returned, and, in the +track she made through crowded clusters of people who stood talking, +there followed a gentleman of easy carriage, with handsome features and +thin hair. He was looking for Alma, and as soon as his eyes perceived +her, they fell. Of what Mrs. Strangeways said, Alma heard not a +syllable; she bowed mechanically, clutching her fan as though in peril +of a fall and this the only thing within reach; she knew that Redgrave +bent solemnly, silently; and then, with sudden relief, she saw the +hostess retire. +</P> + +<P> +'I beg your pardon.' The voice was addressing her in a respectful +undertone. 'I had no choice. I did not feel justified in saying I knew +you.' +</P> + +<P> +'You were quite right,' she replied coldly, her fingers now relaxed +upon the fan. 'Mrs. Strangeways is a little impulsive; she gave me no +opportunity of preventing the introduction.' +</P> + +<P> +'Will you let me say, Mrs. Rolfe, that I am glad to have been presented +to you as a stranger? I should be happy indeed if our acquaintance +might begin anew.' +</P> + +<P> +It was polite in terms, but sounded to Alma very like the coolest +impertinence. She bent her head, ever so little. The second seat of the +<I>causeuse</I> being unoccupied, Redgrave hereupon took possession of it. +No sooner had he done so than Alma rose, let a smile of indifference +just fall upon him, and lost herself amid the buzzing assembly. +</P> + +<P> +Ten minutes later, Redgrave and Mrs. Carnaby were lounging in these +same seats, conversing with perfect mutual intelligence. They had not +met for three years, but the interval signified very little in their +lives, and they resumed conversation practically at the point where it +had broken off in Mrs. Frothingham's drawing-room. A tactful question +assured the man of the world that Mrs. Carnaby knew nothing of certain +passages at Munich and Bregenz. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm afraid,' he added, 'Mrs. Rolfe has become a little reserved. +Natural, no doubt.' +</P> + +<P> +'She lives in a wild part of Wales,' Sibyl answered, smiling +tolerantly. 'And her husband detests society.' +</P> + +<P> +'Indeed? Odd choice for her to have made, don't you think?—And so your +Odyssey is over? We shall have some chance of seeing you again.' +</P> + +<P> +'But your own Odyssey is perpetually going on. Are you ever in town +except for a few weeks of the season?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, I go about very little now; I'm settling down.—You never met my +sister, I think? She has a house at Wimbledon with a good-sized +garden—sort of little park, in fact,—and I have persuaded her to let +me build myself a bungalow among the trees.' +</P> + +<P> +'Splendid idea!' +</P> + +<P> +'Not bad, I think. One is free there; a member of the family whenever +one likes; domesticated; all that's respectable; and only a few steps +away, the bachelor snuggery, with all that's——. No, no! I was <I>not</I> +going to complete the antithesis, though by your smiling you seem to +say so.' +</P> + +<P> +'The suggestion was irresistible,' said Sibyl, with the composure, the +air of security, which always covered her excursions on to slippery +ground. +</P> + +<P> +'When the weather is good, I ask a few of my friends to come and sit +there in the shade. They may or may not be my sister's friends also; +that doesn't matter. I have a separate entrance from the road.—But I +wish you knew Mrs. Fenimore. She lived a year or two at Stuttgart, for +her children to learn German. Her husband's in India. She tried it, but +couldn't stand the climate.' +</P> + +<P> +'And you really live in the bungalow?' inquired Mrs. Carnaby, +disregarding this information about Redgrave's sister. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, it's my headquarters in England. Let me send you a card, will +you, when I have my next afternoon? It might amuse you, and I assure +you it <I>is</I> perfectly respectable.' +</P> + +<P> +'How could I doubt it, if you invite me?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma drove home by herself in a hansom. She liked this disregard of +conventionalities; all the more because Harvey, who, of course, had sat +up for her, seemed a trifle anxious. Her spirits were exuberant; she +gave a merry, mocking account of the evening, but it included no +mention of Cyrus Redgrave. +</P> + +<P> +At the end of June her friends the Leaches moved from their old house +in Elgin Road to a new one out at Kingsbury-Neasden, and when the +removal was completed Alma went there to make a call, taking her +husband. Harvey had never been beyond Swiss Cottage on this extension +of the Metropolitan Railway; he looked with interest at the new +districts springing up towards Harrow, and talked of them with Mrs. +Leach. A day or two after, he travelled by himself to a greater +distance on the same line, making a survey of the country from Harrow +to Aylesbury. At his next meeting with Hugh Carnaby, which took place +about the middle of July, he threw out a suggestion that for anyone who +wished to live practically in London and yet away from its frenzy, the +uplands towards Buckinghamshire were convenient ground. +</P> + +<P> +'I wish you were thinking of it yourself,' replied Hugh. 'Your wife is +about the only woman Sibyl cares to see much of, and the only woman I +know that she'll get any good from.' +</P> + +<P> +The strong man did not look very cheerfully on the world just now, and +it was evident that he felt some sort of trouble with regard to his +wife. For her sake solely he had returned to England, where he was less +than ever at his ease. He wished Sibyl to live in her own way, grudged +her nothing, admired and cherished her with undiminished fervour; but +in Oxford and Cambridge Mansions it cost him a great effort to pretend +to be at home. The years of wandering had put him hopelessly out of +touch with what Sibyl called society. Little as he understood about +manufactures, or cared for the details of commerce, he preferred to +stay down at Coventry with his partner Mackintosh, living roughly, +smoking his pipe and drinking his whisky in the company of men who had +at least a savour of sturdy manhood. His days of sport were gone by; he +was risking the solid remnant of his capital; and if it vanished—But +of that possibility he would not speak, even with Harvey Rolfe. As he +meditated, his teeth were set, his eyes darkened. And it appeared to +Harvey that the good fellow drank a little more whisky than was +needful, even in these warm days. +</P> + +<P> +'I want to see the little chap, my namesake,' he said. 'Why don't you +have him up here? Doesn't your wife feel she wants him?' +</P> + +<P> +'Alma will think more of him in a year or two,' Harvey replied. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. I've noticed that women—one sort of women—don't care much about +babies nowadays. I dare say they're right. The fewer children people +have, the better. It's bad to see the poor little squalling brats in +the filth and smoke down yonder, and worse still in this damned London. +Great God! when there's so much of the world clean and sweet, here we +pack and swelter together, a million to the square mile! What eternal +fools we are!' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey growled his heartiest agreement. None the less, a day or two +after, he was holding a conversation with Alma which encouraged her +secret weariness of the clean and sweet places of the earth. They had +come home from a Richter concert, and Alma uttered a regret that she +had not her violin here. A certain <I>cadenza</I> introduced by a certain +player into a certain violin solo did not please her; why, she could +extemporise a <I>cadenza</I> far more in keeping with the spirit of the +piece. After listening, with small attention to the matter, but much to +the ardent speech and face of enthusiasm, Harvey made a quiet remark. +</P> + +<P> +'I want you to decide very soon what we are going to do.' +</P> + +<P> +'Going to do?' +</P> + +<P> +'About the future—where we are to live.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma strummed lightly with her finger-tips upon the table, and smiled, +but did not look up. +</P> + +<P> +'Do you really think of making any change?' +</P> + +<P> +'I leave it entirely to you. You remember our last talk before we came +away. You have simply to ask yourself what your needs are. Be honest +with yourself and with me. Don't sacrifice life to a whim, one way or +the other. You have had plenty of time to think; you have known several +ways of life; you're old enough to understand yourself. Just make up +your mind, and act.' +</P> + +<P> +'But it's ridiculous, Harvey, to speak as if I had only myself to +consider.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't want you to do so. But supposing that were your position, now, +after all your experience, where would you choose to live?' +</P> + +<P> +He constrained her to answer, and at length she spoke, with a girlish +diffidence which seemed to him very charming. +</P> + +<P> +'I like the concerts—and I like to be near my musical friends—and I +don't think it's at all necessary to give up one's rational way of +living just because one is in London instead of far away.' +</P> + +<P> +'Precisely. That means we ought to come back.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not if you do it unwillingly.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'll be frank in my turn. For Hughie's sake, I don't think we ought to +live in the town; but it's easy enough to find healthy places just +outside.' +</P> + +<P> +'I shouldn't wish to be actually in the town,' said Alma, her voice +tremulous with pleasure. 'You know where the Leaches are living?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. Or just a little farther away, on the higher ground. Very well, +let us regard <I>that</I> as settled.' +</P> + +<P> +'But you, dear—could you live there?' +</P> + +<P> +'Well enough. It's all the same to me if I have my books, and a field +to walk in—and if you don't want me to see too many women.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma laughed gaily, and had done with semblance of hesitation. +</P> + +<P> +They began to search for a house, and in a week's time had found one, +newly built, which seemed to answer their requirements. It was at +Pinner, not many minutes by rail from Alma's friends at +Kingsbury-Neasden, and only about half an hour from Baker Street—'so +convenient for the concerts'. A new house might be damp, but the summer +months were hastening to dry it, and they would not enter into +residence before the end of autumn. 'We must go and enjoy our heather,' +said Alma brightly. The rent was twice what Harvey had been paying; +there was no stabling, but Alma agreed that they ought not to keep a +horse, for naturally there would be 'other expenses'. +</P> + +<P> +Other expenses, to be sure. But Harvey signed the three years' lease +without misgiving. A large surplus lay in hand after the 'simple life' +in Carnarvonshire, and his position was not that of men who have +extravagant wives. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0205"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 5 +</H3> + +<P> +The Leach family gave it to be understood by their friends that they +had moved out of town because of Mrs. Leach's health. Other +explanations were suspected; for the new establishment seemed to be on +a more modest footing than that in Elgin Road, and the odd arrangement +whereby Mr. Leach came home only on Saturday could not be without +significance. Mrs. Leach, it was true, suffered from some obscure +affection of the nerves, which throughout the whole of her married life +had disabled her from paying any continuous regard to domestic affairs; +this debility had now reached such a point that the unfortunate lady +could do nothing but collapse in chairs and loll on sofas. As her two +daughters, though not debilitated, had never dreamt of undertaking +household management, all such matters were left to a cook-housekeeper, +changed every few months, generally after a quarrel, wherein Mrs. Leach +put forth, for an invalid, very surprising energy. Mr. Leach, a +solicitor, had no function in life but to toil without pause for the +support of his family in genteel leisure; he was a mild man, dreading +discord, and subservient to his wife. For many years he had made an +income of about L2000, every penny of which, excepting a small +insurance premium, had been absorbed by expenses of the house. At the +age of fifty, prematurely worn by excessive labour, he was alarmed to +find his income steadily diminishing, with no corresponding +diminution—but rather the opposite—in the demands made upon him by +wife and daughters. In a moment of courage, prompted by desperation, he +obtained the consent of Dora and Gerda to this unwelcome change of +abode. It caused so much unpleasantness between himself and Mrs. Leach, +that he was glad to fit up a sleeping-room at his office and go home +only once a week; whereby he saved time, and had the opportunity of +starving himself as well as of working himself to death. +</P> + +<P> +Dora and Gerda, having grown up in such domestic circumstances, +accepted them with equanimity. When their father spoke nervously of +retrenchment, saying that he grew old and must save money to provide +for their future, they made no objection, but were as far as ever from +perceiving the sordid tragedy of his lot. Dora lived for her music; +Gerda sang a little, but was stronger on the social side, delighting in +festivities and open-air amusements. They were amiable and intelligent +girls, and would have been amazed had anyone charged them with +selfishness; no less if it had been suggested to them that they +personally might rectify the domestic disorder of which at times they +were moved to complain. They had no beauty, and knew it; neither had +received an offer of marriage, and they looked for nothing of the kind. +That their dresses cost a great deal, was taken as a matter of course; +also that they should go abroad when other people did, and have the +best places at concert or theatre, and be expansively 'at home'. With +all sincerity they said of themselves that they lived a quiet life. How +could it be quieter?—unless one followed the example of Alma Rolfe; +but Alma was quite an exceptional person—to be admired and liked, not +to be imitated. +</P> + +<P> +Yet even Alma, it seemed, had got tired of her extraordinary freak. She +was back again within the circle of civilisation; or, as she put it in +her original, amusing way, 'on the outer edge of the whirlpool'. She +had a very nice little house, beautifully furnished; everyone knew +Alma's excellent taste. She came frequently to Kingsbury-Neasden, and +ran up to town at least as often as they (Dora and Gerda) did. Like +them she found it an annoyance to have to rush to the station before +midnight; but, being married, she could allow herself more freedom of +movement than was permissible to single young women, and having once +missed the last train, she simply went to a hotel where she was known, +and quietly returned to Pinner next morning. That Mrs. Rolfe had such +complete liberty and leisure seemed to them no subject for remark; +being without cares, she enjoyed life; a matter of course. And she was +so very clever. No wonder Mr. Rolfe (charming man) always had +admiration in his eyes when he looked at her. Some husbands (miserable +churls) can see nothing in their wives, and never think of encouraging +what talent they may have. But when Alma grew a little dissatisfied +with her violin (a 'Vuillaume', which poor Mr. Bennet Frothingham had +given her in the days gone by), Mr. Rolfe did not hesitate to spend +fifty pounds on an instrument more to her liking; and the dear girl +played on it divinely. +</P> + +<P> +There was no shadow of envy in Dora Leach. 'I don't play quite badly,' +she said to Alma. 'Goodness knows, I oughtn't to, after all the lessons +I've had and the pains I've given. But with you it's different, dear. +You know very well that, if you liked, you could become a professional, +and make a name. +</P> + +<P> +'I <I>might</I> have done,' Alma admitted; 'but marriage put an end to that. +You have too much sense to think I mean that I repent it.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't see why marriage should put an end to it,' urged Dora. 'I'm +quite sure your husband would be very proud if you came out and had a +great success.' +</P> + +<P> +'But if I came out and made a fiasco?' +</P> + +<P> +'You wouldn't.' +</P> + +<P> +That was in the summer of 1890, when the Rolfes had been living at +Pinner for eight months. The new violin (new to her, old and mellow in +itself) had inspired Alma to joyous exertions. Again she took lessons +from Herr Wilenski, who was sparing of compliment, but, by the mere +fact of receiving her at all, showed his good opinion. And many other +people encouraged her in a fine conceit of herself. Mrs. Strangeways +called her 'an unrecognised genius', and worshipped at her feet. To be +sure, one did not pay much attention to Mrs. Strangeways, but it is +sweet to hear such phrases, and twice already, though against her +better judgment, Alma had consented to play at that lady's house. +</P> + +<P> +On both these occasions Cyrus Redgrave was present. Choosing his +moment, he approached her, looked in her face with a certain timidity +to which Alma was not insensible, and spoke as an ordinary +acquaintance. There was no helping it; the man had been formally +introduced, and, as he suggested, they had begun to know each other +afresh. Alma liked to remember how severely she had treated him at that +first encounter; perhaps that was enough for dignity. Mr. Redgrave +would hardly forget himself again. For the rest, she could not pretend, +within herself, to dislike him; and if he paid homage to her beauty, to +her social charm, to her musical gifts (all of which things Alma +recognised and tabulated), it might be only just to let him make amends +for something known to both of them. The insult Alma was far from +forgiving. But when she had talked twice with Redgrave distantly, as a +stranger to all his affairs—it began to steal upon her mind that there +would be a sweetly subtle satisfaction in allowing the man to imagine +that her coldness was not quite what it seemed; that so, perchance, he +might be drawn on and become enslaved. She had never been able to +congratulate herself on a conquest of Cyrus Redgrave. The memory of +Bregenz could still, at moments, bring the blood to her face; for it +was a memory of cool, calculating outrage, not of passion that had +broken bounds. To subdue the man in good earnest would be another +thing, and a peculiarly delicious morsel of revenge. Was it possible? +Not long ago she would have scoffed at the thought, deeming Redgrave +incapable of love in any shape. But her mind was changing in an +atmosphere of pleasure and flattery, and under the influence of talk +such as she heard in this house and one or two others like it. +</P> + +<P> +To her husband, she represented Mrs. Strangeways as a very pleasant +woman with a passion for all the arts; formerly wife of a painter, and +now married to a wealthy man who shared her tastes. This satisfied +Harvey; but Alma had not deceived herself, and could not be quite +comfortable with Mrs. Strangeways. She no longer puzzled over the flow +of guests to the house in Porchester Terrace, having discovered not +only that most of these were people, as Sibyl said, of no account, who +had few houses open to them, but that several would not be admitted to +any circle of scrupulous respectability. The fact was that Mrs. +Strangeways largely entertained the <I>demi-monde</I>, to use in its true +sense a term persistently misapplied. Not impossibly she thought the +daughter of Bennet Frothingham might, from one point of view, be +included among such persons; on the other hand, her warmth proved that +she regarded Mrs. Rolfe as a social acquisition, if indeed she was not +genuinely attracted to her. What circumstances had led, or forced, Mrs. +Strangeways into this peculiar position, Alma could not discover; it +might be simply one result of an unfortunate marriage, for undoubtedly +there was something sinister in the husband, a coarseness varnished +with sham geniality, which made Alma dislike to be near him. In the +woman herself she found little that was objectionable; her foolish +effusiveness, and her artificial complexion, seemed to indicate merely +a weak character; at times her talk was interesting, and she knew many +people of a class superior to that represented in her drawing-room. But +for the illumination she had received, Alma would have felt surprised +at meeting Cyrus Redgrave in these assemblies; formerly she had thought +of him as belonging to a sphere somewhat above her own, a +quasi-aristocratic world, in which Sibyl Carnaby, the daughter of Mrs. +Ascott Larkfield, also moved by right of birth and breeding. Sibyl, +however, was not above accepting Mrs. Strangeways' invitations, though +she continued to speak of her slightingly; and Redgrave had known the +lady for a long time—even, it appeared, before her first marriage. +</P> + +<P> +In a year's time Alma had made and renewed a large number of +acquaintances. She spoke of herself as living 'in the country', and +still professed a dislike of mere gaiety, a resolve to maintain her +simple, serious mode of existence. At half-an-hour's journey from town, +she was protected against the time-wasting intrusion of five-o'clock +babblers; a luncheon or two in the season, and a modest dinner at long +intervals, would discharge her social liabilities; and she had the +precious advantage of being able to use London for all legitimate +purposes, without danger of being drawn into the vortex of its idle +temptations. Once more she was working earnestly at her music—much, it +seemed, to Harvey's satisfaction. He wanted her to go on also with +water-colours, but she pointed out to him that one art was all she had +time for. +</P> + +<P> +'It's all very well for mere amateurs to take up half-a-dozen things. I +aim at more than that. You would like me, wouldn't you, to become +really <I>something</I> as a violinist?' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey assented. +</P> + +<P> +'And you understand,' she pursued, regarding him with her bright smile, +'that the life of an artist can't be quite like that of other women?' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course, I understand it. You know I don't wish to put the least +restraint upon you.' +</P> + +<P> +'My one fear was, that you might think I went about rather too +much—didn't pay enough attention to home——' +</P> + +<P> +'We manage pretty well, I think. You needn't have any such fear.' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course, when Hughie gets older—when I can really begin to teach +him——' +</P> + +<P> +The child was now approaching the close of his third year, and, in +Harvey's opinion, needed more than the attention of an ordinary +nursemaid. They had recently engaged a nursery-governess, her name +Pauline Smith; a girl of fair education and gentle breeding, who lived +as a member of the family. It appeared to Rolfe that Hughie was quite +old enough to benefit by his mother's guidance and companionship; but +he had left himself no ground for objection to Alma's ordering of her +life. The Welsh servant, Ruth, still remained with them, acting to a +great extent as housekeeper, and having under her a maid and a boy. +Ruth, a trustworthy woman, was so well paid that they had not to fear +her desertion. Regularity and comfort prevailed to a much greater +extent than might have been looked for under the circumstances. +Expenditure had of course greatly increased, and now touched the limit +of Harvey's ordinary income; but this was a matter which did not +immediately concern Mrs. Rolfe. For domestic and private purposes she +had a bank-account of her own; an arrangement made on their removal to +Pinner, when Harvey one morning handed her a pass-book and a +cheque-book, remarking that she would find to her credit a couple of +hundred pounds. Alma pretended to think this unnecessary, but her +countenance betrayed pleasure. When he thought the fund must be nearly +exhausted, he made a new payment to the account, without saying +anything; and Alma preserved an equally discreet silence. +</P> + +<P> +One of her new acquaintances was Mrs. Rayner Mann, a lady who desired +to be known as the patroness of young people aiming at success on the +stage or as musicians. Many stories were told of Mrs. Mann's generosity +to struggling artists, and her house at Putney swarmed with the +strangest mingling of people, some undoubtedly in society others no +less decidedly out of it. Here Alma encountered Felix Dymes, whose +reputation and prosperity had much advanced since their meeting at +Munich. The comic opera of which he then spoke had been brought out at +a provincial theatre with considerable success, and was shortly to be +produced in London; his latest songs, 'The Light of Home', and 'Where +the Willow Dips', had caught the ear of the multitude. Alma ridiculed +these compositions, mocking at the sentimentalism of the words, and +declaring that the airs were mere popular tinkle; but people not +inferior to her in judgment liked the music, which certainly had a +sweetness and pathos not easy to resist. The wonder was how such a man +as Felix Dymes could give birth to such tender melody. The vivacity of +his greeting when of a sudden he recognised Alma, contrasted markedly +with Cyrus Redgrave's ill-concealed embarrassment in the like +situation. Dymes had an easy conscience, and in the chat that followed +he went so far as to joke about his ill-luck some four years ago. +</P> + +<P> +'You didn't think much of me. But I'm going ahead, you know. You have +to admit I'm going ahead.' +</P> + +<P> +Prosperity was manifest in his look and voice. He had made no advance +in refinement, and evidently thought himself above the necessity of +affecting suave manners; his features seemed to grow even coarser; his +self-assertion was persistent to the point of grotesque conceit. +</P> + +<P> +'Is your husband musical?' he asked. +</P> + +<P> +'Not particularly.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, there's something to be said for that. One doesn't always want +to be talking shop.—I can't help looking at you; you've altered in a +queer sort of way. You were awfully fetching, you know, in those days.' +</P> + +<P> +'You were awfully impertinent,' replied Alma, with a laugh. 'And I +don't see that you've altered at all in that respect.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you play still?' +</P> + +<P> +'A good deal better than I used to.' +</P> + +<P> +'Really? If it's true, why don't you come out? I always believed in +you—I did really. There's no better proof of it than what I said at +Munich; you were the only girl that could have brought me to that, you +know; it was quite against my principles. Have you heard of Ada +Wellington?—a girl I'm going to bring out next spring—a pianist; and +she'll make a hit. I should like you to know her.' +</P> + +<P> +'How do you mean you are going to bring her out?' +</P> + +<P> +'Do all the business for her, you know; run the show. Not as a +speculation; I don't want to make anything out of it, more than +expenses. I know her 'people; they're very badly off, and I shall be +glad if I can do them a good turn. There's nothing between us; just +friends, that's all. If ever you come out, put the business into my +hands, will you?' +</P> + +<P> +'I won't promise,' replied Alma, 'until I see how you succeed with Miss +Wellington.' +</P> + +<P> +'Shall it be an understanding? If I float Ada, you'll let me have a try +with you?' +</P> + +<P> +'We'll talk of it, Mr. Dymes, when you have learnt the elements of good +manners.' +</P> + +<P> +She nodded in a friendly way, and left him. +</P> + +<P> +Their next meeting was at a music-shop, where Dymes came in whilst Alma +was making purchases. The composer, clad in a heavy fur overcoat, +entered humming a tune loudly, by way of self-advertisement; he was at +home here, for the proprietors of the business published his songs. On +perceiving Alma, he dropped his blustering air, bowed with exaggerated +politeness, and professed himself overjoyed. +</P> + +<P> +'I looked in just to try over a thing I've got in my head. Do come and +listen to it—will you? It would be so kind of you to give me your +opinion.' +</P> + +<P> +He pointed to a room at the back, visible between plush curtains. Alma, +wishing to refuse, murmured that she had very little time; but Dymes +prevailed, and she followed him. They passed into the pleasant warmth +of a blazing fire. The musician flung off his coat, and at once sat +down at the grand piano, open for the convenience of such favoured +persons as himself; whilst Alma seated herself in an easy-chair, which +she had pushed forward so as to allow of her being seen from the shop. +After some preliminary jingling, Dymes played an air which the listener +could not but like; a dainty, tripping melody, fit for a fairy song, +with strange little echoes as of laughter, and a half-feigned sadness +in the close. With hands suspended, Dymes turned to see the effect he +had produced. +</P> + +<P> +'Is that your own?' Alma asked. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm under that impression. Rather good, I think—don't you?' +</P> + +<P> +'Very pretty.' +</P> + +<P> +She hardly believed his assurance, so strong was the contrast between +that lightsome lyric and the coarse vanity of the man himself. He +played it again, and she liked it still better, uttering a more decided +word of praise. +</P> + +<P> +'Dicky must write me patter for that!' Dymes exclaimed, when he saw +that she smiled with pleasure. 'You don't know Dicky Wellington? A +cousin of Ada's. By-the-bye, her concert will be at the end of +May—Prince's Hall, most likely. You shall have a ticket.' +</P> + +<P> +'Very kind of you.' +</P> + +<P> +'You know that Mrs. Rayner Mann is giving a charity concert next week?' +</P> + +<P> +'I have been asked to take part in it,' said Alma quietly. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm awfully glad of that!' shouted Dymes. 'So I shall hear you again. +The fact is, you know, I don't think of you as an amateur. I can't +stand amateurs, except one or two. I've got it into my head that you've +been one of us, and retired. Queer thing, isn't it?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma enjoyed the flattery. Comfortable in her chair, she showed no +disposition to move. Dymes asked her what she thought of playing, and +she told him, Hauser's 'Rhapsodie Hongroise'. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm always being bored by amateurs,' he resumed. 'A silly woman who +belongs to a Symphony Society asked me yesterday to go and hear her +play in the C minor! I begged to be told what harm I had ever done her, +and she said I was very rude. But I always am to people of that sort; I +can't help it. Another of them asked me to tell her of a <I>nice</I> piece +for the piano—a really nice piece. At once I suggested Chopin's A flat +major Polonaise. Do you know it?' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course I do. Could you play it yourself?' +</P> + +<P> +'I? Of course not. You don't imagine that because one is a successful +composer he must be a brilliant virtuoso. I hardly ever touch a musical +instrument. Wagner was a very poor player, and Berlioz simply couldn't +play at all. I'm a musical dreamer. Do you know that I literally dreamt +"The Light of Home"? Now, that's a proof of genius.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma laughed. +</P> + +<P> +'But it is! Do you know how most songs get made nowadays? There's +Sykes' "Come when the Dawn"—you remember it? I happen to know all +about that. A fellow about town somehow got hold of an idea for a +melody; he didn't know a note, but he whistled it to Sykes, and Sykes +dotted it down. Now, Sykes knows no more of harmony than a broomstick, +so he got another man to harmonise it, and then a fourth fellow wrote +an orchestral accompaniment. That's the kind of thing—division of +labour in art.' +</P> + +<P> +'You're quite sure you do everything for yourself?' said Alma +mischievously, rising at length. +</P> + +<P> +'I forgive you, because you're really one of us—you are, you know. You +haven't the look of an amateur. Now, when you've gone out, I'll ask +Sammy, behind the counter there, who he thinks you are, and I'll give +Mrs. Rayner Mann a guinea for her charity if he doesn't take you for a +professional musician.' +</P> + +<P> +'You will be good enough, Mr. Dymes,' said Alma severely, 'not to speak +of me at all to anyone behind a counter.' +</P> + +<P> +'It was only a joke. Of course, I shouldn't have done anything of the +kind. Goodbye; shall see you at Putney.' +</P> + +<P> +For all that, no sooner was Mrs. Rolfe gone than Dymes did talk of her +with the salesman, and in a way peculiar to his species, managing, with +leers and half-phrases, to suggest not only that the lady was a +performer of distinction, but that, like women in general, she had +found his genius and his person fatally attractive. Dymes had the +little weaknesses of the artistic temperament. +</P> + +<P> +As usual, Mrs. Rayner Mann's concert was well attended, and Alma's +violin solo, though an audience more critical than she had yet faced +made her very nervous to begin with, received much applause. Felix +Dymes, not being able to get a seat at her side, stood behind her, and +whispered his admiration. +</P> + +<P> +'You've gone ahead tremendously. That isn't amateur playing. All the +others are not fit to be heard in the same day. Really, you know, you +ought to think of coming out.' +</P> + +<P> +Many other persons were only less complimentary, and one, Mrs +Strangeways, was even more so; she exhausted herself in terms of +glowing eulogy. At the end of the concert this lady drew Alma apart. +</P> + +<P> +'Dear Mrs. Rolfe, I wonder whether I could ask you to do me a kindness? +Are you in any hurry to get home?' +</P> + +<P> +It was six o'clock, on an evening of January. Delighted with her +success, Alma felt very much like a young man whose exuberant spirits +urge him to 'make a night of it'. She declared that she was in no hurry +at all, and would be only too glad to do Mrs. Strangeways any kindness +in her power. +</P> + +<P> +'It will sound rather odd to you,' pursued the lady in a low voice, +'but I would rather trust you than anyone else. You know that Mr. +Redgrave and I are very old friends—such old friends that we are +really almost like brother and sister.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma nodded. +</P> + +<P> +'You've heard us speak of his bungalow at Wimbledon. Just now he is in +Paris, and he happens to want a portrait, a photograph, out of an album +in the bungalow. Naturally he would have asked his sister to look for +it and send it, but Mrs. Fenimore is also away from home; so he has +written to me, and begged me to do him the kindness. I know exactly +where the photo is to be looked for, and all I have to do is to drive +over to Wimbledon, and a servant will be waiting to admit me. Now, you +will think it childish, but I really don't like to go alone. Though Mr +Redgrave and I are such great friends, of course I have only been to +the bungalow when he had people there—and—of course it's very foolish +at my age—but I'm sure you understand me——' +</P> + +<P> +'You mean you would like me to go with you?' said Alma, with uncertain +voice. +</P> + +<P> +'Dare I ask it, dear Mrs. Rolfe? There will be <I>no</I> one but the +servant, who is told to expect a friend of her master's. I am <I>very</I> +foolish, but one cannot be too careful, you know, and with <I>you</I> I +shall feel everything so simple and natural and straightforward. I'm +sure you understand me.' +</P> + +<P> +'Certainly,' faltered Alma. 'Yes—I will go——' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, how sweet of you, dear! Need I say that I should never breathe a +word to Mr. Redgrave? He will think I went alone—as of course I very +well might——' +</P> + +<P> +'But—if the servant should mention to him——?' +</P> + +<P> +'My dear, keep your fall down. And then it is perfectly certain he will +never ask a question. He thinks it such a trivial matter——' +</P> + +<P> +Alma did not entertain the least doubt of her friend's veracity, and +the desire to have a companion on such an expedition seemed to her +natural enough; yet she felt so uneasy at the thought of what she had +consented to do, that even whilst descending the stairs she all but +stopped and begged to be excused. The thought of stealing into +Redgrave's bachelor home, even with Mrs. Strangeways, startled and +offended her self-respect; it seemed an immodesty. She had never been +invited to the bungalow; though Mrs. Carnaby had received and accepted +such an invitation for an afternoon in the summer, when Mrs. +Strangeways did the honours. Redgrave was now scrupulously respectful; +he would not presume so far on their revived acquaintance as to ask her +to Wimbledon. For this very reason—and for others—she had a curiosity +about the bungalow. Its exotic name affected her imagination; as did +the knowledge that Cyrus Redgrave, whom she knew so particularly well, +had built it for his retreat, his privacy. Curiosity and fear of +offending Mrs. Strangeways overcame her serious reluctance. On entering +the carriage she blushed hotly. It was the first time in her life that +she had acted with deliberate disregard of grave moral compunction, and +conscience revenged itself by lowering her in her own eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Strangeways talked all the way, but not once of Redgrave; her +theme was the excellence of Alma's playing, which, she declared, had +moved everyone with wonder and delight. +</P> + +<P> +'Several people took it for granted that you were a professional +violinist. I heard one man saying, "How is it I don't know her name?" +Of course, your playing in an amateur is altogether exceptional. Did it +ever occur to you to come forward professionally?' +</P> + +<P> +'I thought of it once, before my marriage.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ah! you really did? I'm not at all surprised. Would Mr. Rolfe look +with disapproval——?' +</P> + +<P> +'I hardly know,' replied Alma, who was not mistress of herself, and +paid little attention to what she was saying. 'I dare say he wouldn't +mind much, one way or another.' +</P> + +<P> +'Indeed?' +</P> + +<P> +The intimate significance of this word warned Alma that she had spoken +too carelessly. She hastened to add that, of course, in such a matter, +her husband's wish would be final, and that she had never thought of +seeking his opinion on the subject. +</P> + +<P> +'If ever you <I>should</I> take that step, my dear, it will mean a great +triumph for you—oh! a great triumph! And there is room just now for a +lady violinist—don't you think? One has to take into account other +things besides mastery of the instrument; with the public naturally, a +beautiful face and a perfect figure——' +</P> + +<P> +This was too much even for Alma's greediness of flattery; she +interrupted the smooth, warm adulation with impatient protest and told +herself—though she did not quite know the reason—that after that day +she would see less of Mrs. Strangeways. +</P> + +<P> +The carriage stopped. Glancing to either side, Alma saw that they were +in a country road, its darkness broken at this spot by the rays of two +gas-lamps which flanked a gateway. The footman had alighted; the gate +was thrown open; the carriage passed through on to a gravel drive. Her +nerves strung almost beyond endurance, and even now seeking courage to +refuse to enter the house, Alma felt the vehicle turn on a sharp curve, +and stop. +</P> + +<P> +'We shall not be more than a minute,' said Mrs. Strangeways, just above +her breath, as though she spoke with effort. +</P> + +<P> +Involuntarily, Alma laid a hand on her arm +</P> + +<P> +'I will—wait for you here—please——' +</P> + +<P> +'But, dear, your promise! Oh, you wouldn't fail me?' +</P> + +<P> +The carriage door had opened; the footman stood beside it. Scarce +knowing what she did, Alma stepped out after her companion, and in the +same moment found a glow of light poured suddenly about her; it came +from the entrance-hall of a house, where a female servant had presented +herself. A house of unusual construction, with pillars and a veranda; +nothing more was observable by her dazzled and confused senses. Mrs +Strangeways said something to the servant; they entered, crossed a +floor of smooth tiles, under electric light ruby-coloured by glass +shades, and were led into a room illumined only by a fire until the +servant turned on a soft radiance like that in the hall. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Strangeways glanced about her as if surprised. +</P> + +<P> +'You are riot expecting Mr. Redgrave?' she said quickly. +</P> + +<P> +'No, madam. We always have fires against the damp.' +</P> + +<P> +Thereupon the woman withdrew, closing the door, and Mrs. Strangeways, +who was very pale save for her rouge spots, said in a low tone of great +relief—— +</P> + +<P> +'I began to fear there might be some mistake. Put up your veil for a +moment, dear, and glance at the pictures. Every one has cost a small +fortune. Oh, he is immensely rich—and knows so well what to buy!' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0206"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 6 +</H3> + +<P> +Alma's agitation did not permit her to examine details. The interior of +Redgrave's house was very much what she had imagined; its atmosphere of +luxurious refinement, its colour, perfume, warmth, at once allured and +alarmed her. She wished to indulge her senses, and linger till she had +seen everything; she wished to turn at once and escape. Mrs. +Strangeways, meanwhile, seemed to be looking for the album of which she +had spoken, moving hither and thither, with a frequent pause as of one +who listens, or a glance towards the door. +</P> + +<P> +'You won't be long?' said Alma, turning abruptly to her. +</P> + +<P> +'It's my silly nervousness, dear. I thought I remembered perfectly +where the album lay. How foolish of me! I quite tremble—anyone would +think we were burglars.' +</P> + +<P> +She laughed, and stood looking about the room. +</P> + +<P> +'Is that it?' asked Alma, pointing to a volume on a table near her. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes!—no—I'm not sure.' +</P> + +<P> +An album it was; Mrs. Strangeways unclasped it, and turned over a few +pages with quivering hand. +</P> + +<P> +'No, I thought not. It's a smaller one. Oh, what a good photo of Mrs +Carnaby! Have you seen this one?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma stepped forward to look, strangely startled by the name of her +friend; it was as though Sibyl herself had suddenly entered the room +and found her here. The photograph she already knew; but its eyes +seemed to regard her with the very look of life, and at once she drew +back. +</P> + +<P> +'Do find the right one, Mrs. Strangeways,' she spoke imploringly. 'It +must be—What bell was that?' +</P> + +<P> +An electric bell had rung within the house; it still trembled in her +ears, and she turned sick with fright. Mrs. Strangeways, flushing red, +stammered a reassurance. +</P> + +<P> +'There—here is the right one—in a minute——' +</P> + +<P> +The door opened. As she saw it move, a dreadful certainty of what was +about to happen checked Alma's breath, and a sound like a sob escaped +her; then she was looking straight into the eyes of Cyrus Redgrave. He, +wearing an ulster and with a travelling-cap in his hand, seemed not to +recognise her, but turned his look upon her companion, and spoke with +mirthful friendliness. +</P> + +<P> +'What! I have caught you, Mrs. Strangeways? Police! Oh, I am so sorry I +didn't send you a wire. I thought you would come tomorrow, or the day +after. How very kind of you to take this trouble immediately. I had to +run over at a moment's notice.—Mrs. Rolfe! Forgive me; for the moment +I didn't know you, coming out of the darkness. So glad to see you.' +</P> + +<P> +He had shaken hands with both of them, behaving as though Mrs. Rolfe's +presence were the most natural thing in the world. But Alma's strength +failed her; she trembled towards the nearest chair, and sank upon it. +Mrs. Strangeways, who had watched her with anxiety, took a step to her +side, speaking hurriedly. +</P> + +<P> +'Mr. Redgrave, I took the liberty to use your house as if it were my +own. Mrs. Rolfe has over-tired, over-excited herself. She has been +playing this afternoon at a concert at Mrs. Rayner Mann's. We were to +drive back together, and came this way that I might call here—for the +photo. But Mrs. Rolfe became faint—after her exertions——' +</P> + +<P> +Redgrave surpassed himself in graceful courtesy. How could Mrs +Strangeways dream of offering excuses? Why had she not called for +tea—or anything? He would give orders at once, and the ladies would +permit him to get rid of his travelling attire, whilst they rested. He +was turning to leave the room when Alma rose and commanded her voice. +</P> + +<P> +'I am perfectly well again—thank you so much, Mr. Redgrave—indeed I +mustn't stay——' +</P> + +<P> +With admirable suavity Redgrave overcame her desire to be gone. +Pleading, he passed playfully from English into French, of which he had +a perfect command; then, in his own language, declared that French +alone permitted one to make a request without importunity, yet with +adequate fervour. Alma again seated herself. As she did so, her host +and Mrs. Strangeways exchanged a swift glance of mutual intelligence. +</P> + +<P> +'How can I hope you will forgive me?' the lady murmured at Alma's ear +as soon as they were alone. +</P> + +<P> +'It's very annoying, and there's nothing more to be said,' was the cold +reply. +</P> + +<P> +'But it isn't of the least importance—do believe me. We are such old +friends. And no one can ever know—though it wouldn't matter if all the +world did.' +</P> + +<P> +'I dare say not. But, please, let our stay be as short as possible.' +</P> + +<P> +'We will go, dear, as soon as ever we have had a cup of tea. I am <I>so</I> +sorry; it was all my foolishness.' +</P> + +<P> +The tea was brought, and Mrs. Strangeways, her nervousness having quite +passed away, began to talk as if she were in her own drawing-room. +Alma, too, had recovered control of herself, held the teacup in an all +but steady hand, and examined the room at her leisure. After ten +minutes' absence, Redgrave rejoined them, now in ordinary dress; his +face warm from rapid ablution, and his thin hair delicately disposed. +He began talking in a bright, chatty vein. So Mrs. Rolfe had been +playing at a concert; how he regretted not having been there! What had +she played? Then, leaning forward with an air of kindness that verged +on tenderness—— +</P> + +<P> +'I am sure it must be very exhausting to the nerves; you have so +undeniably the glow, the fervour, of a true artist; it is inspiring to +watch you as you play, no less than to hear you. You do feel better +now?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma replied with civility, but did not meet his look. She refused +another cup of tea, and glanced so meaningly at her friend that in a +few moments Mrs. Strangeways rose. +</P> + +<P> +'You won't leave me yet to my solitude?' exclaimed Redgrave. With a +sigh he yielded to the inevitable, inquired gently once more whether +Mrs. Rolfe felt quite restored, and again overwhelmed Mrs. Strangeways +with thanks. Still the ladies had to wait a few minutes for their +carriage, which, at Redgrave's direction, had made a long detour in the +adjacent roads; and during this delay, as if the prospect of release +inspirited her, Alma spoke a few words in a more natural tone. Redgrave +had asked what public concerts she usually attended. +</P> + +<P> +'None regularly,' was her reply. 'I should often go on Saturdays to the +Crystal Palace, if it were not so far for me. I want to get there, if +possible, on Saturday week, to hear Sterndale Bennett's new concerto.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ah, I should like to hear that!' said Redgrave. 'We may perhaps see +each other.' +</P> + +<P> +This time she did not refuse to encounter his look, and the smile with +which she answered it was so peculiarly expressive of a self-confident +disdain that he could scarcely take his eyes from her. Cyrus Redgrave +knew as well as most men the signals of challenge on a woman's +features; at a recent meeting he had detected something of the sort in +Alma's behaviour to him, and at this moment her spirit could not be +mistaken. Quite needlessly she had told him where he might find her, if +he chose. This was a great step. To be defied so daringly meant to him +no small encouragement. +</P> + +<P> +'It's fortunate,' said Alma, as the carriage bore her away, 'that we +had this adventure with a <I>gentleman</I>.' +</P> + +<P> +The remark sounded surprising to Mrs. Strangeways. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm so glad you have quite got over your annoyance, dear,' she replied. +</P> + +<P> +'It was as bad for you as for me, under the circumstances. But I'm sure +Mr. Redgrave won't give it another thought.' +</P> + +<P> +And Alma chatted very pleasantly all the way back to town, where she +dined with Mrs. Strangeways. At eleven o'clock she reached home. Her +husband, who was recovering from a sore throat, sat pipeless and in no +very cheerful mood by the library fire; but the sight of Alma's radiant +countenance had its wonted effect upon him; he stretched his arms, as +if to rouse himself from a long fit of reverie, and welcomed her in a +voice that was a little husky. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, how did it go?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not badly, I think. And how have you been getting on, poor old boy?' +</P> + +<P> +'So so; swearing a little because I couldn't smoke. But Hughie has a +cold tonight; caught mine, I dare say, confound it! Miss Smith took +counsel with me about it, and we doctored him a little.' +</P> + +<P> +'Poor dear little man! I wish I had been back in time to see him. But +there was no getting away—had to stay to dinner——' +</P> + +<P> +Alma had not the habit of telling falsehoods to her husband, but she +did it remarkably well—even better, perhaps, than when she deceived +her German friend, Fraulein Steinfeld, in the matter of Cyrus +Redgrave's proposal; the years had matured her, endowing her with +superior self-possession, and a finish of style in dealing with these +little difficulties. She was unwilling to say that she had dined in +Porchester Terrace, for Harvey entertained something of a prejudice +against that household. His remoteness nowadays from the world in which +Alma amused herself made it quite safe to venture on a trifling +misstatement. +</P> + +<P> +'I have a note from Carnaby,' said Rolfe. 'He wants to see me in town +tomorrow. Says he has good news—"devilish good news", to be accurate. +I wonder what it is.' +</P> + +<P> +'The lawsuit won, perhaps.' +</P> + +<P> +'Afraid not; that'll take a few more years. Odd thing, I have another +letter—from Cecil Morphew, and he, too, says that he has something +hopeful to tell me about.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma clapped her hands, an unusual expression of joy for her. 'We are +cheering up all round!' she exclaimed. 'Now, if only <I>you</I> could light +on something fortunate.' +</P> + +<P> +He gave her a quick look. +</P> + +<P> +'What do you mean by that?' +</P> + +<P> +'Only that you haven't seemed in very good spirits lately.' +</P> + +<P> +'Much as usual, I think.—Many people at Putney?' +</P> + +<P> +'About a hundred and twenty. Compliments showered on me; I do so wish +you could have heard them. Somebody told me that some man asked her how +it was he didn't know my name—he took me for a professional violinist.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, no doubt you are as good as many of them.' +</P> + +<P> +'You really think that?' said Alma, pulling her chair a little nearer +to the fire and looking eagerly at him. +</P> + +<P> +'Why shouldn't you be? You have the same opportunities, and make all +possible use of them.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma was silent for a few ticks of the clock. Once, and a second time, +she stole a glance at Harvey's face; then grasping with each hand the +arms of her chair, and seeming to string herself for an effort, she +spoke in a half-jesting tone. +</P> + +<P> +'What should you say if I proposed to come out—to <I>be</I> a professional?' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey's eyes turned slowly upon her; he read her face with curiosity, +and did not smile. +</P> + +<P> +'Do you mean you have thought of it?' +</P> + +<P> +'To tell you the truth, it is so often put into my head by other +people. I am constantly being asked why I'm content to remain an +amateur.' +</P> + +<P> +'By professional musicians?' +</P> + +<P> +'All sorts of people.' +</P> + +<P> +'It reminds me of something. You know I don't interfere; I don't +pretend to have you in surveillance, and don't wish to begin it. But +are you quite sure that you are making friends in the best class that +is open to you?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma's smile died away. For a moment she recovered the face of years +gone by; a look which put Harvey in mind of Mrs. Frothingham's little +drawing-room at Swiss Cottage, where more than once Alma had gazed at +him with a lofty coldness which concealed resentment. That expression +could still make him shrink a little and feel uncomfortable. But it +quickly faded, giving place to a look of perfectly amiable protest. +</P> + +<P> +'My dear Harvey, what has caused you to doubt it?' +</P> + +<P> +'I merely asked the question. Perhaps it occurred to me that you were +not exactly in your place among people who talk to you in that way.' +</P> + +<P> +'You must allow for my exaggeration,' said Alma softly. 'One or two +have said it—just people who know most about music. And there's a +<I>way</I> of putting things.' +</P> + +<P> +'Was Mrs. Carnaby there today?' +</P> + +<P> +'No.' +</P> + +<P> +'You don't see her very often now?' +</P> + +<P> +'Perhaps not <I>quite</I> so often. I suppose the reason is that I am more +drawn to the people who care about music. Sibyl really isn't +musical—though, of course, I like her as much as ever. Then—the truth +is, she seems to have grown rather extravagant, and I simply don't +understand how she can keep up such a life—if it's true that her +husband is only losing money. Last time I was with her I couldn't help +thinking that she ought to—to deny herself rather more. It's habit, I +suppose.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey nodded—twice, thrice; and kept a grave countenance. +</P> + +<P> +'And you don't care to see much of Mrs. Abbott?' he rather let fall +than spoke. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, you know, dear, I don't mean to be at all disagreeable, but we +have so little in common. Isn't it so? I am sure Mrs. Abbott isn't +anxious for my society.' +</P> + +<P> +Again Rolfe sat silent, and again Alma stole glances at him. +</P> + +<P> +'Shall I tell you something I have in mind?' he said at length, with +deliberation. 'Hughie, you know, is three years old. Pauline does very +well with him, but it is time that he had companions—other children. +In half a year or so he might go to a kindergarten, and'—he made an +instant's pause—'I know only of one which would be really good for +him. I think he will have to go to Mrs. Abbott.' +</P> + +<P> +Their eyes met, and the speaker's were steadily fixed. +</P> + +<P> +'But the distance?' objected Alma. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. If we want to do that, we must go to Gunnersbury.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma's look fell. She tapped with her foot and meditated, slightly +frowning. But, before Harvey spoke again, the muscles of her face +relaxed, and she turned to him with a smile, as though some reflection +had brought relief. +</P> + +<P> +'You wouldn't mind the bother of moving?' +</P> + +<P> +'What is that compared with Hughie's advantage? And if one lives in +London, it's in the nature of things to change houses once a year or +so.' +</P> + +<P> +'But we don't live in London!' returned Alma, with a laugh. +</P> + +<P> +'Much the same thing. At Gunnersbury you would be nearer to everything, +you know.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then you would send away Pauline?' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey made a restless movement, and gave a husky cough. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I don't know. You see, Hughie would be with Mrs. Abbott only a +few hours each day. Who is to look after the little man at other times? +I suppose I can't very well undertake it myself—though I'm glad to see +as much of him as possible; and I won't let him be with a servant. +So——' +</P> + +<P> +Alma was gazing at the fire, and seemed to give only a divided +attention to what her husband said. Her eyes grew wide; their vision, +certainly, was of nothing that disturbed or disheartened her. +</P> + +<P> +'You have given me two things to think about, Harvey. Will you reflect +on the <I>one</I> that I suggested?' +</P> + +<P> +'Then you meant it seriously?' +</P> + +<P> +'I meant that I should like to have your serious opinion about it. Only +we won't talk now. I am very tired, and you, I'm sure, oughtn't to sit +late with your bad throat. I promise to consider <I>both</I> the things you +mentioned.' +</P> + +<P> +She held her hands to him charmingly, and kissed his cheek as she said +goodnight. +</P> + +<P> +Harvey lingered for another hour, and—of all people in the +world—somehow found himself thinking of Buncombe. Buncombe, his +landlord in the big dirty house by Royal Oak. What had become of +Buncombe? It would be amusing, some day to look at the old house and +see if Buncombe still lived there. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0207"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 7 +</H3> + +<P> +They never talked about money. Alma took it for granted that Harvey +would not allow their expenditure to outrun his income, and therewith +kept her mind at rest. Rolfe had not thought it necessary to mention +that he derived about three hundred pounds from debenture stock which +was redeemable, and that the date of redemption fell early in this +present year, 1891. He himself had all along scarcely regarded the +matter. When the stock became his, 1891 seemed very remote; and on +settling in North Wales he felt financially so secure that the question +of reinvestment might well be left for consideration till it was +pressed upon him. +</P> + +<P> +As now it was. He could no longer disregard percentages; he wanted +every penny that his capital would yield. Before marriage he would have +paid little heed to the fact that his canal shares (an investment which +he had looked upon as part of the eternal order of things) showed an +inclination to lose slightly in value; now it troubled him day and +night. As for the debenture stock, he might, if he chose, 'convert' it +without withdrawal, but that meant a lower dividend, which was hardly +to be thought of. Whither should he turn for a security at once sound +and remunerative? He began to read the money article in his daily +paper, which hitherto he had passed over as if it did not exist, or +turned from with contemptuous impatience. He picked up financial +newspapers at railway bookstalls, and in private struggled to +comprehend their jargon, taking care that they never fell under his +wife's eyes. At the Metropolitan Club—of which he had resumed +membership, after thinking that he would never again enter clubland—he +talked with men who were at home in City matters, and indirectly tried +to get hints from them. He felt like one who meddles with something +forbidden—who pries, shamefaced, into the secrets of an odious vice. +To study the money-market gave him a headache. He had to go for a +country walk, to bathe and change his clothes, before he was at ease +again. +</P> + +<P> +Two only of his intimates had any practical acquaintance with methods +of speculation, and their experiences hitherto were not such as to +suggest his seeking advice from them. Hugh Carnaby might or might not +reap profit from his cycle factory; as yet it had given him nothing but +worry and wavering hopes. Cecil Morphew had somehow got into better +circumstances, had repaid the loan of fifty pounds, and professed to +know much more about speculation than in the days when he made money +only to lose it again; but it was to be feared that Cecil associated +with people of shady character, and might at any moment come to grief +in a more or less squalid way. He confessed that there was a mystery in +his life—something he preferred not to speak of even with an old +friend. +</P> + +<P> +Oddly enough, Carnaby and Morphew wrote both at the same time, wishing +to see him, and saying that they had cheering news to impart. Amid his +perplexities, which were not concerned with money alone, Harvey +welcomed this opportunity of forgetting himself for a few hours. He +agreed to lunch with Hugh at a restaurant (Carnaby would have nothing +to do with clubs), and bade Morphew to dinner at the Metropolitan. +</P> + +<P> +It was a day of drizzle and slush, but Harvey had got over his sore +throat, and in ordinary health defied the elements. Unlike himself, +Carnaby came a little late for his appointment, and pleaded business +with a 'blackguard' in the City. Rheums and bronchial disorders were to +him unknown; he had never possessed an umbrella, and only on days like +this donned a light overcoat to guard himself against what he called +'the sooty spittle' of a London sky. Yet he was not the man of four or +five years ago. He had the same appearance of muscularity, the same red +neck and mighty fists; but beneath his eyes hung baggy flesh that gave +him a bilious aspect, his cheeks were a little sunken, and the tone of +his complexion had lost its healthy clearness. In temper, too, he had +suffered; perhaps in manners. He used oaths too freely; intermingled +his good bluff English—the English of a country gentleman—with recent +slang; tended to the devil-may-care rather than to the unconsciously +breezy and bold. +</P> + +<P> +'Let us find a corner,' he said, clutching his friend by the shoulder, +'out of the damned crowd.' +</P> + +<P> +'Lawsuit finished?' asked Harvey, when they had found a place and +ordered their meal. +</P> + +<P> +Hugh answered with a deep rolling curse. +</P> + +<P> +When he returned to England, in the summer of 1889, he entered at once +into partnership with the man Mackintosh, taking over an established +business at Coventry, with which his partner already had some +connection. Not a week passed before they found themselves at law with +regard to a bicycle brake—a patent they had begun by purchasing, only +to find their right in it immediately contested. The case came on in +November; it occupied nine days, and was adjourned. Not until July of +the following year, 1890, was judgment delivered; it went for +Mackintosh & Co, the plaintiffs, whose claim the judge held to be +proved. But this by no means terminated the litigation. The defendants, +who had all along persisted in manufacturing and selling this patent +brake, now obtained stay of injunction until the beginning of the +Michaelmas term, with the understanding that, if notice of appeal were +given before then, the injunction would be stayed until the appeal was +settled. And notice <I>was</I> given, and the appeal would doubtless be +heard some day or other; but meanwhile the year 1891 had come round, +and Mackintosh & Co. saw their rivals manufacturing and selling as +gaily as ever. Hugh Carnaby grew red in the face as he spoke of them; +his clenched fist lay on the tablecloth, and it was pretty clear how he +longed to expedite the course of justice. +</P> + +<P> +Still, he had good news to communicate, and he began by asking whether +Harvey saw much of Redgrave. +</P> + +<P> +'Redgrave?' echoed the other in surprise. 'Why, I hardly know him.' +</P> + +<P> +'But your wife knows him very well.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; I dare say she does.' +</P> + +<P> +Carnaby did not observe his friend's countenance; he was eating with +great appetite. 'Redgrave isn't at all a bad fellow. I didn't know him +much till lately. Used to see him at B. F.'s, you know, and one or two +other places where I went with Sibyl. Thought him rather a snob. But I +was quite mistaken. He's a very nice fellow when you get near to him.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey's surprise was increased. For his own part, he still thought of +Redgrave with the old prejudice, though he had no definite charge to +bring against the man. He would have supposed him the last person +either to seek or to obtain favour with Hugh Carnaby. +</P> + +<P> +'Sibyl has known him for a long time,' Hugh continued. 'Tells me he did +all sorts of kindnesses for her mother at Ascott Larkfield's death; +fixed up her affairs—they were in a devil of a state, I believe. Last +autumn we met him in Scotland; he was with his sister and her +family—Mrs. Fenimore. Her husband's in India, and he seems to look +after her in a way that does him credit. In fact, I saw a new side of +the fellow. We got quite chummy, and I happened to speak about +Mackintosh & Co. Well, now, what do you think? Two days ago, at +Coventry, I got a note from him: he was coming through, and would like +to see me; would I lunch with him at a hotel? I did, and he surprised +me by beginning to talk about business. The fact was, he had some money +lying loose, wanted to place it somewhere, and had faith in cycles. Why +shouldn't he make an offer to a friend? Would Mackintosh & Co. care to +admit a new partner? Or—anyhow—could we make use of a few thousand +pounds?' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe had ceased to eat, and was listening intently. The story sounded +very strange to him; it did not fit at all with his conception of Cyrus +Redgrave. +</P> + +<P> +'I suppose a few thousands would come very handy?' he remarked. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, old man, to tell you the truth,—I can do it now,—for me it +means a jump out of a particularly black hole. You must understand that +we're not doing downright badly; we pay our way, but that was about +all. I, individually, shouldn't have paid my way for many months +longer. God! how I clutched at it! You don't know what it is, Rolfe, to +see your damned account at the bank slithering away, and not a cent to +pay in. I've thought of all sorts of things—just stopping short of +burglary, and I shouldn't have stopped at that long.' +</P> + +<P> +'You mean that this new capital will give such a push to the +business——' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course! It was just what we wanted. We couldn't advertise—couldn't +buy a new patent—couldn't move at all. Now we shall make things hum.' +</P> + +<P> +'Does Redgrave become a partner, then?' +</P> + +<P> +'A sleeping partner. But Redgrave is wide enough awake. Mackintosh says +he never met a keener man of business. You wouldn't have thought it, +would you? I should fancy he manages all his own property, and does it +devilish well, too. Of course, he has all sorts of ways of helping us +on. He's got ideas of his own, too, about the machines; I shouldn't +wonder if he hits on something valuable. I never half understood him +before. He doesn't shoot much, but knows enough about it to make +pleasant talk. And he has travelled a good deal. Then, of course, he +goes in for art, music—all that sort of thing. There's really no +humbug about him. He's neither prig nor cad, though I used to think him +a little of both.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey reflected; revived his mental image of the capitalist, and still +found it very unlike the picture suggested by Hugh. +</P> + +<P> +'Who <I>is</I> Redgrave?' he asked. 'How did he get his money?' +</P> + +<P> +'I know nothing about that. I don't think he's a university man. He +hinted once that he was educated abroad. Seems to know plenty of good +people. Mrs. Fenimore, his sister, lives at Wimbledon. Sibyl and I were +over there not long ago, dining; one or two titled people, a parson, +and so on; devilish respectable, but dull—the kind of company that +makes me want to stand up and yell. Redgrave has built himself what he +calls a bungalow, somewhere near the house; but I didn't see it.' +</P> + +<P> +'You're a good deal at Coventry?' asked Rolfe. +</P> + +<P> +'Off and on. Just been down for ten days. If it were possible, I should +go steadily at the business. I used to think I couldn't fit into work +of that sort, but a man never knows what he can do till he tries. I +can't stand doing nothing; that floors me. I smoke too much, and drink +too much, and get quarrelsome, and wish I was on the other side of the +world. But it's out of the question to live down yonder; I couldn't ask +Sibyl to do it.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you leave her quite alone, then?' +</P> + +<P> +Carnaby made an uneasy movement. +</P> + +<P> +'She has been visiting here and there for the last month; now her +mother wants her to go to Ventnor. Much better she shouldn't; they hate +each other—can't be together a day without quarrelling. Pretty plain +on which side the fault lies. I shouldn't think there are many women +better tempered than Sibyl. All the time we've been married, and all +we've gone through, I have never once seen an unpleasant look on her +face—to <I>me</I>, that is. It's something to be able to say that. Mrs. +Larkfield is simply intolerable. She's always either whining or in a +fury. Can't talk of anything but the loss of her money.' +</P> + +<P> +'That reminds me,' interposed Harvey. 'Do you know that there seems to +be a chance of getting something out of the great wreck?' +</P> + +<P> +'What? Who says so?' +</P> + +<P> +'Mrs. Frothingham. The creditors come first, of course. Was your wife +creditor or shareholder?' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, both.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then she may hear something before long. I don't pretend to understand +the beastly affair, but Mrs. Frothingham wrote to us about it the day +before yesterday, with hints of eighteenpence in the pound, which she +seemed to think very glorious.' +</P> + +<P> +Carnaby growled in disgust. +</P> + +<P> +'Eighteenpence be damned! Well, perhaps it'll buy her a hat. I tell +you, Rolfe, when I compare Sibyl with her mother, I almost feel she's +too good for the world. Suppose she had turned out <I>that</I> sort of +woman! What would have been the end of it? Murder, most likely. But she +bore the loss of all her money just as she did the loss of her +jewellery and things when our house was burgled—never turned a hair. +There's a girl to be proud of, I tell you!' +</P> + +<P> +He insisted upon it so vehemently that one might have imagined him in +conflict with secret doubts as to his wife's perfection. +</P> + +<P> +'It's a very strange thing,' said Rolfe, looking at his wine, 'that +those thieves got clean away—not a single thing they stole ever +tracked. There can't be many such cases.' +</P> + +<P> +'I have a theory about that.' Hugh half-closed his eyes, looking at +once shrewd and fierce. 'The woman herself—the housekeeper—is at this +moment going about in society, somewhere. She was no Whitechapel thief. +There's a gang organised among the people we live with. If I go out to +dine, as likely as not I sit next to a burglar or a forger, or anything +you like. The police never get on the scent, and it's the same in many +another robbery. Some day, perhaps, there'll be an astounding +disclosure, a blazing hell of a scandal—a dozen men and women marched +from Belgravia and Mayfair to Newgate. I'm sure of it! What else can +you expect of such a civilisation as ours? Well, I should know that +woman again, and if ever I find myself taking her down to dinner——' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey exploded in laughter. +</P> + +<P> +'I tell you I'm quite serious,' said the other angrily. 'I <I>know</I> +that's the explanation of it! There are plenty of good and honest +people still, but they can't help getting mixed up among the vilest lot +on the face of the earth. That's why I don't like my wife to make new +acquaintances. <I>She</I> won't get any harm, but I hate to think of the +people she perhaps meets. Mackintosh was telling me of a woman in +London who keeps up a big house and entertains all sorts of people—and +her husband knows where the money comes from. He wouldn't mention her +name, because, by Jove, he had himself contributed to the expenses of +the establishment! It was three or four years ago, when he had his +money and ran through it. For all I know, Sibyl may go there—I can't +tell her about such things, and she wouldn't believe me if I did. She's +an idealist—sees everything through poetry and philosophy. I should be +a brute if I soiled her mind. And, I say, old man, why don't your wife +and she see more of each other? Is it just the distance?' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm afraid that has something to do with it,' Harvey replied, trying +to speak naturally. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm sorry. They're both of them too good for ordinary society. I wish +to God we could all four of us go out to a place I know in Tasmania, +and live honest, clean, rational lives! Can't be managed. Your wife has +her music; Sibyl has her books and so on——' +</P> + +<P> +'By-the-bye, you know Mrs. Strangeways?' +</P> + +<P> +'I know <I>of</I> her.' +</P> + +<P> +'And not much good?' +</P> + +<P> +'No particular harm. Sibyl saw a little of her, but I don't think they +meet now. Your wife know her?' 'She has met her here and there: you and +I are alike in that. We can't stand the drawing-room, so our wives have +to go about by themselves. The days are past when a man watched over +his wife's coming and going as a matter of course. We should only make +fools of ourselves if we tried it on. It's the new world, my boy; we +live in it, and must make the best of it.' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh Carnaby drank more wine than is usually taken at luncheon. It +excited him to boisterous condemnation of things in general. He +complained of the idleness that was forced upon him, except when he +could get down to Coventry. +</P> + +<P> +'I hang about for whole days doing literally nothing. What <I>should</I> I +do? I'm not the man for books; I can't get much sport nowadays; I don't +care for billiards. I want to have an axe in my hand!' +</P> + +<P> +Gesticulating carelessly, he swept a wine-glass off the table. +</P> + +<P> +'There—damn it! shows we've sat long enough. Come and talk to Sibyl, +and let her give you a cup of tea. You never see her—never; yet she +thinks better of you than of any other man we know. Come, let's get out +of this beastly air. The place reeks of onions.' +</P> + +<P> +They went to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, where Rolfe spent the time +until he had to leave for his appointment with Cecil Morphew. Sibyl was +very kind, but gently reproachful. Why had Alma forsaken her? Why did +Harvey himself never drop in? +</P> + +<P> +'I'm often quite lonely, Mr. Rolfe, and as one result of it I'm getting +learned. Look at these books. Won't you give me a word of admiration?' +</P> + +<P> +There was a volume of Crowe and Cavalcaselle, one of Symonds's +'Renaissance', Benvenuto's 'Memoirs' in the original. +</P> + +<P> +'I can't help clinging to the old world,' she said sweetly. 'Hugh +forgives me, like a good boy; and you, I know, not only forgive, but +sympathise.' +</P> + +<P> +Of course, not a word passed with reference to Hugh Carnaby's business; +Redgrave's name was not mentioned. Sibyl, one felt, would decline to +recognise, in her own drawing-room, the gross necessities of life. Had +bankruptcy been impending, she would have ignored it with the same +perfection of repose. An inscrutable woman, who could look and smile at +one without conveying the faintest suggestion of her actual thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +On his way to the club, Harvey puzzled over what seemed to him +Redgrave's singular behaviour. Why should a man in that position +volunteer pecuniary aid to an obscure and struggling firm? Could it be +genuine friendship for Hugh Carnaby? That sounded most improbable. +Perhaps Redgrave, like the majority of people in his world, appeared +much wealthier than he really was, and saw in Mackintosh's business a +reasonable hope of profit. In that case, and if the concern began to +flourish, might not an older friend of Carnaby's find lucrative +employment for his capital? +</P> + +<P> +He had always thought with uttermost contempt of the man who allows +himself to be gripped, worried, dragged down, by artificial +necessities. Was he himself to become a victim of this social disease? +Was he, resistless, to be drawn into the muddy whirlpool, to spin round +and round among gibbering phantoms, abandoning himself with a grin of +inane conceit, or clutching in desperation at futile hopes? He +remembered his tranquil life between the mountains and the sea; his +earlier freedom, wandering in the sunlight of silent lands. Surely +there needed but a little common-sense, a little decision, to save +himself from this rushing current. One word to Alma—would it not +suffice? But of all things he dreaded to incur the charge of meanness, +of selfishness. That had ever been his weak point: in youth, well-nigh +a cause of ruin; in later life, impelling him to numberless +insincerities and follies. +</P> + +<P> +However, the danger as yet only threatened. He was solvent; he had +still a reserve. It behoved him merely to avoid the risks of +speculation, and to check, in natural, unobtrusive ways, that tendency +to extravagance of living which was nowadays universal. Could he not +depend upon himself for this moderate manliness? +</P> + +<P> +Cecil Morphew, though differing in all other respects from Hugh +Carnaby, showed a face which, like Hugh's, was growing prematurely old; +a fatigued complexion, sunken eyes; an expression mingled of discontent +and eagerness, now furtive, now sanguine, yet losing the worse traits +in a still youthful smile as he came forward to meet his friend. Year +after year he clung to the old amorous hope, but he no longer spoke of +it with the same impulsive frankness; he did not shun the +subject—brought it, indeed, voluntarily forward, but with a shamefaced +hesitance. His declaration in a letter, not long ago, that he was +unworthy of any good woman's love, pointed to something which had had +its share in the obvious smirching of his character; something common +enough, no doubt; easily divined by Harvey Rolfe, though he could not +learn how far the man's future was compromised. Today Morphew began +with talk of a hopeful tenor. He had got hold of a little money; he had +conceived a project for making more. When the progress of their eating +and drinking cleared the way for confidential disclosures, Morphew +began to hint at his scheme. +</P> + +<P> +'You've heard me speak of Denbow?' This was a man who had given him +lessons in photography; a dealer in photographic apparatus, with a shop +in Westminster Bridge Road. 'He's a very decent fellow, but it's all up +with him. His wife drinks, and he has lost money in betting, and now he +wants to clear out—to sell his business and get away. He came to me to +apologise for spoiling some negatives—he does a little printing for me +now and then and told me what he meant to do. Did I know of anyone +likely to take his shop?' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey laughed. +</P> + +<P> +'You're in with a queer lot of people, it seems to me.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, Denbow is all but a gentleman, I assure you. He was educated at +Charterhouse, but made a fool of himself, I believe, in the common way. +But about his business. I've seen a good deal of it, going in and out, +and talking with them, and I know as much about photography as most +amateurs—you'll admit that, Rolfe?' +</P> + +<P> +It was true that he had attained more than ordinary skill with the +camera. Indeed, but for this resource, happily discovered in the days +of his hopelessness, he would probably have sunk out of sight before +now. +</P> + +<P> +'Denbow's salesman is a thoroughly honest and capable fellow—Hobcraft, +his name. He's been at the shop three or four years, and would be only +too glad to carry on the business, but he can't raise money, and Denbow +must have cash down. Now the fact is, I want to buy that business +myself.' +</P> + +<P> +'I see. What does the man ask for it?' +</P> + +<P> +Morphew fidgeted a little. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, just at present there isn't much stock—nothing like what there +ought to be. Denbow has been coming down the hill; he's stopped himself +only just in time. When I first knew him he was doing reasonably well. +It's a good position for that kind of shop. Swarms of men, you know, go +backwards and forwards along the Westminster Bridge Road, and just the +kind of men, lots of them, that take up photography—the better kind of +clerk, and the man of business who lives in the south suburbs. And +photography is going ahead so. I have all sorts of ideas. One might +push the printing branch of the business—and have dark rooms for +amateurs—and hit on a new hand-camera—and perhaps even start a paper, +call it <I>Camera Notes</I>, or something of that kind. Don't smile and look +sceptical——' +</P> + +<P> +'Not at all. It seems to me the best suggestion I've heard from you +yet.' +</P> + +<P> +'Think so? I'm awfully glad of that. You know, Rolfe, a fellow like +myself—decent family, public school, and that kind of thing—naturally +fights shy of shopkeeping. But I've got to the point that I don't care +what I do, if only it'll bring me a steady income in an honest way. I +ought to be able to make several hundreds a year, even at starting, out +of that business.' +</P> + +<P> +'Have you spoken of it in the usual quarter?' +</P> + +<P> +'No, I haven't.' Cecil's countenance fell. 'I should if I made a +successful start. But I've talked of so many things, I'm ashamed. And +she mightn't quite understand; perhaps she would think I was going +down—down——' +</P> + +<P> +'How is her father?' +</P> + +<P> +'Neither better nor worse. That man will take another ten years over +his dying—see if he doesn't. Well, we've got used to it. We're neither +of us young any longer; we've lost the best part of our lives. And all +for what? Because we hadn't money enough to take a house three times +bigger than we needed! Two lives wasted because we couldn't feed fifty +other people for whom we didn't care a damn! Doesn't it come to that?' +</P> + +<P> +'No doubt. What does Denbow ask?' +</P> + +<P> +'For the stock, two hundred pounds; shop-fittings, fifty; business as +it stands, say three hundred. The rent is ninety-five. Floor above the +shop let to a family, who pay twenty-four shillings a week—a +substantial set-off against the rent; but I should like to get rid of +the people, and use the whole house for business purposes. There's +three years of Denbow's lease to run, but this, he says, the landlord +would be willing to convert into a seven years' lease to a new tenant. +Then one must allow something for repairs and so on at the fresh start. +Well, with purchase of a little new stock, say another hundred and +fifty pounds. Roughly speaking, I ought to have about five hundred +pounds to settle the affair.' +</P> + +<P> +'And you have the money?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not quite; I've got—well, I may say three hundred. I'm not speaking +of my own private income; of course, that goes on as usual, and isn't a +penny too much for—for ordinary expenses..' He fidgeted again. 'Would +you care to know how I made this bit of capital?' +</P> + +<P> +'If you care to tell me.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, I will, just to show you what one is driven to do. Two years ago +I was ill—congestion of the lungs—felt sure I should die. You were in +Wales then. I sent for Tripcony, to get him to make my will—he used to +be a solicitor, you know, before he started the bucket-shop. When I +pulled through, Trip came one day and said he had a job for me. You'll +be careful, by-the-bye, not to mention this. The job was to get the +City editor of a certain newspaper (a man I know very well) to print a +damaging rumour about a certain company. You'll wonder how I could +manage this. Well, simply because the son of the chairman of that +company was a sort of friend of mine, and the City editor knew it. If I +could get the paragraph inserted, Tripcony would—not pay me anything, +but give me a tip to buy certain stock which he guaranteed would be +rising. Well, I undertook the job, and I succeeded, and Trip was as +good as his word. I bought as much as I dared—through Trip, mind you, +and he wouldn't let me of the cover, which I thought suspicious, though +it was only habit of business. I bought at 75, and on settling day the +quotation was par. I wanted to go at it again, but Trip shook his head. +Well, I netted nearly five hundred. The most caddish affair I ever was +in; but I wanted money. Stop, that's only half the story. Just at that +time I met a man who wanted to start a proprietary club. He had the +lease of a house near Golden Square, but not quite money enough to +furnish it properly and set the club going. Well, I joined him, and put +in four hundred pounds; and for a year and a half we didn't do badly. +Then there was a smash; the police raided the place one night, and my +partner went before the magistrates. I trembled in my shoes, but my +name was never mentioned. It only ended in a fifty-pound fine, and of +course I went halves. Then we sold the club for two hundred, furniture +and all, and I found myself with—what I have now, not quite three +hundred.' +</P> + +<P> +'My boy, you've been going it,' remarked Rolfe, with a clouded brow. +</P> + +<P> +'That's what I tell you. I want to get out of all that kind of thing. +Now, how am I to get two or three hundred honestly? I think Denbow +would take less than he says for cash down. But the stock, I guarantee, +is worth two hundred.' +</P> + +<P> +'You have the first offer?' +</P> + +<P> +'Till day after tomorrow—Monday.' +</P> + +<P> +'Tomorrow's Sunday—that's awkward. Never mind. If I come over in the +morning, will you take me to the place, and let me look over it with +you, and see both Denbow and the shopman?' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course I will!' said Morphew delightedly. 'It's all aboveboard. +There's a devilish good business to be made; it depends only on the +man. Why, Denbow has made as much as two hundred in a year out of +printing for amateurs alone. It's his own fault that he didn't keep it +up. I swear, Rolfe, that with capital and hard work and acuteness, that +place can be made <I>the</I> establishment of the kind south of the Thames. +Why, there's no reason why one shouldn't net a thousand a year in a +very short time.' +</P> + +<P> +'Is Denbow willing to exhibit his books?' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course he is. I've seen them. It isn't speculative, you know; +honest, straightforward business.' +</P> + +<P> +'What part do you propose to take in it yourself?' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, Denbow's part—without the betting. I shall go in for the +business for all I'm worth; work day and night. And look here, Rolfe. +It isn't as if I had no security to offer. You see, I have my private +income; that gives me a pull over the ordinary man of business just +starting. Suppose I borrow three—four—five hundred pounds; why, I can +afford to make over stock or receipts—anything in that way—to the +lender. Four per cent, that's what I offer, if it's a simple loan.' +</P> + +<P> +'You would keep the man—what's his name?' +</P> + +<P> +'Hobcraft. Decidedly. Couldn't do without him. He has been having +thirty-five shillings a week.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey rose, and led the way to the smoking-room. His companion had +become a new man; the glow of excitement gave him a healthier look, and +he talked more like the Cecil Morphew of earlier days, whom Rolfe had +found and befriended at the hotel in Brussels. +</P> + +<P> +'There's nothing to be ashamed of in a business of this kind. If only +her father was dead, I'm sure <I>she</I> wouldn't mind it.—Ah, Rolfe, if +only she and I, both of us, had had a little more courage! Do you know +what I think? It's the weak people that do most harm in the world. They +suffer, of course, but they make others suffer as well. If I were like +<I>you</I>—ah, if I were like <I>you</I>!' Harvey laughed. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0208"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 8 +</H3> + +<P> +To Alma, on his return, he gave a full account of all he had heard and +done. The story of Hugh Carnaby's good fortune interested her greatly. +She elicited every detail of which Harvey had been informed; asked +shrewd questions; and yet had the air of listening only for her +amusement. +</P> + +<P> +'Should you have thought Redgrave likely to do such a thing?' Rolfe +inquired. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, I don't know him at all well. He has been a friend of Sibyl's for +a long time—so, of course——' +</P> + +<P> +Her voice dropped, but in a moment she was questioning again. +</P> + +<P> +'You say that Mr. Redgrave went to see him at Coventry?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. Redgrave must have heard he was there, from Sibyl, I suppose.' +</P> + +<P> +'And that was two days ago?' +</P> + +<P> +'So Carnaby said—Why?' +</P> + +<P> +'Somebody—oh, I think it was Mrs. Rayner Mann, yesterday—said Mr +Redgrave was in Paris.' +</P> + +<P> +Cecil Morphew's affairs had much less interest for her; but when Harvey +said that he was going to town again tomorrow, to look at the shop in +Westminster Bridge Road, she regarded him with an odd smile. +</P> + +<P> +'You surely won't get mixed up in things of that kind?' +</P> + +<P> +'It might be profitable,' he answered very quietly; 'and—one doesn't +care to lose any chance of that kind—just now——' +</P> + +<P> +He would not meet her eyes; but Alma searched his face for the meaning +of these words, so evidently weighted. +</P> + +<P> +'Are you at all uneasy, Harvey?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not a bit—not a bit,' answered the weak man in him. 'I only meant +that, if we are going to remove——' +</P> + +<P> +They sat for more than five minutes in silence. Alma's brain was +working very rapidly, as her features showed. When he entered, she +looked rather sleepy; now she was thrilling with vivid consciousness; +one would have thought her absorbed in the solution of some exciting +problem. Her next words came unexpectedly. +</P> + +<P> +'Harvey, if you mean what you say about letting me follow my own +instincts, I think I shall decide to try my fortune—to give a public +recital.' +</P> + +<P> +He glanced at her, but did not answer. +</P> + +<P> +'We made a sort of bargain—didn't we?' she went on, quickly, +nervously, with an endeavour to strike the playful note. 'Hughie shall +go to Mrs. Abbott's, and I will attend to what you said about the +choice of acquaintances.' +</P> + +<P> +'But surely neither of those things can be a subject of bargaining +between us? Isn't your interest in both at least equal to my own?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes—I know—of course. It was only a joking way of putting it.' +</P> + +<P> +'Tell me plainly'—he looked at her now—'have you the slightest +objection, on any ground, to Hughie's being taught by Mrs. Abbott? If +so, do let us clear it up.' +</P> + +<P> +'Dear, I have not a shadow of objection,' replied Alma, straightening +herself a little, and answering his gaze with excessive frankness. 'How +could I have? You think Mrs. Abbott will teach him much better than I +could, and in that you are quite right. I have no talent for teaching. +I haven't much patience—except in music. It's better every way, that +he should go to Mrs. Abbott. I feel perfect confidence in her, and I +shouldn't be able to in a mere stranger.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey gave a slow nod, and appeared to have something more of +importance to say; but he only asked how the child's cold had been +tonight. Alma replied that it was neither better nor worse; she spoke +absently. +</P> + +<P> +'On whose encouragement do you principally rely?' was Rolfe's next +question. +</P> + +<P> +'On that of twenty people!' +</P> + +<P> +'I said "principally".' +</P> + +<P> +'Herr Wilenski has often praised me; and he doesn't throw his praise +away. And you yourself, Harvey, didn't you say last might that I was +undoubtedly as good as most professionals?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think I used quite those words; and, to tell you the truth, it +had never entered my head that you would take them for encouragement to +such a step as this.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma bent towards him, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +'I understand. You don't think me good enough. Now the truth, the +truth!' and she held up a finger—which she could not succeed in +keeping steady. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, you shall have the truth. It's too serious a matter for making +pretences. My own judgment is worthless, utterly; it should neither +offend nor encourage you. But it's very plain to me that you shouldn't +dream of coming before the public unless Wilenski, and perhaps some one +else of equal or better standing, actually urges you to it. Now, has he +done anything like that?' +</P> + +<P> +She reddened, and hardly tried to conceal her vexation. +</P> + +<P> +'This only means, Harvey, that you don't want me to come out.' +</P> + +<P> +'Come now, be more reasonable. It does not <I>only</I> mean that; in fact, I +can say honestly it doesn't mean that at all. If Wilenski tells you +plainly that you ought to become a professional violinist, there's no +one will wish you luck half so heartily as I. But if it's only the +encouragement of "twenty people"—that means nothing. I'm speaking +simply as the best friend you have. Don't run the risk of a horrible +disappointment. I know you wouldn't find that easy to bear—it would be +bad for you, in every way. +</P> + +<P> +Impelled by annoyance—for the project seemed to him delusive, and his +sense of dignity rose against it—Harvey had begun with unwonted +decision, but he was soon uncomfortably self-conscious and +self-critical; he spoke with effort, vainly struggling against that +peculiar force of Alma's personality which had long ago subdued him. +When he looked at her, saw her distant smile, her pose of the head as +in one who mildly rebukes presumption, he was overcome with a feeling +of solemn ineptitude. Quite unaware that his last sentence was to Alma +the most impressive—the only impressive—part of his counsel, suddenly +he broke off, and found relief in unexpected laughter. +</P> + +<P> +'There now, I've done my duty—I've discharged the pedagogue. Get rid +of your tragic mask. Be yourself; do as you wish. When the time comes, +just tell me what you have decided.' +</P> + +<P> +So, once more, did he oust common-sense with what he imagined a riper +wisdom. One must not take things funereally. Face to face with a woman +in the prime of her beauty, he heard a voice warning him against the +pedantic spirit of middle age, against formalism and fogeyishness. +</P> + +<P> +'Now I know you again,' said Alma, softening, but still reserved; for +she did not forget that he had thrown doubt upon her claims as an +artist—an incident which would not lose its importance as she pondered +it at leisure. +</P> + +<P> +Harvey sat late. On going upstairs, instead of straightway entering his +own room, he passed it with soft step and paused by another door, that +of the chamber in which Hughie slept under the care of Miss Smith. The +child had coughed in the night during this last week. But at present +all was quiet, and with comfortable reassurance the father went to rest. +</P> + +<P> +Alma had matters to occupy her more important than a child's passing +ailment. As she slowly unrobed herself by the fire, combed out her +warm, fragrant, many-rippled tresses, or held mute dialogue with her +eyes in the glass, from a ravel of uneasy thoughts there detached +itself, first and foremost, the discovery that Redgrave had not been in +Paris when Mrs. Strangeways said he was. What was the meaning of this +contradiction? Thereto hung the singular coincidence of Redgrave's +return home exactly at the time when she and Mrs. Strangeways happened +to be there. She had thought of it as a coincidence and nothing more; +but if Redgrave had deceived Mrs. Strangeways as to his movements, the +unlooked-for arrival took a suspicious significance. There remained a +dark possibility: that Mrs. Strangeways knew what was about to happen. +Yet this seemed inconceivable. +</P> + +<P> +Was it inconceivable? Why should a woman of that age, and of so much +experience, feel nervous about going alone to her friend's house on +such a simple mission? It appeared odd at the time, and was more +difficult to understand the more she thought of it. And one heard such +strange stories—in society of a certain kind—so many whispered hints +of things that would not bear to be talked about. +</P> + +<P> +Redgrave had not been in Paris, but at Coventry. There again was a +puzzling circumstance. Harvey himself declared his surprise at hearing +that Redgrave had entered into partnership with Hugh Carnaby. Had Sibyl +anything to do with this? Could she have hinted to her friend the +millionaire that her husband's financial position was anything but +satisfactory, and had Redgrave, out of pure friendship—of course, out +of pure friendship—hastened to their succour? +</P> + +<P> +This perplexity was almost as disturbing as that which preceded it. +Knowing the man of money as she did, Alma found it disagreeable to +connect his name thus closely with Sibyl's. Disagreeable in a +complicated sense; for she had begun to think of Cyrus Redgrave as +intimately associated with her own ambitions, secret and avowed. He was +to aid her in winning fame as a violinist; and, to this end, all +possible use (within certain limits) was to be made of the power she +had over him. Alma viewed the position without the least attempt at +disguising its true nature. She was playing with fire; knew it; enjoyed +the excitement of it; trusted herself with the completest confidence to +come out of the game unscorched. But she felt assured that other women, +in similar circumstances, had engaged in much the same encounter with +Cyrus Redgrave; and could it be imagined that Sibyl Carnaby was one of +them—Sibyl, the woman of culture, of high principle, the critic of +society—Sibyl, to whom she had so long paid homage, as to one of the +chosen of her sex? That Redgrave might approach Sibyl with lawless +thought, she could well believe, and such a possibility excited her +indignation; that Sibyl would meet him on his own terms, she could not +for a moment have credited, but for a traitor-voice that spoke in her +for the first time, the voice of jealousy. +</P> + +<P> +Where and how often did they meet? To ask this question was to touch +another motive of discontent. Ever since the return to London life, +Alma had felt dissatisfied with her social position. She was the wife +of a gentleman of independent means; in theory, all circles should be +open to her. Practically, she found herself very much restricted in the +choice of acquaintances. Harvey had hinted that she should be careful +where she went, and whom she knew; that she recognised the justice of +this warning served merely to irritate her against its necessity. Why, +then, did not her husband exert himself to obtain better society for +her? Plainly, he would never take a step in that direction; he had his +two or three friends, and found them sufficient; he would have liked to +see her very intimate with Mrs. Abbott—perhaps helping to teach babies +on the kindergarten system! Left to her own resources, she could do +little beyond refusing connections that were manifestly undesirable. +Sibyl, she knew, associated with people of much higher standing, only +out of curiosity taking a peep at the world to which her friend was +restricted. There had always been a slight disparity in this respect +between them, and in former days Alma had accepted it without +murmuring; but why did Sibyl, just when she could have been socially +helpful, show a disposition to hold aloof? 'Of course, you care nothing +for people of that kind,' Mrs. Carnaby had said, after casually +mentioning some 'good' family at whose country house she had been +visiting. It was intended, perhaps, as a compliment, with allusion to +Alma's theories of the 'simple life'; but, in face of the very plain +fact that such theories were utterly abandoned, it sounded to Alma a +humiliating irony. +</P> + +<P> +Could it be that Sibyl feared inquiries, shrank from having it known +that she was on intimate terms with the daughter of the late Bennet +Frothingham—a name still too often mentioned in newspapers and +elsewhere? The shadow of this possibility had ere now flitted over +Alma's mind; she was in the mood to establish it as a certainty, and to +indulge the resentment that naturally ensued. For on more than one +occasion of late, at Mrs. Rayner Mann's or in some such house, she had +fancied that one person and another had eyed her in a way that was not +quite flattering, and that remarks were privately exchanged about her. +Perhaps Harvey himself saw in the fact of her parentage a social +obstacle, which made him disinclined to extend their circle of common +acquaintances. Was that what he meant by his grave air this evening? +Was he annoyed at the thought of a publicity which would reveal her +maiden name? +</P> + +<P> +These currents of troubled feeling streamed together and bore her +turbidly onwards whither her desires pointed. In one way, and one way +only, could she hope to become triumphantly conspicuous, to raise +herself quite above petty social prejudices, to defeat ill-wishers and +put to shame faint-hearted friends. She had never been able to endure +the thought of mediocrity. One chance there was; she must grasp it +energetically and without delay. And she must make use of all +subsidiary means to her great conquest—save only the last dishonour. +</P> + +<P> +That on her own merit she might rise to the first rank of musicians, +Alma did not doubt. Her difficulty lay in the thought that it might +require a long time, a wearisome struggle, to gain the universal +recognition which alone would satisfy her. Therefore must Cyrus +Redgrave be brought to the exertion of all his influence, which she +imagined would assist her greatly. Therefore, too, must Felix Dymes be +retained as her warm friend, probably (his own suggestion) as her man +of business. +</P> + +<P> +It was January. Her 'recital' must take place in the coming season, in +May or June. She would sketch a programme at once—tomorrow +morning—and then work, work, work terrifically! +</P> + +<P> +Saved by the fervour of this determination from brooding over mysteries +and jealousies, Alma lay down with a contented sigh, and was soon +asleep, thanks to the health she still enjoyed. Her excitability was of +the imagination rather than of the blood, and the cool, lymphatic flow, +characteristically feminine, which mingled with the sanguine humour, +traceable perhaps to a paternal source, spared her many an hour of +wakefulness, as it guarded her against much graver peril. +</P> + +<P> +On Sunday morning she generally went to church—not because of any +spiritual impulse, but out of habit. In Wales, Harvey often accompanied +her; at Pinner he ceased to do so; but neither then nor now had any +talk on the subject passed between them. Alma took it for granted that +her husband was very 'broad' in matters of faith. She gathered from her +reading that every man of education nowadays dispensed with dogmas, +and, for her own part, it was merely an accident that she had not +sought to attract attention by pronounced freethinking. Sibyl Carnaby +went to church as a matter of course, and never spoke for or against +orthodoxy. Had Sibyl been more 'advanced' in this direction, +undoubtedly Alma would long ago have followed her example. Both of +them, in girlhood, had passed through a great deal of direct religious +teaching—and both would have shrunk amazed if called upon to make the +slightest sacrifice in the name of their presumed creed. +</P> + +<P> +This morning, however, Alma remained at home, and one of the first +things she did was to write to Sibyl, asking when it would be +convenient for her friend to give her half-an-hour's private talk. Then +she wrote to Felix Dymes, addressing the letter to the care of his +publishers. At midday, as Harvey had gone to town on his business with +Cecil Morphew, she decided to run over to Kingsbury-Neasden and ask her +friends for lunch, in return for which she would make known to them her +startling project. It was a wretched day; Hughie must not go out, and +Pauline—good creature—would amuse him in one way and another all the +afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +As it chanced, her surprise visit could not have been worse timed, for +Mrs. Leach was in a state of collapse after a violent quarrel, the day +before, with her cook-housekeeper, who quitted the house at a moment's +notice. Luncheon, in the admissible sense of the word, there was none +to be had. Mr. Leach, finding the house intolerable when he arrived on +Saturday afternoon, had gone back to his bachelor quarters, and the +girls, when Alma presented herself, were just sitting down alone to +what the housemaid chose to give them. But such an old friend could not +be turned away because of domestic mishap. +</P> + +<P> +Not until they had despatched the unsatisfactory meal, and were cosy in +the drawing-room, did Alma reveal her great purpose. Dora Leach +happened to have a slight acquaintance with a professional pianist who +had recently come before the public, and Alma began by inquiring +whether her friend could obtain information as to the expenses of the +first 'recital' given by that lady. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm afraid I don't know her quite well enough,' replied Miss Leach. +'What's it for? Are you thinking——? Really? You <I>really</I> are?' +</P> + +<P> +The sisters became joyously excited. Splendid idea! They had feared it +was impossible. Oh, she might count with certainty upon a brilliant +success! They began to talk about the programme. And what professionals +would she engage to take part in the concert? When Alma mentioned that +the illustrious Felix Dymes had offered to undertake the management of +her business, interest rose to the highest point. Felix Dymes would of +course be a tower of strength. Though tempted to speak of the support +she might expect from another great man, Alma refrained; her reason +being that she meant to ask Dora to accompany her to the Crystal Palace +next Saturday. If, as was almost certain, Redgrave met them there, it +would be unpleasant to let Dora surmise that the meeting was not by +chance. +</P> + +<P> +They chattered for two or three hours, and, among other things, made +merry over a girl of their acquaintance (struggling with flagrant +poverty), who aimed at a professional career. +</P> + +<P> +'It really would be kindness,' said Dora, 'to tell her she hasn't the +least chance; but one can't do that. She was here the other day playing +to us—oh, for <I>such</I> a time! She said her bow would have to be +rehaired, and when I looked at it, I saw it was all greasy and black +near the frog, from her dirty fingers; it only wanted washing. I just +managed to edge in a hint about soap and water. But she's very touchy; +one has to be so careful with her.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's dreadfully awkward, you know,' put in Gerda, 'to talk to people +who are so <I>poor</I>—isn't it? It came out one day that she had been +peeling potatoes for their dinner! It makes one so uncomfortable—she +really need not have mentioned it.' +</P> + +<P> +The public halls were discussed. Which would Alma select? Then again +the programme. Would she play the Adagio?—meaning, of course, that in +Spohr's Concerto 9. No, <I>no</I>; not the Adagio—not on any account the +Adagio! Something of Bach's?—yes; perhaps the Chaconne. And Brahms? +There was the Sonata in A for violin and piano. A stiff piece, but one +must not be too popular—Heaven forbid that one should catch at cheap +applause! How about a trio? What was that thing of Dvorak's, at St +James's Hall not long ago? Yes, the trio in B flat—piano, violin, and +'cello. At least a score of pieces were jotted down, some from memory, +some picked out of old programmes, of which Dora produced a great +portfolio. Interruption came at length—a servant entering to say that +Mrs. Leach felt so ill, she wished the doctor to be summoned. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, bother Mamma and her illnesses!' exclaimed the vivacious Gerda +when the intruder was waved off. 'It's all nonsense, you know. She will +quarrel with servants and get herself into a state. It'll have to be a +boarding-house; I see it coming nearer every day.' +</P> + +<P> +Having made an appointment with Dora for next Saturday, Alma took +leave, and went home in excellent spirits. Everything seemed to plan +itself; the time had come, the moment of destiny. Doubtless she had +been wise in waiting thus long. Had she come forward only a year or so +after her father's tragedy, people might have said she was making +profit of a vulgar sensation; it would have seemed in bad taste; +necessity would have appeared to urge her. Now, such remarks were +impossible. Mrs. Harvey Rolfe sounded much better than Miss Alma +Frothingham. By-the-bye, was it to be 'Mrs.', or ought she to call +herself 'Madame'? People did use the Madame, even with an English name. +Madame Rolfe? Madame Harvey Rolfe? That made her laugh; it had a touch +of the ridiculous; it suggested millinery rather than music. Better to +reject such silly affectations and use her proper name boldly. +</P> + +<P> +It was to be expected, of course, that people in general would soon +discover her maiden name. Whispers would go round; facts might even get +into the newspapers. Well? She herself had done nothing to be ashamed +of, and if curiosity helped her to success, why, so much the better. In +all likelihood it <I>would</I> help her; but she did not dwell upon this +adventitious encouragement. A more legitimate source of hope revealed +itself in Mrs. Strangeways' allusion to her personal advantages. She +was not ill-looking; on that point there needed no flatterer's +assurance. Her looks, if anything, had improved, and possibly she owed +something to her experiment in 'simplicity', to the air of mountain and +of sea. Felix Dymes, Cyrus Redgrave, not to speak of certain other +people—no matter. For all that, she must pay grave attention to the +subject of dress. Her recital would doubtless be given in the +afternoon, according to custom; so that it was not a case of <I>grande +tenue</I>; but her attire must be nothing short of perfection in its kind. +Could she speak about it with Sibyl? Perhaps—yet perhaps not. She was +very anxious to see Sibyl, and felt that a great deal depended upon +their coming interview. +</P> + +<P> +This took place on Tuesday; for Sibyl replied at once to the note, and +begged her to come without delay. 'Tuesday at twelve. I do little in +these gloomy days but read—am becoming quite a bookworm. Why have you +been silent so long? I was on the very point of writing to you, for I +wish to see you particularly.' +</P> + +<P> +And, when the servant opened her door, Sibyl was discovered in the +attitude of a severe student, bending over a table on which lay many +volumes. She would not have been herself had there appeared any neglect +or unbecomingness in her costume, but she wore the least pretentious of +morning gowns, close at throat and wrist, which aided her look of +mental concentration and alertness. She rose with alacrity, and the +visitor, using her utmost keenness in scrutiny of countenance, found +that her own eyes, not Sibyl's, were the first to fall. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes—working as if I had an examination to pass. It's the best thing +in weather such as this—keeps one in health, I believe. You, of +course, have your music, which answers the same purpose. I'm going in +for the Renaissance; always wished to make a thorough study of it. Hugh +is appalled; he never imagined I had so much energy. He says I shall be +writing a book next—and why not?' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course you could,' replied Alma. 'You're clever enough for +anything.' +</P> + +<P> +Her suspicions evaporated in this cosy cloister. She wondered how she +could have conceived such a thought of Sibyl, who, dressed so simply, +had a girlish air, a beauty as of maidenhood. Exhilarated by her +ambitious hopes, she turned in heart to the old friendship, felt her +admiration revive, and spoke it freely. +</P> + +<P> +'I know I'm not stupid,' said Sibyl, leaning back as if a little weary; +'and there's the pity of it, that I've never made more use of my +brains. Of course, those years abroad were lost, though I suppose I got +to know a little more of the world. And since we came back I have had +no peace of mind. Did you guess that? Perhaps your husband knew about +things from Hugh?' +</P> + +<P> +'I was afraid you might be getting rather anxious; but as you never +said anything yourself——' +</P> + +<P> +'I never should have done—I hate talking about money. And you know +that things are looking better?' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl's confident smile drew one of like meaning from Alma. +</P> + +<P> +'Your husband had good news, I know, when Harvey met him on Saturday.' +</P> + +<P> +'It sounds good,' said Sibyl, 'and I take it for granted it will be as +good as it sounds. If that's complicated, well, so is business, and I +don't profess to understand the details. I can only say that Hugh seems +to be a good deal shrewder and more practical than I thought him. He is +always making friends with what I consider the wrong kind of people; +now at last he has got hold of just the right man, and it very much +puzzles me how he did it. I have known Mr. Redgrave—you've heard it's +Mr. Redgrave?—I've known him for several years now, and, between +ourselves, I never expected to benefit by the acquaintance.' +</P> + +<P> +Her laugh was so significant that Alma had much ado to keep a steady +face. +</P> + +<P> +'I know—things are said about him,' she murmured. +</P> + +<P> +'Things <I>are</I> said about him, as you discreetly put it, my dear Alma.' +The voice still rippled with laughter. 'I should imagine Hugh has heard +them, but I suppose a man of the world thinks nothing of such trifles. +And after all'—she grew serious—'I would rather trust Hugh's judgment +than general gossip. Hugh thinks him a "very good fellow". They were +together a little in Scotland last autumn, you know, and—it's very +wrong to make fun of it, and I shouldn't repeat the story to anyone but +you—Mr. Redgrave confided to him that he was a blighted being, the +victim of an unhappy love in early life. Can you quite picture it?' +</P> + +<P> +'It has an odd sound,' replied Alma, struggling with rather tense +nerves. 'Do you believe the story?' +</P> + +<P> +'I can't see why in the world such a man should invent it. It seems he +wanted to marry someone who preferred someone else; and since then he +has——' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl rippled off again. +</P> + +<P> +'He has—what?' +</P> + +<P> +'Been blighted, my dear! Of course, people have different ways of +showing blight. Mr. Redgrave, it is rumoured, hides his head in a +hermitage, somewhere in the north of Italy, by one of the lakes. No +doubt he lives on olives and macaroni, and broods over what <I>might</I> +have been. Did you ever hear of that hermitage?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma's colour heightened ever so little, and she kept her eyes on the +questioner with involuntary fixedness. The last shadow of doubt +regarding Sibyl having disappeared (no woman with an uneasy conscience, +she said to herself, could talk in this way), she had now to guard +herself against the betrayal of suspicious sensibilities. Sibyl, of +course, meant nothing personal by these jesting allusions—how could +she? But it was with a hard voice that Alma declared her ignorance of +Mr. Redgrave's habits, at home, or in retreat by Italian lakes. +</P> + +<P> +'It doesn't concern us,' agreed her friend. 'He has chosen to put his +money into Hugh's business, and, from one point of view, that's a +virtuous action. Hugh says he didn't suggest anything of the kind, but +I fancy the idea must have been led up to at some time or other. The +poor fellow has been horridly worried, and perhaps he let fall a word +or two he doesn't care to confess. However it came about, I'm immensely +glad, both for his sake and my own. My mind is enormously relieved—and +that's how I come to be working at the Renaissance.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma took the first opportunity of giving the conversation a turn. It +was not so easy as she had anticipated to make her announcement; for, +to her own mind, Cyrus Redgrave and the great ambition were at every +moment suggestive of each other, and Sibyl, in this peculiar mood, +might throw out disturbing remarks or ask unwelcome questions. Only one +recent occurrence called for concealment. Happily, Sibyl no longer met +Mrs. Strangeways (whose character had taken such a doubtful hue), and +Redgrave himself could assuredly be trusted for discretion, whatever +his real part in that perplexing scene at he bungalow. +</P> + +<P> +'I feel the same want as you do,' said Alma, after a little +transitional talk, 'of something to keep me busy. Of course, it must be +music; but music at home, and at other people's homes, isn't enough. +You know my old revolt against the bonds of the amateur. I'm going to +break out—or try to. What would you give for my chances?' +</P> + +<P> +'My dear, I am no capitalist,' replied her friend, with animation. 'For +such a bargain as that you must go among the great speculators. Hugh's +experience seems to point to Mr. Redgrave.' +</P> + +<P> +'Sibyl, please be serious.' +</P> + +<P> +'So I am. I should like to have the purchase of your chances for a +trifle of a few thousand pounds.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma's flush of discomposure (more traitorous than she imagined) +transformed itself under a gratified smile. +</P> + +<P> +'You really think that I might do something worth the trouble?—I don't +mean money-making—though, of course, no one despises money—but a real +artistic success?' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl made no half-hearted reply. She seemed in thorough agreement with +those other friends of Alma's who had received the project +enthusiastically. A dozen tickets, at least a dozen, she would at once +answer for. But, as though an unwelcome word must needs mingle with her +pleasantest talk today, she went on to speak of Alma's husband; what +did he think of the idea? +</P> + +<P> +'He looks on, that's all,' Alma replied playfully. 'If I succeed, he +will be pleased; if I don't, he will have plenty of consolation to +offer. Harvey and I respect each other's independence—the great secret +of marriage, don't you think? We ask each other's advice, and take it +or not, as we choose. I fancy he doesn't quite like the thought of my +playing for money. But if it were <I>necessary</I> he would like it still +less. He finds consolation in the thought that I'm just amusing myself.' +</P> + +<P> +'I wish you would both come over and dine with us quietly,' said Sibyl, +after reflecting, with a smile. 'It would do us all good. I don't see +many people nowadays, and I'm getting rather tired of ordinary society; +after all, it's great waste of time. I think Hugh is more inclined to +settle down and be quiet among his friends. What day would suit you?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma, engrossed in other thoughts, named a day at random. Part of her +scheme was still undisclosed: she had a special reason for wishing +Sibyl to know of her relations with Felix Dymes, yet feared that she +might not hit exactly the right tone in speaking of him. +</P> + +<P> +'Of course, I must have a man of business—and who do you think has +offered his services?' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl was not particularly impressed by the mention of Dymes's name; +she had only a slight personal acquaintance with him, and cared little +for his reputation as a composer. +</P> + +<P> +'I had a note from him this morning,' Alma continued. 'He asks me to +see him today at the Apollo—the theatre, you know. They're going to +produce his comic opera, "Blue Roses"—of course, you've heard of it. I +shall feel rather nervous about going there—but it'll be a new +experience. Or do you think it would be more discreet if I got him to +come to Pinner?' +</P> + +<P> +'I didn't think artists cared about those small proprieties,' answered +Sibyl, laughing. +</P> + +<P> +'No—of course, that's the right way to regard it. Let me show you his +letter.' She took it from her little seal-skin bag. 'A trifle impudent, +don't you think? Mr. Dymes has a great opinion of himself, and +absolutely no manners.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well—if you can keep him in hand——' +</P> + +<P> +They exchanged glances, and laughed together. +</P> + +<P> +'No fear of that,' said Alma 'And he's just the kind of man to be very +useful. His music—ah well! But he has popularity, and a great many +people take him at his own estimate. Impudence does go a long way.' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl nodded, and smiled vaguely. +</P> + +<P> +Dymes had suggested a meeting at three o'clock, and to this Alma had +already given her assent by telegraph. She lunched with Mrs. +Carnaby,—who talked a great deal about the Renaissance,—left +immediately after, to visit a few shops, and drove up to the Apollo +Theatre at the appointed time. Her name sufficed; at once she was +respectfully conducted to a small electric-lighted room, furnished only +with a table and chairs, and hung about with portraits of theatrical +people, where Dymes sat by the fire smoking a cigarette. The +illustrious man apologised for receiving her here, instead of in the +manager's room, which he had hoped to make use of. +</P> + +<P> +'Littlestone is in there, wrangling about something with Sophy Challis, +and they're likely to slang each other for an hour or two. Make +yourself comfortable. It's rather hot; take off those furry things.' +</P> + +<P> +'Thank you,' replied Alma, concealing her nervousness with malapert +vivacity, 'I shall be quite comfortable in my own way. It <I>is</I> rather +hot, and your smoke is rather thick, so I shall leave the door a little +open.' +</P> + +<P> +Dymes showed his annoyance, but could offer no objection. +</P> + +<P> +'We're getting into shape for this day week. Littlestone calls the +opera "Blue Noses"—it has been so confoundedly cold at rehearsals.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma was seized by the ludicrous suggestion, and laughed without +restraint; her companion joined in, his loud neigh drowning her more +melodious merriment. This put them on natural terms of comradeship, and +then followed a long, animated talk. Dymes was of opinion that the +hiring of a hall and the fees of supplementary musicians might be +defrayed out of the sale of tickets; but there remained the item of +advertisement, and on this subject he had large ideas. He wanted 'to do +the thing properly'; otherwise he wouldn't do it at all. But Alma was +to take no thought for the cost; let it all be left to him. +</P> + +<P> +'You want to succeed? All right; let your fiddling be up to the mark, +and I answer for the public. It's all between you and me; you needn't +say who is doing the job for you. Ada Wellington comes off on May the +10th; I shall put you down for a fortnight later. That gives you nearly +four months to prepare. Don't overdo it; keep right in health; take +plenty of exercise. You look very well now; keep it up, and you'll +<I>knock 'em</I>. I only wish it was the stage instead of the platform—but +no use talking about that, I suppose?' +</P> + +<P> +'No use whatever,' Alma replied, flushing with various emotions. +</P> + +<P> +In the course of his free talk, it happened that he addressed her as +'Alma'. She did not check him; but when the name again fell from his +lips, she said quietly, with a straight look—— +</P> + +<P> +'I think not. The proper name, if you please.' +</P> + +<P> +Dymes took the rebuke good-humouredly. When their conversation was +over, he wished her to go with him to a restaurant for tea; but Alma +insisted on catching a certain train at Baker Street, and Dymes had to +be satisfied with the promise of another interview shortly. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0209"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 9 +</H3> + +<P> +A visit was due from Mrs. Frothingham, who had not been seen at Pinner +for more than six months. She would have come at New Year, but an +attack of influenza upset her plans. Now she wrote to announce her +arrival on Saturday. +</P> + +<P> +'I wish it had been Monday,' said Alma; 'I have to go to the Crystal +Palace.' +</P> + +<P> +'Is it imperative?' asked her husband. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; there's something new of Sterndale Bennett's, and I've asked +Dora.' +</P> + +<P> +It seemed to Harvey that this arrangement might have been put aside +without great inconvenience, but, as usual, he made no comment. As he +would be in town on Saturday, he promised to meet their visitor at +Waterloo. Alma, he thought, had never shown much gratitude for her +step-mother's constant kindness; during the past half-year she had now +and then complained of the trouble of answering Mrs. Frothingham's +letters, and the news of illness at Basingstoke drew from her only a +few words of conventional sympathy. To Hughie, who frequently received +presents from 'Grandmamma', she rarely spoke of the affectionate giver. +A remark of hers recently on some piece of news from Mrs. Frothingham +bore an obvious suggestion. +</P> + +<P> +'I wonder,' she said, 'if a single person has been really benefited by +all the money Mamma has given away? Isn't it likely she has done much +more harm than good?' +</P> + +<P> +There was truth in his surmise that Alma sometimes thought with +jealousy of Mrs. Frothingham's having had control of a fortune, whilst +she, the only child of him who made the money, possessed nothing of her +own. The same trend of feeling appeared in a word or two of Alma's, +when a daily paper, in speaking of a paltry dividend offered at last to +the creditors in one branch of Bennet Frothingham's speculations, used +a particularly bitter phrase. +</P> + +<P> +'I should have felt that once; now——' +</P> + +<P> +In these days Alma suffered from a revival of the indignation which had +so perturbed her in the time just before her marriage. If now she had +possessed even a little money, it would have made her independent in a +sense far more tangible than that of the friendly understanding with +her husband. She strongly disliked the thought of making Harvey +responsible for the expenses of her 'recital'. Had it been possible to +procure a small sum by any honest means, she would eagerly have turned +to it; but no method seemed discoverable. On her journey homeward after +the interview with Felix Dymes, her mind was full of the money +question. What did Dymes mean by bidding her take no thought for +expenses? Could it have occurred to his outrageous vanity that she +might be persuaded to become his debtor, with implied obligation of +gratitude? +</P> + +<P> +Not with impunity could her thought accustom itself to stray in regions +forbidden, how firm soever her resolve to hold bodily aloof. Alma's +imagination was beginning to show the inevitable taint. With Cyrus +Redgrave she had passed from disdainful resentment, through phases of +tolerance, to an interested flirtation, perilous on every side. In +Felix Dymes she easily, perhaps not unwillingly, detected a motive like +to Redgrave's, and already, for her own purposes, she was permitting +him to regard her as a woman not too sensitive, not too scrupulous. +These tactics might not be pleasant or strictly honourable, but she +fancied they were forced upon her. Alma had begun to compassionate +herself—a dangerous situation. Her battle had to be fought alone; she +was going forth to conquer the world by her mere talents, and can a +woman disregard the auxiliary weapons of beauty? If Dymes chose to +speculate in hopes ludicrously phantasmal, was that her affair? She +smiled at the picture of two men, her devoted servants, exerting +themselves to the utmost for her advantage, yet without a syllable of +express encouragement, and foredoomed to a disappointment which would +be perfectly plain to them could they but use their common-sense. +</P> + +<P> +Throughout this week Harvey did not behave quite as usual to her; or so +Alma thought. He had not the customary jocoseness when they met at the +close of day; he asked no questions about how she had spent her time; +his manner was preoccupied. One evening she challenged him. +</P> + +<P> +'You are worrying about what you think my foolishness.' +</P> + +<P> +'Foolishness? Of what folly are you guilty?' +</P> + +<P> +'My ambition, then.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh no!' He laughed as if the thought genuinely amused him. 'Why should +I worry about it? Don't work too hard, that's all. No, I was thinking +of a squalid little ambition of my own. I have an idea Morphew may make +something of that business; and I want him to, for the fellow's own +good. It's wonderful how near he has been to going to the devil, once +for all. I fancy I've got him now by the coat-tail; I may hold him.' +</P> + +<P> +'You can't call that a squalid ambition,' said Alma, wishing to be +amiable. +</P> + +<P> +'Not that side of it—no. But I've decided to put a little money into +the business—nothing that matters, but it may just as well be made +safe, if a little trouble will do it. I was wondering how it would be +if I worked a little down yonder—kept Morphew in sight. Distance is +the chief objection.' +</P> + +<P> +'But you think of moving to Gunnersbury?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, I do. I'm thinking of it seriously. Will you go over with me one +day next week! Better be Saturday—Mrs. Abbott will be free.' +</P> + +<P> +It was unfortunate that Alma had not been able to establish an intimacy +with Mary Abbott. They saw each other very rarely, and, as Harvey +perceived, made no progress in friendship. This did not surprise him; +they were too unlike in temper, intellect, and circumstances. Whether +to these obstacles should be added another more serious, Harvey could +not quite assure himself. He had suspected that Alma entertained a +slight jealousy—natural, perhaps, though utterly without substantial +cause. He even reckoned with this when proposing to put the child under +Mrs. Abbott's care, thinking that, in revolt against such an +alternative, Alma might be impelled to take the duty upon herself. That +nothing of the kind had resulted, seemed to prove that, whatever +feeling might occasionally have arisen in Alma, she did not regard his +friend with any approach to hostility. For his own part, he had always +felt that the memory of Bennet Frothingham must needs forbid Mrs. +Abbott to think with unrestrained kindliness of Alma, and, but for Alma +herself, he would scarce have ventured to bring them together. That +they were at least on amiable terms must be held as much as could be +hoped for. With regard to Mary's efficiency as a teacher, his opinion +had grown more favourable since he had seen her in her own home. Time +and experience were moulding her, he thought, to a task undertaken +first of all in a spirit of self-discipline. She appeared to be +successful in winning the confidence of parents, and she no longer +complained of inability to make herself liked by her little pupils. +Best of all, she was undoubtedly devoting herself to the work with all +the powers of her mind, making it the sole and sufficient purpose of +her life. Harvey felt no misgiving; he spoke his true thought when he +said that he would rather trust Hughie to Mrs. Abbott than to any other +teacher. It was with surprise, therefore, and some annoyance, that he +received Alma's reply to his proposal for their going over to +Gunnersbury next week. +</P> + +<P> +'Are you quite sure,' she said, rather coldly, 'that Mrs. Abbott will +teach better than Pauline?' +</P> + +<P> +'It isn't only that. Hughie must have companions. I thought we had +agreed about it.' +</P> + +<P> +'Have you inquired who his companions will be?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh—the ordinary children of ordinary people,' he replied, with some +impatience. 'I don't know that babies are likely to corrupt each other. +But, of course, you will ask Mrs. Abbott all about that kind of +thing—or anything else you wish.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma shook her head, laughing carelessly. +</P> + +<P> +'No, no. That is all in <I>your</I> hands. You have discussed it with her, +haven't you?' +</P> + +<P> +'I haven't so much as mentioned it. But, of course, I am quite willing +to relieve you of all trouble in the matter.' +</P> + +<P> +His tone seemed to startle Alma, for she looked up at him quickly, and +spoke in a more serious voice. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think we quite understand each other about Hughie. Why should +you be so anxious? He seems to me to be doing very well. Remember, he's +only a little more than three years old—quite a baby, as you say. I +don't think he would feel the want of companions for another year at +least.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey met her look, and replied quietly. +</P> + +<P> +'It isn't that I'm anxious about him. I have to plan for his education, +that's all.' +</P> + +<P> +'You're beginning rather early. Fathers don't generally look after +their children so young.' +</P> + +<P> +'Unfortunately, they don't,' said Harvey, with a laugh. 'Mothers do, +here and there.' +</P> + +<P> +'But surely you don't mean that I am neglectful, Harvey?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not at all. Teaching isn't your metier, Alma.' +</P> + +<P> +'I have always confessed that. But, then, the time for teaching Hughie +has hardly come. What can Pauline do but just see that he doesn't get +into mischief?' +</P> + +<P> +'That's the very reason why he would be better for two or three hours a +day with some one who knows <I>how</I> to teach a child of his age. It isn't +as unimportant as you think. Pauline does very well, but Mrs. Abbott +will do better.' +</P> + +<P> +Vexed at his own cowardliness—for he could not utter the words that +leaped to his tongue—Harvey fell into a perverse insistence on Mrs +Abbott's merits. He had meant to confine himself within the safe excuse +that the child needed companionship. Forbidden the natural relief of a +wholesome, hearty outburst of anger—which would have done good in many +ways—his nerves drove him into smothered petulance, with the result +that Alma misread him, and saw in his words a significance quite apart +from their plain meaning. +</P> + +<P> +'I have not the least intention of interfering, Harvey,' she said, with +her distant smile. 'For the next few months I shall be very busy +indeed. Only one thing I would ask—you don't think of leaving this +house before midsummer?' +</P> + +<P> +'No.' +</P> + +<P> +'Because I shall probably give my recital in May, and it would be +rather inconvenient——' +</P> + +<P> +'Everything shall be arranged to suit you.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not at all, not at all!' she exclaimed cheerfully. 'I don't ask so +much as that; it would be unreasonable. We are neither of us to stand +in the other's way—isn't that the agreement? Tell me your plans, and +you shall know mine, and I'm sure everything will be managed very well.' +</P> + +<P> +So the conversation ended, satisfactorily to neither. Harvey, aware of +having spoken indiscreetly, felt that he was still more to blame for +allowing his wife a freedom of which she threatened to make absurd use; +and Alma, her feelings both as wife and mother sensibly perturbed, +resented the imputation which seemed to have been thrown upon her +conduct. This resentment was of course none the less enduring because +conscience took her husband's side. She remembered her appointment +tomorrow (practically an appointment) with Cyrus Redgrave at the +Crystal Palace; would not that be more difficult to confess than +anything she could reasonably suppose to have happened between Harvey +and Mary Abbott? Yet more than ever she hoped to meet Redgrave, to hold +him by a new link of illusory temptation, that he might exert himself +to the utmost in promoting her success. For among the impulses which +urged her forward, her reasons for desiring a public triumph, was one +which Harvey perhaps never for a moment imagined—a desire to shine +gloriously in the eyes of her husband. Harvey would never do her +justice until constrained by the voice of the world. Year after year he +held her in less esteem; he had as good as said that he did not think +her capable of taking a place among professional violinists. Disguise +it how he might, he secretly wished her to become a mere domestic +creature, to abandon hopes that were nothing better than a proof of +vanity. This went to Alma's heart, and rankled there. He should see! He +should confess his error, in all its injurious and humiliating extent! +At whatever cost—at all <I>but</I> any cost—the day of her triumph should +come about! Foreseeing it, she had less difficulty in keeping calm when +the excellencies of Mrs. Abbott were vaunted before her, when Harvey +simply ignored all that in herself compensated the domestic +shortcoming. Of course, she was not a model of the home-keeping +virtues; who expected an artist to be that? But Harvey denied this +claim; and of all the motives contributing to her aspiration, none had +such unfailing force as the vehement resolve to prove him wrong. +</P> + +<P> +Next morning the weather was so bad that Harvey asked whether she had +not better give up her expedition to the Crystal Palace. Alma smiled +and shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +'You think I go only for amusement. It's so difficult to make you +understand that these things are serious.' +</P> + +<P> +'Congestion of the lungs is serious. I don't think Mrs. Frothingham +will face it. There'll probably be a telegram from her.' +</P> + +<P> +But by midday the fierce wind and driving sleet had abated, though the +outlook remained cheerless enough. After an early lunch, Alma set +forth. Dora Leach joined her in the train, and thus they travelled, +through sooty gloom, under or above ground, from the extreme north to +the farthest south of London; alighting at length with such a ringing +of the ears, such an impression of roar and crash and shriek, as made +the strangest prelude to a feast of music ever devised in the world's +history. Their seats having been taken in advance, they entered a few +moments before the concert began, and found themselves amid a scanty +audience; on either side of them were vacant places. Alma did not dare +to glance round about. If Redgrave were here, and looked for her, he +would have no difficulty in discovering where she sat; probably, too, +he could manage to take possession of the chair at her side. And this +was exactly what happened, though not until the first piece had been +performed. +</P> + +<P> +'I congratulate you on your zeal,' spoke the voice which always put her +in mind of sunny mountains and a blue lake. +</P> + +<P> +'Inviting a compliment in return,' said Alma, with a sudden +illumination of her features. 'Are you one of the regular attendants?' +</P> + +<P> +'Don't you remember?' His voice dropped so low that he hardly seemed to +address her. 'I promised myself the pleasure——' +</P> + +<P> +Alma pretended not to hear. She turned to her companion, spoke a word, +and renewed the very slight acquaintance which had existed a few years +ago between Redgrave and Miss Leach. Then the sound of an instrument +imposed silence. +</P> + +<P> +It was not the first time that Alma affected to be absorbed in music +when not consciously hearing it at all. Today the circumstances made +such distraction pardonable; but often enough she had sat thus, with +countenance composed or ecstatic, only seeming to listen, even when a +master played. For Alma had no profound love of the art. Nothing more +natural than her laying it completely aside when, at home in Wales, she +missed her sufficient audience. To her, music was not an end in itself. +Like numberless girls, she had, to begin with, a certain mechanical +aptitude, which encouraged her through the earlier stages, until vanity +stepped in and urged her to considerable attainments. Her father's +genuine delight in music of the higher kind served as an encouragement +whenever her own energies began to fail; and when at length, with +advancing social prospects, the thought took hold of her that, by means +of her violin, she might maintain a place of distinction above ordinary +handsome girls and heiresses, it sufficed to overcome her indolence and +lack of the true temper. She founded her Quartet Society, and queened +it over amateurs, some of whom were much better endowed than herself. +Having set her pride on winning praise as a musician, of course she +took pains, even working very hard from time to time. She had +first-rate teachers, and was clever enough to profit by their lessons. +With it all, she cared as little for music as ever; to some extent it +had lost even that power over her sensibilities which is felt by the +average hearer. Alma had an emotional nature, but her emotions +responded to almost any kind of excitement sooner than to the musical. +So much had she pretended and posed, so much had she struggled with +mere manual difficulties, so much lofty cant and sounding hollowness +had she talked, that the name of her art was grown a weariness, a +disgust. Conscious of this, she was irritated whenever Harvey begged +her to play simple things; for indeed, if she must hear music at all, +it was just those simple melodies she would herself have preferred. And +among the self-styled musical people with whom she associated, were +few, if any, in whom conceit did not sound the leading motive. She knew +but one true musician, Herr Wilenski. That the virtuoso took no trouble +to bring her in touch with his own chosen circle, was a significant +fact which quite escaped Alma's notice. +</P> + +<P> +Between the pieces Redgrave chatted in a vein of seductive familiarity, +saying nothing that Dora Leach might not have heard, but frequently +softening his voice, as though to convey intimate meanings. His manner +had the charm of variety; he was never on two occasions alike; today he +seemed to relax in a luxurious mood, due in part to the influence of +sound, and in part, as his eyes declared, to the sensuous pleasure of +sitting by Alma's side. +</P> + +<P> +'What an excellent fellow Carnaby is!' he remarked unexpectedly. 'I +have been seeing a good deal of him lately—as you know, I think?' +</P> + +<P> +'So I have heard.' +</P> + +<P> +'I like him all the better because I am rather sorry for him.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why?' +</P> + +<P> +'Don't you feel that he is very much out of place? He doesn't belong to +our world at all. He ought to be founding a new civilisation in some +wild country. I can sympathise with him; I have something of the same +spirit.' +</P> + +<P> +'I never observed it,' said Alma, allowing her glance to skim his +features. +</P> + +<P> +'Perhaps because you yourself represent civilisation in its subtlest +phase, and when I am with you I naturally think only of that. I don't +say I should have thriven as a backwoodsman; but I admire the type in +Carnaby. That's one of <I>our</I> privileges, don't you think? We live in +imagination quite as much as in everyday existence. You, I am sure, are +in sympathy with infinite forms of life—and,' he added, just above his +breath, 'you could realise so many of them.' +</P> + +<P> +'I shall be content with one,' replied Alma. +</P> + +<P> +'And that——?' +</P> + +<P> +She nodded towards the concert platform, where, at the same moment, a +violinist stepped forward. Redgrave gazed inquiringly at her, but she +kept silence until the next interval. Then, in reply to his direct +question, she told him, with matter-of-fact brevity, what her purpose +was. He showed neither surprise nor excessive pleasure, but bent his +head with a grave approving smile. +</P> + +<P> +'So you feel that the time has come. Of course I knew that it would. +Are any details arranged?—or perhaps I mustn't ask?' +</P> + +<P> +'I wanted to talk it over with you,' she answered graciously. +</P> + +<P> +After the concert they had tea together. Redgrave was very attentive to +Miss Leach, whom his talk amused and flattered. Alma's enterprise was +discussed with pleasant freedom, and Redgrave learnt that she had +decided to employ Mr. Felix Dymes as her agent. The trio set forth at +length on their homeward journey in a mood of delightful animation, and +travelled together as far as Victoria. +</P> + +<P> +'I haven't said that you can rely on me for all possible assistance,' +Redgrave remarked, as he walked along the roaring platform by Alma's +side. 'That is a matter of course. We shall meet again before long?' +</P> + +<P> +'No doubt.' +</P> + +<P> +'In Porchester Terrace perhaps?' +</P> + +<P> +'Perhaps.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma met his eyes, and took away with her the consciousness of having +dared greatly. But the end was a great one. +</P> + +<P> +In spite of the bad weather, Mrs. Frothingham had travelled up from +Basingstoke. Alma found her in the drawing-room, and saw at a glance +that there had been conversation on certain subjects between her and +Harvey; but not until the next day did Mrs. Frothingham speak of what +she had heard, and make her private comments for Alma's benefit. +</P> + +<P> +'I thought Harvey was joking, dear. Have you reflected how many reasons +there are why you <I>shouldn't</I>——?' +</P> + +<P> +The pathetic gaze of appeal produced no effect. +</P> + +<P> +'Did Harvey ask you to talk about it, Mamma?' +</P> + +<P> +'No. He takes it in the kindest way. But, Alma, you surely see that it +pains him?' +</P> + +<P> +'Pains him? That shows you don't understand us, dear Mamma. We could +neither of us possibly do anything that would pain the other. We are in +perfect harmony, yet absolutely independent. It has all been talked +over and settled. You must have misunderstood Harvey altogether.' +</P> + +<P> +From this position Alma could not be moved, and Mrs. Frothingham, too +discreet to incur the risk of interference, spoke no more of the matter +as it concerned man and wife. But another objection she urged with +almost tearful earnestness. Did Alma forget that her appearance in +public would give occasion to most disagreeable forms of gossip? And +even if she disregarded the scandal of a few years ago, would not many +of her acquaintances say and believe that necessity had driven her into +a professional career? +</P> + +<P> +'They may say what they like, and think what they like,' was Alma's +lofty reply. 'If artists had always considered such trivial +difficulties, where should we have been? Suppose gossip does its +worst—it's all over in a few months; then I stand by my own merit. +Dear Mamma, <I>don't</I> be old fashioned! You look so young and so +charming—indeed you do—that I can't bear to hear you talk in that +early Victorian way. Art is art, and all these other things have +nothing whatever to do with it. There, it's all over. Be good, and +amuse yourself whilst you are with us. I assure you we are the most +reasonable and the happiest people living.' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Frothingham smiled at the compliment to herself; then sighed, and +held her peace. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0210"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 10 +</H3> + +<P> +So day by day Alma's violin sounded, and day after day Harvey heard it +with a growing impatience. As is commonly the case with people of +untrained ear, he had never much cared for this instrument; he +preferred the piano. Not long ago he would have thought it impossible +that he could ever come to dislike music, which throughout his life had +been to him a solace and an inspiration; but now he began to shrink +from the sound of it. As Alma practised in the morning, he was driven +at length to alter his habits, and to leave home after breakfast. +Having no other business, he went to Westminster Bridge Road, met Cecil +Morphew at the shop, watched the progress of alterations that seemed +advisable, picked up a little knowledge of photography, talked over +prices, advertisements, and numerous commercial matters of which he had +hitherto been contentedly ignorant. Before long, his loan to Morphew +was converted into an investment; he became a partner in the concern, +which, retaining the name of the old proprietor, they carried on as Den +bow & Co. +</P> + +<P> +The redemption of his debentures kept him still occupied with a furtive +study of the money-market. He did not dare to face risk on a large +scale; the mere thought of a great reduction of income made him tremble +and perspire. So in the end he adopted the simple and straightforward +expedient of seeking an interview with his banker, by whom he was +genially counselled to purchase such-and-such stock, a sound security, +but less productive than that he had previously held. An unfortunate +necessity, seeing that his expenses increased and were likely to do so. +But he tried to hope that Westminster Bridge Road would eventually +reimburse him. With good luck, it might do more. +</P> + +<P> +His days of quietude were over. He, too, was being drawn into the +whirlpool. No more dreaming among his books; no more waking to the +ordinary duties and cares of a reasonable life. As a natural +consequence of the feeling of unsettlement, of instability, he had +recourse more often than he wished to the old convivial habits, +gathering about him once again, at club or restaurant, the kind of +society in which he always felt at ease—good, careless, jovial, and +often impecunious fellows, who, as in days gone by, sometimes made a +demand upon his purse which he could not resist, though he had now such +cause for rigid economy. Was it that he grew old?—he could no longer +take his wine with disregard of consequence. The slightest excess, and +too surely he paid for it on the morrow, not merely with a passing +headache, but with a whole day's miserable discomfort. Oh, degeneracy +of stomach and of brain! Of will, too; for he was sure to repeat the +foolish experience before a week had passed. +</P> + +<P> +It was not till Mrs. Frothingham had left them after a fortnight's +visit that he reminded Alma of her promise to go with him to +Gunnersbury. +</P> + +<P> +'Did I promise?' she said. 'I thought we agreed that you should settle +all that yourself.' +</P> + +<P> +'I had rather you came with me to see Mrs. Abbott. Shall it be +Saturday?' +</P> + +<P> +'Can't,' replied Alma, with a shake of the head and a smile. 'I have to +see Mr. Dymes.' +</P> + +<P> +'Dymes? Who is he?' +</P> + +<P> +'My agent.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! very well; then I'll go alone.' +</P> + +<P> +He would not permit himself any further inquiry. Alma had never spoken +to him of Dymes, her 'agent'. Harvey pictured an ill-shaven man in a +small office, and turned from the thought with disgust. Too late to +interpose, to ask questions; anything of that kind would but make him +seem small, ridiculous, fussy. He had chosen his course, and must +pursue it. +</P> + +<P> +Not that Alma behaved in such a way as to suggest estrangement; +anything but so. Her manner was always amiable, frequently +affectionate. When they spent an evening together—it did not often +happen—she talked delightfully; avoiding, as did Harvey himself, the +subjects on which they were not likely to agree. Her gaze had all the +old directness, her smile was sweet as ever, and her laugh as +melodious. If ever he felt uneasy during her long absences in town, one +of these evenings sufficed to reassure him. Alma was Alma still, and +could he but have reconciled himself to the thought of her playing in +public, she would have been yet the wife he chose, frankly self-willed, +gallantly independent. +</P> + +<P> +Until a certain day at the end of March, when something happened of +which Harvey had no suspicion, but which affected Alma in a way he soon +perceived. +</P> + +<P> +That morning he had left home early, and would not return till late. +Alma practised as usual, had luncheon alone, and was thinking of going +out, when the post delivered two letters—one for herself from Dymes, +the other for her husband. A glance showed her that Harvey's +correspondent was Mrs. Abbott, and never till today had one of Mrs +Abbott's letters come into her hand. She regarded it with curiosity, +and the longer she looked the stronger her curiosity became. Harvey +would of course tell her what his friend wrote about—as he always did; +but the epistle itself she would not be asked to read. And did she, as +a matter of fact, always know when Harvey heard from Mrs. Abbott? A +foolish question, probably; for if the correspondence were meant to be +secret, it would be addressed to Harvey at his club, not to the house. +All the same, a desire of years concentrated itself in this moment. +Alma wished vehemently to read one of Mary Abbott's letters with her +own eyes. +</P> + +<P> +She turned the envelope. It was of very stout paper, and did not look +quite securely gummed. Would not a touch of the finger—almost——? +Why, there, just as she thought; a mere touch, and the envelope came +open. 'Now, if I ever wrote a dangerous word,' mused Alma—'which I +don't, and never shall—this would be a lesson to me.' +</P> + +<P> +Well, it was open, and, naturally enough, the letter came forth. What +harm? There could be nothing in it that Harvey would wish to hide from +her. So, with hands that trembled, and cheeks that felt warm, she began +to read. +</P> + +<P> +The letter was Mrs. Abbott's acknowledgment of the quarterly cheque she +received from Rolfe. Alma was surprised at the mention of money in the +first line, and read eagerly on. As Mary Abbott and her friend had seen +each other so recently, there was no need of a full report concerning +Minnie Wager (her brother had long since gone to a boarding-school), +but the wording allowed it to be understood that Harvey paid for the +child, and, what was more, that he held himself responsible for her +future. What could this mean? Alma pondered it in astonishment; +gratified by the discovery, but disturbed beyond measure by its +mysterious suggestiveness. The letter contained little more, merely +saying, towards the end, how very glad the writer would be to give her +utmost care to little Hugh when presently he came into her hands. Last +of all—'Please remember me kindly to Mrs. Rolfe.' +</P> + +<P> +At this point of her life Alma had become habitually suspicious of any +relation between man and woman which might suggest, however remotely, +dubious possibilities. Innocence appeared to her the exception, +lawlessness the rule, where man and woman were restrained by no obvious +barriers. It was the natural result of her experience, of her +companionship, of the thoughts she deliberately fostered. Having read +the letter twice, having mused upon it, she leaped to a conclusion +which seemed to explain completely the peculiar intimacy subsisting +between Harvey and Mary Abbott. These two children, known as Albert and +Minnie Wager, were Harvey's offspring, the result of some <I>liaison</I> +before his marriage; and Mrs. Abbott, taking charge of them for +payment, had connived at the story of their origin, of their pitiful +desertion. What could be clearer? +</P> + +<P> +She did not go further in luminous conjectures. Even with her present +mind, Alma could not conceive of Mary Abbott as a wanton, of Harvey +Rolfe as a shameless intriguer; but it stung her keenly to think that +for years there had been this secret between them. Probably the matter +was known to Mrs. Abbott's husband, and so, at his death, it had +somehow become possible for Harvey to suggest this arrangement, whereby +he helped the widow in her misfortunes, and provided conscientiously +for his own illegitimate children. Harvey was so very conscientious +about children! +</P> + +<P> +Did they resemble him? She had seen the little girl, but only once, and +without attention. She would take an early opportunity of going over to +Gunnersbury, to observe. But no such evidence was necessary; the facts +stared one in the face. +</P> + +<P> +That Harvey should have kept this secret from her was intelligible +enough; most men, no doubt, would have done the same. But it seemed to +Alma only another proof of her husband's inability to appreciate her. +He had no faith in her as artist; he had no faith in her as woman. Had +she not felt this even from the very beginning of their intimate +acquaintance? Perhaps the first thing that awakened her interest in +Harvey Rolfe was the perception that he did not, like other men, admire +her unreservedly, that he regarded her with something of criticism. She +could attract him; she could play upon his senses; yet he remained +critical. This, together with certain characteristics which +distinguished him from the ordinary drawing-room man, suggestions of +force and individuality, drew her into singular relations with him long +before she dreamt that he would become her husband. And his attitude +towards her was unchanged, spite of passionate love-making, spite of +the tenderness and familiarity of marriage; still he viewed her with +eyes of tolerance, rather than of whole-hearted admiration. He +compared, contrasted her with Mary Abbott, for whose intellect and +character he had a sincere respect. Doubtless he fancied that, if this +secret became known to her, she would sulk or storm, after the manner +of ordinary wives. What made him so blind to her great qualities? Was +it that he had never truly loved her? Had it been owing to mere chance, +mere drift of circumstances, that he offered her marriage, instead of +throwing out a proposal such as that of Cyrus Redgrave at Bregenz? +</P> + +<P> +Though but darkly, confusedly, intermittently conscious of the feeling, +Alma was at heart dissatisfied with the liberty, the independence, +which her husband seemed so willing to allow her. This, again, helped +to confirm the impression that Harvey held her in small esteem. He did +not think it worth while to oppose her; she might go her frivolous way, +and he would watch with careless amusement. At moments, it was true, he +appeared on the point of ill-humour; once or twice she had thought +(perhaps had hoped) that he could lay down the law in masculine +fashion; but no—he laughed, and it was over. When, at the time of her +misery in Wales—her dim jealousy of Mrs. Abbott, and revolt against +the prospect of a second motherhood—she had subdued herself before +him, spoken and behaved like an everyday dutiful wife, Harvey would +have none of it. He wished—was that the reason?—to be left alone, not +to be worried with her dependence upon him. That no doubt of her +fidelity ever seemed to enter his mind, was capable of anything but a +complimentary interpretation; he simply took it for granted that she +would be faithful—in other words, that she had not spirit or +originality enough to defy conventional laws. To himself, perhaps, he +reserved a much larger liberty. How could she tell where, in what +company, his evenings were spent? More than once he had been away from +home all night—missed the last train, he said. Well, it was nothing to +her; but his incuriousness as to her own movements began to affect her +sensibly, now that she imagined so close a community of thoughts and +interests between Harvey and Mary Abbott. +</P> + +<P> +Before his return tonight other letters had arrived for him, and all +lay together, as usual, upon his desk. Alma, trying to wear her +customary face, waited for him to mention that he had heard from +Gunnersbury, but Harvey said nothing. He talked, instead, of a letter +from Basil Morton, who wanted him to go to Greystone in the spring, +with wife and child. +</P> + +<P> +'You mustn't count on me,' said Alma. +</P> + +<P> +'But after your concert—recital—whatever you call it; it would be a +good rest.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, I shall be busier than ever. Mr. Dymes hopes to arrange for me at +several of the large towns.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey smiled, and Alma observed him with irritation she could scarcely +repress. Of course, his smile meant a civil scepticism. +</P> + +<P> +'By-the-bye,' he asked, 'is Dymes the comic opera man?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. I rather wondered, Harvey, whether you would awake to that fact. +He will be one of our greatest composers.' +</P> + +<P> +She went on with enthusiasm, purposely exaggerating Dymes's merits, and +professing a warm personal regard for him. In the end, Harvey's eye was +upon her, still smiling, but curiously observant. +</P> + +<P> +'Why hasn't he been here? Doesn't he think it odd that you never ask +him?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, you know that I don't care to ask people. They are aware'—she +laughed—'that my husband is not musical.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey's countenance changed. +</P> + +<P> +'Do you mean that you tell them so?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not in any disagreeable way, of course. It's so natural, now, for +married people to have each their own world.' +</P> + +<P> +'So it is,' he acquiesced. +</P> + +<P> +Alma would have gone to Gunnersbury the very next day, but she feared +to excite some suspicion in her husband's mind. He little imagined her +capable of opening his letters, and to be detected in such a squalid +misdemeanour would have overwhelmed her with shame. In a day or two she +would be going to Mrs. Rayner Mann's, to meet a certain musical critic +'of great influence', and by leaving home early she could contrive to +make a call upon Mrs. Abbott before lunching at Putney. This she did. +She saw little Minnie Wager, scrutinised the child's features, and had +no difficulty whatever in discerning Harvey's eyes, Harvey's mouth. Why +should she have troubled herself to come? It was very hard to control +her indignation. If Mrs. Abbott thought her rather strange, rather +abrupt, what did it matter? +</P> + +<P> +At Mrs. Rayner Mann's she passed into a soothing and delicious +atmosphere. The influential critic proved to be a very young man, +five-and-twenty at most; he stammered with nervousness when first +addressing the stranger, but soon gave her to understand, more or less +humorously, that his weekly article was 'quite' the most important +thing in latter-day musical criticism, and that he panted for the +opportunity of hearing a new violinist of real promise. But Alma had +not brought her violin; lest she should make herself cheap, she never +played now at people's houses. The critic had to be satisfied with +hearing her talk and gazing upon her beauty. Alma was become a very +fluent talker, and her voice had the quality which fixes attention. At +luncheon, whilst half-a-dozen persons lent willing ear, she compared +Sarasate's playing of Beethoven's Concerto with that of Joachim, and +declared that Sarasate's <I>cadenza</I> in the first movement, though +marvellous for technical skill, was not at all in the spirit of the +work. The influential writer applauded, drawing her on to fresh +displays of learning, taste, eloquence. She had a great deal to say +about somebody's 'technique of the left hand', of somebody else's +'tonal effects', of a certain pianist's 'warmth of touch'. It was a +truly musical gathering; each person at table had some exquisite phrase +to contribute. The hostess, who played no instrument, but doted upon +all, was of opinion that an executant should 'aim at mirroring his own +nature in his interpretation of a tone-poem'; whereupon another lady +threw out remarks on 'subjective interpretation', confessing her +preference for a method purely 'objective'. The influential critic +began to talk about Liszt, with whom he declared that he had been on +intimate terms; he grew fervent over the master's rhapsodies, with +their 'clanging rhythm and dithyrambic fury'. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know when I enjoyed myself so much,' said Alma gaily, as the +great young man pressed her hand at parting and avowed himself her +devoted admirer. +</P> + +<P> +'My dear Mrs. Rolfe,' said the hostess privately, 'you were simply +brilliant! We are all looking forward so eagerly!' +</P> + +<P> +And as soon as Alma was gone, the amiable lady talked about her to the +one remaining guest. +</P> + +<P> +'<I>Isn't</I> she delightful! I do so hope she will be a success. I'm afraid +so much depends upon it. Of course, you know that she is the daughter +of Bennet Frothingham? Didn't you know? Yes, and left without a +farthing. I suppose it was natural she should catch at an offer of +marriage, poor girl, but it seems to have been <I>most</I> ill-advised. One +never sees her husband, and I'm afraid he is anything but kind to her. +He <I>may</I> have calculated on her chances as a musician. I am told they +have little or nothing to depend upon. Do drum up your friends—will +you? It is to be at Prince's Hall, on May the 16th—I think. I feel, +don't you know, personally responsible; she would never have come out +but for my persuasion, and I'm so anxious for a success!' +</P> + +<P> +The day drew near for Ada Wellington's debut. Alma met this young lady, +but they did not take to each other; Miss Wellington was a trifle +'loud', and, unless Alma mistook, felt fiercely jealous of any one +admired by Felix Dymes. As she could not entertain at their own house +(somewhere not far south of the Thames), Mrs. Wellington borrowed +Dymes's flat for an afternoon, and there, supported by the +distinguished composer, received a strange medley of people who +interested themselves in her daughter's venture. Alma laughed at the +arrangement, and asked Dymes if he expected her congratulations. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't make fun of them,' said Felix. 'Of course, they're not <I>your</I> +sort, Alma. But I've known them all my life, and old Wellington did me +more than one good turn when I was a youngster. Ada won't make much of +it, but she'll squeeze in among the provincial pros after this send +off.' +</P> + +<P> +'You really are capable of generosity?' asked Alma. +</P> + +<P> +'I swear there's nothing between us. There's only one woman living that +I have eyes for—and I'm afraid she doesn't care a rap about me; at all +events, she treats me rather badly.' +</P> + +<P> +This dialogue took place in a drawing-room the evening before Miss +Wellington's day. Alma had declined to meet her agent a second time at +the Apollo Theatre; they saw each other, by arrangement, at this and +that house of common friends, and corresponded freely by post, Dymes's +letters always being couched in irreproachable phrase. Whenever the +thing was possible, he undisguisedly made love, and Alma bore with it +for the sake of his services. He had obtained promises from four +musicians of repute to take part in Alma's concert, and declared that +the terms they asked were lower than usual, owing to their regard for +him. The expenses of the recital, without allowing for advertisements, +would amount to seventy or eighty pounds; and Dymes guaranteed that the +hall should produce at least that. Alma, ashamed to appear uneasy about +such paltry sums, always talked as though outlay mattered nothing. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't stint on advertisements,' she said. +</P> + +<P> +'No fear! Leave that to me,' answered Felix, with a smile of infinite +meaning. +</P> + +<P> +Ada Wellington could not afford to risk much money, and Alma thought +her announcements in the papers worth nothing at all. However, the +pianist was fairly successful; a tolerable audience was scraped +together (at Steinway Hall), and press notices of a complimentary +flavour, though brief, appeared in several quarters. With keen anxiety +Alma followed every detail. She said to herself that if <I>her</I> +appearance in public made no more noise than this, she would be ready +to die of mortification. There remained a fortnight before the ordeal; +had they not better begin to advertise at once? Thus she wrote to +Dymes, who replied by sending her three newspapers, in each of which a +paragraph of musical gossip informed the world that Mrs. Harvey Rolfe +was about to give her first public violin recital at Prince's Hall. +Mrs. Rolfe, added the journalists in varying phrase, was already well +known to the best musical circles as an amateur violinist, and great +interest attached to her appearance in public, a step on which she had +decided only after much persuasion of friends and admirers. Already +there was considerable demand for tickets, and the audience would most +certainly be both large and distinguished. Alma laughed with delight. +</P> + +<P> +The same day, by a later post, she received a copy of a 'society' +journal, addressed in a hand unknown to her. Guided by a red pencil +mark, she became aware of no less than a quarter of a column devoted to +herself. From this she might learn (if she did not already know it) +that Mrs. Harvey Rolfe was a lady of the utmost personal and social +charm; that her beauty was not easily described without the use of +terms that would sound extravagant; that as a violinist she had stood +for a year or two <I>facile princeps</I> amid lady amateurs; that she had +till of late lived in romantic seclusion 'amid the noblest scenery of +North Wales', for the sole purpose of devoting herself to music; and +that only with the greatest reluctance had she consented to make known +to the public a talent—nay, a genius—which assuredly was 'meant for +mankind'. She was the favourite pupil of that admirable virtuoso, Herr +Wilenski. At Prince's Hall, on the sixteenth of May, all lovers of +music would have, &c, &c. +</P> + +<P> +This batch of newspapers Alma laid before dinner on Harvey's desk, and +about an hour after the meal she entered the library. Her husband, +smoking and meditating, looked up constrainedly. +</P> + +<P> +'I have read them,' he remarked, in a dry tone. +</P> + +<P> +Alma's coldness during the last few weeks he had explained to himself +as the result of his failure to take interest in her proceedings. He +knew that this behaviour on his part was quite illogical; Alma acted +with full permission, and he had no right whatever to 'turn grumpy' +just because he disliked what she was doing. Only today he had rebuked +himself, and meant to make an effort to restore goodwill between them; +but these newspaper paragraphs disgusted him. He could not speak as he +wished. +</P> + +<P> +'This is your agent's doing, I suppose?' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course. That is his business.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I won't say anything about it. If <I>you</I> are satisfied, I have no +right to complain.' +</P> + +<P> +'Indeed, I don't think you have,' replied Alma, putting severe +restraint upon herself to speak calmly. Thereupon she left the room. +</P> + +<P> +Harvey rose to follow her. He took a step forward—stood +still—returned to his chair. And they did not see each other again +that night. +</P> + +<P> +In the morning came a letter from Dymes. He wrote that a certain +newspaper wished for an 'interview' with Mrs. Rolfe, to be published +next week. Should the interviewer call upon her, and, if so, when? +Moreover, an illustrated paper wanted her portrait with the least +possible delay. Were her new photographs ready? If so, would she send +him a dozen? Better still if he could see her today, for he had +important things to speak of. Might he look for her at Mrs. +Littlestone's at about four o'clock? +</P> + +<P> +At breakfast Alma was chatty, but she directed her talk almost +exclusively to Pauline Smith and to little Hugh, who now had his place +at table—a merry, sunny-haired little fellow, dressed in a sailor +suit. Harvey also talked a good deal—he, too, with Pauline and the +child. When Alma rose he followed her, and asked her to come into the +library for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm a curmudgeon,' he began, facing her with nervous abruptness. +'Forgive me for that foolery last night, will you?' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course,' Alma replied distantly. +</P> + +<P> +'No, but in the same spirit, Alma. I'm an ass! I know that if you do +this thing at all, you must do it in the usual way. I wish you success +heartily, and I'll read with pleasure every scrap of print that praises +you.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm hurrying to town, Harvey. I have to go to the photographer, and +see Mr. Dymes, and all sorts of things.' +</P> + +<P> +'The photographer? I hope they'll be tolerable; I know they won't do +you justice. Will you sit to a painter if I arrange it? Unfortunately, +I can't afford Millais, you know; but I want a good picture of you.' +</P> + +<P> +'We'll talk about it,' she replied, smiling more pleasantly than of +late. 'But I really haven't time now.' +</P> + +<P> +'And you forgive me my idiotics?' +</P> + +<P> +She nodded and was gone. +</P> + +<P> +In the afternoon she met Dymes at Mrs. Littlestone's, a house of much +society, for the most part theatrical. When they had moved aside for +private talk, he began by asking a brusque question. +</P> + +<P> +'Who got that notice for you into the <I>West End</I>?' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, didn't you?' +</P> + +<P> +'Know nothing about it. Come, who was it?' +</P> + +<P> +'I have no idea. I took it for granted——' +</P> + +<P> +'Look here, Alma, I think I'm not doing badly for you, and the least +you can do is to be straight with me.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma raised her head with a quick, circuitous glance, then fixed her +eyes on the man's heated face, and spoke in an undertone: 'Please, +behave yourself, or I shall have to go away. +</P> + +<P> +'Then you won't tell me? Very well. I chuck up the job. You can run the +show yourself.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma had never looked for delicacy in Felix Dymes, and his motives had +from the first been legible to her, but this revelation of brutality +went beyond anything for which she was prepared. As she saw the man +move away, a feeling of helplessness and of dread overcame her anger. +She could not do without him. The only other man active on her behalf +was Cyrus Redgrave, and to seek Redgrave's help at such a juncture, +with the explanation that must necessarily be given, would mean +abandonment of her last scruple. Of course, the paragraph in the <I>West +End</I> originated with him; since Dymes knew nothing about it, it could +have no other source. Slowly, but very completely, the man of wealth +and social influence had drawn his nets about her; at each meeting with +him she felt more perilously compromised; her airs of command served +merely to disguise defeat in the contest she had recklessly challenged. +Thrown upon herself, she feared Redgrave, shrank from the thought of +seeing him. Not that he had touched her heart or beguiled her senses; +she hated him for his success in the calculated scheme to which she had +consciously yielded step by step; but she was brought to the point of +regarding him as inseparable from her ambitious hopes. Till quite +recently her thought had been that, after using him to secure a +successful debut, she could wave him off, perhaps tell him in plain +words, with a smile of scorn, that they were quits. She now distrusted +her power to stand alone. To the hostility of such a man as +Dymes—certain, save at intolerable cost—she must be able to oppose a +higher influence. Between Dymes and Redgrave there was no hesitating on +whatever score. This advertisement in the fashionable and authoritative +weekly paper surpassed Dymes's scope; his savage jealousy was +sufficient proof of that. All she could do for the moment was to +temporise with her ignobler master, and the humiliation of such a +necessity seemed to poison her blood. +</P> + +<P> +She rose, talked a little of she knew not what with she knew not whom, +and moved towards the hostess, by whom her enemy was sitting. A glance +sufficed. As soon as she had taken leave, Dymes followed her. He came +up to her side at a few yards from the house, and they walked together, +without speaking, until Alma turned into the first quiet street. +</P> + +<P> +'I give you my word,' she began, 'that I know nothing whatever about +that paper.' +</P> + +<P> +'I believe you, and I'm sorry I made a row,' Dymes replied. 'There's no +harm done. I dare say I shall be hearing more about it.' +</P> + +<P> +'I have some photographs here,' said Alma, touching her sealskin bag. +'Will you take them?' +</P> + +<P> +'Thanks. But there's a whole lot of things to be arranged. We can't +talk here. Let's go to my rooms.' +</P> + +<P> +He spoke as though nothing were more natural. Alma, the blood throbbing +at her temples, saw him beckon a crawling hansom. +</P> + +<P> +'I can't come—now. I have a dreadful headache.' +</P> + +<P> +'You only want to be quiet. Come along.' +</P> + +<P> +The hansom had pulled up. Alma, ashamed to resist under the eyes of the +driver, stepped in, and her companion placed himself at her side. As +soon as they drove away he caught her hand and held it tightly. +</P> + +<P> +'I can't go to your rooms,' said Alma, after a useless resistance. 'My +head is terrible. Tell me whatever you have to say, and then take me to +Baker Street Station. I'll see you again in a day or two.' +</P> + +<P> +She did not feign the headache. It had been coming on since she left +home, and was now so severe that her eyes closed under the torture of +the daylight. +</P> + +<P> +'A little rest and you'll be all right,' said Dymes. +</P> + +<P> +Five minutes more would bring them to their destination. Alma pulled +away her hand violently. +</P> + +<P> +'If you don't stop him, I shall.' +</P> + +<P> +'You mean it? As you please. You know what I——' +</P> + +<P> +Alma raised herself, drew the cabman's attention, and bade him drive to +Baker Street. There was a short silence, Dymes glaring and muttering +inarticulately. +</P> + +<P> +'Of course, if you really have a bad headache,' he growled at length. +</P> + +<P> +'Indeed I have—and you treat me very unkindly.' +</P> + +<P> +'Hang it, Alma, don't speak like that! As if I <I>could</I> be unkind to +you!' +</P> + +<P> +He secured her hand again, and she did not resist. Then they talked of +business, settled one or two matters, appointed another meeting. As +they drew near to the station, Alma spoke impulsively, with a +bewildered look. +</P> + +<P> +'I shouldn't wonder if I give it up, after all.' +</P> + +<P> +'Rot!' was her companion's amazed exclamation. +</P> + +<P> +'I might. I won't answer for it. And it would be your fault.' +</P> + +<P> +Stricken with alarm, Dymes poured forth assurances of his good +behaviour. He followed her down to the platform, and for a quarter of +an hour she had to listen, in torment of mind and body, to +remonstrances, flatteries, amorous blandishments, accompanied by the +hiss of steam and the roar of trains. +</P> + +<P> +On reaching home she could do nothing but lie down in the dark. Her +head ached intolerably; and hour after hour, as often happens when the +brain is over-wearied, a strain of music hummed incessantly on her ear, +till inability to dismiss it made her cry in half-frenzied wretchedness. +</P> + +<P> +With sleep she recovered; but through the next day, dull and idle, her +thoughts kept such a gloomy colour that she well-nigh brought herself +to the resolve with which she had threatened Felix Dymes. But for the +anticipation of Harvey's triumph, she might perhaps have done so. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0211"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 11 +</H3> + +<P> +For several days she had not touched the violin. There was no time for +it. Correspondence, engagements, intrigues, whirled her through the +waking hours and agitated her repose. The newspaper paragraphs resulted +in a shower of letters, inquiring, congratulating, offering good +wishes, and all had to be courteously answered, lest the writers should +take offence. Invitations to luncheon, to dinner, to midnight 'at +homes', came thick and fast. If all this resulted from a few +preliminary 'puffs' what, Alma asked herself, would be the consequence +of an actual success? How did the really popular musicians contrive to +get an hour a day for the serious study of their art? Her severe +headache had left behind it some nervous disorder, not to be shaken off +by any effort—a new distress, peculiarly irritating to one who had +always enjoyed good health. When she wrote, her hand was unsteady, and +sometimes her eyes dazzled. This would be alarming if it went on much +longer; the day approached, the great day, the day of fate, and what +hope was there for a violinist who could not steady her hand? +</P> + +<P> +The 'interviewer' called, and chatted for half an hour, and took his +leave with a flourish of compliments. The musicians engaged to play +with her at Prince's Hall's came down to try over pieces, a trio, a +duet; so that at last she was obliged to take up her instrument—with +results that did not reassure her. She explained that she was not +feeling quite herself; it was nothing; it would pass in a day or two. +Sibyl Carnaby had asked her and Harvey to dine next week, to meet +several people; Mrs. Rayner Mann had arranged a dinner for another +evening; and now Mrs. Strangeways, whom she had not seen for some weeks, +sent an urgent request that she would call in Porchester Terrace as +soon as possible, to speak of something 'very important'. +</P> + +<P> +This summons Alma durst not disregard. Between Mrs. Strangeways and +Cyrus Redgrave subsisted an intimacy which caused her frequent +uneasiness. It would not have surprised her to discover that this +officious friend knew of all her recent meetings with Redgrave—at the +Crystal Palace and elsewhere; and, but for her innocence, she would +have felt herself at the woman's mercy. That she had not transgressed, +and was in no danger of transgressing, enabled her to move with head +erect among the things unspeakable which always seemed to her to be +lurking in the shadowed corners of Mrs. Strangeways' house. The day was +coming when she might hope to terminate so undesirable an acquaintance, +but for the present she must show a friendly face. +</P> + +<P> +She made this call at three o'clock, and was received in that +over-scented, over-heated boudoir, which by its atmosphere invariably +turned her thoughts to evil. The hostess rose languidly, with a pallid, +hollow-eyed look of illness. +</P> + +<P> +'Only my neuralgic something or other,' she said, in reply to a +sympathetic inquiry. 'It's the price one pays for civilisation. I've +had two terrible days and nights, but it's over for the present. But +for that I should have written to you before. Why, <I>you</I> don't look +quite so well as usual. Be careful—do be careful!' +</P> + +<P> +'I mean to be, if people will let me.' +</P> + +<P> +'You have eight days, haven't you? Yes, just eight days. You ought to +keep as quiet as possible. We are all doing our best; but, after all, +success depends greatly upon yourself, you know.' +</P> + +<P> +The voice, as always, seemed to fondle her, but Alma's ear detected the +usual insincerity. Mrs. Strangeways spoke in much the same way to +numbers of people, yet not quite so caressingly. Some interest she +undoubtedly had to serve by this consistent display of affection, and +with all but certainty Alma divined it. She shrank from the woman; it +cost her an unceasing effort not to betray dislike, or even hostility. +</P> + +<P> +'Of course, you saw last week's <I>West End</I>?' pursued the hostess, +smiling. 'You know whose doing that was?' +</P> + +<P> +'I only guessed that it <I>might</I> be Mr. Redgrave's kindness.' +</P> + +<P> +'I have the same suspicion. He was here the other day—we talked about +you. You haven't seen him since then?' +</P> + +<P> +'No.' +</P> + +<P> +'He hinted to me—just a little anxiety. I hardly know whether I ought +to speak of it.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma looked an interrogation as unconcerned as she could make it, but +did not open her lips. +</P> + +<P> +'It was with reference to—your man of business. It seems he has heard +something—I really don't know what—not quite favourable to Mr. Dymes. +I shall not offend you, dear?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't take offence, Mrs. Strangeways,' Alma answered, with a slight +laugh to cover her uneasiness. 'It's so old-fashioned.' +</P> + +<P> +The hostess uttered a thin trill of merriment. +</P> + +<P> +'One is always safe with people who have humour, dear. It <I>does</I> make +life easier, doesn't it? Oh, the terrible persons who take everything +with tragic airs! Well, there's not a bit of harm in it. Between +ourselves, it struck me that our friend was just a little inclined to +be—yes, you understand.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm afraid I don't.' +</P> + +<P> +'I hate the word—well, just a trifle jealous.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma leaned back in her chair, glanced about her, and said nothing. +</P> + +<P> +'Of course, he would never allow <I>you</I> to suspect anything of the kind. +It will make no difference. You can count upon his utmost efforts. But +when one thinks how very much he has it in his power to do——. That +bit of writing in the <I>West End</I>, you know—only the highest influence +can command that kind of thing. The <I>West End</I> can't be bought, I +assure you. And one has to think of the future. A good beginning is +much, but how many musicians are able to follow it up? My dear Alma, +let me implore you not to imagine that you will be able to dispense +with this kind of help.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you mean that Mr. Redgrave is likely to withdraw it?' +</P> + +<P> +'Impossible for me to say, dear. I am only telling you how his +conversation struck me. He appeared to think—to be apprehensive that +you might in future look to Mr. Dymes rather than to him. Of course, I +could say nothing—I would not venture a syllable.' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course not,' Alma murmured mechanically, her eyes wandering. +</P> + +<P> +'Are you likely, I wonder, to see him in the next few days?' +</P> + +<P> +'I hardly know—I think not.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then let me—will you?—let me contrive a <I>chance</I> meeting here.' +</P> + +<P> +Loathing herself, and burning with hatred of the woman, in whose hands +she felt powerless, Alma gave an assenting nod. +</P> + +<P> +'I am sure it will be a measure of prudence, dear. I thought possibly +you might be seeing him at Mrs. Carnaby's. He is there sometimes, I +believe?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma looked at the speaker, detecting some special significance in her +inquiry. She replied that Redgrave of course called upon Mrs. +Carnaby—but not often, she thought. +</P> + +<P> +'No?' threw out Mrs. Strangeways. 'I fancied he was there a good deal; +I don't quite know why.' +</P> + +<P> +'Have you met him there?' +</P> + +<P> +'No. It's quite a long time since I called—one has so many people to +see.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma knew that Sibyl was now holding aloof from Mrs. Strangeways, and +it seemed not improbable that this had excited some ill-feeling in the +latter. But her own uneasiness regarding Sibyl's relations with +Redgrave, uneasiness never quite subdued; made her quick to note, and +eager to explore, any seeming suspicion on that subject in another's +mind. Mrs. Strangeways was a lover of scandal, a dangerous woman, +unworthy of confidence in any matter whatsoever. Common prudence, to +say nothing of loyalty to a friend, bade Alma keep silence; but the +subtly-interrogating smile was fixed upon her; hints continued to fall +upon her ear, and an evil fascination at length compelled her to speak. +</P> + +<P> +'You know,' she said, as if mentioning an unimportant piece of news, +'that Mr. Redgrave has joined Mr. Carnaby in business?' +</P> + +<P> +The listener's face exhibited a surprise of which there was no +mistaking the sincerity. Her very features seemed to undergo a change +as the smile vanished from them; they became on the instant hard and +old, lined with sudden wrinkles, the muscles tense, every line +expressive of fierce vigilance. +</P> + +<P> +'In business?—what business?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, I thought you would have heard of it. Perhaps Mr. Redgrave doesn't +care to have it known.' +</P> + +<P> +'My dear, I am discretion itself.' +</P> + +<P> +Everything was told, down to the last detail of which Alma had any +knowledge. As she listened and questioned, Mrs. Strangeways resumed her +smiling manner, but could not regain the perfect self-command with +which she had hitherto gossiped. That she attached great importance to +this news was evident, and the fact of its being news to her brought +fresh trouble into Alma's thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +'How very interesting!' exclaimed Mrs. Strangeways at length. 'Another +instance of Mr. Redgrave's kindness to his friends. Of course, it was +done purely out of kindness, and that is why he doesn't speak of it. +Quite amusing, isn't it, to think of him as partner in a business of +that kind. I wonder whether——' +</P> + +<P> +She broke off with a musing air. +</P> + +<P> +'What were you wondering?' asked Alma, whose agitation increased every +moment, though the seeming tendency of her companion's words was to +allay every doubt. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, only whether it was <I>Mr</I> Carnaby who first made known his +difficulties.' +</P> + +<P> +'I am told so.' +</P> + +<P> +'By Mrs. Carnaby? Yes, no doubt it was so. I don't think Mrs. Carnaby +could quite have—I mean she is a little reserved, don't you think? She +would hardly have spoken about it to—to a comparative stranger.' +</P> + +<P> +'But Mr. Redgrave can't be called a stranger,' said Alma. 'They have +been friends for a long time. Surely you know that.' +</P> + +<P> +'Friends in <I>that</I> sense? The word has such different meanings. You and +Mr. Redgrave are friends, but I don't think you would care to tell him +if your husband were in difficulties of that kind—would you?' +</P> + +<P> +'But Sibyl—Mrs. Carnaby didn't tell him,' replied Alma, with nervous +vehemence. +</P> + +<P> +'No, no; we take that for granted. I don't think Mr. Carnaby is—the +kind of man——' +</P> + +<P> +'What kind of man?' +</P> + +<P> +'I hardly know him; we have met, that's all. But I should fancy he +wouldn't care to know that his wife talked about such things to Mr +Redgrave or any one else. There <I>are</I> men'—her voice sank, and the +persistent smile became little better than an ugly grin—'there <I>are</I> +men who don't mind it. One hears stories I shouldn't like to repeat to +you, or even to hint at. But those are very different people from the +Carnabys. Then, I suppose,' she added, with abrupt turn, 'Mr. Carnaby +is very often away from home?' +</P> + +<P> +Trying to reply, Alma found her voice obstructed. +</P> + +<P> +'I think so.' +</P> + +<P> +'How very kind of Mr. Redgrave, wasn't it! Has he spoken about it to +<I>you</I>?' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course not.' +</P> + +<P> +'Naturally, he wouldn't.—Oh, don't go yet, dear. Why, we have had no +tea; it isn't four o'clock. Must you really go? Of course, you are +overwhelmed with engagements. But do—do take care of your health. And +remember our little scheme. If Mr. Redgrave could look in—say, the day +after tomorrow? You shall hear from me in time. I feel—I really +feel—that it wouldn't be wise to let him think—you understand me.' +</P> + +<P> +With scarce a word of leave-taking, Alma hastened away. The air of this +room was stifling her, and the low cooing voice had grown more +intolerable than a clanging uproar. From Porchester Terrace she walked +into Bayswater Road, her eyes on the pavement. It was a sunny +afternoon, but there had been showers, and now again large spots of +rain began to fall. As she was opening her umbrella, a cabman's voice +appealed to her, and fixed her purpose. She bade him drive her to +Oxford and Cambridge Mansions. +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl was not at home. The maid-servant could not say when she might +return; she had been absent since yesterday morning. Unable to restrain +herself, Alma inquired whether Mr. Carnaby was in town. He was not; he +had been away for several days. +</P> + +<P> +On the morrow a letter from Sibyl came to Pinner. She was grieved to +hear that Alma had called during her absence. Was it anything of +importance, or would it keep till she and Harvey came to dine on +Saturday? 'I have been down to Weymouth—not to enjoy myself, but to +see my mother. She <I>says</I> she is very ill, and thinks it monstrous that +I don't feel inclined to devote myself to the care of her. Her illness, +I am sure, is nothing but discontent and bad temper, just because she +feels herself dropping out of society. She must get used to it. In any +case, we could never endure each other; and how can I be expected to +make any sacrifice for a mother who never gave me an hour of motherly +care from the day of my birth? But you know all about this, and don't +want to hear of it again just when you are so busy. If there is +anything in the world I can do for you, let me know at once.' +</P> + +<P> +But for her conversation with Mrs. Strangeways, it would not have +occurred to Alma to doubt the truth of what Sibyl wrote; as it was, she +tortured herself with dark surmises. Jealousy without love, a passion +scarcely intelligible to the ordinary man, is in woman common enough, +and more often productive of disaster than the jealousy which +originates in nobler feeling. To suspect that she was the plaything of +Sibyl's subtlety, and that Redgrave smiled at her simplicity in never +having discovered an obvious rival, fired her blood to the fever point. +She could no longer balance probabilities; all the considerations which +hitherto declared for Sibyl's innocence lost their weight. Her +overexcited mind, her impaired health, were readily receptive of such +poison as distilled from the lips of Mrs. Strangeways. What she now +desired was proof. Only let evidence be afforded her, cost what it +might! After that, she saw her way. +</P> + +<P> +No! Hugh Carnaby was assuredly not one of the men who wink at their +wives' dishonour, nor one of the men who go slinking for a remedy to +courts of law—or she mistook him strangely. +</P> + +<P> +At receipt of the expected note from Porchester Terrace—it said +merely, 'Pray be here, if possible, at three tomorrow afternoon'—she +quivered with anticipation of seeing Redgrave. How it was to come +about, she did not ask, but Redgrave should not part from her before +she had obtained light upon his relations with Sibyl. She believed +herself irresistible if she chose to put forth all her power. With two +men, dangerous both of them, she had played the game of her own +interests, played it safely, and for a long time; she made them her +instruments, mocking at their hopes, holding them at arm's-length, in +spite of all their craft and their vehemence. Only a very clever woman +could do this. In giddiness of self-admiration, she felt everything to +be possible. Boldness was necessary—far more boldness than she had yet +dared to use. The rivalry of such a woman as Sibyl could not be +despised; it threatened her ambitions. But in the struggle now to be +decided she had a supreme advantage; for Sibyl, having gained her +object, assuredly had paid its price. Hence her pretended absorption in +study, hence the revival of her friendliness; what were these things +but blinds to mislead the only woman whose observation she had much +reason to fear? +</P> + +<P> +How astonishing it now seemed to her that she could have accepted such +shallow explanations of Redgrave's partnership with Hugh Carnaby! Why, +Harvey himself, least suspicious of men, was perplexed, and avowed his +inability to understand it. As for Mrs. Strangeways—a woman of the +world, if there was one—the fact had but to be mentioned to her, and +on the moment she saw its meaning. No wonder the matter had been kept +so quiet. But for the honesty of the duped husband no one at all would +have heard of it. +</P> + +<P> +Arriving at the house a little before her time, she found her hostess a +prey to vexation. +</P> + +<P> +'My dear, he can't come. It's most annoying. Only an hour ago I had a +telegram—look——' +</P> + +<P> +The despatch was from Coventry: 'Don't expect me. Detained on business. +Redgrave.' It rustled in Alma's hand, and she had much ado to keep +herself from tears of angry chagrin. +</P> + +<P> +'He had promised to be here,' went on Mrs. Strangeways. 'I thought +nothing would have kept him away.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you mean,' asked Alma bluntly, 'that he knew I was coming?' +</P> + +<P> +'I had said that I half expected you. Don't be vexed, dear. I did so +wish you to meet.' +</P> + +<P> +'If he's at Coventry,' Alma continued, 'it must be on <I>that</I> business.' +</P> + +<P> +'It seems likely. Do sit down. You still look anything but yourself. +Pray, pray remember that you have only a day or two——' +</P> + +<P> +'Don't worry me, please,' said Alma, with a contemptuous gesture. +</P> + +<P> +She had thrown off reserve, caring only, now the first step was taken, +to make all possible use of this woman whom she detested. Her voice +showed the change that had been wrought in her; she addressed her +hostess almost as though speaking to an inferior. +</P> + +<P> +'What do you think it means, his keeping away?' +</P> + +<P> +'Business, possibly. More likely—the other thing I spoke of.' +</P> + +<P> +In this reply Mrs. Strangeways modified her tone, discarding +mellifluous tenderness, yet not going quite so far as Alma in neglect +of appearances. She was an older woman, and had learnt the +injudiciousness of impulsive behaviour. +</P> + +<P> +'Speak plainly—it saves time. You think he won't care to meet me at +all again?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't say that. I should be very sorry indeed to think it. But—to +speak as plainly as you wish, dear—I know that someone must have said +unpleasant things to him about your—your friendship with Mr. Dymes.' +</P> + +<P> +'Are you hinting at anyone in particular?' Alma asked, salving her +self-respect with a poor affectation of haughtiness. +</P> + +<P> +'Ask yourself, my dear, who is at all likely to give him such +information.' +</P> + +<P> +'Information?' Alma's eyes flashed. 'That's a strange word to use. Do +you imagine there is any information of that kind to be given?' +</P> + +<P> +'I spoke carelessly,' answered the other, smiling. 'Do sit down, dear +Mrs. Rolfe. I'm sure you will overtax your strength before Tuesday. I +meant nothing whatever, I assure you.' +</P> + +<P> +Reluctantly Alma became seated, and the conversation was prolonged. +Without disguise they debated the probability that Redgrave was being +estranged from Alma by Sibyl Carnaby; of course, taking for granted +Sibyl's guilt, and presuming that she feared rivalry. From time to time +Alma threw out scornful assertion of her own security; she was bold to +the point of cynicism, and recklessly revealed herself. The other +listened attentively, still smiling, but without constraint upon her +features; at moments she appeared to feel something of admiration. +</P> + +<P> +'There are several things in your favour,' she remarked deliberately, +when Alma had declared a resolve to triumph at all hazards. 'Above +all—but one need not mention it.' +</P> + +<P> +'What? I don't understand.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, I'm sure you do! You alluded to it the other day. Some women have +such tiresome husbands.' +</P> + +<P> +The look which accompanied this struck Alma cold. She sat motionless, +staring at the speaker. +</P> + +<P> +'What do you mean? You think that my husband——?' +</P> + +<P> +'I meant only to encourage you, my dear.' +</P> + +<P> +'You think that my husband has less sense of honour than Mr. Carnaby?' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Strangeways looked wonderingly at her. +</P> + +<P> +'How strange you are! Could I have dreamt of saying anything so +ill-mannered?' +</P> + +<P> +'You implied it!' exclaimed Alma, her voice thrilling on the note of +indignation. 'How dare you so insult me! Is it possible that you have +such thoughts?' +</P> + +<P> +Overcome by what seemed to her the humour of the situation, Mrs +Strangeways frankly laughed. +</P> + +<P> +'I beg your pardon a thousand times, my dear Mrs. Rolfe! I have +misunderstood, I am afraid. You <I>are</I> quite serious? Yes, yes, there +has been a misunderstanding. Pray forgive me.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma rose from her chair. 'There <I>has</I> been a misunderstanding. If you +knew my husband—if you had once met him—such a thought could never +have entered your mind. You compare him to his disadvantage with Mr +Carnaby? What right have you to do that? I believe in Mr. Carnaby's +honesty, and do you know why?—because he is my husband's friend. But +for <I>that</I>, I should suspect him.' +</P> + +<P> +'My dear,' replied Mrs. Strangeways, 'you are wonderful. I prophesy +great things for you. I never in my life met so interesting a woman.' +</P> + +<P> +'You may be as sarcastic as you please,' Alma retorted, in a low, +passionate voice. 'I suppose you believe in no one?' +</P> + +<P> +'I have said, dear, that I believe in <I>you</I>; and I shall think it the +greatest misfortune if I lose your friendship for a mere indiscretion. +Indeed, I was only trying to understand you completely.' +</P> + +<P> +'You do—now.' +</P> + +<P> +They did not part in hostility. Mrs. Strangeways had the best of +reasons for averting this issue, at any cost to her own feelings, which +for the moment had all but escaped control. Though the complications of +Alma's character puzzled her exceedingly, she knew how to smooth over +the trouble which had so unexpectedly arisen. Flattery was the secret +of her influence with Mrs. Rolfe, and it still availed her. With +ostentation of frankness, she pointed a contrast between Alma and her +presumed rival. Mrs. Carnaby was the corrupt, unscrupulous woman, who +shrank from nothing to gratify a base selfishness. Alma was the artist, +pursuing a legitimate ambition, using, as she had a perfect right to +do, all her natural resources, but pure in soul. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, I understand you at last, and I admire you more than ever. You +will go far, my dear. You have great gifts, and, more than that, you +have principle. It is character that tells in the long run. And depend +upon me. I shall soon have news for you. Keep quiet; prepare yourself +for next Tuesday. As for all <I>that</I>—leave it to me.' +</P> + +<P> +Scarcely had Alma left the house, when she suddenly stood still, as +though she had forgotten something. Indeed she had. In the flush of +loyal resentment which repelled an imputation upon her husband's +honour, she had entirely lost sight of her secret grievance against +Harvey. Suddenly revived, the memory helped her to beat down that +assaulting shame which took advantage of reaction in mind and blood. +Harvey was not honest with her. Go as far as she might, short of the +unpardonable, there still remained to her a moral superiority over the +man she defended. And yet—she was glad to have defended him; it gave +her a sense of magnanimity. More than that, the glow of an honest +thought was strangely pleasant. +</P> + +<P> +She had sundry people to see and pieces of business to transact. What a +nuisance that she lived so far from the centre of things! It was this +perpetual travelling that had disordered her health, and made +everything twice as troublesome as it need be. Today, again, she had a +headache, and the scene with Mrs. Strangeways had made it worse. +</P> + +<P> +In Regent Street she met Dymes. She was not afraid of him now, for she +had learnt how to make him keep his distance; and after the great day, +if he continued to trouble her, he might be speedily sent to the +right-about. He made an inspiriting report: already a considerable +number of tickets had been sold—enough, he said, or all but enough, to +clear expenses. +</P> + +<P> +'What, advertising and all?' asked Alma. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, leave that to me. Advertising is a work of art. If you like just +to come round to my rooms, I'll——' +</P> + +<P> +'Haven't time today. See you at the Hall on Monday.' +</P> + +<P> +A batch of weekly newspapers which arrived next morning, Saturday, +proved to her that Dymes was sufficiently active. There were more +paragraphs; there were two reproductions of her portrait; and as for +advertisements, she tried, with some anxiety, to conjecture the cost of +these liberal slices of page, with their eye-attracting type. Naturally +the same question would occur to her husband, but Harvey kept his word; +whatever he thought, he said nothing. And Alma found it easier to be +good-humoured with him than at any time since she had read Mary +Abbott's letter; perhaps yesterday's event accounted for it. +</P> + +<P> +They dined at the Carnabys', the first time for months that they had +dined from home together. Harvey would have shirked the occasion, had +it been possible. With great relief, he found that the guests were all +absolute strangers to him, and that they represented society in its +better sense, with no suggestion of the 'half-world'—no Mrs +Strangeways or Mrs. Rayner Mann. Alma, equally conscious of the fact, +viewed it as a calculated insult. Sibyl had brought her here to +humiliate her. She entered the doors with jealous hatred boiling in her +heart, and fixed her eyes on Sibyl with such fire of malicious scrutiny +that the answer was a gaze of marked astonishment. But they had no +opportunity for private talk. Sibyl, as hostess, bore herself with that +perfect manner which no effort and no favour of circumstance would ever +enable Mrs. Rolfe to imitate. Envying every speech and every movement, +knowing that her own absent behaviour and forced talk must produce an +unpleasant impression upon the well-bred strangers, she longed to +expose the things unspeakable that lay beneath this surface of social +brilliancy. What was more, she would do it when time was ripe. Only +this consciousness of power to crush her enemy enabled her to bear up +through the evening. +</P> + +<P> +At the dinner-table she chanced to encounter Sibyl's look. She smiled. +There was disquiet in that glance—furtive inquiry and apprehension. +</P> + +<P> +No music. Alma would have doubted whether any of these people were +aware of her claim to distinction, had not a lady who talked with her +after dinner hinted, rather than announced, an intention of being +present at Prince's Hall next Tuesday. None of the fuss and adulation +to which she was grown accustomed; no underbred compliments; no +ambiguous glances from men. It angered her to observe that Harvey did +not seem at all wearied; that he conversed more naturally than usual in +a mixed company, especially with the hostess. One whisper—and how +would Harvey look upon his friend's wife? But the moment had not come. +</P> + +<P> +She left as early as possible, parting from Sibyl as she had met her, +with eyes that scarce dissembled their malignity. +</P> + +<P> +When Hugh and his wife were left together, Sibyl abstained from remark +on Alma; it was Carnaby who introduced the subject. 'Don't you think +Mrs. Rolfe looked seedy?' +</P> + +<P> +'Work and excitement,' was the quiet answer. 'I think it more than +likely she will break down.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's a confounded pity. Why, she has grown old all at once. She's +losing her good looks. Did you notice that her eyes were a little +bloodshot?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, I noticed it. I didn't like her look at all.' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh, as his custom was, paced the floor. Nowadays he could not keep +still, and he had contracted an odd habit of swinging his right arm, +with fist clenched, as though relieving his muscles after some unusual +constraint. +</P> + +<P> +'By Jove, Sibyl, when I compare her with you!—I feel sorry for Rolfe; +can't help it. Why didn't you stop this silly business before it went +so far?' +</P> + +<P> +'That's a characteristic question, dear boy,' Sibyl replied merrily. +'There are more things in life—particularly woman's life—than your +philosophy ever dreamt of. Alma has quite outgrown me, and I begin to +suspect that she won't honour me with her acquaintance much longer.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why?' +</P> + +<P> +'For one thing, we belong to different worlds, don't you see; and the +difference, in future, will be rather considerable.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I'm sorry. Rolfe isn't half the man he was. Why on earth didn't +<I>he</I> stop it? He hates it, anyone can see. Why, if I were in his +place——' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl interrupted with her mellow laughter. +</P> + +<P> +'You wouldn't be a bit wiser. It's the fate of men—except those who +have the courage to beat their wives. You know you came back to England +at my heels when you didn't want to. Now, a little energy, a little +practice with the horsewhip——' +</P> + +<P> +Carnaby made pretence of laughing. But he turned away his face; the +jest had too serious an application. Yes, yes, if he had disregarded +Sibyl's wishes, and stayed on the other side of the world! It seemed to +him strange that she could speak of the subject so lightly; he must +have been more successful than he thought in concealing his true state +of mind. +</P> + +<P> +'Rolfe tells me he has got a house at Gunnersbury.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; he mentioned it to me. Why Gunnersbury? There must be some reason +they don't tell us.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ask his wife,' said Hugh, impatiently. 'No doubt the choice is hers.' +</P> + +<P> +'No doubt. But I don't think,' added Sibyl musingly, 'I shall ask Alma +that or anything else. I don't think I care much for Alma in her new +development. For a time I shall try leaving her alone.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I'm sorry for poor old Rolfe,' repeated Hugh. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0212"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 12 +</H3> + +<P> +On Monday morning Hugh Carnaby received a letter from Mrs. Ascott +Larkfield. It was years since Sibyl's mother had written to him, and +the present missive, scrawled in an unsteady hand, gave him some +concern. Mrs. Larkfield wrote that she was very ill, so ill that she +had abandoned hope of recovery. She asked him whether, as her +son-in-law, he thought it right that she should be abandoned to the +care of strangers. It was the natural result, no doubt, of her +impoverished condition; such was the world; had she still been wealthy, +her latter days would not have been condemned to solitude. But let him +remember that she still had in her disposal an income of about six +hundred pounds, which, under ordinary circumstances, would have passed +to Sibyl; by a will on the point of being executed, this money would +benefit a charitable institution. To him this might be a matter of +indifference; she merely mentioned the fact to save Sibyl a possible +disappointment. +</P> + +<P> +Hugh and his wife, when both had read the letter, exchanged uneasy +glances. +</P> + +<P> +'It isn't the money,' said Carnaby. 'Hang the money! But—after all, +Sibyl, she's your mother.' +</P> + +<P> +'And what does <I>that</I> mean?' Sibyl returned coldly. 'Shall I feel the +least bit of sorrow if she dies? Am I to play the hypocrite just +because this woman brought me into the world? We have always hated each +other, and whose fault? When I was a child, she left me to +dirty-minded, thieving servants; they were my teachers, and it's +wonderful enough that—that nothing worse came of it. When I grew up, +she left me to do as I pleased—anything so that I gave her no trouble. +Do you wish me to go and pretend——' +</P> + +<P> +'I tell you what—I'll run down to Weymouth myself, shall I? Perhaps I +might arrange something—for her comfort, I mean.' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl carelessly assented. Having business in town, Hugh could not +start till afternoon, but he would reach Weymouth by half-past six, and +might manage to be back again in time for Mrs. Rolfe's concert tomorrow. +</P> + +<P> +'I shouldn't put myself to any inconvenience on that account,' said +Sibyl, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +'Out of regard for Rolfe, that's all.' +</P> + +<P> +He left home at eleven, transacted his business, and at half-past one +turned in for lunch at a Strand restaurant before proceeding to +Waterloo. As he entered, he saw Mrs. Rolfe, alone at one of the tables; +she was drawing on her gloves, about to leave. They met with friendly +greeting, though Hugh, from the look with which Mrs. Rolfe recognised +him, had a conviction that his growing dislike of her was fully +reciprocated. In the brief talk before Alma withdrew, he told her that +he was going down into the country. +</P> + +<P> +'To Coventry?' she asked, turning her eyes upon him. +</P> + +<P> +'No; to Weymouth. Mrs. Larkfield is no better, I'm afraid, and—Sibyl +wants me to see her.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then you won't be back——' +</P> + +<P> +'For tomorrow?—oh yes, I shall certainly be back in time, unless +anything very serious prevents me. There's a good train from Weymouth +at 10.10—gets in about half-past two. I shall easily get to Prince's +Hall by three.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma again regarded him, and seemed on the point of saying something, +but she turned her head, rose, and rather hastily took leave. Hugh +remarked to himself that she looked even worse by daylight than in the +evening; decidedly, she was making herself ill—perhaps, he added, the +best thing that could happen. +</P> + +<P> +For his luncheon he had small appetite. The journey before him was a +nuisance, and the meeting at the end of it more disagreeable than +anything he had ever undertaken. What a simple matter life would be, +but for women! That Sibyl should detest her mother was perhaps natural +enough, all things considered; but he heartily wished they were on +better terms. He felt that Sibyl must have suffered in character, to +some extent, by this abnormal antipathy. He did not blame her; her +self-defence this morning proved that she had ground for judging her +mother sternly; and perhaps, as she declared, only by her own strength +and goodness had she been saved from the worst results of parental +neglect. Hugh did not often meditate upon such things, but just now he +felt impatience and disgust with women who would not care properly for +their children. Poor old Rolfe's wife, for instance, what business had +she to be running at large about London, giving concerts, making +herself ill and ugly, whilst her little son was left to a governess and +servants! He had half a mind to write a letter to old Rolfe. But no; +that kind of thing was too dangerous, even between the nearest friends. +Men must not quarrel; women did more than enough of that. Sibyl and +Alma had as good as fallen out; the less they saw of each other the +better. And now he had to face a woman, perhaps dying, who would +doubtless rail by the hour at her own daughter. +</P> + +<P> +O heaven! for a breath of air on sea or mountain or prairie! Could he +stand this life much longer? +</P> + +<P> +Driving to Waterloo, he thought of Mrs. Larkfield's bequest to the +charitable institution. Six hundred pounds might be a paltry income, +but one could make use of it. A year ago, to be sure, he would have +felt more troubled by the loss; at present he had reason to look +forward hopefully, so far as money could represent hope. The cycle +business was moving; as likely as not, it would ultimately enrich him. +There was news, too, from that fellow Dando in Queensland, who declared +that his smelting process, gradually improved, had begun to yield +results, and talked of starting a new company. Hugh's business of the +morning had been in this connection: by inquiry in the City he had +learnt that Dando's report might be relied upon, and that capital which +had seemingly vanished would certainly yield a small dividend this +year. He was thankful that he could face Mrs. Larkfield without the +shame of interested motives. Let her do what she liked with her money; +he went to see the woman merely out of humane feeling, sense of duty; +and assuredly no fortune-hunter had ever imposed upon himself a more +distasteful office. +</P> + +<P> +On alighting at the station, he found that the only coin, other than +gold, which he had in his pocket was a shilling. In accordance with +usage, he would have given the cabman an extra sixpence, had he +possessed it. When the man saw a tender of his legal fare, he, also in +accordance with usage, broadened his mouth, tossed the coin on his +palm, and pointedly refrained from thanks. At another time Hugh might +have disregarded this professional suavity, but a little thing +exasperated his present mood. +</P> + +<P> +'Well?' he exclaimed, in a voice that drew the attention of everyone +near. 'Is it your fare or not? Learn better manners, vicious brute!' +</P> + +<P> +Before the driver could recover breath to shout a primitive insult, +Hugh walked into the station. Here, whilst his wrath was still hot, a +man tearing at full speed to catch a train on another platform bumped +violently against him. He clenched his fist, and, but for the gasped +apology, might have lost himself in blind rage. As it was, he inwardly +cursed railway stations, cursed England, cursed civilisation. His +muscles were quivering; sweat had started to his forehead. A specialist +in nervous pathology would have judged Hugh Carnaby a dangerous person +on this Monday afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +He took his ticket, and, having some minutes to wait, moved towards the +bookstall. By his side, as he scanned the papers, stood a lady who had +just made a purchase; the salesman seemed to have handed her +insufficient change, for she said to him, in a clear, business-like +voice, 'It was half-a-crown that I gave you.' +</P> + +<P> +At the sound of these words, Hugh turned sharply and looked at the +speaker. She was a woman of thirty-five, solidly built, well dressed +without display of fashion; the upper part of her face was hidden by a +grey veil, through which her eyes shone. Intent on recovering her +money, she did not notice that the man beside her was looking and +listening with the utmost keenness; nor, on turning away at length, was +she aware that Hugh followed. He pursued her, at a yard's distance, +down the platform, and into the covered passage which leads to another +part of the station. Here, perhaps because the footstep behind her +sounded distinctly, she gave a backward glance, and her veiled eyes met +Carnaby's. At once he stepped to her side. 'I don't think I can be +mistaken,' were his low, cautiously-spoken words, whilst he gazed into +her face with stern fixedness. 'You remember me, Mrs. Maskell, no +doubt.' +</P> + +<P> +'I do not, sir. You certainly <I>are</I> mistaken.' +</P> + +<P> +She replied in a voice which so admirably counterfeited a French accent +that Hugh could not but smile, even whilst setting his teeth in anger +at her impudence. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! that settles it. As you have two tongues, you naturally have two +names—probably more. I happened to be standing by you at the bookstall +a moment ago. It's a great bore; I was just starting on a journey; but +I must trouble you to come with me to the nearest police station. You +have too much sense to make any fuss about it.' +</P> + +<P> +The woman glanced this way and that. Two or three people were hurrying +through the passage, but they perceived nothing unusual. +</P> + +<P> +'You have a choice,' said Carnaby, 'between my companionship and that +of the policeman. Make up your mind.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think you will go so far as that, Mr. Carnaby,' said the +other, with self-possession and in her natural voice. +</P> + +<P> +'Why not?' +</P> + +<P> +'Because I can tell you something that will interest you very +much—something that nobody else can.' +</P> + +<P> +'What do you mean?' he asked roughly. +</P> + +<P> +'It refers to your wife; that's all I need say just now.' +</P> + +<P> +'You are lying.' +</P> + +<P> +'As you please. Let us go.' +</P> + +<P> +She moved on with unhurried step, and turned towards the nearest +cab-rank. Pausing within sight of the vehicles, she looked again at her +companion. +</P> + +<P> +'Would you rather have a little quiet talk with me in a four-wheeler, +or drive straight to——?' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh's brain was in commotion. The hint of secrets concerning his wife +had not its full effect in the moment of utterance; it sounded the +common artifice of a criminal. But Mrs. Maskell's cool audacity gave +significance to her words; the two minutes' walk had made Hugh as much +afraid of her as she could be of him. He stared at her, beset with +horrible doubts. +</P> + +<P> +'Won't it be a pity to miss your train?' she said, with a friendly +smile. 'I can give you my address.' +</P> + +<P> +'No doubt you can. Look here—it was a toss-up whether I should let you +go or not, until you said <I>that</I>. If you had begged off, ten to one I +should have thought I might as well save myself trouble. But after that +cursed lie——' +</P> + +<P> +'That's the second time you've used the word, Mr. Carnaby. I'm not +accustomed to it, and I shouldn't have thought you would speak in that +way to a lady.' +</P> + +<P> +He was aghast at her assurance, which, for some reason, made him only +the more inclined to listen to her. He beckoned a cab. +</P> + +<P> +'Where shall we drive to?' +</P> + +<P> +'Say Clapham Junction.' +</P> + +<P> +They entered the four-wheeler, and, as soon as it began to move out of +the station, Mrs. Maskell leaned back. Her claim to be considered a +lady suffered no contradiction from her look, her movements, or her +speech; throughout the strange dialogue she had behaved with remarkable +self-command, and made use of the aptest phrases without a sign of +effort. In the years which had elapsed since she filled the position of +housekeeper to Mrs. Carnaby, she seemed to have gained in the externals +of refinement; though even at that time her manners were noticeably +good. +</P> + +<P> +'Raise your veil, please,' said Hugh, when he had pulled up the second +window. +</P> + +<P> +She obliged him, and showed a face of hard yet regular outline, which +would have been almost handsome but for its high cheek-bones and coarse +lips. +</P> + +<P> +'And you have been going about all this time, openly?' +</P> + +<P> +'With discretion. I am not perfect, unfortunately. Rather than lose +sixpence at the bookstall, I forgot myself. That's a woman's weakness; +we don't easily get over it.' +</P> + +<P> +'What put it into your head to speak of my wife?' +</P> + +<P> +'I had to gain time, had I not?' +</P> + +<P> +In a sudden burst of wrath, Hugh banged the window open; but, before he +could call to the cabman, a voice sounded in his ear, a clear quick +whisper, the lips that spoke all but touching him. +</P> + +<P> +'Do you know that your wife is Mr. Redgrave's mistress?' +</P> + +<P> +He fell back. There was no blood in his face; his eyes stared hideously. +</P> + +<P> +'Say that again, and I'll crush the life out of you!' +</P> + +<P> +'You look like it, but you won't. My information is too valuable.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's the vilest lie ever spoken by whore and thief.' +</P> + +<P> +'You are not polite, Mr. Carnaby.' +</P> + +<P> +She still controlled herself, but in fear, as quick glances showed. And +her fear was not unreasonable; the man glared murder. +</P> + +<P> +'Stop that, and tell me what you have to say.' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Maskell raised the window again. +</P> + +<P> +'You have compelled me, you see. It's a pity. I don't want to make +trouble.' +</P> + +<P> +'What do you know of Redgrave?' +</P> + +<P> +'I keep house for him at Wimbledon.' +</P> + +<P> +'You?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. I have done so for about a year.' +</P> + +<P> +'And does he know who you are?' +</P> + +<P> +'Well—perhaps not quite. He engaged me on the Continent. A friend of +his (and of mine) recommended me, and he had reason to think I should +be trustworthy. Don't misunderstand me. I am housekeeper—<I>rien de +plus</I>. It's a position of confidence. Mr. Redgrave—but you know him.' +</P> + +<P> +The listener's face was tumid and discoloured, his eyes bloodshot. With +fearful intensity he watched every movement of Mrs. Maskell's features. +</P> + +<P> +'How do you know I know him?' +</P> + +<P> +'You've been at his place. I've seen you, though you didn't see me; and +before I saw you I heard your voice. One remembers voices, you know.' +</P> + +<P> +'Go on. What else have you seen or heard?' +</P> + +<P> +'Mrs. Carnaby has been there too.' +</P> + +<P> +'I know that!' Hugh shouted rather than spoke. 'She was there with Mrs +Fenimore—Redgrave's sister—and several other people.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; last summer. I caught sight of her as she was sitting in the +veranda, and it amused me to think how little she suspected who was +looking at her. But she has been there since.' +</P> + +<P> +'When?' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Maskell consulted her memory, and indicated a day in the past +winter. She could not at this moment recall the exact date, but had a +note of it. Mrs. Carnaby came at a late hour of the evening, and left +very early the next day. +</P> + +<P> +'How are you going to make this lie seem probable?' asked Hugh, a +change of voice betraying the dread with which he awaited her answer; +for the time of which she spoke was exactly that when Redgrave had +offered himself as a partner in the firm of Mackintosh & Co. 'Do you +want me to believe that she came and went so that every one could see +her?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh no. I was new to the place then, and full of curiosity. I have my +own ways of getting to know what I wish to know. Remember, once more, +that it's very easy to recognise a voice. I told you that I was in a +position of confidence. Whenever Mr. Redgrave wishes for quietness, he +has only to mention it; our servants are well disciplined. I, of +course, am never seen by visitors, whoever they may be, and whenever +they come; but it happens occasionally that I see <I>them</I>, even when Mr. +Redgrave doesn't think it. Still, he is sometime very careful indeed, +and so he was on that particular evening. You remember that his rooms +have French windows—a convenient arrangement. The front door may be +locked and bolted, but people come and go for all that.' +</P> + +<P> +'That's the bungalow, is it?' muttered Carnaby. 'And how often do you +pretend you have heard <I>her</I> voice?' +</P> + +<P> +'Only that once.' +</P> + +<P> +It was worse than if she had answered 'Several times.' Hugh looked long +at her, and she bore his gaze with indifference. +</P> + +<P> +'You don't pretend that you <I>saw</I> her?' +</P> + +<P> +'No, I didn't see her.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then, if you are not deliberately lying, you have made a mistake.' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Maskell smiled and shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +'What <I>words</I> did you hear?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh—talk. Nothing very particular.' +</P> + +<P> +'I want to know what it was.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, as far as I could make out, Mrs. Carnaby was going to get a +bicycle, and wanted to know what was the best. Not much harm in that,' +she added, with a silent laugh. +</P> + +<P> +Hugh sat with his hands on his knees, bending forward. He said nothing +for a minute or two, and at length looked to the window. +</P> + +<P> +'You were going back to Wimbledon?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. I have only been in town for an hour or two.' +</P> + +<P> +'Is Redgrave there?' +</P> + +<P> +'No; he's away.' +</P> + +<P> +'Very well; I am going with you. You will find out for me on what date +that happened.' +</P> + +<P> +'Certainly. But what is the understanding between us?' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh saw too well that any threat would be idle. Whether this woman had +told the truth or not, her position in Redgrave's house, and the fact +of Redgrave's connection with the firm of Mackintosh—of which she +evidently was not aware—put it in her power to strike a fatal blow at +Sibyl. He still assured himself that she was lying—how doubt it and +maintain his sanity?—but the lie had a terrible support in +circumstances. Who could hear this story without admitting the +plausibility of its details? A man such as Redgrave, wealthy and a +bachelor; a woman such as Sibyl, beautiful, fond of luxurious living; +her husband in an embarrassed position—how was it that he, a man of +the world, had never seen things in this light? Doubtless his anxiety +had blinded him; that, and his absolute faith in Sibyl, and Redgrave's +frank friendliness. Even if he obtained (as he would) complete evidence +of Sibyl's honesty, Mrs. Maskell could still dare him to take a step +against her. How many people were at her mercy? He might be sure that +she would long ago have stood in the dock but for her ability to make +scandalous and ruinous revelations. Did Redgrave know that he had a +high-class criminal in his employment? Possibly he knew it well enough. +There was no end to the appalling suggestiveness of this discovery. +Hugh remembered what he had said in talk with Harvey Rolfe about the +rottenness of society. Never had he felt himself so much a coward as in +face of this woman, whose shameless smile covered secrets and infamies +innumerable. +</P> + +<P> +The cabman was bidden drive on to Wimbledon, and, with long pauses, the +dialogue continued for an hour. Hugh interrogated and cross-examined +his companion on every matter of which she could be induced to speak, +yet he learned very little in detail concerning either her own life or +Redgrave's; Mrs. Maskell was not to be driven to any disclosure beyond +what was essential to her own purpose. By dint of skilful effrontery +she had gained the upper hand, and no longer felt the least fear of him. +</P> + +<P> +'If I believed you,' said Carnaby, at a certain point of their +conversation, 'I should have you arrested straight away. It wouldn't +matter to me how the thing came out; it would be public property before +long.' +</P> + +<P> +'Where would you find your witnesses?' she asked. 'Leave me alone, and +I can be of use to you as no one else can. Behave shabbily, and you +only make yourself look foolish, bringing a charge against your wife +that you'll never be able to prove. You would get no evidence from me. +Whether you want it kept quiet or want to bring it into court, you +depend upon my goodwill.' +</P> + +<P> +They reached the end of the road in which was the approach to +Redgrave's house. +</P> + +<P> +'You had better wait here,' said the woman. 'I shall be ten minutes or +a quarter of an hour. You needn't feel uneasy; I haven't the least +intention of running away. Our interests are mutual, and if you do your +part you can trust me to do mine.' +</P> + +<P> +She stopped the cab, alighted, told the driver to wait, and walked +quickly down the by-road. Hugh, drawn back into a corner, sat with head +drooping; for a quarter of an hour he hardly stirred. Twenty minutes, +thirty minutes, passed, but Mrs. Maskell did not show herself. At +length, finding it impossible to sit still any longer, he sprang out, +and paced backwards and forwards. Vastly to his relief, the woman at +length appeared. +</P> + +<P> +'He is there,' she said. 'I couldn't get away before.' +</P> + +<P> +'Is he alone?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. Don't do anything foolish.' Carnaby had looked as if he would +move towards the house. 'The slightest imprudence, and you'll only harm +yourself.' +</P> + +<P> +'Tell me that date.' +</P> + +<P> +She named it. +</P> + +<P> +'I can't stay longer, and I advise you to get away. If you want to +write to me, you can do so without fear; my letters are quite safe. +Address to Mrs. Lant. And remember——!' +</P> + +<P> +With a last significant look she turned and left him. Hugh, mentally +repeating the date he had learnt, walked back to the cab, and told the +man to drive him to the nearest railway station, whichever it was. +</P> + +<P> +When he reached home, some four hours had elapsed since his encounter +with Mrs. Maskell (or Mrs. Lant) at Waterloo; it seemed to him a whole +day. He had forgotten all about his purposed journey to Weymouth. One +sole desire had possession of him to stand face to face with Sibyl, and +to <I>see</I> her innocence, rather than hear it, as soon as he had brought +his tongue to repeat that foul calumny. He would then know how to deal +with the creature who thought to escape him by slandering his wife. +</P> + +<P> +He let himself in with his latchkey, and entered the drawing-room; it +was vacant. He looked into other rooms; no one was there. He rang, and +a servant came. +</P> + +<P> +'Has Mrs. Carnaby been out long?' +</P> + +<P> +She had left, was the reply, at half-past two. Whilst she sat at +luncheon a telegram arrived for her, and, soon after, she prepared to +go out, saying that she would not return tonight. +</P> + +<P> +Not return tonight? Hugh scarcely restrained an exclamation, and had +much ado to utter his next words. +</P> + +<P> +'Did she mention where she was going?' +</P> + +<P> +'No, sir. I took the dressing-bag down to the cab, and the cabman was +told to drive to the post-office.' +</P> + +<P> +'Very well. That will do.' +</P> + +<P> +'Shall you dine at home, sir?' +</P> + +<P> +'Dine? No.' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl gone away for the night? Where could she have gone to? He began +to look about for the telegram she had received; it might be lying +somewhere, and possibly would explain her departure. In the waste-paper +basket he found the torn envelope lying at the top; but the despatch +itself was not to be discovered. +</P> + +<P> +Gone for the night? and just when he was supposed to have left town? +The cabman told to drive to the post-office? This might be for the +purpose of despatching a reply. Yet no; the reply would have been +written at once and sent by the messenger in the usual way. +Unless—unless Sibyl, for some reason, preferred to send the message +more privately? Or again, she might not care to let the servant know +whither the cab was really to convey her. +</P> + +<P> +Sheer madness, all this. Had not Sibyl fifty legitimate ways of +spending a night from home? Yet there was the fact that she had never +before done so unexpectedly. Never before——? +</P> + +<P> +He looked at his watch; half-past six. He rang the bell again. +</P> + +<P> +'Has any one called since Mrs. Carnaby left home?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, sir; there have been three calls. Mrs. Rolfe——' +</P> + +<P> +'Mrs. Rolfe?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, sir. She seemed very disappointed. I told her Mrs. Carnaby would +not be back tonight.' +</P> + +<P> +'And the others?' +</P> + +<P> +Two persons of no account. Hugh dismissed them, and the servant, with a +wave of the hand. +</P> + +<P> +He felt a faintness such as accompanies extreme hunger, but had no +inclination for food. The whisky bottle was a natural resource; a +tumbler of right Scotch restored his circulation, and in a few minutes +gave him a raging appetite. He could not eat here; but eat he must, and +that quickly. Seizing his hat, he ran down the stairs, hailed a hansom, +and drove to the nearest restaurant he could think of. +</P> + +<P> +After eating without knowledge of the viands, and drinking a bottle of +claret in like unconsciousness, he smoked for half an hour, his eyes +vacantly set, his limbs lax and heavy, as though in the torpor of +difficult digestion. When the cigar was finished, he roused himself, +looked at the time, and asked for a railway guide. There was a train to +Wimbledon at ten minutes past eight; he might possibly catch it. +Starting into sudden activity, he hastily left the restaurant, and +reached Waterloo Station with not a moment to spare. +</P> + +<P> +At Wimbledon he took a cab, and was driven up the hill. Under a clouded +sky, dusk had already changed to darkness; the evening was warm and +still. Impatient with what he thought the slow progress of the vehicle, +Hugh sat with his body bent forward, straining as did the horse, on +which his eyes were fixed, and perspiring in the imaginary effort. The +address he had given was Mrs. Fenimore's; but when he drew near he +signalled to the driver: 'Stop at the gate. Don't drive up.' +</P> + +<P> +From the entrance to Mrs. Fenimore's round to the by-road which was the +direct approach to Redgrave's bungalow would be a walk of some ten +minutes. Hugh had his reasons for not taking this direction. Having +dismissed his cab, he entered by the lodge-gate, and walked up the +drive, moving quickly, and with a lighter step than was natural to him. +When he came within view of the house, he turned aside, and made his +way over the grass, in the deep shadow of leafy lime-trees, until the +illumined windows were again hidden from him. He had seen no one, and +heard no sound. A path which skirted the gardens would bring him in a +few minutes to Redgrave's abode; this he found and followed. +</P> + +<P> +The bungalow was built in a corner of the park where previously had +stood a gardener's cottage; round about it grew a few old trees, and on +two sides spread a shrubbery, sheltering the newly-made lawn and +flower-beds. Here it was very dark; Hugh advanced cautiously, stopping +now and then to listen. He reached a point where the front of the house +became visible. A light shone at the door, but there was no movement, +and Hugh could hear only his own hard breathing. +</P> + +<P> +He kept behind the laurels, and made a half-circuit of the house. On +passing to the farther side, he would come within view of those windows +which opened so conveniently, as Mrs. Maskell had said—the windows of +Redgrave's sitting-room, drawing-room, study, or whatever he called it. +To this end it was necessary to quit the cover of the shrubs and cross +a lawn. As he stepped on to the mown grass, his ear caught a sound, the +sound of talking in a subdued tone; it came, he thought, from that side +of the building which he could not yet see. A few quick silent steps, +and this conjecture became a certainty: someone was talking within a +few yards of him, just round the obstructing corner, and he felt sure +the voice was Redgrave's. It paused; another voice made reply, but in +so low a murmur that its accents were not to be recognised. That it was +the voice of a woman the listener had no doubt. Spurred by a choking +anguish, he moved forward. He saw two figures standing in a dim light +from the window-door—a man and a woman; the man bareheaded, his +companion in outdoor clothing. At the same moment he himself was +perceived. He heard a hurried 'Go in!' and at once the woman +disappeared. +</P> + +<P> +Face to face with Redgrave, he looked at the window; but the curtain +which dulled the light from within concealed everything. +</P> + +<P> +'Who was that?' +</P> + +<P> +'Why—Carnaby? What the deuce——?' +</P> + +<P> +'Who was <I>that</I>?' +</P> + +<P> +'Who?—what do you mean?' +</P> + +<P> +Carnaby took a step; Redgrave laid an arresting hand upon him. There +needed but this touch. In frenzied wrath, yet with the precision of +trained muscle, Hugh struck out; and Redgrave went down before +him—thudding upon the door of the veranda like one who falls dead. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0213"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 13 +</H3> + +<P> +He forced the window; he rushed into the room, and there before him, +pallid, trembling, agonising, stood Alma Rolfe. +</P> + +<P> +'You?' +</P> + +<P> +She panted incoherent phrases. She was here to speak with Mr. Redgrave +on business—about her concert tomorrow. She had not entered the house +until this moment. She had met Mr. Redgrave in the garden—— +</P> + +<P> +'What is that to me?' broke in Hugh, staring wildly, his fist still +clenched. 'I am not your husband.' +</P> + +<P> +'Mr. Carnaby, you <I>will</I> believe me? I came for a minute or two—to +speak about——' +</P> + +<P> +'It's nothing to me, Mrs. Rolfe,' he again interrupted her, in a +hoarse, faint voice. 'What have I done?' He looked to the window, +whence came no sound. 'Have I gone mad? By God, I almost fear it!' +</P> + +<P> +'You believe me, Mr. Carnaby?' She moved to him and seized his hand. +'You know me too well—you know I couldn't—say you believe me! Say one +kind, friendly word!' +</P> + +<P> +She looked distracted. Clinging to his hand, she burst into tears. But +Hugh hardly noticed her; he kept turning towards the window, with eyes +of unutterable misery. +</P> + +<P> +'Wait here; I'll come back.' +</P> + +<P> +He stepped out from the window, and saw that Redgrave lay just where he +had fallen—straight, still, his face turned upwards. Hugh stooped, and +moved him into the light; the face was deathly—placid, but for its +wide eyes, which seemed to look at his enemy. No blood upon the lips; +no sign of violence. +</P> + +<P> +'Where did I hit him? He fell with his head against something, I +suppose.' +</P> + +<P> +From the parted lips there issued no perceptible breath. A fear, which +was more than half astonishment, took hold upon Carnaby. He looked +up—for the light was all at once obstructed—and saw Alma gazing at +him. +</P> + +<P> +'What is it?' she asked in a terrified whisper. 'Why is he lying there?' +</P> + +<P> +'I struck him—he is unconscious.' +</P> + +<P> +'Struck him?' +</P> + +<P> +He drew her into the room again. +</P> + +<P> +'Mrs. Rolfe, I shall most likely have to send for help. You mustn't be +seen here. It's nothing to me why you came—yes, yes, I believe +you—but you must go at once.' +</P> + +<P> +'You won't speak of it?' +</P> + +<P> +Her appeal was that of a child, helpless in calamity. Again she caught +his hand, as if clinging for protection. Hugh replied in thick, hurried +tones. +</P> + +<P> +'I have enough trouble of my own. This is no place for you. For your +own sake, if not for your husband's, keep away from here. I came +because someone was telling foul lies—the kind of lies that drive a +man mad. Whatever happens—whatever you hear—don't imagine that <I>she</I> +is to blame. You understand me?' +</P> + +<P> +'No word shall ever pass my lips!' +</P> + +<P> +'Go at once. Get home as soon as you can.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma turned to go. Outside, she cast one glance at the dark, silent, +unmoving form, then bowed her head, and hastened away into the darkness. +</P> + +<P> +Again Hugh knelt by Redgrave's side, raised his head, listened for the +beating of his heart, tried to feel his breath. He then dragged him +into the room, and placed him upon a divan; he loosened the fastenings +about his neck; the head drooped, and there was not a sign of life. +Next he looked for a bell; the electric button caught his eye, and he +pressed it. To prevent any one from coming in, he took his stand close +by the door. In a moment there was a knock, the door opened, and he +showed his face to the surprised maid-servant. +</P> + +<P> +'Is Mrs. Lant in the house?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, sir.' +</P> + +<P> +'Mr. Redgrave wants her at once; he is ill.' +</P> + +<P> +The servant vanished. Keeping his place at the door, and looking out +into the hall, Hugh, for full two minutes, heard no movement; then he +was startled by a low voice immediately behind him. +</P> + +<P> +'What are you doing here?' +</P> + +<P> +The housekeeper, who had entered from the garden, and approached in +perfect silence, stood gazing at him; not unconcerned, but with full +command of herself. +</P> + +<P> +'Look!' he replied, pointing to the figure on the divan. 'Is he only +insensible—or dead?' +</P> + +<P> +She stepped across the room, and made a brief examination by the +methods Carnaby himself had used. +</P> + +<P> +'I never saw any one look more like dead,' was her quiet remark. 'What +have you been up to? A little quiet murder?' +</P> + +<P> +'I met him outside. We quarrelled, and I knocked him down.' +</P> + +<P> +'And why are you here at all?' asked the woman, with fierce eyes, +though her voice kept its ordinary level. +</P> + +<P> +'Because of you and your talk—curse you! Can't you do something? Get +some brandy; and send someone for a doctor.' +</P> + +<P> +'Are you going to be found here?' she inquired meaningly. +</P> + +<P> +Hugh drew a deep breath, and stared at the silent figure. For an +instant his face showed irresolution; then it changed, and he said +harshly—'Yes, I am. Do as I told you. Get the spirits, and send +someone—sharp!' +</P> + +<P> +'Mr. Carnaby, you're a great blundering thickhead—if you care for my +opinion of you. You deserve all you've got and all you'll get.' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh again breathed deeply. The woman's abuse was nothing to him. +</P> + +<P> +'Are you going to do anything!' he said. 'Or shall I ring for someone +else?' +</P> + +<P> +She left the room, and speedily returned with a decanter of brandy. All +their exertions proved useless; the head hung aside, the eyes stared. +In a few minutes Carnaby asked whether a doctor had been sent for. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. When I hear him at the door I shall go away. You came here +against my advice, and you've made a pretty job of it. Well, you'll +always get work at a slaughter-house.' +</P> + +<P> +Her laugh was harder to bear than the words it followed. Hugh, with a +terrible look, waved her away from him. +</P> + +<P> +'Go—or I don't know what I may do next. Take yourself out of my +sight!—out!' +</P> + +<P> +She gave way before him, backing to the door; there she laughed again, +waved her hand in a contemptuous farewell, and withdrew. +</P> + +<P> +For half an hour Carnaby stood by the divan, or paced the room. Once or +twice he imagined a movement of Redgrave's features, and bent to regard +them closely; but in truth there was no slightest change. Within doors +and without prevailed unbroken silence; not a step, not a rustle. The +room seemed to grow intolerably hot. Wiping the sweat from his +forehead, Hugh went to the window and opened it a few inches; a scent +of vegetation and of fresh earth came to him with the cool air. He +noticed that rain had begun to fall, large drops pattering softly on +leaves and grass and the roof of the veranda. Then sounded the rolling +of carriage wheels, nearer and nearer. It was the doctor's carriage, no +doubt. +</P> + +<P> +Uncertainty soon came to an end. Cyrus Redgrave was beyond help: he +must have breathed his last—so said the doctor—at the moment when he +fell. Not as a result of the fall; the blow of Carnaby's fist had +killed him. There is one stroke which, if delivered with sufficient +accuracy and sufficient force, will slay more surely than any other: it +is the stroke which catches an uplifted chin just at the right angle to +drive the head back and shatter the spinal cord. This had plainly +happened. The man's neck was broken, and he died on the spot. +</P> + +<P> +Carnaby and the doctor stood regarding each other. They spoke in +subdued voices. +</P> + +<P> +'It was not a fight, you say?' +</P> + +<P> +'One blow from me, that was all. He said something that maddened me.' +</P> + +<P> +'Shall you report yourself?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. Here is my card.' +</P> + +<P> +'A sad business, Mr. Carnaby, Can I be of any use to you?' +</P> + +<P> +'You can—though I hesitate to ask it. Mrs. Fenimore should be told at +once. I can't do that myself.' +</P> + +<P> +'I know Mrs. Fenimore very well. I will see her—if she is at home.' +</P> + +<P> +On this errand the doctor set forth. As soon as he was gone, Hugh rang +the bell; the same domestic as before answered it, and again he asked +for Mrs. Lant. He waited five minutes; the servant came back, saying +that Mrs. Lant was not in the house. This did not greatly surprise him, +but he insisted on a repetition of the search. Mrs. Lant could not be +found. Evidently her disappearance was a mystery to this young woman, +who seemed ingenuous to the point of simple-mindedness. +</P> + +<P> +'You are not to go into that room,' said Hugh. (They were talking in +the hall.) 'The doctor will return presently.' +</P> + +<P> +And therewith he left the house. But not the grounds; for in rain and +darkness he stood watching from a place of concealment, watching at the +same time Redgrave's curtained window and the front entrance. His +patience was not overtaxed. There sounded an approaching vehicle; it +came up the drive and stopped at the front door, where at once alighted +the doctor and a lady. Hugh's espial was at an end. As the two stepped +into the house he walked quickly away. +</P> + +<P> +Yes, he would 'report himself', but not until he had seen Sibyl. To +that end he must go home and wait there. The people at Wimbledon, who +doubtless would communicate with the police, might cause him to be +arrested before his wife's return. He feared this much more than what +was to follow. Worse than anything that could befall him would be to +lose the opportunity of speaking in private with Sibyl before she knew +what had happened. +</P> + +<P> +In the early hours of the morning he lay down upon his bed and had +snatches of troubled sleep. Knowing that he was wrong in the particular +surmise which led him to Redgrave's house, Sibyl's absence no longer +disturbed him with suspicions; a few hours would banish from his mind +the last doubt of her, if any really remained. He had played the +madman, bringing ruin upon himself and misery incalculable upon his +wife, just because that thieving woman lied to him. She, of course, had +made her speedy escape; and was it not as well? For, if the whole story +became known, what hope was there that Sibyl would come out of it with +untarnished fame? Merely for malice' sake, the woman would repeat and +magnify her calumnies. If she successfully concealed herself, it might +be possible to avoid a mention of Sibyl's name. He imagined various +devices for this purpose, his brain plotting even when he slept. +</P> + +<P> +To Alma Rolfe he gave scarcely a thought. If the worst were true of +her, Rolfe had only to thank his own absurdity, which allowed such a +conceited simpleton to do as she chose. The case looked black against +her. Well, she had had her lesson, and in <I>that</I> quarter could come to +no more harm. What sort of an appearance was she likely to make at +Prince's Hall today?—feather-headed fool! +</P> + +<P> +Before five o'clock the sunlight streamed into his bedroom. Sparrows +twittered about the window, and somewhere close by, perhaps in a +neighbour's flat, a caged throstle piped as though it were in the +fields. Then began the street noises, and Hugh could lie still no +longer. Remembering that at any moment his freedom might come to an +end, he applied himself to arranging certain important matters. The +housemaid came upon him with surprise; he bade her get breakfast, and, +when the meal was ready, partook of it with moderate appetite. +</P> + +<P> +The postman brought letters; nothing of interest for him, and for Sibyl +only an envelope which, as one could feel, contained a mere card of +invitation. But soon after nine o'clock there arrived a telegram. It +was from Sibyl herself, and—from Weymouth. +</P> + +<P> +'Why are you not here? She died yesterday. If this reaches you, reply +at once.' +</P> + +<P> +He flung the scrap of paper aside and laughed. Of all natural +explanations, this, of course, had never occurred to him. Yesterday's +telegram told of Mrs. Larkfield's serious condition, and Sibyl had +started at once for Weymouth, expecting to meet him there. One word of +hers to the servant and he would simply have followed her. But Sibyl +saw no necessity for that word. She was always reserved with domestics. +</P> + +<P> +By the messenger, he despatched a reply. He would be at Weymouth as +soon as possible. +</P> + +<P> +He incurred the risk of appearing to run away; but that mattered +little. Sibyl could hardly return before her mother's burial, and by +going yonder to see her he escaped the worse danger, probably the +certainty, of arrest before any possible meeting with her in London. +Dreading this more than ever, he made ready in a few minutes; the +telegraph boy had hardly left the building before Hugh followed. A +glance at the timetables had shown him that, if he travelled by the +Great-Western, he could reach Weymouth at five minutes past four; +whereas the first train he could catch at Waterloo would not bring him +to his destination until half an hour later; on the other hand, he +could get away from London by the South-Western forty minutes sooner +than by the other line, and this decided him. Yesterday, Waterloo had +been merely the more convenient station on account of his business in +town; today he chose it because he had to evade arrest on a charge of +homicide. So comforted was he by the news from Sibyl, that he could +reflect on this joke of destiny, and grimly smile at it. +</P> + +<P> +At the end of his journey he betook himself to an hotel, and +immediately sent a message to Sibyl. Before her arrival he had +swallowed meat and drink. He waited for her in a private room, which +looked seaward. The sight of the blue Channel, the smell of salt +breezes, made his heart ache. He was standing at the window, watching a +steamer that had just left port, when Sibyl entered; he turned and +looked at her in silence. +</P> + +<P> +'What are these mysterious movements?' she asked, coming forward with a +smile. 'Why did you alter your mind yesterday?' +</P> + +<P> +'I wasn't well.' +</P> + +<P> +He could say nothing more, yet. Sibyl's face was so tranquil, and she +seemed so glad to rejoin him, that his tongue refused to utter any +alarming word; and the more he searched her countenance, the more +detestable did it seem that he should insult her by the semblance of a +doubt. +</P> + +<P> +'Not well? Indeed, you look dreadfully out of sorts. How long had I +been gone when you got home again?' +</P> + +<P> +'An hour or two. But tell me first about your mother. She died before +you came?' +</P> + +<P> +'Very soon after they sent the telegram.' +</P> + +<P> +Gravely, but with no affectation of distress, she related the +circumstances; making known, finally, that Mrs. Larkfield had died +intestate. +</P> + +<P> +'You are quite sure of that?' asked Hugh, with an eagerness which +surprised her. +</P> + +<P> +'Quite. Almost with her last breath she talked about it, and said that +she <I>must</I> make her will. And she had spoken of it several times +lately. The people there knew all about her affairs. She kept putting +it off—and as likely as not she wished the money to be mine, after +all. I am sure she must have felt that she owed me something.' +</P> + +<P> +Carnaby experienced a profound relief. Sibyl was now provided for, +whatever turn his affairs might take. She had seated herself by the +window, and, with her gloved hands crossed upon her lap, was gazing +absently towards the sea. How great must be <I>her</I> relief! thought Hugh. +And still he looked at her smooth, pure features; at her placid eyes, +in which, after all, he seemed to detect a little natural sadness; and +the accusation in his mind assumed so grotesque an incredibility that +he asked himself how he should dare to hint at it. +</P> + +<P> +'Sibyl——' +</P> + +<P> +'Isn't there something you haven't told me?' she said, regarding him +with anxiety, when he had just uttered her name and then averted his +look. 'I never saw you look so ill.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, dear, there is something.' +</P> + +<P> +It was not often he spoke so gently. Sibyl waited, one of her hands +clasping the other, and her lips close set. +</P> + +<P> +'I was at Wimbledon last night—at Redgrave's.' +</P> + +<P> +He paused again, for the last word choked him. Unless it were a tremor +of the eyelids, no movement betrayed itself in Sibyl's features; yet +their expression had grown cold, and seemed upon the verge of a +disdainful wonder. The pupils of her eyes insensibly dilated, as though +to challenge scrutiny and defy it. +</P> + +<P> +'What of that?' she said, when his silence urged her to speak. +</P> + +<P> +'Something happened between us. We quarrelled.' +</P> + +<P> +Her lips suddenly parted, and he heard her quick breath; but the look +that followed was of mere astonishment, and in a moment, before she +spoke, it softened in a smile. +</P> + +<P> +'This is your dreadful news? You quarrelled—and he is going to +withdraw from the business. Oh, my dear boy, how ridiculous you are! I +thought all sorts of horrible things. Were you afraid I should make an +outcry? And you have worried yourself into illness about <I>this</I>? Oh, +foolish fellow!' +</P> + +<P> +Before she ceased, her voice was broken with laughter—a laugh of +extravagant gaiety, of mocking mirth, that brought the blood to her +face and shook her from head to foot. Only when she saw that her +husband's gloom underwent no change did this merriment cease. Then, +with abrupt gravity, which was almost annoyance, her eyes shining with +moisture and her cheeks flushed, she asked him—— +</P> + +<P> +'Isn't that it?' +</P> + +<P> +'Worse than that,' Hugh answered. +</P> + +<P> +But he spoke more freely, for he no longer felt obliged to watch her +countenance. His duty now was to soften the outrage involved in +repeating Mrs. Maskell's fiction by making plain his absolute faith in +her, and to contrive his story so as to omit all mention of a third +person's presence at the fatal interview. +</P> + +<P> +'Then do tell me and have done!' exclaimed Sibyl, almost petulantly. +</P> + +<P> +'We quarrelled—and I struck him—and the blow was fatal.' +</P> + +<P> +'Fatal?—you mean he was killed?' +</P> + +<P> +The blood vanished from her face, leaving pale horror. +</P> + +<P> +'A terrible accident—a blow that happened to—I couldn't believe it +till the doctor came and said he was dead.' +</P> + +<P> +'But tell me more. What led to it? How could you strike Mr. Redgrave?' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl had all at once subdued her voice to an excessive calmness. Her +hands were trembling; she folded them again upon her lap. Every line of +her face, every muscle of her body, declared the constraint in which +she held herself. This, said Hugh inwardly, was no more than he had +expected; disaster made noble proof of Sibyl's strength. +</P> + +<P> +'I'll tell you from the beginning.' +</P> + +<P> +He recounted faithfully the incidents at Waterloo Station, and the +beginning of Mrs. Maskell's narrative in the cab. At the disclosure of +her relations with Redgrave, he was interrupted by a short, hard laugh. +</P> + +<P> +'I couldn't help it, Hugh. That woman!—why, you have always said you +were sure to meet her somewhere. Housekeeper at Mr. Redgrave's! We know +what the end of that would be!' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl talked rapidly, in an excited chatter—the kind of utterance +never heard upon her lips. +</P> + +<P> +'It was strange,' Hugh continued. 'Seems to have been mere chance. Then +she began to say that she had learnt some of Redgrave's secrets—about +people who came and went mysteriously. And then—Sibyl, I can't speak +the words. It was the foulest slander that she could have invented. She +meant to drive me mad, and she succeeded—curse her!' +</P> + +<P> +Drops of anguish stood upon his forehead. He sprang up and crossed the +room. Turning again, he saw his wife gazing at him, as if in utmost +perplexity. +</P> + +<P> +'Hugh, I don't in the least understand you. What <I>was</I> the slander? +Perhaps I am stupid—but——' +</P> + +<P> +He came near, but could not look her in the eyes. +</P> + +<P> +'My dearest'—his voice shook—'it was an infamous lie about +<I>you</I>—that <I>you</I> had been there——' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, of course I have! You know that I have.' +</P> + +<P> +'She meant more than that. She said you had been there secretly—at +night——' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh Carnaby—the man who had lived as high-blooded men do live, who +had laughed by the camp-fire or in the club smoking-room at many a +Rabelaisian story and capped it with another, who hated mock modesty, +was all for honest openness between man and woman—stood in guilty +embarrassment before his own wife's face of innocence. It would have +been a sheer impossibility for him to ask her where and how she spent a +certain evening last winter; Sibyl, now as ever, was his ideal of +chaste womanhood. He scorned himself for what he had yet to tell. +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl was gazing at him, steadily, inquiringly. +</P> + +<P> +'She made you believe this?' fell upon the silence, in her softest, +clearest tones. +</P> + +<P> +'No! She couldn't make me <I>believe</I> it. But the artful devil had such a +way of talking——' +</P> + +<P> +'I understand. You didn't know whether to believe or not. Just tell me, +please, what proof she offered you.' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh hung his head. +</P> + +<P> +'She had heard you talking—in the house—on a certain——' +</P> + +<P> +He looked up timidly, and met a flash of derisive scorn. +</P> + +<P> +'She heard me talking? Hugh, I really don't see much art in this. You +seem to have been wrought upon rather easily. It never occurred to you, +I suppose, to ask for a precise date?' +</P> + +<P> +He mentioned the day, and Sibyl, turning her head a little, appeared to +reflect. +</P> + +<P> +'It's unfortunate; I remember nothing whatever of that date. I'm +afraid, Hugh, that I couldn't possibly prove an alibi.' +</P> + +<P> +Her smiling sarcasm made the man wince. His broad shoulders shrank +together; he stood in an awkward, swaying posture. +</P> + +<P> +'Dear, I told her she lied!' +</P> + +<P> +'That was very courageous. But what came next? You had the happy idea +of going to Wimbledon to make personal inquiries?' +</P> + +<P> +'Try to put yourself in my place, Sibyl,' he pleaded. 'Remember all the +circumstances. Can't you see the danger of such a lie as that? I went +home, hoping to find you there. But you had gone, and nobody knew +where—you wouldn't be back that night. A telegram had called you away, +I was told. When I asked where you told the cabman to drive you to—the +post-office.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, it looked very black!—yes, yes, I quite understand. The facts are +so commonplace that I'm really ashamed to mention them. At +luncheon-time came an urgent telegram from Weymouth. I sent no reply +then, because I thought I knew that you were on your way. But when I +was ready to start, it occurred to me that I should save you trouble by +wiring that I should join you as soon as possible—so I drove to the +post-office before going to Paddington.—Well, you rushed off to +Wimbledon?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not till later, and because I was suffering damnably. If I +hadn't—been what would it have meant? When a man thinks as much of his +wife as I do of you——' +</P> + +<P> +'He has a right to imagine anything of her,' she interrupted in a +changed tone, gently reproachful, softening to tenderness. A +Singularity of Sibyl's demeanour was that she seemed utterly forgetful +of the dire position in which her husband stood. One would have thought +that she had no concern beyond the refutation of an idle charge, which +angered her indeed, but afforded scope for irony, possibly for play of +wit. For the moment, Hugh himself had almost forgotten the worst; but +he was bidden to proceed, and again his heart sank. +</P> + +<P> +'I went there in the evening. Redgrave happened to be outside—in that +veranda of his. I saw him as I came near in the dark, and I fancied +that—that he had been talking to someone in the room—through the +folding windows. I went up to him quickly, and as soon as he saw me he +pulled the window to. After that—I only remember that I was raving +mad. He seemed to want to stop me, and I struck at him—and that was +the end.' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl shuddered. +</P> + +<P> +'You went into the room?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. No one was there.' +</P> + +<P> +Both kept silence. Sibyl had become very grave, and was thinking +intently. Then, with a few brief questions, vigilant, precise, she +learnt all that had taken place between Hugh and Mrs. Maskell, between +Hugh and the doctor; heard of the woman's disappearance, and of Mrs +Fenimore's arrival on the scene. +</P> + +<P> +'What shall you do now?' +</P> + +<P> +'Go back and give myself up. What else <I>can</I> I do?' +</P> + +<P> +'And tell everything—as you have told it to me?' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh met her eyes and moved his arms in a gesture of misery. +</P> + +<P> +'No! I will think of something. He is dead, and can't contradict; and +the woman will hide—trust her. Your name shan't come into it at all. I +owe you that, Sibyl. I'll find some cause for a quarrel with him. Your +name shan't be spoken.' +</P> + +<P> +She listened, her eyes down, her forehead lined in thought. +</P> + +<P> +'I know what!' Hugh exclaimed, with gloomy resolve. 'That woman—of +course, there'll be a mystery, and she'll be searched for. Why'—he +blustered against his shame—'why shouldn't she be the cause of it? +Yes, that would do.' +</P> + +<P> +His hoarse laugh caused a tremor in Sibyl; she rose and stepped close +to him, and laid a hand upon his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +'So far you have advised yourself. Will you let me advise you now, +dear?' +</P> + +<P> +'Wouldn't that seem likely?' +</P> + +<P> +'I think not. And if it <I>did</I>—what is the result? You will be dealt +with much more severely. Don't you see that?' +</P> + +<P> +'What's that to me? What do I care so long as you are out of the vile +business? You will have no difficulties. Your mother's money; and then +Mackintosh——' +</P> + +<P> +'And is that all?' asked Sibyl, with a look which seemed to wonder +profoundly. 'Am I to think only of my own safety?' +</P> + +<P> +'It's all my cursed fault—just because I'm a fierce, strong brute, who +ought to be anywhere but among civilised people. I've killed the man +who meant me nothing but kindness. Am I going to drag <I>your</I> name into +the mud—to set people grinning and winking——' +</P> + +<P> +'Be quiet, Hugh, and listen. I have a much clearer head than yours, +poor boy. There's only one way of facing this scandal, and that is to +tell everything. For one thing, I shall not let you shield that +woman—we shall catch her yet. I shall not let you disgrace yourself by +inventing squalid stories. Don't you see, too, that the disgrace would +be shared by—by the dead man? Would that be right? And another +thing—if shame comes upon you, do you think I have no part in it? We +have to face it out with the truth.' +</P> + +<P> +'You don't know what that means,' he answered, with a groan. 'You don't +know the world.' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl did not smile, but her lips seemed only to check themselves when +the smile was half born. +</P> + +<P> +'I know enough of it, Hugh, to despise it; and I know you much better +than you know yourself. You are not one of the men who can tell lies +and make them seem the truth. I don't think my name will suffer. I +shall stand by you from first to last. The real true story can't +possibly be improved upon. That woman had every motive for deceiving +you, and her disappearance is all against her. You have to confess your +hot-headedness—that can't be helped. You tell everything—even down to +the mistake about the telegram. I shall go with you to the +police-station; I shall be at the inquest; I shall be at the court. +It's the only chance.' +</P> + +<P> +'Good God! how can I let you do this?' +</P> + +<P> +'You had rather, then, that I seemed to hide away? You had rather set +people thinking that there is coldness between us? We must go up +tonight. Look out the trains, quick.' +</P> + +<P> +'But your mother, Sibyl——' +</P> + +<P> +'She is dead; she cares nothing. I have to think of my husband.' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh caught her and crushed her in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +'My darling, worse than killing a man who never harmed me was to think +wrong of you!' +</P> + +<P> +Her face had grown very pale. She closed her eyes, smiled faintly as +she leaned her head against him, and of a sudden burst into tears. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0214"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 14 +</H3> + +<P> +'It shows one's ignorance of such matters,' said Harvey Rolfe, with +something of causticity in his humour, when Alma came home after +midnight. 'I should have thought that, by way of preparing for +tomorrow, you would have quietly rested today.' +</P> + +<P> +He looked round at her. Alma had entered the study as usual, and was +taking off her gloves; but the effort of supporting herself seemed too +great, she trembled towards the nearest chair, and affected to laugh at +her feebleness as she sank down. +</P> + +<P> +'Rest will come <I>after</I>,' she said, in such a voice as sounds from a +parched and quivering throat. +</P> + +<P> +'I'll take good care of that,' Harvey remarked. 'To look at you is +almost enough to make me play the brutal husband, and say that I'll be +hanged if you go out tomorrow at all.' +</P> + +<P> +She laughed—a ghostly merriment. +</P> + +<P> +'Where have you been?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, at several places. I met Mr. Carnaby at lunch,' she added quickly. +'He told me he was going somewhere—I forget—oh, to Weymouth, to see +Mrs. Larkfield.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey was watching her, and paid little attention to the news. +</P> + +<P> +'Do you know, it wouldn't much surprise me if you couldn't get up +tomorrow morning, let alone play at a concert. Well, I won't keep you +talking. Go to bed.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes.' +</P> + +<P> +She rose, but instead of turning to the door, moved towards where +Harvey was sitting. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't be angry with me,' she murmured in a shamefaced way. 'It wasn't +very wise—I've over-excited myself but I shall be all right tomorrow; +and afterwards I'll behave more sensibly—I promise——' +</P> + +<P> +He nodded; but Alma bent over him, and touched his forehead with her +lips. +</P> + +<P> +'You're in a fever, I suppose you know?' +</P> + +<P> +'I shall be all right tomorrow. Goodnight, dear.' +</P> + +<P> +In town, this morning, she had called at a chemist's, and purchased a +little bottle of something in repute for fashionable disorder of the +nerves. Before lying down she took the prescribed dose, though with +small hope that it would help her to a blessed unconsciousness. Another +thing she did which had not occurred to her for many a night: she knelt +by the bedside, and half thought, half whispered through tearless sobs, +a petition not learnt from any book, a strange half-heathen blending of +prayer for moral strength, and entreaty for success in a worldly +desire. Her mind shook perilously in its balance. It was well for Alma +that the fashionable prescription did not fail her. In the moment of +despair, when she had turned and turned again upon her pillow, haunted +by a vision in the darkness, tortured by the never-ending echo of a +dreadful voice, there fell upon her a sudden quiet; her brain was +soothed by a lulling air from dreamland; her limbs relaxed, and forgot +their aching weariness; she sighed and slept. +</P> + +<P> +'I am much better this morning,' she said at breakfast. 'Not a trace of +fever—no headache.' +</P> + +<P> +'And a face the colour of the table-cloth,' added Harvey. +</P> + +<P> +There was a letter from Mrs. Frothingham, conveying good wishes not +very fervently expressed. She had decided not to come up for the +concert, feeling that the excitement would be too much for her; but +Alma suspected another reason. +</P> + +<P> +She had not asked her husband whether he meant to have a seat in +Prince's Hall this afternoon; she still waited for him to speak about +it. After breakfast he asked her when she would start for town. At +noon, she replied. Every arrangement had been completed; it would be +enough if she reached the Hall half an hour before the time of the +recital, and after a light luncheon at a neighbouring restaurant. +</P> + +<P> +'Then we may as well go together,' said her husband. +</P> + +<P> +'You mean to come, then?' she asked dreamily. +</P> + +<P> +'I shall go in at the last moment—a seat at the back.' +</P> + +<P> +Anything but inclined for conversation, Alma acquiesced. For the next +hour or two she kept in solitude, occasionally touching her violin, but +always recurring to an absent mood, a troubled reverie. She could not +fix her thoughts upon the trial that was before her. In a vague way she +feared it; but another fear, at times amounting to dread, dimmed the +day's event into insignificance. The morning's newspapers were before +her, sent, no doubt, by Dymes's direction, and she mused over the +eye-attracting announcements of her debut. 'Mrs. Harvey Rolfe's First +Violin Recital, Prince's Hall, this afternoon, at 3.' It gave her no +more gratification than if the name had been that of a stranger. +</P> + +<P> +The world had grown as unreal as a nightmare. People came before her +mind, people the most intimately known, and she seemed but faintly to +recognise them. They were all so much changed since yesterday. Their +relations to each other and to her were altered, confused. Scarce one +of them she could regard without apprehension or perplexity. +</P> + +<P> +What faces would show before her when she advanced upon the platform? +Would she behold Sibyl, or Hugh Carnaby, or Cyrus Redgrave? Their +presence would all but convince her that she had passed some hours of +yesterday in delirium. They might be present; for was not she—she +herself—about to step forward and play in public? Their absence—what +would it mean? Where were they at this moment? What had happened in the +life of each since last she saw them? +</P> + +<P> +When it was time to begin to dress, she undertook the task with effort, +with repugnance. She would have chosen to sit here, in a drowsy +idleness, and let the hours go by. On her table stood the little vial +with its draught of oblivion. Oh to drink of it again, and to lay her +head upon the pillow and outsleep the day! +</P> + +<P> +Nevertheless, when she had exerted herself, and was clad in the fresh +garments of spring, the mirror came to her help. She was pale yet; but +pallor lends distinction to features that are not commonplace, and no +remark of man or woman had ever caused her to suspect that her face was +ordinary. She posed before the glass, holding her violin, and the +picture seemed so effective that she began to regain courage. A +dreadful thing had happened—perhaps more dreadful than she durst +imagine—but her own part in it was nothing worse than folly and +misfortune. She had no irreparable sin to hide. Her moment of supreme +peril was past, and would not return. If now she could but brace her +nerves, and pass successfully through the ordeal of the next few hours, +the victory for which she had striven so hard, and had risked so much, +would at length be won. Everything dark and doubtful she must try to +forget. Success would give her new strength; to fail, under any +circumstances ignominious, would at this crisis of her life be a +disaster fraught with manifold and intolerable shame. +</P> + +<P> +She played a few notes. Her hand was steady once more; she felt her +confidence revive. Whenever she had performed before an audience, it +had always seemed to her that she must inevitably break down; yet at +the last minute came power and self-control. So it would be today. The +greater the demand upon her, so much the surer her responsive energy. +She would not see faces. When all was over, let the news be disclosed, +the worst that might be waiting; between now and then lay an infinity +of time. +</P> + +<P> +So, when she went downstairs to meet Harvey, the change in her +appearance surprised him. He had expected a bloodless countenance, a +tremulous step; but Alma came towards him with the confident carriage +of an earlier day, with her smile of superiority, her look that invited +or demanded admiration. +</P> + +<P> +'Well? You won't be ashamed of me?' +</P> + +<P> +'To tell the truth,' said Harvey, 'I was going because I feared someone +would have to look after you in the middle of the affair. If there's no +danger of that, I think I shall not go into the place at all.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't care for it. I prefer to hear you play in private.' +</P> + +<P> +'You needn't have the least fear for me,' said Alma loftily. +</P> + +<P> +'Very well. We'll lunch together, as we arranged, and I'll be at the +door with a cab for you after the people have gone.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why should you trouble?' +</P> + +<P> +'I had rather, if you don't mind.' +</P> + +<P> +They drove from Baker Street to the Hall, where Alma alighted for a +minute to leave her instrument, and thence to a restaurant not far +away. Alma felt no appetite, but the necessity of supporting her +strength obliged her to choose some suitable refreshment. When their +order had been given, Harvey laid his hand upon an evening newspaper, +just arrived, which the waiter had thrown on to the next table. He +opened it, not with any intention of reading, but because he had no +mind to talk; Alma's name, exhibited in staring letters at the entrance +of the public building, had oppressed him with a sense of degradation; +he felt ignoble, much as a man might feel who had consented to his own +dishonour. As his eyes wandered over the freshly-printed sheet, they +were arrested by a couple of bold headlines: 'Sensational Affair at +Wimbledon—Mysterious Death of a Gentleman'. He read the paragraph, and +turned to Alma with a face of amazement. +</P> + +<P> +'Look there—read that——' +</P> + +<P> +Alma took the paper. She had an instantaneous foreboding of what she +was to see; her heart stood still, and her eyes dazzled, but at length +she read. On the previous evening (said the report), a gentleman +residing at Wimbledon, and well known in fashionable circles, Mr. Cyrus +Redgrave, had met his death under very strange and startling +circumstances. Only a few particulars could as yet be made public; but +it appeared that, about nine o'clock in the evening, a medical man had +been hastily summoned to Mr. Redgrave's house, and found that gentleman +lying dead in a room that opened upon the garden. There was present +another person, a friend of the deceased (name not mentioned), who made +a statement to the effect that, in consequence of a sudden quarrel, he +had struck Mr. Redgrave with his fist, knocking him down, and, as it +proved, killing him on the spot. Up to the present moment no further +details were obtainable, but it was believed that the self-accused +assailant had put himself in communication with the police. There was a +rumour, too, which might or might not have any significance, that Mr. +Redgrave's housekeeper had suddenly left the house and could not be +traced. +</P> + +<P> +'Dead?' +</P> + +<P> +The word fell from her lips involuntarily. +</P> + +<P> +'And who killed him?' said Harvey, just above his breath. +</P> + +<P> +'It isn't known—there's no name——' +</P> + +<P> +'No. But I had a sudden thought. Absurd—impossible——' +</P> + +<P> +As Harvey whispered the words, a waiter drew near with the luncheon. It +was arranged upon the table, but lay there disregarded. Alma took up +the newspaper again. In a moment she leaned towards her husband. +</P> + +<P> +'What did you think?' +</P> + +<P> +'Nothing—don't talk about it.' +</P> + +<P> +Two glasses of wine had been poured out; Harvey took his and drank it +off. +</P> + +<P> +'It's a pity I saw this,' he said; 'it has shaken your nerves. I ought +to have kept it to myself.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma dipped a spoon in the soup before her, and tried to swallow. Her +hand did not tremble; the worst had come and gone in a few seconds; but +her palate refused food. She drank wine, and presently became so +collected, so quiet, that she wondered at herself. Cyrus Redgrave was +dead—dead!—the word kept echoing in her mind. As soon as she +understood and believed the fact of Redgrave's death, it became the +realisation of a hope which she had entertained without knowing it. +Only by a great effort could she assume the look of natural concern; +had she been in solitude, her face would have relaxed like that of one +who is suddenly relieved from physical torment. She gave no thought to +wider consequences: she saw the event only as it affected herself in +her relations with the dead man. She had feared him; she had feared +herself; now all danger was at an end. Now—now she could find courage +to front the crowd of people and play to them. Her conscience ceased +from troubling; the hope of triumph no longer linked itself with dread +of a fatal indebtedness. No touch of sorrow entered into her mood; no +anxiety on behalf of the man whose act had freed her. He, her husband's +friend, would keep the only secret which could now injure her. Cyrus +Redgrave was dead, and to her it meant a renewal of life. +</P> + +<P> +Harvey was speaking; he reminded her of the necessity of taking food. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, I am going to eat something.' +</P> + +<P> +'Look here, Alma,'—he regarded her sternly,—'if you have any fear, if +you are unequal to this, let me go and make an excuse for you.' +</P> + +<P> +'I have not the <I>least</I> fear. Don't try to make me nervous.' +</P> + +<P> +She ate and drank. Harvey, the while, kept his eyes fixed on the +newspaper. +</P> + +<P> +'Now I must go,' she said in a few minutes, after looking at her watch. +'Don't come out with me. Do just as you like about going into the Hall +and about meeting me afterwards. You needn't be the least bit anxious, +I assure you; I'm not going to make myself ridiculous.' +</P> + +<P> +They stood up. +</P> + +<P> +'I shall be at the door with a cab,' said Harvey. +</P> + +<P> +'Very well; I won't keep you waiting.' +</P> + +<P> +She left him, and walked from the restaurant with a quick step. Harvey +drank a little more wine, and made a pretence of tasting the dish +before him, then paid his bill and departed. He had now no intention +whatever of going to hear Alma play; but he wished to know whether +certain persons were among her audience, and, as he could not stand to +watch the people entering, he took the only other means of setting his +mind at rest—this was to drive forthwith to Oxford and Cambridge +Mansions. +</P> + +<P> +On his knocking at the Carnabys' door, a servant informed him that +neither her master nor her mistress was at home. Something unusual in +the girl's manner at once arrested his attention; she was evidently +disinclined to say anything beyond the formula of refusal, but with +this Harvey would not be satisfied. He mentioned his name, and urged +several inquiries, on the plea that he had urgent business with his +friends. All he could gather was that Carnaby had left home early this +morning, and that Mrs. Carnaby was out of town; it grew more evident +that the girl shrank from questions. +</P> + +<P> +'Has anyone been here before me, anxious to see them?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know, sir; I can't tell you anything else.' +</P> + +<P> +'And you have no idea when either of them will be back?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know at all; I don't know anything about it.' +</P> + +<P> +He turned away, as if to descend the stairs; but, as there was no sound +of a closing door, he glanced back, and caught a glimpse of the +servant, who stood looking after him. No sooner did their eyes meet +than the girl drew hastily in and the door was shut. +</P> + +<P> +Beset by a grave uneasiness, he walked into Edgware Road, and followed +the thoroughfare to its end at the Marble Arch. One thing seemed +certain: neither Carnaby nor his wife could be at Prince's Hall. It was +equally certain that only a serious cause could have prevented their +attendance. The servant manifestly had something to conceal; under +ordinary circumstances she would never have spoken and behaved in that +strange way. +</P> + +<P> +At the Marble Arch boys were crying newspapers. He bought two, and in +each of them found the sensational headlines; but the reports added +nothing to that he had already seen; all, it was clear, came from the +same source. +</P> + +<P> +He turned into the Park, and walked aimlessly by crosspaths hither and +thither. Time had to be killed; he tried to read his papers, but every +item of news or comment disgusted him, and he threw the sheets away. +When he came out at Knightsbridge, there was still half an hour to be +passed, so he turned eastward, and walked the length of Piccadilly. Now +at length Alma's fate was decided; the concert drew to its close. In +anxiety to learn how things had gone with her, he all but forgot Hugh +Carnaby, until, just as he was about to hail a cab for the purpose of +bringing Alma from the Hall, his eye fell on a fresh newspaper placard, +which gave its largest type to the Wimbledon affair, and promised a +'Startling Revelation'. He bought the paper, and read. It had become +known, said the reporter, that the gentleman who, on his own avowal, +had caused Mr. Redgrave's death, was Mr. H. Carnaby, resident at Oxford +and Cambridge Mansions. The rumour that Mr. Carnaby had presented +himself to the authorities was unfounded; as a matter of fact, the +police had heard nothing from him, and could not discover his +whereabouts. As to the mysterious disappearance of Mr. Redgrave's +housekeeper—Mrs. Lant by name—nothing new could be learnt. Mrs. Lant +had left all her personal belongings, and no one seemed able to +conjecture a reason for her conduct. +</P> + +<P> +Harvey folded up the paper, and crushed it into his pocket. He felt no +surprise; his brooding on possibilities had prepared him for this +disclosure, and, from the moment that his fears were confirmed, he +interpreted everything with a gloomy certainty. Hugh's fatal violence +could have but one explanation, and that did not come upon Harvey with +the shock of the incredible. Neither was he at any loss to understand +why Hugh had failed to surrender himself. Ere-long the newspapers would +rejoice in another 'startling revelation', which would make the tragedy +complete. +</P> + +<P> +In this state of mind he waited for Alma's coming forth. She was +punctual as she had promised. At the first sight of her he knew that +nothing disagreeable had befallen, and this was enough. As soon as the +cab drove off with them he looked an inquiry. +</P> + +<P> +'All well,' she answered, with subdued exultation. 'Wait till you see +the notices.' +</P> + +<P> +Her flushed face and dancing eyes told that she was fresh from +congratulation and flattery. Harvey could not spoil her moment of +triumph by telling what he had just learnt. She wished to talk of +herself, and he gave her the opportunity. +</P> + +<P> +'Many people?' +</P> + +<P> +'A very good hall. They say such an audience at a first recital has +hardly ever been known.' +</P> + +<P> +'You weren't nervous?' +</P> + +<P> +'I've often been far more when I played in a drawing-room; and I never +played so well—not half so well!' +</P> + +<P> +She entered upon a vivid description of her feelings. On first stepping +forward, she could see nothing but a misty expanse of faces; she could +not feel the boards she trod upon; yet no sooner had she raised her +violin than a glorious sense of power made her forget everything but +the music she was to play. She all but laughed with delight. Never had +she felt so perfect a mastery of her instrument. She played without +effort, and could have played for hours without weariness. Her +fellow-musicians declared that she was 'wonderful'; and Harvey, as he +listened to this flow of excited talk, asked himself whether he had +not, after all, judged Alma amiss. Perhaps he had been the mere dull +Philistine, unable to recognise the born artist, and doing his paltry +best to obstruct her path. Perhaps so; but he would look for the +opinion of serious critics—if any such had been present. +</P> + +<P> +At Baker Street they had to wait for a train, and here it happened that +Alma saw the evening placards. At once she changed; her countenance was +darkened with anxiety. +</P> + +<P> +'Hadn't you better get a paper?' she asked in a quick undertone. +</P> + +<P> +'I have one. Do you wish to see it now?' +</P> + +<P> +'Is there anything more?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, there is. You don't know, I suppose, whether Carnaby and his wife +were at the Hall?' +</P> + +<P> +'I could hardly distinguish faces,' she replied, with tremor. 'What is +it? Tell me.' +</P> + +<P> +He took out his newspaper and pointed to the paragraph which mentioned +Carnaby's name. Alma seemed overcome with painful emotion; she moved +towards the nearest seat, and Harvey, alarmed by her sudden pallor, +placed himself by her side. +</P> + +<P> +'What does it mean?' she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +'Who can say?' +</P> + +<P> +'They must have quarrelled about business matters.' +</P> + +<P> +'Perhaps so.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you think he—Mr. Carnaby—means to hide away—to escape?' +</P> + +<P> +'He won't hide away,' Harvey answered. 'Yet he may escape.' +</P> + +<P> +'What do you mean? Go by ship?—get out of the country?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think so. He is far more likely to be found somewhere—in a +way that would save trouble.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma flashed a look of intelligence. +</P> + +<P> +'You think so,' she panted. 'You really think he has done that?' +</P> + +<P> +'I feel afraid of it.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma recovered breath; and, but that her face was bent low over the +newspaper, Harvey must have observed that the possibility of his +friend's suicide seemed rather to calm her agitation than to afflict +her with fresh dismay. +</P> + +<P> +But she could speak no more of her musical triumph. With the colour of +her cheeks she had lost all animation, all energy; she needed the +support of Harvey's arm in stepping to the railway carriage; and on her +arrival at home, yielding, as it seemed, to physical exhaustion, she +lay pallid, mute, and nerveless. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0215"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 15 +</H3> + +<P> +At night she had recourse to the little bottle, but this time it was +less efficacious. Again and again she woke from terrifying dreams, +wearied utterly, unable to rest, and longing for the dawn. Soon after +daybreak she arose and dressed; then, as there was yet no sound of +movement in the house, she laid her aching head upon the pillow again, +and once more fell into a troubled sleep. The usual call aroused her; +she went to the door and bade the servant bring her some tea and the +morning paper as soon as it was delivered. +</P> + +<P> +In a few minutes the tea and the newspaper were both brought. First she +glanced at the paragraphs relating to the Wimbledon tragedy; there was +nothing added to yesterday's news except that the inquest would be held +this morning. Then she looked eagerly for the report of her recital, +and found it only after much searching, barely a dozen lines, which +spoke of her as 'a lady of some artistic promise', said that much +allowance must be made for her natural nervousness, and passed on to +the other performers, who were unreservedly praised. Anger and +despondency struggled within her as she read the lines over and over +again. Nervous! Why, the one marvellous thing was her absolute conquest +of nervousness. She saw the hand of an enemy. Felix Dymes had warned +her of the envy she must look for in certain quarters, and here +appeared the first instance of it. But the post would bring other +papers. +</P> + +<P> +It brought half a dozen and a number of letters. At the sound of the +knock, Alma hurried downstairs, seized upon her budget, and returned to +the bedroom. Yes; as it happened, she had seen the least favourable +notice first of all. The other papers devoted more space to her (though +less than she had expected), and harmonised in their tone of +compliment; one went so far as to congratulate those who were present +on 'an occasion of undoubted importance'. Another found some fault with +her choice of pieces, but hoped soon to hear her again, for her 'claims +to more than ordinary attention' were 'indubitable'. There was a +certain lack of 'breadth', opined one critic; but 'natural +nervousness', &c. Promise, promise—all agreed that her 'promise' was +quite exceptional. +</P> + +<P> +Tremulous from these lines of print, she turned to the letters, and +here was full-fed with flattery. 'Your most brilliant debut'—'How +shall we thank you for such an artistic treat?'—'Oh, your divine +rendering of,' &c.—'You have taken your place, at once and <I>sans +phrase</I>, in the very front rank of violinists.' She smiled once more, +and lost a little of her cadaverous hue. Felix Dymes, scribbling late, +repeated things that he had heard since the afternoon. He added: 'I'm +afraid you'll be awfully upset about your friends the Carnabys. It's +very unfortunate this should have happened just now. But cheer up, and +let me see you as soon as possible. Great things to come!' +</P> + +<P> +She went down to breakfast with shaking limbs, scarce able to hold up +her head as she sat through the meal. Harvey ran his eye over the +papers, but said nothing, and kept looking anxiously at her. She could +not touch food; on rising from table she felt a giddiness which obliged +her to hold the chair for support. At her husband's beckoning she +followed him into the library. +</P> + +<P> +'Hadn't you better go back to bed?' +</P> + +<P> +'I shall lie down a little. But perhaps if I could get out——' +</P> + +<P> +'No, that you won't. And if you feel no better by afternoon I shall +send for the doctor.' +</P> + +<P> +'You see what the papers say——?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes.' +</P> + +<P> +'Wouldn't it be graceful to own that you are surprised?' +</P> + +<P> +'We'll talk about that when you look less like a corpse. Would you like +me to send any message to Mrs. Carnaby?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +'I'll write—today or tomorrow—there's no hurry——' +</P> + +<P> +'No hurry?' said Rolfe, surprised by something in her tone. 'What do +you mean by that?' +</P> + +<P> +'Are you going to see Mr. Carnaby?' was her answer. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know where to find him, unless I go to the inquest.' +</P> + +<P> +'I had rather you stayed here today,' said Alma; 'I feel far from well.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, I shall stay. But I ought to let him hear from me. Best, perhaps, +if I send a telegram to his place.' +</P> + +<P> +The morning passed miserably enough. Alma went to her bedroom and lay +there for an hour or two, then she strayed to the nursery and sat a +while with Hugh and his governess. At luncheon she had no more appetite +than at breakfast, though for very faintness her body could scarce +support itself. After the meal Harvey went out to procure the earliest +evening papers, and on his way he called at the doctor's house. Not +till about five o'clock was a report of the Wimbledon inquest +obtainable. Having read it, Harvey took the paper home, where he +arrived just as the doctor drove up to the door. +</P> + +<P> +Alma was again lying down; her eyes showed that she had shed tears. On +Harvey's saying that the doctor was in the house, she answered briefly +that she would see him. The result of the interview was made known to +Rolfe. Nervous collapse; care and quiet; excitement of any kind to be +avoided; the patient better in bed for a few days, to obtain complete +rest. Avoidance of excitement was the most difficult of all things for +Alma at present. Newspapers could not be kept from her; she waited +eagerly for the report of the inquest. +</P> + +<P> +'Carnaby tells an astonishing story,' said Rolfe, as he sat down by her +when the doctor was gone. +</P> + +<P> +'Let me read it for myself.' +</P> + +<P> +She did so with every sign of agitation; but on laying the paper aside +she seemed to become quieter. After a short silence a word or two fell +from her. +</P> + +<P> +'So Sibyl was at Weymouth.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey communed with his thoughts, which were anything but pleasant. He +did not doubt the truth of Hugh Carnaby's narrative, but he had a +gloomy conviction that, whether Hugh knew it or not, an essential part +of the drama lay unrevealed. +</P> + +<P> +'Will they find that woman, do you think?' were Alma's next words. +</P> + +<P> +'It doesn't seem very likely.' +</P> + +<P> +'What is the punishment for manslaughter?' +</P> + +<P> +'That depends. The case will go for trial, and—in the meantime——' +</P> + +<P> +'What?' asked Alma, raising herself. +</P> + +<P> +'The woman <I>may</I> be found.' +</P> + +<P> +There was another silence. Then Alma asked—— +</P> + +<P> +'Do you think I ought to write to Sibyl?' +</P> + +<P> +'No,' he answered decisively. 'You must write to no one. Put it all out +of your mind as much as possible.' +</P> + +<P> +'Shall you see Mr. Carnaby?' +</P> + +<P> +'Only if he sends for me.' +</P> + +<P> +And this was just what happened. Admitted to bail by the magistrate, +Hugh presently sent a note from Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, asking +his friend to see him there. Harvey did not let Alma know of it. He +found some difficulty in getting away from home for a couple of hours, +so anxious had she become to keep him within call, and, when he of +necessity went out, to be informed of his movements. He attributed this +to her morbid condition; for, in truth, Alma was very ill. She could +take only the lightest food, and in the smallest quantities; she fell +repeatedly into fits of silent weeping; she had lost all strength, and +her flesh had begun to waste. On this same day Harvey heard that Mrs +Frothingham was making ready to come, and the news relieved him. +</P> + +<P> +On reaching the Carnabys', he was admitted by the same servant whose +behaviour had excited his suspicions a day or two ago. Without a word +she conducted him to Hugh's room. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, old man,' said the familiar voice, though in the tone of one who +is afraid of being overheard, 'it has come to this, you see. You're not +surprised? What else could be expected of a fellow like me, sooner or +later?' +</P> + +<P> +His face had the marks of sleeplessness; his hand was hot. He pressed +Harvey into a chair, and stood before him, making an obvious effort to +look and speak courageously. +</P> + +<P> +'It never struck me before how devilish awkward it is for a man in his +own home when he gets into a public scrape—I mean the servants. One +has to sit under them, as usual, you know, and feel their eyes boring +into one's back. Did you ever think of it?' +</P> + +<P> +'How long have you to wait?' asked Rolfe. +</P> + +<P> +'Only a fortnight. But there may be bother about that woman. I wish to +God they could catch her!' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey made no reply, and his eyes wandered. In a moment he became +aware that Hugh was looking at him with peculiar intentness. +</P> + +<P> +'I wish I could do anything for you, Carnaby.' +</P> + +<P> +'You can,' replied the other, with emphasis, his face growing stern. +</P> + +<P> +'What is it?' +</P> + +<P> +'Get rid of that ugly thought I see you have in your mind.' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh's voice, though still cautious, had risen a little; he spoke with +severity that was almost harshness. Their eyes met. +</P> + +<P> +'What ugly thought?' +</P> + +<P> +'Don't be dishonest with me, Rolfe. It's a queer-sounding tale, and +you're not the only man, I warrant, who thinks there's something behind +it. But I tell you there isn't—or nothing that concerns <I>me</I>.' He +paused for an instant. 'I shouldn't have dared to tell it, but for my +wife. Yes, my wife,' he repeated vehemently. 'It was Sibyl forced me to +tell the truth. Rather than have <I>her</I> mixed up in such a thing as +this, I would have told any lie, at whatever cost to myself; but she +wouldn't let me. And she was right; I see now that she was, though it a +been hard enough, I tell you, to think of what people might be +saying—damn them! Don't you be one, Rolfe. My wife is as pure and +innocent as any woman living. I tell you that. I ask you to believe +that; and it's the one thing, the only thing, you can do for me.' +</P> + +<P> +His voice quivered, and he half-choked upon the passionate words. +Moved, though not to conviction, Harvey made the only possible reply. +</P> + +<P> +'I believe you; and if ever I have the chance I will repeat what you +say.' +</P> + +<P> +'Very well. But there's something else. I don't ask you to see anything +of Sibyl, or to let your wife see her; it will be much better not. I +don't know whether she will stay here, or in London at all; but she +will see as few people as possible. Don't think it necessary to write +to her; don't let your wife write. If we all live through it—and come +out again on the other side—things may be all right again; but I don't +look forward to anything. All I can think of now is that I've killed a +man who was a good friend to me, and have darkened all the rest of +Sibyl's life. And I only wish someone had knocked my brains out ten +years ago, when nobody would have missed such a blackguard and ruffian.' +</P> + +<P> +'Is it on your wife's account, or on ours that you want us to keep +apart?' asked Rolfe gravely. +</P> + +<P> +'Both, my dear fellow,' was the equally grave reply. 'I'm saying only +what I mean; it's no time for humbug now. Think it over, and you'll see +I'm right.' +</P> + +<P> +'Alma won't see any one just yet awhile,' said Harvey. 'She has made +herself ill, of course.' +</P> + +<P> +'Ill? How?' +</P> + +<P> +'The concert, and the frenzy that went before it.' +</P> + +<P> +'The concert——.' Carnaby touched his forehead. 'I remember. If I were +you, Rolfe——' +</P> + +<P> +'Well?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't want to take advantage of my position and be impertinent but +do you think that kind of thing will do her any good in the end?' +</P> + +<P> +'It's going to stop,' replied Harvey, with a meaning nod. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm glad to hear you say so—very glad. Just stick to that. You're +more civilised than I am, and you'll know how to go about that kind of +thing as a man should.' +</P> + +<P> +'I mean to try.' +</P> + +<P> +'She is not seriously ill, I hope?' Hugh inquired, after reflecting for +a moment. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, the nerves—breakdown—nothing dangerous, I believe.' +</P> + +<P> +'Life ought to be easy enough for you, Rolfe,' said the other. 'You're +at home here.' +</P> + +<P> +'It depends what you mean by "here". I'm at home in England, no doubt; +but it's very uncertain whether I shall hold out in London. You know +that we're going west to Gunnersbury. That's on the child's account; I +want him to go to school with a friend of ours. If we can live there +quietly and sanely, well and good; if the whirlpool begins to drag us +in again—then I have another idea.' +</P> + +<P> +'The whirlpool!' muttered Carnaby, with a broken laugh. 'It's got hold +of <I>me</I>, and I'm going down, old man—and it looks black as hell.' +</P> + +<P> +'We shall see the sunlight again together,' replied Rolfe, with forced +cheerfulness. +</P> + +<P> +'You think so? I wish I could believe it.' +</P> + +<P> +In less than half an hour Harvey was back at the station, waiting for +his train. He suffered pangs of self-rebuke; it seemed to him that he +ought to have found some better way, in word or deed, for manifesting +the sympathy of true friendship. He had betrayed a doubt which must for +ever affect Hugh's feeling towards him. But this was his lot in life, +to blunder amid trying circumstances, to prove unequal to every grave +call upon him. He tried vainly to see what else he could have done, yet +felt that another man would have faced the situation to better purpose. +One resolve, at all events, he had brought out of it: Hugh Carnaby's +reference to Alma declared the common-sense view of a difficulty which +ought to be no difficulty at all, and put an end to vacillation. But in +return for this friendly service he had rendered nothing, save a few +half-hearted words of encouragement. Rolfe saw himself in a mean, +dispiriting light. +</P> + +<P> +On the next day Mrs. Frothingham arrived at Pinner, and Harvey's +anxieties were lightened. The good, capable woman never showed to such +advantage as in a sick-room; scarcely had she entered the house when +Alma's state began to improve. They remarked that Alma showed no great +concern on Sibyl's account, but was seemingly preoccupied with thought +of Carnaby himself. This being the case, it was with solicitude that +Harvey and Mrs. Frothingham awaited the result of Hugh's trial for +manslaughter. Redgrave's housekeeper could not be found; the +self-accused man stood or fell by his own testimony; nothing was +submitted to the court beyond the fact of Redgrave's death, and Hugh +Carnaby's explanation of how it came about. Nothing of direct evidence; +indirect, in the shape of witness to character, was abundantly +forthcoming, and from 'people of importance. But the victim also was a +person of importance, and justice no doubt felt that, under whatever +provocation, such a man must not be slain with impunity. It sentenced +the homicide to a term of two years' imprisonment, without hard labour. +</P> + +<P> +Alma heard the sentence with little emotion. Soon after she fell into a +deeper and more refreshing sleep than any she had known since her +illness began. +</P> + +<P> +'It is the end of suspense,' said Mrs. Frothingham. +</P> + +<P> +'No doubt,' Harvey assented. +</P> + +<P> +A few days more and Mrs. Frothingham took Alma away into Hampshire. +Little Hugh went with them, his mother strongly desiring it. As for +Rolfe, he escaped to Greystone, to spend a week with Basil Morton +before facing the miseries of the removal from Pinner to Gunnersbury. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0301"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +Part the Third +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 1 +</H3> + +<P> +The house had stood for a century and a half, and for eighty years had +been inhabited by Mortons. Of its neighbours in the elm-bordered road, +one or two were yet older; all had reached the age of mellowness. +'Sicut umbra praeterit dies'—so ran the motto of the dial set between +porch and eaves; to Harvey Rolfe the kindliest of all greetings, +welcoming him to such tranquillity as he knew not how to find elsewhere. +</P> + +<P> +It was in the town, yet nothing town-like. No sooty smother hung above +the house-tops and smirched the garden leafage; no tramp of crowds, no +clatter of hot-wheel traffic, sounded from the streets hard by. But at +hours familiar, bidding to task or pleasure or repose, the music of the +grey belfries floated overhead; a voice from the old time, an +admonition of mortality in strains sweet to the ear of childhood. +Harvey had but to listen, and the days of long ago came back to him. +Above all, when at evening rang the curfew. Stealing apart to a bowered +corner of the garden, he dreamed himself into the vanished years, when +curfew-time was bed-time, and a hand with gentle touch led him from his +play to that long sweet slumber which is the child's new birth. +</P> + +<P> +Basil Morton was one of three brothers, the youngest. His father, a +corn-factor, assenting readily to his early inclination for the Church, +sent him from Greystone Grammar-School to Cambridge, where Basil passed +creditably through the routine, but in no way distinguished himself. +Having taken his degree, he felt less assured of a clerical vocation, +and thought that the law might perhaps be more suitable to him. Whilst +he thus wavered, his father died, and the young man found that he had +to depend upon himself for anything more than the barest livelihood. He +decided, after all, for business, and became a partner with his eldest +brother, handling corn as his father and his grandfather had done +before him. At eight and twenty he married, and a few years afterwards +the elder Morton's death left him to pursue commerce at his own +discretion. Latterly the business had not been very lucrative, nor was +Basil the man to make it so; but he went steadily on in the old tracks, +satisfied with an income which kept him free from care. +</P> + +<P> +'I like my trade,' he said once to Harvey Rolfe; 'it's clean and sweet +and useful. The Socialist would revile me as a middleman; but society +can't do without me just yet, and I ask no more than I fairly earn. I +like turning over a sample of grain; I like the touch of it, and the +smell of it. It brings me near to the good old Mother Earth, and makes +me feel human.' +</P> + +<P> +His house was spacious, well built, comfortable. The furniture, in +great part, was the same his parents had used; solid mahogany, not so +beautiful as furniture may be made, but serviceable, if need be, for +another fifty years. He had a library of several thousand volumes, +slowly and prudently collected, representing a liberal interest in all +travail of the mind, and a special taste for the things of classical +antiquity. Basil Morton was no scholar in the modern sense, but might +well have been described by the old phrase which links scholar with +gentleman. He lived by trade, but trade did not affect his life. The +day's work over, he turned, with no feeling of incongruity, to a page +of Thucydides, of Tacitus, or to those less familiar authors who +lighted his favourite wanderings through the ruins of the Roman Empire. +Better grounded for such studies than Harvey Rolfe, he pursued them +with a steadier devotion and with all the advantages of domestic peace. +In his mental habits, in his turns of speech, there appeared perhaps a +leaning to pedantry; but it was the most amiable of faults, and any +danger that might have lurked in it was most happily balanced and +corrected by the practical virtues of his life's companion. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morton had the beauty of perfect health, of health mental and +physical. To describe her face as homely was to pay it the highest +compliment, for its smile was the true light of home, that never +failed. <I>Filia generosi</I>, daughter of a house that bred gentlewomen, +though its ability to dower them had declined in these latter days, she +conceived her duty as wife and mother after the old fashion, and was so +fortunate as to find no obstacle in circumstance. She rose early; she +slept early; and her day was full of manifold activity. Four children +she had borne—the eldest a boy now in his twelfth year, the youngest a +baby girl; and it seemed to her no merit that in these little ones she +saw the end and reason of her being. Into her pure and healthy mind had +never entered a thought at conflict with motherhood. Her breasts were +the fountain of life; her babies clung to them, and grew large of limb. +From her they learnt to speak; from her they learnt the names of trees +and flowers and all things beautiful around them; learnt, too, less by +precept than from fair example, the sweetness and sincerity wherewith +such mothers, and such alone, can endow their offspring. Later she was +their instructress in a more formal sense; for this also she held to be +her duty, up to the point where other teaching became needful. By +method and good-will she found time for everything, ruling her house +and ordering her life so admirably, that to those who saw her only in +hours of leisure she seemed to be at leisure always. She would have +felt it an impossible thing to abandon her children to the care of +servants; reluctantly she left them even for an hour or two when other +claims which could not be neglected called her forth. In play-time they +desired no better companion, for she was a child herself in gaiety of +heart and lissom sportiveness. No prettier sight could be seen at +Greystone than when, on a summer afternoon, they all drove in the pony +carriage to call on friends, or out into the country. Nowadays it was +often her eldest boy who held the reins, a bright-eyed, well-built lad, +a pupil at the old Grammar-School, where he used the desk at which his +father had sat before him. Whatever fault of boyhood showed itself in +Harry Morton, he knew not the common temptation to be ashamed of his +mother, or to flout her love. +</P> + +<P> +For holiday they never crossed the sea. Morton himself had been but +once abroad, and that in the year before his father's death, when he +was trying to make up his mind what profession he should take up; he +then saw something of France and of Italy. Talking with travelled +friends, he was wont to praise himself in humorous vein for the sober +fixity of his life, and to quote, in that mellow tone which gave such +charm to his talk, the line from Claudian, '<I>Erret et extremos alter +scrutetur Iberos</I>; for he had several friends to whom a Latin or a +Greek quotation was no stumbling-block. Certain of his college +companions, men who had come to hold a place in the world's eye, were +glad to turn aside from beaten tracks and smoke a pipe at Greystone +with Basil Morton—the quaint fellow who at a casual glance might pass +for a Philistine, but was indeed something quite other. His wife had +never left her native island. 'I will go abroad,' she said, 'when my +boys can take me.' And that might not be long hence; for Harry, who +loved no book so much as the atlas, abounded in schemes of travel, and +had already mapped the grand tour on which the whole family was to set +forth when he stood headboy at the Grammar-School. +</P> + +<P> +In this household Harvey Rolfe knew himself a welcome guest, and never +had he been so glad as now to pass from the noisy world into the calm +which always fell about him under his friend's roof. The miseries +through which he had gone were troubling his health, and health +disordered naturally reacted upon his mind, so that, owing to a gloomy +excitement of the imagination, for several nights he had hardly slept. +No sooner had he lain down in darkness than every form of mortal +anguish beset his thoughts, passing before him as though some hand +unfolded a pictured scroll of life's terrors. He seemed never before to +have realised the infinitude of human suffering. Hour after hour, with +brief intervals of semi-oblivion, from which his mind awoke in nameless +horror, he travelled from land to land, from age to age; at one moment +picturing some dread incident of a thousand years ago; the next, +beholding with intolerable vividness some scene of agony reported in +the day's newspaper. Doubtless it came of his constant brooding on +Redgrave's death and Hugh Carnaby's punishment. For the first time, +tragedy had been brought near to him, and he marvelled at the +indifference with which men habitually live in a world where tragedy is +every hour's occurrence. +</P> + +<P> +He told himself that this was merely a morbid condition of the brain, +but could not bring himself to believe it. On the contrary, what he now +saw and felt was the simple truth of things, obscured by everyday +conditions of active life. And that History which he loved to +read—what was it but the lurid record of woes unutterable? How could +he find pleasure in keeping his eyes fixed on century after century of +ever-repeated torment—war, pestilence, tyranny; the stake, the +dungeon; tortures of infinite device, cruelties inconceivable? He would +close his books, and try to forget all they had taught him. +</P> + +<P> +Tonight he spoke of it, as he sat with Morton after everyone else had +gone to bed. They had talked of Hugh Carnaby (each divining in the +other a suspicion they were careful not to avow), and their mood led +naturally to interchange of thoughts on grave subjects. +</P> + +<P> +'Everyone knows that state of mind, more or less,' said Morton, in his +dreamy voice—a voice good for the nerves. 'It comes generally when +one's stomach is out of order. You wake at half-past two in the +morning, and suffer infernally from the blackest pessimism. It's +morbid—yes; but for all that it may be a glimpse of the truth. Health +and good spirits, just as likely as not, are the deceptive condition.' +</P> + +<P> +'Exactly. But for the power of deceiving ourselves, we couldn't live at +all. It's not a question of theory, but of fact.' +</P> + +<P> +'I fought it out with myself,' said Basil, after a sip of whisky, 'at +the time of my "exodus from Houndsditch". There's a point in the life +of every man who has brains, when it becomes a possibility that he may +kill himself. Most of us have it early, but it depends on +circumstances. I was like Johnson's friend: be as philosophical as I +might, cheerfulness kept breaking in. And at last I let cheerfulness +have its way. As far as I know'—he gurgled a laugh—'Schopenhauer did +the same.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey puffed at his pipe before answering. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; and I suppose we may call that intellectual maturity. It's bad +for a man when he <I>can't</I> mature—which is my case. I seem to be as far +from it as ever. Seriously, I should think few men ever had so slow a +development. I don't stagnate: there's always movement; but—putting +aside the religious question—my stage at present is yours of twenty +years ago. Yet, not even that; for you started better than I did. You +were never a selfish lout—a half-baked blackguard——' +</P> + +<P> +'Nor you either, my dear fellow.' +</P> + +<P> +'But I was! I've got along fairly well in self-knowledge; I can follow +my course in the past clearly enough. If I had my rights, I should live +to about a hundred and twenty, and go on ripening to the end. That +would be a fair proportion. It's confoundedly hard to think that I'm a +good deal past the middle of life, yet morally and intellectually am +only beginning it.' +</P> + +<P> +'It only means, Rolfe, that we others have a pretty solid conceit of +ourselves.—Listen! "We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master +Shallow." I don't apply the name to you; but you'll be none the worse +for a good night's sleep. Let us be off.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey slept much better than of late. There was an air of comfort in +this guest-chamber which lulled the mind. Not that the appointments +were more luxurious than in his own bedroom, for Morton had neither the +means nor the desire to equip his house with perfections of modern +upholstery; but every detail manifested a care and taste and delicacy +found only in homes which are homes indeed, and not mere +dwelling-places fitted up chiefly for display. Harvey thought of the +happiness of children who are born, and live through all their +childhood, in such an atmosphere as this. Then he thought of his own +child, who had in truth no home at all. A house in Wales—a house at +Pinner—a house at Gunnersbury—presently a house somewhere else. He +had heard people defend this nomad life—why, he himself, before his +marriage, had smiled at the old-fashioned stability represented by such +families as the Mortons; had talked of 'getting into ruts', of +'mouldering', and so on. He saw it from another point of view now, and +if the choice were between rut and whirlpool—— +</P> + +<P> +When he awoke, and lay looking at the sunlit blind, in the stillness of +early morning he heard a sound always delightful, always soothing, that +of scythe and whetstone; then the long steady sweep of the blade +through garden grass. Morton, old stick-in-the-mud, would not let his +gardener use a mowing machine, the scythe was good enough for him; and +Harvey, recalled to the summer mornings of more than thirty years ago, +blessed him for his pig-headedness. +</P> + +<P> +But another sound he missed, one he would have heard even more gladly. +Waking thus at Pinner (always about six o'clock), he had been wont to +hear the voice of his little boy, singing. Possibly this was a doubtful +pleasure to Miss Smith, in whose room Hughie slept; but, to her credit, +she had never bidden the child keep quiet. And there he lay, singing to +himself, a song without words; singing like a little bird at dawn; a +voice of innocent happiness, greeting the new day. Hughie was far off; +and in a strange room, with other children, he would not sing. But +Harvey heard his voice—the odd little bursts of melody, the liquid +rise and fall, which set to tune, no doubt, some childish fancy, some +fairy tale, some glad anticipation. Hughie lived in the golden age. A +year or two more, and the best of life would be over with him; for +boyhood is but a leaden time compared with the borderland between it +and infancy; and manhood—the curse of sex developed—— +</P> + +<P> +It was a merry breakfast-table. The children's sprightly talk, their +mother's excellent spirits, and Morton's dry jokes with one and all, +made Harvey feel ashamed of the rather glum habit which generally kept +him mute at the first meal of the day. Alma, too, was seldom in the +mood for breakfast conversation; so that, between them, they imposed +silence upon Hughie and Miss Smith. One might have thought that the +postman had brought some ill news, depressing the household. Yet things +were not wont to be so bad in Wales; at that time, the day, as a rule, +began cheerfully enough. Their life had darkened in the shadow of +London; just when, for the child's sake, everything should have been +made as bright as possible. And he saw little hope of change for the +better. It did not depend upon him. The note of family life is struck +by the house-mistress, and Alma seemed fallen so far from her better +self that he could only look forward with anxiety to new developments +of her character. +</P> + +<P> +'School?' he exclaimed, when Harry, with satchel over shoulder, came to +bid him good morning. 'I wish I could go in your place! It's just +thirty-one years since I left the old Grammar-School.' +</P> + +<P> +The boy did not marvel at this. He would not have done so if the years +had been sixty-one; for Mr. Rolfe seemed to him an old man, very much +older than his own father. +</P> + +<P> +As usual when at Greystone, Harvey took his first walk to the spots +associated with his childhood. He walked alone, for Morton had gone to +business until midday. On the outskirts of the town, in no very +pleasant situation, stood the house where he was born; new buildings +had risen round about it, and the present tenants seemed to be +undesirable people, who neglected the garden and were careless about +their window curtains. Here he had lived until he was ten years +old—till the death of his father. His mother died long before that; he +just, and only just, remembered her. He knew from others that she was a +gentle, thoughtful woman, always in poor health; the birth of her +second child, a girl, led to a lingering illness, and soon came the +end. To her place as mistress of the house succeeded Harvey's aunt, his +father's sister. No one could have been kinder to the children, but +Harvey, for some reason yet obscure to him, always disliked her. Whom, +indeed, did he not dislike, of those set over him? He recalled his +perpetual rebellion against her authority from the first day to the +last. What an unruly cub! And his father's anger when he chanced to +overhear some boyish insolence—alas! alas! +</P> + +<P> +For he saw so little of his father. Mr. Rolfe's work as a railway +engineer kept him chiefly abroad; he was sometimes absent for twelve +months at a time. Only in the last half-year of his life did he remain +constantly at home, and that because he was dying. Having contracted a +fever in Spain, he came back to recruit; but his constitution had +suffered from many hardships, and now gave way. To the last day (though +he was ten years old) Harvey never dreamt of what was about to happen. +Self-absorbed in a degree unusual even with boys, he feared his father, +but had not learnt to love him. And now, looking back, he saw only too +well why the anxious parent treated him with severity more often than +with gentleness and good humour. A boy such as he must have given sore +trouble to a father on his death-bed. +</P> + +<P> +When it was too late, too late by many a year, he mourned the loss +which had only startled him, which had seemed hardly a loss at all, +rather an emancipation. As a man of thirty, he knew his father much +better than when living with him day after day. Faults he could +perceive, some of them inherited in his own character; but there +remained the memory of a man whom he could admire and love—whom he did +admire and love more sincerely and profoundly the older he grew. And he +held it the supreme misfortune of his life that, in those early years +which count so much towards the future, he had been so rarely under his +father's influence. +</P> + +<P> +Inevitable, it seemed. Yet only so, perhaps, because even a good and +conscientious man may fail to understand the obligation under which he +lies towards his offspring. +</P> + +<P> +He and his sister Amy passed into the guardianship of Dr Harvey, Mr +Rolfe's old friend, the boy's godfather, who had done his best to +soothe the mind of the dying man with regard to his children's future. +There were no pecuniary difficulties; the children's education was +provided for, and on coming of age each would have about two thousand +pounds. Dr Harvey, a large-hearted, bright-witted Irishman, with no +youngsters of his own, speedily decided that the boy must be sent away +to a boarding-school, to have some of the self-will knocked out of him. +Amy continued to live with her aunt for two years more; then the good +woman died, and the Doctor took Amy into his own house, which became +Harvey's home during holidays. +</P> + +<P> +The ivy-covered house, in the best residential street of Greystone. +Harvey paused before it. On the railings hung a brass plate with +another name; the good old Doctor had been in his grave for many a year. +</P> + +<P> +What wonder that he never liked the boy? Harvey, so far as anyone could +perceive, had no affection, no good feeling, no youthful freshness or +simplicity of heart; moreover, he exhibited precocious arrogance, +supported by an obstinacy which had not even the grace of quickening +into fieriness; he was often a braggart, and could not be trusted to +tell the truth where his self-esteem was ever so little concerned. How +unutterably the Harvey Rolfe of today despised himself at the age of +fifteen or so! Even at that amorphous age, a more loutish, ungainly boy +could scarcely have been found. Bashfulness cost him horrid torments, +of course exasperating his conceit. He hated girls; he scorned women. +Among his school-fellows he made a bad choice of comrades. Though +muscular and of tolerable health, he was physically, as well as +morally, a coward. Games and sports had I no attraction for him; he +shut himself up in rooms, and read a great deal, yet even this, it +seemed, not without an eye to winning admiration. +</P> + +<P> +Brains he had—brains undeniably; but for a long time there was the +greatest doubt as to what use he could make of them. Harvey remembered +the day when it was settled that he should study medicine. He resolved +upon it merely because he had chanced to hear the Doctor say that he +was not cut out for <I>that</I>. +</P> + +<P> +He saw himself at twenty, a lank, ungainly youth, with a disagreeable +complexion and a struggling moustache. He was a student at Guy's; he +had 'diggings'; he tasted the joy of independence. As is the way with +young men of turbid passions and indifferent breeding, he rapidly +signalised his independence by plunging into sordid slavery. A +miserable time to think of; a wilderness of riot, folly, and shame. Yet +it seemed to him that he was enjoying life. Among the rowdy set of his +fellow-students he shone with a certain superiority. His contempt of +money, and his large way of talking about it, conveyed the impression +that abundant means awaited him. He gave away coin as readily as he +spent it on himself; not so much in a true spirit of generosity (though +his character had gleams of it), as because he dreaded above all things +the appearance of niggardliness and the suspicion of a shallow purse. +</P> + +<P> +Then came the memorable interview with his guardian on his twenty-first +birthday. Harvey flinched and grew hot in thinking of it. What an +ungrateful cur! What a self-sufficient young idiot! The Doctor had +borne so kindly with his follies and vices, had taken so much trouble +for his good, was it not the man's right and duty to speak grave words +of counsel on such an occasion as this? But to counsel Mr. Harvey Rolfe +was to be guilty of gross impertinence. With lofty spirit the young +gentleman proclaimed that he must no longer be treated as a school-boy! +Whereupon the Doctor lost his temper, and spoke with a particularly +strong Hibernian accent—spoke words which to this moment stung the +hearer's memory. He saw himself marching from the room—that room +yonder, on the ground-floor. It was some small consolation to remember +that he had been drinking steadily for a week before that happened. +Indeed, he could recall no scene quite so discreditable throughout the +course of his insensate youth. +</P> + +<P> +Well, he had something like two thousand pounds. Whether he had looked +for more or less he hardly knew, or whether he had looked for anything +at all. At one-and-twenty he was the merest child in matters of the +world. Surely something must have arrested the natural development of +his common-sense. Even in another ten years he was scarcely on a level, +as regards practical intelligence, with the ordinary lad who is leaving +school. +</P> + +<P> +He at once threw up his medical studies, which had grown hateful to +him. He took his first taste of foreign travel. He extended his reading +and his knowledge of languages. And insensibly a couple of years went +by. +</P> + +<P> +The possession of money had done him good. It clarified his passions, +or tended that way. A self-respect, which differed appreciably from +what he had formerly understood by that term, began to guard him +against grossness; together with it there developed in him a new social +pride which made him desire the acquaintance of well-bred people. +Though he had no longer any communication with the good old Doctor, Amy +frequently wrote to him, and in one of her letters she begged him to +call on a family in London, one of whose younger members lived at +Greystone and was Amy's friend. After much delay, he overcame his +bashfulness, and called upon the worthy people—tailored as became a +gentleman at large. The acquaintance led to others; in a short time he +was on pleasant terms with several well-to-do families. He might have +suspected—but at the time, of course, did not—that Dr Harvey's kindly +influence had something to do with his reception in these houses. +Self-centred, but painfully self-distrustful, he struggled to overcome +his natural defects of manner. Possibly with some success; for did not +Lily Burton, who at first so piqued him by her critical smile, come to +show him tolerance, friendliness, gracious interest? +</P> + +<P> +Lily Burton!—how emptily, how foolishly the name tinkled out of that +empty and foolish past! Yet what a power it had over him when he was +three and twenty! Of all the savage epithets which he afterwards +attached to its owner, probably she merited a few. She was a flirt, at +all events. She drew him on, played upon his emotions, found him, no +doubt, excellent fun; and at last, when he was imbecile enough to +declare himself, to talk of marriage, Lily, raising the drollest eyes, +quietly wished to know what his prospects were. +</P> + +<P> +The intolerable shame of it, even now! But he laughed, mocking at his +dead self. +</P> + +<P> +His mind's eye beheld the strange being a year later. Still in good +clothes, but unhealthy, and at his last half-crown; four and twenty, +travelled, and possessed of the elements of culture, he had only just +begun to realise the fact that men labour for their daily bread. Was it +the peculiar intensity of his egoism that so long blinded him to common +anxieties? Even as the last coins slipped between his fingers, he knew +only a vaguely irritable apprehension. Did he imagine the world would +beg for the honour of feeding and clothing Mr. Harvey Rolfe? +</P> + +<P> +It came back to him, his first experience of hunger—so very different +a thing from appetite. He saw the miserable bedroom where he sat on a +rainy day. He smelt the pawnshop. His heart sank again under the weight +of awful solitude. Then, his illness; the letter he wrote to Amy; her +visit to him; the help she brought. But she could not persuade him to +go back with her to Greystone to face the Doctor. Her money was a loan; +he would bestir himself and find occupation. For a wonder, it was +found—the place at the Emigration Agency; and so, for a good many +years, the notable Mr. Harvey Rolfe sank into a life of obscure routine. +</P> + +<P> +Again and again his sister Amy besought him to visit Greystone. Dr +Harvey was breaking up; would he not see the kind old man once more? +Yes, he assured himself that he would; but he took his time about it, +and Dr Harvey, who at threescore and ten could not be expected to wait +upon a young man's convenience, one day very quietly died. To Amy +Rolfe, who had become as a daughter to him, he left the larger part of +his possessions, an income of nine hundred a year. Not long after this, +Harvey met his sister, and was astonished to find her looking thin, +pale, spiritless. What did it mean? Why did she gaze at him so sadly? +Come, come, he cried, she had been leading an unnatural life, +cloistered, cheerless. Now that she was independent, she must enjoy +herself, see the world! Brave words; and braver still those in which he +replied to Amy's entreaty that he would share her wealth. Not he, +indeed! If, as she said, the Doctor meant and hoped it, why did he not +make that plain in his will? Not a penny would he take. He had all he +wanted. And he seemed to himself the most magnanimous of men. +</P> + +<P> +Amy lived on at Greystone; amid friends, to be sure, but silent, +melancholy; and he, the brother whom she loved, could spare her only a +day or two once a year, when he chattered his idle self-conceit. Anyone +else would have taken trouble to inquire the cause of her pallor, her +sadness. He, forsooth, had to learn with astonishment, at last, that +she wished to see him—on her deathbed. +</P> + +<P> +He had often thought of her, and kindly. But he knew her not at all, +took no interest in her existence. She, on the other hand, had +treasured every miserable little letter his idleness vouchsafed; she +had hoped so for his future, ever believing in him. When Amy lay dead, +he saw the sheet of paper on which she had written the few lines +necessary to endow him with all she left—everything 'to my dear +brother'. What words could have reproached him so keenly? +</P> + +<P> +His steps turned to the churchyard, where on a plain upright stone he +read the names of his mother, of his father. Amy's grave was hard by. +He, too, if he had his wish, would some day rest here; and here his own +son would stand, and read his name, and think of him. Ah, but with no +such remorse and self-contempt! That was inconceivable. The tenderness +which dimmed his eyes would have changed to misery had he dreamed it +possible that his own boy could palter so ignobly with the +opportunities of life. +</P> + +<P> +Upon these deep emotions intruded the thought of Alma. Intruded; for he +neither sought nor welcomed his wife's companionship at such a moment, +and he was disturbed by a perception of the little claim she had to be +present with him in spirit. He could no longer pretend to himself that +he loved Alma; whatever the right name for his complex of +feelings—interest, regard, admiration, sexual attachment—assuredly it +must be another word than that sacred to the memory of his parents, to +the desires and hopes centring in his child. For all that, he had no +sense of a hopeless discord in his wedded life; he suffered from no +disillusion, with its attendant bitterness. From this he was saved by +the fact, easy at length to recognise, that in wooing Alma he had +obeyed no dictate of the nobler passion; here, too, as at every other +crisis of life, he had acted on motives which would not bear analysis, +so large was the alloy of mere temperament, of weak concession to +circumstance. Rather than complain that Alma fell short of the ideal in +wifehood, should he not marvel, and be grateful that their marriage +might still be called a happy one? Happiness in marriage is a term of +such vague application: Basil Morton, one in ten thousand, might call +himself happy; even so, all things considered, must the husband who +finds it <I>just</I> possible to endure the contiguity of his wife. Midway +between these extremes of the definition stood Harvey's measure of +matrimonial bliss. He saw that he had no right to grumble. +</P> + +<P> +He saw, moreover, and reflected constantly upon it in these days, how +largely he was himself to blame for the peril of estrangement which +threatened his life with Alma. Meaning well, and thinking himself a +pattern of marital wisdom, he had behaved, as usual, with gross lack of +discretion. The question now was, could he mend the harm that he had +done? Love did not enter into the matter; his difficulty called for +common-sense—for rational methods in behaviour towards a wife whom he +could still respect, and who was closely bound to him by common +interest in their child. +</P> + +<P> +He looked up, and had pleasure once more in the sunny sky. After all, +he, even he, had not committed the most woeful of all blunders; though +it was a mystery how he had escaped it. The crown of his feeble, futile +career should, in all fitness, have been marriage with a woman worse +than himself. And not on his own account did he thank protecting +fortune. One lesson, if one only, he had truly learnt from nature: it +bade him forget all personal disquietude, in joy that he was not guilty +of that crime of crimes, the begetting of children by a worthless +mother. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0302"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 2 +</H3> + +<P> +Mrs. Morton felt a lively interest in Mrs. Rolfe's musical enterprise, +and would have liked to talk about it, but she suspected that the topic +was not very agreeable to her guest. In writing to Morton, Harvey had +just mentioned the matter, and that was all. On the second day of his +visit, when he felt much better, and saw things in a less troubled +light, he wished to remove the impression that he regarded Alma's +proceedings with sullen disapproval; so he took the opportunity of +being alone with his hostess, and talked to her of the great venture +with all the good humour he could command. Mrs. Morton had seen two +notices of Alma's debut; both were so favourable that she imagined them +the augury of a brilliant career. +</P> + +<P> +'I doubt that,' said Harvey; 'and I'm not sure that it's desirable. She +has made herself miserably ill, you see. Excitement is the worst +possible thing for her. And then there's the whole question of whether +professional life is right and good for a married woman. How do you +think about it?' +</P> + +<P> +The lady instanced cases that naturally presented themselves. She +seemed to have no prejudice. Mrs. Rolfe appeared to her a person of +artistic temper; but health was of the first importance; and then—— +</P> + +<P> +Harvey waited; but only a thoughtful smile completed the remark. +</P> + +<P> +'What other consideration had you in mind?' +</P> + +<P> +'Only a commonplace—that a married woman would, of course, be guided +by her husband's wish.' +</P> + +<P> +'You think that equivalent to reason and the will of God?' said Harvey +jocosely. +</P> + +<P> +'If we need appeal to solemn sanction.' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe was reminded, not unpleasantly, that he spoke with a woman to +whom 'the will of God' was something more than a facetious phrase. +</P> + +<P> +'I beg your pardon; let us say reason alone. But is it reasonable for +the artist to sacrifice herself because she happens to have married an +everyday man?' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morton shook her head and laughed. +</P> + +<P> +'If only one know what is meant by the everyday man! My private view of +him is rather flattering, perhaps. I'm inclined to think him, on the +whole, not inferior to the everyday woman; and <I>she</I>—she isn't a bad +sort of creature, if fairly treated. I don't think the everyday man +will go very far wrong, as a rule, in the treatment of his wife.' +</P> + +<P> +'You really believe that?' asked Harvey, with a serious smile. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, is it such a heresy?' +</P> + +<P> +'I should rather have thought so. One is so accustomed to hear the +other view I mean, it's in the air. Don't think I'm asking your +sympathy. I have always wished Alma to act on her own judgment; she has +been left quite free to do so. But if the results seem worse than +doubtful, then comes the difficulty.' +</P> + +<P> +'To be settled, surely, like all other difficulties between sensible +people.' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Morton's faith was of enviable simplicity. She knew, as a matter +of fact, that husbands and wives often found their difficulties +insuperable; but why this should be so, seemed to her one of the dark +and mournful enigmas of life. It implied such a lack not only of good +sense, but of right feeling. In her own experience she had met with no +doubt, no worry, which did not yield to tact, or generous endeavour, +or, at worst, to the creed by which she lived. One solicitude, and one +only, continued to affect her as wife and mother; that it could not +overcome her happy temper was due to the hope perpetually inspired by +her husband's love—a hope inseparable from her profoundest +convictions. She and Morton differed in religious views, and there had +come a grave moment when she asked whether it would be possible to +educate her children in her own belief without putting a distance +between them and their father. The doubt had disappeared, thanks to +Morton's breadth of view, or facility of conscience; there remained the +trouble in which it had originated, but she solaced herself with the +fond assurance that this also would vanish as time went on. In the same +mood of kindly serenity she regarded the lives of her friends, always +hoping for the best, and finding it hard to understand that anyone +could deliberately act with unkindness, unreasonableness, or any other +quality opposed to the common good. +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe had no desire of talking further about his private affairs. He +had made up his mind on the points at issue, and needed no counsel, but +the spirit of Mrs. Morton's conversation helped him to think +tranquilly. The great danger was that he might make things worse by his +way of regarding them. Most unluckily, Alma's illness had become +connected in his imagination with the tragedy of the Carnabys; he could +not keep the things apart. Hugh Carnaby's miserable doom, and the dark +surmises attaching to his wife, doubtless had their part in bringing +about a nervous crisis; why could he not recognise this as perfectly +natural, and dismiss the matter? In spite of all reasoning, Alma's +image ever and again appeared to him shadowed by the gloom which +involved her friend—or the woman who <I>was</I> her friend. He knew it (or +believed it) to be the merest illusion of his perturbed mind; for no +fact, how trivial soever, had suggested to him that Alma knew more of +the circumstances of Redgrave's death than she seemed to know. On the +one hand, he was glad that Alma and Sibyl no longer cared to meet; on +the other, he could not understand what had caused this cessation of +their friendship, and he puzzled over it. But these idle fancies would +pass away; they were already less troublesome. A long country walk with +Morton, during which they conversed only of things intellectual, did +him much good. Not long ago Morton had had a visit from an old +Cambridge friend, a man who had devoted himself to the study of a +certain short period of English history, and hoped, some ten years +hence, to produce an authoritative work on the subject. +</P> + +<P> +'There's a man I envy!' cried Rolfe, when he had listened to Basil's +humorous description of the enthusiast. 'It's exactly what I should +like to do myself.' +</P> + +<P> +'What prevents you?' +</P> + +<P> +'Idleness—irresolution—the feeling that the best of my life is over. +I have never been seriously a student, and it's too late to begin now. +But if I were ten years younger, I would make myself master of +something. What's the use of reading only to forget? In my time I have +gone through no small library of historical books—and it's all a mist +on the mind's horizon. That comes of reading without method, without a +purpose. The time I have given to it would have made me a pundit, if I +had gone to work reasonably.' +</P> + +<P> +'Isn't my case the same?' exclaimed Morton. 'What do I care! I enjoyed +my reading and my knowledge at the time, and that's all I ever +expected.' +</P> + +<P> +'Very well—though you misrepresent yourself. But for me it isn't +enough. I want to know something as well as it can be known. Purely for +my own satisfaction; the thought of "doing something" doesn't come in +at all. I was looking at your county histories this morning, and I felt +a huge longing to give the rest of my life to some little bit of +England, a county, or even a town, and exhaust the possibilities of +knowledge within those limits. Why, Greystone here—it has an +interesting history, even in relation to England at large; and what a +delight there would be in following it out, doggedly, +invincibly—making it one's single subject—grubbing after it in +muniment-rooms and libraries—learning by heart every stone of the old +town—dying at last with the consolation that nobody could teach one +anything more about it!' +</P> + +<P> +'I know the mood,' said Morton, laughing. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm narrowing down,' pursued Harvey. 'Once I had tremendous +visions—dreamt of holding half a dozen civilisations in the hollow of +my hand. I came back from the East in a fury to learn the Oriental +languages—made a start, you know, with Arabic. I dropped one nation +after another, always drawing nearer home. The Latin races were to +suffice me. Then early France, especially in its relations with +England;—Normandy, Anjou. Then early England, especially in its +relations with France. The end will be a county, or a town—nay, +possibly a building. Why not devote one's self to the history of a +market-cross? It would be respectable, I tell you. Thoroughness is all.' +</P> + +<P> +When they were alone in the library at night, Morton spoke of his +eldest boy, expressing some anxiety about him. +</P> + +<P> +'The rascal will have to earn his living—and how? There's time, I +suppose, but it begins to fidget me. He won't handle corn—I'm clear as +to that. At his age, of course, all lads talk about voyages and so on, +but Harry seems cut out for a larger sphere than Greystone. I shan't +balk him. I'd rather he hadn't anything to do with fighting—still, +that's a weakness.' +</P> + +<P> +'We think of sending Wager's lad into the navy,' said Rolfe, when he +had mused awhile. 'Of course, he'll have to make his own way.' +</P> + +<P> +'Best thing you can do, no doubt. And what about his little sister?' +</P> + +<P> +'That's more troublesome. It's awkward that she's a relative of Mrs +Abbott. Otherwise, I should have proposed to train her for a cook.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you mean it?' +</P> + +<P> +'Why not? She isn't a girl of any promise. What better thing for her, +and for the community, than to make her a good cook? They're rare +enough, Heaven knows. What's the use of letting her grow up with ideas +of gentility, which in her case would mean nothing but uselessness? She +must support herself, sooner or later, and it won't be with her brains. +I've seriously thought of making that suggestion to Mrs. Abbott. Ten +years hence, a sensible woman cook will demand her own price, and be a +good deal more respected than a dressmaker or a she-clerk. The stomach +is very powerful in bringing people to common-sense. When all the +bricklayers' daughters are giving piano lessons, and it's next to +impossible to get any servant except a lady's-maid, we shall see women +of leisure develop a surprising interest in the boiling of potatoes.' +</P> + +<P> +Morton admitted the force of these arguments. +</P> + +<P> +'What would you wish your own boy to be?' he asked presently. +</P> + +<P> +'Anything old-fashioned, unadventurous, happily obscure; a country +parson, perhaps, best of all.' +</P> + +<P> +'I understand. I've had the same thoughts. But one Ii to get over that +kind of thing. It won't do to be afraid of life—nor of death either.' +</P> + +<P> +'And there's the difficulty of education,' said Rolfe. 'If I followed +my instincts, I should make the boy unfit for anything but the +quietest, obscurest life. I should make him hate a street, and love the +fields. I should teach him to despise every form of ambition; to shrink +from every kind of pleasure, but the simplest and purest; to think of +life as a long day's ramble, and death as the quiet sleep that comes at +the end of it. I should like him not to marry—never to feel the need +of it; or if marry he must, to have no children. That's my real wish; +and if I tried to carry it out, the chances are that I should do him an +intolerable wrong. For fear of it, I must give him into the hands of +other people; I must see him grow into habits and thoughts which will +cause me perpetual uneasiness; I must watch him drift further and +further away from my own ideal of life, till at length, perhaps, there +is scarce a possibility of sympathy between us.' +</P> + +<P> +'Morbid—all morbid,' remarked the listener. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know. It may only mean that one sees too clearly the root +facts of existence. I have another mood (less frequent) in which I try +to persuade myself that I don't care much about the child; that his +future doesn't really concern me at all. Why should it? He's just one +of the millions of human beings who come and go. A hundred years +hence—what of him and of me? What can it matter how he lived and how +he died? The best kind of education would be that which hardened his +skin and blunted his sympathies. What right have I to make him +sensitive? The thing is, to get through life with as little suffering +as possible. What monstrous folly to teach him to wince and cry out at +the sufferings of other people! Won't he have enough of his own before +he has done? Yet that's what we shall aim at—to cultivate his +sympathetic emotions, so that the death of a bird shall make him sad, +and the sight of human distress wring his heart. Real kindness would +try to make of him a healthy ruffian, with just enough conscience to +keep him from crime.' +</P> + +<P> +'Theory for theory, I prefer this,' said Morton. 'To a certain extent I +try to act upon it.' +</P> + +<P> +'You do?' +</P> + +<P> +'Just because I know that my own tendency is to over-softness. I have +sometimes surprised my wife by bidding Harry disregard things that +appealed to his pity. You remember what old Hobbes says: "<I>Homo malus, +puer robustus</I>"? There was more truth in it in his day than in ours. +It's natural for a boy to be a good deal of a savage, but our +civilisation is doing its best to change that. Why, not long ago the +lad asked me whether fishing wasn't cruel. He evidently felt that it +was, and so do I; but I couldn't say so. I laughed it off, and told him +that a fish diet was excellent for the brains!' +</P> + +<P> +'I hope I may have as much courage,' said Harvey. +</P> + +<P> +'Life is a compromise, my dear fellow. If the world at large would +suddenly come round to a cultivation of the amiable virtues—well and +good. But there's no hope of it. As it is, our little crabs must grow +their hard shell, or they've no chance.' +</P> + +<P> +'What about progress? In educating children, we are making the new +world.' +</P> + +<P> +Morton assented. +</P> + +<P> +'But there's no hurry. The growth must be gradual—will be, whether we +intend it or not. The fact is, I try not to think overmuch about my +children. It remains a doubt, you know, whether education has any +influence worth speaking of.' +</P> + +<P> +'To me,' said Harvey, 'the doubt seems absurd. In my own case, I know, +a good system of training would have made an enormous difference. +Practically, I was left to train myself, and a nice job I made of it. +Do you remember how I used to talk about children before I had one? I +have thought it was the talk of a fool; but, perhaps, after all, it had +more sanity than my views nowadays.' +</P> + +<P> +'<I>Medio tutissimus</I>,' murmured Basil. +</P> + +<P> +'And what about your girls?' asked the other, when they had smoked in +silence. 'Is the difficulty greater or less?' +</P> + +<P> +'From my point of view, less. For one thing, I can leave them entirely +in the hands of their mother; if they resemble her, they won't do +amiss. And there's no bother about work in life; they will have enough +to live upon—just enough. Of course, they may want to go out into the +world. I shall neither hinder nor encourage. I had rather they stayed +at home.' +</P> + +<P> +'Don't lose sight of the possibility that by when they are grown up +there may be no such thing as "home". The word is dying out.' +</P> + +<P> +Morton's pedantry led him again to murmur Latin—— +</P> + +<P> +'<I>Multa renascentur quoe jam cecidere</I>.' +</P> + +<P> +'You're the happiest man I know, or ever shall know,' said Rolfe, with +more feeling than he cared to exhibit. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't make me think about Croesus, King of Lydia. On the whole, +happiness means health, and health comes of occupation. In one point I +agree with you about yourself: it would have been better if someone had +found the right kind of work for you, and made you stick to it. +By-the-bye, how does your friend, the photographic man, get on?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not at all badly. Did I tell you I had put money into it? I go there a +good deal, and pretend to do something.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why pretend? Couldn't you find a regular job there for a few hours +every day?' +</P> + +<P> +'I dare say I could. It'll be easier to get backwards and forwards from +Gunnersbury. How would you like,' he added, with a laugh, 'to live at +Gunnersbury?' +</P> + +<P> +'What does it matter where one lives? I have something of a prejudice +against Hoxton or Bermondsey; but I think I could get along in most +other places. Gunnersbury is rather pleasant, I thought. Isn't it quite +near to Kew and Richmond?' +</P> + +<P> +'Do those names attract you?' +</P> + +<P> +'They have a certain charm for the rustic ear.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's all one to me. Hughie will go to school, and make friends with +other children. You see, he's had no chance of it yet. We know a +hundred people or so, but have no intimates. Is there such a thing as +intimacy of families in London? I'm inclined to think not. Here, you go +into each other's houses without fuss and sham; you know each other, +and trust each other. In London there's no such comfort, at all events +for educated people. If you have a friend, he lives miles away; before +his children and yours can meet, they must travel for an hour and a +half by bus and underground.' +</P> + +<P> +'I suppose it <I>must</I> be London?' interrupted Morton. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm afraid so,' Harvey replied absently, and his friend said no more. +</P> + +<P> +He had meant this visit to be of three days at most; but time slipped +by so pleasantly that a week was gone before he could resolve on +departure. Most of the mornings he spent in rambles alone, +rediscovering many a spot in the country round which had been familiar +to him as a boy, but which he had never cared to seek in his +revisitings of Greystone hitherto. One day, as he followed the windings +of a sluggish stream, he saw flowers of arrowhead, white flowers with +crimson centre, floating by the bank, and remembered that he had once +plucked them here when on a walk with his father, who held him the +while, lest he should stretch too far and fall in. To reach them now, +he lay down upon the grassy brink; and in that moment there returned to +him, with exquisite vividness, the mind, the senses, of childhood; once +more he knew the child's pleasure in contact with earth, and his hand +grasped hard at the sweet-smelling turf as though to keep hold upon the +past thus fleetingly recovered. It was gone—no doubt, for ever; a last +glimpse vouchsafed to him of life's beginning as he set his face +towards the end. Then came a thought of joy. The keen sensations which +he himself had lost were his child's inheritance. Somewhere in the +fields, this summer morning, Hughie was delighting in the scent, the +touch, of earth, young amid a world where all was new. The stereotyped +phrase about parents living again in their children became a reality +and a source of deep content. So does a man repeat the experience of +the race, and with each step onward live into the meaning of some old +word that he has but idly echoed. +</P> + +<P> +On the day before he left, a letter reached him from Alma. He had felt +surprise at not hearing sooner from her; but Alma's words explained the +delay. +</P> + +<P> +'I have been thinking a great deal,' she wrote, 'and I want to tell you +of my thoughts. Don't imagine they are mere fancies, the result of +ill-health. I feel all but well again, and have a perfectly clear head. +And perhaps it is better that I should write what I have to say, +instead of speaking it. In this way I oblige you to hear me out. I +don't mean that you are in the habit of interrupting me, but perhaps +you would if I began to talk as I am going to write. +</P> + +<P> +'Why can't we stay at Pinner? +</P> + +<P> +'There, that shall have a line to itself. Take breath, and now listen +again. I dislike the thought of removing to Gunnersbury—really and +seriously I dislike it. You know I haven't given you this kind of +trouble before; when we left Wales I was quite willing to have stayed +on if you had wished it—wasn't I? Forgive me, then, for springing this +upon you after all your arrangements are made; I could not do it if I +did not feel that our happiness (not mine only) is concerned. Would it +be possible to cancel your agreement with the Gunnersbury man? If not, +couldn't you sublet, with little or no loss? The Pinner house isn't let +yet—is it? Do let us stay where we are. I think it is the first +serious request I ever made of you, and I think you will see that I +have some right to make it. +</P> + +<P> +'I had rather, much rather, that Hughie did not go to Mrs. Abbott's +school. Don't get angry and call me foolish. What I mean is, that I +would rather teach him myself. In your opinion I have neglected him, +and I confess that you are right. There now! I shall give up my music; +at all events, I shall not play again in public. I have shown what I +could do, and that's enough. You don't like it—though you have never +tried to show me <I>why</I>—and again I feel that you are right. A +professional life for me would mean, I see it now, the loss of things +more precious. I will give it up, and live quietly at home. I will have +regular hours for teaching Hughie. If you prefer it, Pauline shall go, +and I will take charge of him altogether. If I do this, what need for +us to remove? The house is more comfortable than the new one at +Gunnersbury; we are accustomed to it; and by being farther from London +I shall have less temptation to gad about. I know exactly what I am +promising, and I feel I <I>can</I> do it, now that my mind is made up. +</P> + +<P> +'Need I fear a refusal? I can't think so. Give the matter your best +thought, and see whether there are not several reasons on my side. But, +please, answer as soon as you can, for I shall be in suspense till I +hear from you. +</P> + +<P> +Alma signed herself 'Yours ever affectionately', but Harvey could find +no trace of affection in the letter. It astonished and annoyed him. Of +course, it could have but one explanation; Alma might as well have +saved herself trouble by writing, in a line or two, that she disliked +Mrs. Abbott, and could not bear that the child should be taught by her. +He read through the pages again, and grew angry. What right had she to +make such a request as this, and in the tone of a demand? Twice in the +letter she asserted that she <I>had</I> a right, asserted it as if with some +mysterious reference. Had he sat down immediately to reply, Harvey +would have written briefly forcibly; for, putting aside other grounds +of irritation, there is nothing a man dislikes more than being called +upon at last moment to upset elaborate and troublesome arrangements. +But he was obliged to postpone his answer for a few hours, and in the +meantime he grew more tolerant of Alma's feelings. Had her objection +come earlier, accompanied by the same proposals, he would have been +inclined to listen; but things had gone too far. He wrote, quite +good-temperedly, but without shadow of wavering. There was nothing +sudden, he pointed out, in the step he was about to take; Alma had +known it for months, and had acquiesced in it. As for her music, he +quite agreed with her that she would find it better in every way to +abandon thoughts of a public career; and the fact of Hughie's going to +school for two or three hours a day would in no wise interfere with her +wish to see more of him. What her precise meaning was in saying that +she had some 'right' to make this request, he declared himself unable +to discover. Was it a reproach? If so, his conscience afforded him no +light, and he hoped Alma would explain the words in a letter to him at +Pinner. +</P> + +<P> +This correspondence clouded his last evening at Greystone. He was glad +that some acquaintances of Morton's came, and stayed late; sitting +alone with his friend, he would have been tempted to talk of Alma, and +he felt that silence was better just now. +</P> + +<P> +By a train soon after breakfast next morning, he left the old town, +dearer to him each time that he beheld it, and travelled slowly to the +main-line junction, whence again he travelled slowly to Peterborough. +There the express caught him up, and flung him into roaring London +again. Before going to Pinner, he wished to see Cecil Morphew, for he +had an idea to communicate—a suggestion for the extending of business +by opening correspondence with out of the way towns, such as Greystone. +</P> + +<P> +On reaching the shop in Westminster Bridge Road, he found that Morphew +also had a communication to make, and of a more exciting nature. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0303"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 3 +</H3> + +<P> +Morphew was engaged upstairs with the secretary of an Amateur +Photographic Society. Waiting for this person's departure, Rolfe talked +with the shopman—a capable fellow, aged about thirty, whose heart was +in the business; he looked at a new hand-camera, which seemed likely to +have a good sale, and heard encouraging reports of things in general. +Then Morphew came down, escorting his visitor. As soon as he was free, +he grasped Harvey by the arm, and whispered eagerly that he had +something to tell him. They went upstairs together, into a room +furnished as an office, hung about with many framed photographs. +</P> + +<P> +'He's dead!' exclaimed Cecil—'he's dead!' +</P> + +<P> +A name was needless. Only one man's death could be the cause of such +excitement in Morphew, and it had been so long awaited that the event +had no touch of solemnity. Yet Harvey perceived that his friend's +exultation was not unmixed with disquietude. +</P> + +<P> +'Yesterday morning, early. I heard it by chance. Of course, she hasn't +written to me, but no doubt I shall hear in a few days. I walked about +near the house for hours last night—like an idiot. The thing seemed +impossible; I had to keep reminding myself, by looking at the windows, +that it was true. Eight years—think of that! Eight years' misery, due +to that fellow's snobbishness!' +</P> + +<P> +In Harvey's mind the story had a somewhat different aspect. He knew +nothing personally of this Mr. Winter, who might indeed be an +incarnation of snobbery; on the other hand, Cecil Morphew had his +defects, and even to a liberal-minded parent might not recommend +himself as a son-in-law. Then again, the young lady herself, now about +six and twenty, must surely have been influenced by some other motive +than respect for her parents' wishes, in thus protracting her +engagement with a lover who had a secure, though modest, income. Was it +not conceivable that she inherited something of the paternal spirit? +or, at all events, that her feelings had not quite the warmth that +Morphew imagined? +</P> + +<P> +'I'm glad it's over,' he replied cordially. 'Now begins a new life for +you.' +</P> + +<P> +'But eight years—eight years of waiting——' +</P> + +<P> +'Hang it, what is your age? Thirty! Why, you're only just old enough. +No man ought to marry before thirty.' +</P> + +<P> +Morphew interrupted vehemently. +</P> + +<P> +'That's all rot! Excuse me; I can't help it. A man ought to marry when +he's urged to it by his nature, and as soon as he finds the right +woman. If I had married eight years ago——.' He broke off with an +angry gesture, misery in his eyes. 'You don't believe that humbug, +Rolfe; you repeat it just to console me. There's little consolation, I +can assure you. I was two and twenty; she, nineteen. Mature man and +woman; and we longed for each other. Nothing but harm could come of +waiting year after year, wretched both of us.' +</P> + +<P> +'I confess,' said Harvey, 'I don't quite see why she waited after +twenty-one.' +</P> + +<P> +'Because she is a good, gentle girl, and could not bear to make her +father and mother unhappy. The blame is all theirs—mean, shallow, +grovelling souls!' +</P> + +<P> +'What about her mother now?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, she was never so obstinate as the old jackass. She'll have little +enough to live upon, and we shall soon arrange things with her somehow. +Is it credible that human beings can be so senseless? For years now, +their means have been growing less and less, just because the snobbish +idiot <I>would</I> keep up appearances. If he had lived a little longer, the +widow would have had practically no income at all. Of course, she +shared in the folly, and I'm only sorry she won't suffer more for it. +They didn't enjoy their lives—never have done. They lived in miserable +slavery to the opinion of their fellow-snobs. You remember that story +about the flowers at their silver wedding: two hundred pounds—just +because Mrs. Somebody spent as much—when they couldn't really afford +two hundred shillings. And they groaned over it—he and she—like +people with the stomachache. Why, the old fool died of nothing else; he +was worn out by the fear of having to go into a smaller house.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey would have liked to put a question: was it possible that the +daughter of such people could be endowed with virtues such as become +the wife of a comparatively poor man? But he had to ask it merely in +his own thoughts. Before long, no doubt, he would meet the lady herself +and appease his curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +Whilst they were talking, there came a knock at the door; the shopman +announced two ladies, who wished to inquire about some photographic +printing. +</P> + +<P> +'Will you see them, Rolfe?' asked Cecil. 'I don't feel like it—indeed +I don't. You'll be able to tell them all they want.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey found himself equal to the occasion, and was glad of it; he +needed occupation of some kind to keep his thoughts from an unpleasant +subject. After another talk with Morphew, in which they stuck to +business, he set off homeward. +</P> + +<P> +Here news awaited him. On his arrival all seemed well; Ruth opened the +door, answered his greeting in her quiet, respectful way, and at once +brought tea to the study. When he rang to have the things taken away, +Ruth again appeared, and he saw now that she had something unusual to +say. +</P> + +<P> +'I didn't like to trouble you the first thing, sir,' she began—'but +Sarah left yesterday without giving any notice; and I think it's +perhaps as well she did, sir. I've heard some things about her not at +all nice.' +</P> + +<P> +'We must find someone else, then,' replied Harvey. 'It's lucky she +didn't go at a less convenient time. Was there some unpleasantness +between you?' +</P> + +<P> +'I had warned her, for her own good, sir, that was all. And there's +something else I had perhaps better tell you now, sir.' Her voice, with +its pleasant Welsh accent, faltered ominously. 'I'm very sorry indeed +to say it, sir, but I shall be obliged to leave as soon as Mrs. Rolfe +can spare me.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey was overwhelmed. He looked upon Ruth as a permanent member of +the household. She had made herself indispensable; to her was owing the +freedom from domestic harassment which Alma had always enjoyed—a most +exceptional blessing, yet regarded, after all this time, as a matter of +course. The departure of Ruth meant conflict with ordinary servants, in +which Alma would assuredly be worsted. At this critical moment of their +life, scarcely could anything more disastrous have happened. Seeing her +master's consternation, Ruth was sore troubled, and hastened to explain +herself. +</P> + +<P> +'My brother's wife has just died, sir, and left him with three young +children, and there's no one else can be of help to him but me. He +wanted me to come at once, but, of course, I told him I couldn't do +that. No one can be sorry for his wife's death; she was such a poor, +silly, complaining, useless creature; he hasn't had a quiet day since +he married her. She belonged to Liverpool, and there they were married, +and when he brought her to Carnarvon I said to myself as soon as I saw +her that <I>she</I> wouldn't be much use to a working-man. She began the +very first day to complain and to grumble, and she's gone on with it +ever since. When I was there in my last holiday I really wondered how +he bore his life. There's many women of that kind, sir, but I never +knew one as bad as her—never. Everything was too much trouble for her, +and she didn't know how to do a thing in the house. I didn't mean to +trouble you with such things, sir. I only told you just to show why I +don't feel I can refuse to go and help him, and try to give him a +little peace and quiet. He's a hard-working man, and the children +aren't very healthy, and I'm sure I don't know how he'd manage——' +</P> + +<P> +'You have no choice, Ruth, I see. Well, we must hope to find some one +in your place—<I>but</I>——' +</P> + +<P> +Just as he shook his head, the house-bell rang, and Ruth withdrew to +answer it. In a minute or two the study door opened again. Harvey +looked up and saw Alma. +</P> + +<P> +'I was obliged to come,' she said, approaching him, as he rose in +astonishment. 'I thought at first of asking you to come on to +Basingstoke, but we can talk better here.' +</P> + +<P> +No sign of pleasure in their meeting passed between them. On Harvey's +face lingered something of the disturbance caused by Ruth's +communication, and Alma understood it as due to her unexpected arrival; +the smile with which she had entered died away, and she stood like a +stranger doubtful of her reception. +</P> + +<P> +'Was it necessary to talk?' asked Rolfe, pushing forward a chair, and +doing his best to show good humour. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes—after your reply to my letter this morning,' she answered coldly. +</P> + +<P> +'Well, you must have some tea first. This is cold. Won't you go and +take your things off, and I'll tell Ruth. By-the-bye, we re in +confusion.' +</P> + +<P> +He sketched the position of things; but Alma heard without interest. +</P> + +<P> +'It can't be helped,' was her absent reply. 'There are plenty of +servants.' +</P> + +<P> +Fresh tea was brought, and after a brief absence Alma sat down to it. +Her health had improved during the past week, but she looked tired from +the journey, and was glad to lean back in her chair. For some minutes +neither of them spoke. Harvey had never seen an expression on Alma's +features which was so like hostility; it moved him to serious +resentment. It is common enough for people who have been several years +wedded to feel exasperation in each other's presence, but for Rolfe the +experience was quite new, and so extremely disagreeable, that his +pulses throbbed with violence, and his mouth grew dry. He determined to +utter not a word until Alma began conversation. This she did at length, +with painful effort. +</P> + +<P> +'I think your answer to me was very unkind.' +</P> + +<P> +'I didn't mean it so.' +</P> + +<P> +'You simply said that you wouldn't do as I wished.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not that I wouldn't, but that it was impossible. And I showed you the +reasons—though I should have thought it superfluous.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma waited a moment, then asked—— +</P> + +<P> +'Is this house let?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know. I suppose not.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then there is no reason whatever why we shouldn't stay here.' +</P> + +<P> +'There is every reason why we shouldn't stay here. Every arrangement +has been made for our leaving—everything fully talked over. What has +made you change your mind?' +</P> + +<P> +'I haven't really changed my mind. I always disliked the idea of going +to Gunnersbury, and you must have seen that I did; but I was so much +occupied with—with other things; and, as I have told you, I didn't +feel quite the same about my position as I do now.' +</P> + +<P> +She expressed herself awkwardly, growing very nervous. At the first +sign of distress in her, Harvey was able to change his tone. +</P> + +<P> +'Things are going horribly wrong somehow, Alma. There's only one way +out of it. Just say in honest words what you mean. Why do you dislike +the thought of our moving?' +</P> + +<P> +'I told you in my letter,' she answered, somewhat acridly. +</P> + +<P> +'There was no explanation. You said something I couldn't understand, +about having a <I>right</I> to ask me to stay here.' +</P> + +<P> +She glanced at him with incredulous disdain. +</P> + +<P> +'If you don't understand, I can't put it into plainer words.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well now, let <I>me</I> put the whole matter into plainer words than I have +liked to use.' Rolfe spoke deliberately, and not unkindly, though he +was tempted to give way to wrath at what he imagined a display of +ignoble and groundless jealousy. 'All along I have allowed you to take +your own course. No, I mustn't say "allowed", the word is inapplicable; +I never claimed the right to dictate to you. We agreed that this was +the way for rational husband and wife. It seemed to us that I had no +more right to rule over you than you to lay down the law for me. Using +your freedom, you chose to live the life of an artist—that is to say, +you troubled yourself as little as possible about home and family. I am +not complaining—not a bit of it. The thing was an experiment, to be +sure; but I have held to the conditions, watched their working. +Latterly I began to see that they didn't work well, and it appears that +you agree with me. This is how matters stand; or rather, this is how +they stood until, for some mysterious reason, you seemed to grow +unfriendly. The reason is altogether mysterious; I leave you to explain +it. From my point of view, the failure of our experiment is simple and +natural enough. Though I had only myself to blame, I have felt for a +long time that you were in an utterly false position. Now you begin to +see things in the same light. Well and good; why can't we start afresh? +The only obstacle is your unfriendly feeling. Give me an opportunity of +removing it. I hate to be on ill terms with you; it seems monstrous, +unaccountable. It puts us on a level with married folk in a London +lodging-house. Is it necessary to sink quite so low?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma listened with trembling intensity, and seemed at first unable to +reply. Her agitation provoked Harvey more than it appealed to his pity. +</P> + +<P> +'If you can't do as I wish,' she said at length, with an endeavour to +speak calmly, 'I see no use in making any change in my own life. There +will be no need of me. I shall make arrangements to go on with my +professional career.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey's features for a moment set themselves in combativeness, but as +quickly they relaxed, and showed an ambiguous smile. +</P> + +<P> +'No need of you—and Ruth going to leave us?' +</P> + +<P> +'There oughtn't to be any difficulty in finding someone just as good.' +</P> + +<P> +'Perhaps there ought not to be; but we may thank our stars if we find +anyone half as trustworthy. The chances are that a dozen will come and +go before we settle down again. I don't enjoy that prospect, and I +shall want a good deal of help from you in bearing the discomfort.' +</P> + +<P> +'What kind of help? Of course, I shall see that the house goes on as +usual.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then it's quite certain you will have no time left for a "professional +career".' +</P> + +<P> +'If I understand you, you mean that you don't wish me to have any time +for it.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey still smiled, though he could not conceal his nervousness. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm afraid it comes to that.' +</P> + +<P> +So little had Alma expected such a declaration, that she gazed at him +in frank surprise. +</P> + +<P> +'Then you are going to oppose me in everything?' +</P> + +<P> +'I hope not. In that case we should do much better to say good-bye.' +</P> + +<P> +The new tone perplexed her, and a puzzled interest mingled with the +lofty displeasure of her look. +</P> + +<P> +'Please let us understand each other.' She spoke with demonstrative +calmness. 'Are we talking on equal terms, or is it master and servant?' +</P> + +<P> +'Husband and wife, Alma, that's all.' +</P> + +<P> +'With a new meaning in the words.' +</P> + +<P> +'No; a very old one. I won't say the oldest, for I believe there was a +time when primitive woman had the making of man in every sense, and +somehow knocked a few ideas into his head; but that was very long ago.' +</P> + +<P> +'If I could be sure of your real meaning——.' She made an irritated +gesture. 'How are we going to live? You speak of married people in +lodging-houses. I don't know much about them, happily, but I imagine +the husband talks something like this—though in more intelligible +language.' +</P> + +<P> +'I dare say he does—poor man. He talks more plainly, because he has +never put himself in a false position—has never played foolishly with +the facts of life.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma sat reflecting. +</P> + +<P> +'Didn't I tell you in my letter,' she said at length, 'that I was quite +willing to make a change, on one condition?' +</P> + +<P> +'An impossible condition.' +</P> + +<P> +'You treat me very harshly. How have I deserved it? When I wrote that, +I really wished to please you. Of course, I knew you were dissatisfied +with me, and it made me dissatisfied with myself. I wrote in a way that +ought to have brought me a very different answer. Why do you behave as +if I were guilty of something—as if I had put myself at your mercy? +You never found fault with me—you even encouraged me to go on——' +</P> + +<P> +Her choking voice made Harvey look at her in apprehension, and the look +stopped her just as she was growing hysterical. +</P> + +<P> +'You are right about my letter,' he said, very gravely and quietly. 'It +ought to have been in a kinder tone. It would have been, but for those +words you won't explain.' +</P> + +<P> +'You think it needs any explanation that I dislike the thought of +Hughie going to Mrs. Abbott's?' +</P> + +<P> +'Indeed I do. I can't imagine a valid ground for your objection.' +</P> + +<P> +There was a word on Alma's tongue, but her lips would not utter it. She +turned very pale under the mental conflict. Physical weakness, instead +of overcoming her spirit, excited it to a fresh effort of resistance. +</P> + +<P> +'Then,' she said, rising from the chair, 'you are not only unkind to +me, but dishonest.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey flushed. +</P> + +<P> +'You are making yourself ill again. We had far better not talk at all.' +</P> + +<P> +'I came up for no other purpose. We have to settle everything.' +</P> + +<P> +'As far as I am concerned, everything is settled.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then I have no choice,' said Alma, with subdued passion. 'We shall +live as we have done. I shall accept any engagement that offers, in +London or the country, and regard music as my chief concern. You wished +it, and so it shall be.' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe hesitated. Believing that her illness was the real cause of this +commotion, he felt it his duty to use all possible forbearance; yet he +knew too well the danger of once more yielding, and at such a crisis. +The contest had declared itself—it was will against will; to decide it +by the exertion of his sane strength against Alma's hysteria might be +best even for the moment. He had wrought himself to the point of +unwonted energy, a state of body and mind difficult to recover if now +he suffered defeat. Alma, turning from him, seemed about to leave the +room. +</P> + +<P> +'One moment——' +</P> + +<P> +She looked round, carelessly attentive. +</P> + +<P> +'That wouldn't be living as we have done. It would be an intolerable +state of things after this.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's your own decision.' +</P> + +<P> +'Far from it. I wouldn't put up with it for a day.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then there's only one thing left: I must go and live by myself.' +</P> + +<P> +'I couldn't stand that either, and wouldn't try.' +</P> + +<P> +'I am no slave! I shall live where and how I choose.' +</P> + +<P> +'When you have thought about it more calmly, your choice will be the +same as mine.' +</P> + +<P> +Trembling violently, she backed away from him. Harvey thought she would +fall; he tried to hold her by the arm, but Alma shook him off, and in +the same moment regained her strength. She faced him with a new +defiance, which enabled her at last to speak the words hitherto +unutterable. +</P> + +<P> +'How do you think I can bear to see Hughie with <I>those</I> children?' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe stood in amaze. The suddenness of this reversion to another stage +of their argument enhanced his natural difficulty in understanding her. +'What children?' +</P> + +<P> +'Those two—whatever their name may be.' +</P> + +<P> +'Wager's boy and girl?' +</P> + +<P> +'You call them so.' +</P> + +<P> +'Are you going crazy? I <I>call</I> them so?—what do you mean?' +</P> + +<P> +A sudden misgiving appeared in Alma's eyes; she stared at him so +strangely that Harvey began to fear for her reason. +</P> + +<P> +'What is it, dear? What have you been thinking? Tell me—speak like +yourself——' +</P> + +<P> +'Why do you take so much interest in them?' she asked faintly. +</P> + +<P> +'Heavens! You have suspected——? What <I>have</I> you suspected?' +</P> + +<P> +'They are your own. I have known it for a long time.' +</P> + +<P> +Alarm notwithstanding, Rolfe was so struck by the absurdity of this +charge that he burst into stentorian laughter. Whilst he laughed, Alma +sank into a chair, powerless, tearful. +</P> + +<P> +'I should much like to know,' exclaimed Harvey, laying a hand upon her, +'how you made that astounding discovery. Do you think they are like me?' +</P> + +<P> +'The girl is—or I thought so.' +</P> + +<P> +'After you had decided that she must be, no doubt.' Again he exploded +in laughter. 'And this is the meaning of it all? This is what you have +been fretting over? For how long?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma brushed away her tears, but gave no answer. +</P> + +<P> +'And if I am their father,' he pursued, with resolute mirthfulness, +'pray, who do you suppose their mother to be?' +</P> + +<P> +Still Alma kept silence, her head bent. +</P> + +<P> +'I'll warrant I can give you evidence against myself which you hadn't +discovered,' Rolfe went on—'awful and unanswerable evidence. It is I +who support those children, and pay for their education!—it is I, and +no other. See your darkest suspicion confirmed. If only you had known +this for certain!' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, then, do you do it?' asked Alma, without raising her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +'For a very foolish reason: there was no one else who could or would.' +</P> + +<P> +'And why did you keep it a secret from me?' +</P> + +<P> +'This is the blackest part of the whole gloomy affair,' he answered, +with burlesque gravity. 'It's in the depraved nature of men to keep +secrets from their wives, especially about money. To tell the truth, +I'm hanged if I know why I didn't tell you before our marriage. The +infamous step was taken not very long before, and I might as well have +made a clean breast of it. Has Mrs. Abbott never spoken to you about +her cousin, Wager's wife?' +</P> + +<P> +'A word or two.' +</P> + +<P> +'Which you took for artful fiction? You imagined she had plotted with +me to deceive you? What, in the name of commonsense, is your estimate +of Mrs. Abbott's character?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma drew a deep breath, and looked up into her husband's face. +'Still—she knew you were keeping it from me, about the money.' +</P> + +<P> +'She had no suspicion of it. She always wrote to me openly, +acknowledging the cheques. Would it gratify you to look through her +letters?' +</P> + +<P> +'I believe you.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not quite, I fancy. Look at me again and say it.' +</P> + +<P> +He raised her head gently. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, I believe you—it was very silly.' +</P> + +<P> +'It was. The only piece of downright feminine foolishness I ever knew +you guilty of. But when did it begin?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma had become strangely quiet. She spoke in a low, tired voice, and +sat with head turned aside, resting against the back of the chair; her +face was expressionless, her eyelids drooped. Rolfe had to repeat his +question. +</P> + +<P> +'I hardly know,' she replied. 'It must have been when my illness was +coming on.' +</P> + +<P> +'So I should think. It was sheer frenzy. And now that it's over, have +you still any prejudice against Mrs. Abbott?' +</P> + +<P> +'No.' +</P> + +<P> +The syllable fell idly from her lips. +</P> + +<P> +'You are tired, dear. All this sound and fury has been too much for +you. Lie down on the sofa till dinner-time.' +</P> + +<P> +She allowed him to lead her across the room, and lay down as he wished. +To his kiss upon her forehead she made no response, but closed her eyes +and was very still. Harvey seated himself at his desk, and opened two +or three unimportant letters which had arrived this morning. To one of +them he wrote an answer. Turning presently to glance at Alma, he saw +that she had not stirred, and when he leaned towards her, the sound of +her breathing told him that she was asleep. +</P> + +<P> +He meditated on Woman. +</P> + +<P> +A quarter of an hour before dinner-time he left the room; on his +return, when the meal was ready, he found Alma still sleeping, and so +soundly that it seemed wrong to wake her. As rays of sunset had begun +to fall into the room, he drew the blind, then quietly went out, and +had dinner by himself. +</P> + +<P> +At ten o'clock Alma still slept. Using a closely-shaded lamp, Harvey +sat in the room with her and read—or seemed to read; for ever and +again his eyes strayed to the still figure, and his thoughts wandered +over all he knew of Alma's life. He wished he knew more, that he might +better understand her. Of her childhood, her early maidenhood, what +conception had he? Yet he and she were <I>one</I>—so said the creeds. And +Harvey laughed to himself, a laugh more of melancholy than of derision. +</P> + +<P> +The clock ticked on; it was near to eleven. Then Alma stirred, raised +herself, and looked towards the light. +</P> + +<P> +'Harvey——? Have I been asleep so long?' +</P> + +<P> +'Nearly five hours.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! That was last night——' +</P> + +<P> +'You mean, you had no sleep?' +</P> + +<P> +'Didn't close my eyes.' +</P> + +<P> +'And you feel better now?' +</P> + +<P> +'Rather hungry.' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe laughed. He had seated himself on the couch by her and held her +in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, then we'll have some supper—a cold fowl and a bottle of +Burgundy—a profligate supper, fit for such abandoned characters; and +over it you shall tell me how the world looked to you when you were ten +years old.' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0304"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 4 +</H3> + +<P> +Alma returned to Basingstoke, and remained there until the new house +was ready for her reception. With the help of her country friends she +engaged two domestics, cook and housemaid, who were despatched to +Gunnersbury in advance; they had good 'characters', and might possibly +co-operate with their new mistress in her resolve to create an +admirable household. Into this ambition Alma had thrown herself with no +less fervour than that which carried her off to wild Wales five years +ago; but her aim was now strictly 'practical', she would have nothing +more to do with 'ideals'. She took lessons in domestic economy from the +good people at Basingstoke. Yes, she had found her way at last! Alma +saw it in the glow of a discovery, this calm, secure, and graceful +middle-way. She talked of it with an animation that surprised and +pleased her little circle down in Hampshire; those ladies had never +been able to illumine their everyday discharge of duty with such high +imaginative glory. In return for their humble lessons, Alma taught them +to admire themselves, to see in their place and functions a nobility +they had never suspected. +</P> + +<P> +For a day or two after her arrival at Gunnersbury, Harvey thought that +he had never seen her look so well; certainly she had never shown the +possibilities of her character to such advantage. It seemed out of the +question that any trouble could ever again come between them. Only when +the excitement of novelty had subsided did he perceive that Alma was +far from having recovered her physical strength. A walk of a mile or +two exhausted her; she came home from an hour's exercise with Hughie +pale and tremulous; and of a morning it was often to be noticed that +she had not slept well. Without talking of it, Harvey planned the +holiday which Alma had declared would be quite needless this year; he +took a house in Norfolk for September. Before the day of departure, +Alma had something to tell him, which, by suggesting natural +explanation of her weakness, made him less uneasy. Remembering the +incident which had brought to a close their life in Wales, he saw with +pleasure that Alma no longer revolted against the common lot of woman. +Perhaps, indeed, the announcement she made to him was the cause of more +anxiety in his mind than in hers. +</P> + +<P> +They took their servants with them, and left the house to a caretaker. +Pauline Smith, though somewhat against Harvey's judgment, had been +called upon to resign; Alma wished to have Hughie to herself, save +during his school hours; he slept in her room, and she tended him most +conscientiously. Harvey had asked whether she would like to invite any +one, but she preferred to be alone. +</P> + +<P> +This month by the northern sea improved her health, but she had little +enjoyment. After a few days, she wearied of the shore and the moorland, +and wished herself back at Gunnersbury. Nature had never made much +appeal to her; when she spoke of its beauties with admiration, she +echoed the approved phrases, little more; all her instincts drew +towards the life of a great town. Sitting upon the sand, between cliff +and breakers, she lost herself in a dream of thronged streets and +brilliant rooms; the voice of the waves became the roar of traffic, a +far sweeter music. With every year this tendency had grown stronger; +she could only marvel, now, at the illusion which enabled her to live +so long, all but contentedly, in that wilderness where Hughie was born. +Rather than return to it, she would die—rather, a thousand times. +Happily, there was no such danger. Harvey would never ask her to leave +London. All he desired was that she should hold apart from certain +currents of town life; and this she was resolved to do, knowing how +nearly they had swept her to destruction. +</P> + +<P> +'Wouldn't you like to take up your sketching again?' said Harvey one +day, when he saw that she felt dull. +</P> + +<P> +'Sketching? Oh, I had forgotten all about it. It seems ages ago. I +should have to begin and learn all over again. No, no; it isn't worth +while. I shall have no time.' +</P> + +<P> +She did not speak discontentedly, but Rolfe saw already the +justification of his misgivings. She had begun to feel the constant +presence of the child a restraint and a burden. +</P> + +<P> +Happily, on their return home, Hughie would go to school for a couple +of hours each morning. Alma could have wished it any other school than +Mary Abbott's, but the thought was no longer so insupportable as when +she suffered under her delusion concerning the two children. Now that +she had frequently seen Minnie Wager, she wondered at the +self-deception which allowed her to detect in the child's face a +distinct resemblance to Harvey. Of course, there was nothing of the +kind. She had been the victim of a morbid jealousy—a symptom, no +doubt, of the disorder of the nerves which was growing upon her. Yet +she could not overcome her antipathy to Mary Abbott. Harvey, she felt +sure, would never have made himself responsible for those children, but +that in doing so he benefited their teacher; and it was not without +motive of conscience that he kept the matter secret. By no effort could +Alma banish this suspicion. She resolved that it should never appear; +she commanded her face and her utterance; but it was impossible for her +ever to regard Mrs. Abbott with liking, or even with respect. +</P> + +<P> +In a darker corner of her mind lay hidden another shape of +jealousy—jealousy unavowed, often disguised as fear, but for the most +part betraying itself through the mask of hatred. +</P> + +<P> +Times innumerable, in nights that brought no rest, and through long +hours of weary day, Alma had put her heart to the proof, and acquitted +it of any feeling save a natural compassion for the man Hugh Carnaby +had killed. She had never loved Redgrave, had never even thought of him +with that curiosity which piques the flesh; yet so inseparably was he +associated with her life at its points of utmost tension and ardour, +that she could not bear to yield to any other woman a closer intimacy, +a prior claim. At her peril she had tempted him, and up to the fatal +moment she was still holding her own in the game which had become to +her a passion. It ended—because a rival came between. Of Sibyl's guilt +she never admitted a doubt; it was manifest in the story made public by +Hugh Carnaby, the story which he, great simple fellow, told in all good +faith, relying absolutely on his wife's assertion of innocence. Saving +her husband, who believed Sibyl innocent? +</P> + +<P> +She flattered herself with the persuasion that it was right to hate +Sibyl—a woman who had sold herself for money, whose dishonour differed +in no respect from that of the woman of the pavement. And all the more +she hated her because she feared her. What security could there be that +Redgrave's murderer (thus she thought of him) had kept the secret which +he promised to keep? That he allowed no hint of it to escape him in +public did not prove that he had been equally scrupulous with Sibyl; +for Hugh was a mere plaything in the hands of his wife, and it seemed +more than likely that he had put his stupid conscience at rest by +telling her everything. Were it so, what motive would weigh with Sibyl +to keep her silent? One, and one only, could be divined: a fear lest +Alma, through intimacy with Redgrave, might have discovered things +which put her in a position to dare the enmity of her former friend. +This, no doubt, would hold Sibyl to discretion. Yet it could not +relieve Alma from the fear of her, and of Hugh Carnaby himself—fear +which must last a lifetime; which at any moment, perhaps long years +hence, might find its bitter fulfilment, and work her ruin. For Harvey +Rolfe was not a man of the stamp of Hugh Carnaby: he would not be +hoodwinked in the face of damning evidence, or lend easy ear to +specious explanations. The very fact that she <I>could</I> explain her +ambiguous behaviour was to Alma an enhancement of the dread with which +she thought of such a scene between herself and Harvey; for to be +innocent, and yet unable to force conviction of it upon his inmost +mind, would cause her a deeper anguish than to fall before him with +confession of guilt. And to convince him would be impossible, for ever +impossible. Say what she might, and however generous the response of +his love, there must still remain the doubt which attaches to a woman's +self-defence when at the same time she is a self-accuser. +</P> + +<P> +In the semi-delirium of her illness, whilst waiting in torment for the +assurance that Carnaby had kept her secret, she more than once prayed +for Sibyl's death. In her normal state of mind Alma prayed for nothing; +she could not hope that Sibyl's life would come to a convenient end; +but as often as she thought of her, it was with a vehemence of +malignity which fired her imagination to all manner of ruthless +extremes. It revolted her to look back upon the time when she sat at +that woman's feet, a disciple, an affectionate admirer, allowing +herself to be graciously patronised, counselled, encouraged. The repose +of manner which so impressed her, the habitual serenity of mood, the +unvarying self-confidence—oh, these were excellent qualities when it +came to playing the high part of cold and subtle hypocrisy! She knew +Sibyl, and could follow the workings of her mind: a woman incapable of +love, or of the passion which simulates it; worshipping herself, +offering luxuries to her cold flesh as to an idol; scornful of the +possibility that she might ever come to lack what she desired; and, at +the critical moment, prompt to secure herself against such danger by +the smiling, cynical acceptance of whatsoever shame. Alma had no small +gift of intuition; proved by the facility and fervour with which she +could adapt her mind to widely different conceptions of life. This +characteristic, aided by the perspicacity which is bestowed upon every +jealous woman, perchance enabled her to read the mysterious Sibyl with +some approach to exactness. Were it so, prudence should have warned her +against a struggle for mere hatred's sake with so formidable an +antagonist. But the voice of caution had never long audience with Alma, +and was not likely, at any given moment, to prevail against a transport +of her impetuous soul. +</P> + +<P> +Harvey, meanwhile, fearing her inclination to brood over the dark +event, tried to behave as though he had utterly dismissed it from his +thoughts. He kept a cheerful countenance, talked much more than usual, +and seemed full of health and hope. As usual between married people, +this resolute cheerfulness had, more often than not, an irritating +effect upon Alma. Rolfe erred once more in preferring to keep silence +about difficulties rather than face the unpleasantness of frankly +discussing them. One good, long, intimate conversation about Mrs. +Carnaby, with unrestricted exchange of views, the masculine and the +feminine, with liberal acceptance of life as it is lived, and honest +contempt of leering hypocrisies, would have done more, at this +juncture, to put healthy tone into Alma's being than any change of +scene and of atmosphere, any medicament or well-meant summons to +forgetfulness. Like the majority of good and thoughtful men, he could +not weigh his female companion in the balance he found good enough for +mortals of his own sex. With a little obtuseness to the 'finer' +feelings, a little native coarseness in his habits towards women, he +would have succeeded vastly better amid the complications of his +married life. +</P> + +<P> +Troubles of a grosser kind, such as heretofore they had been +wonderfully spared, began to assail them during their month in Norfolk. +One morning, about midway in the holiday, Harvey, as he came down for a +bathe before breakfast, heard loud and angry voices from the kitchen. +On his return after bathing, he found the breakfast-table very +carelessly laid, with knives unpolished, and other such neglects of +seemliness. Alma, appearing with Hughie, spoke at once of the strange +noises she had heard, and Harvey gave his account of the uproar. +</P> + +<P> +'I thought something was wrong,' said Alma. 'The cook has seemed in a +bad temper for several days. I don't like either of them. I think I +shall give them both notice, and advertise at once. They say that +advertising is the best way.' +</P> + +<P> +The housemaid (in her secondary function of parlour-maid) waited at +table with a scowl. The fish was ill fried, the eggs were hard, the +toast was soot-smeared. For the moment Alma made no remark; but half an +hour later, when Harvey and the child had rambled off to the sea-shore, +she summoned both domestics, and demanded an explanation of their +behaviour. Her tone was not conciliatory; she had neither the +experience nor the tact which are necessary in the mistress of a +household, and it needed only an occasion such as this to bring out the +contemptuousness with which she regarded her social inferiors. Too +well-bred to indulge in scolding or wrangling, the delight of a large +class of housewives, Alma had a quiet way of exhibiting displeasure and +scorn, which told smartly on the nerves of those she rebuked. No one +could better have illustrated the crucial difficulty of the +servant-question, which lies in the fact that women seldom can rule, +and all but invariably dislike to be ruled by, their own sex; a +difficulty which increases with the breaking-up of social distinctions. +</P> + +<P> +She went out into the sunshine, and found Harvey and Hughie building a +great castle of sand. Her mood was lightsome for she felt that she had +acted with decision and in a way worthy of her dignity. +</P> + +<P> +'They will both go about their business. I only hope we may get meals +for the rest of the time here.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey nodded, with closed lips. +</P> + +<P> +'It's a pity Pauline went,' he remarked presently. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm afraid it is. I hadn't quite realised what it would mean.' +</P> + +<P> +'I rather think I ventured to say something of that kind, didn't I? She +<I>may</I> not have taken another place. Suppose you write to her?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma seemed to waver. +</P> + +<P> +'What I am thinking,' she said in a lower tone, 'is that—before +long—we shall need—I suppose—someone of a rather different kind—an +ordinary nurse-girl. But you wouldn't like Hughie to be with anyone of +that sort?' +</P> + +<P> +'It wouldn't matter now.' +</P> + +<P> +'Here's the philosophy of the matter in a nut-shell,' said Harvey +afterwards. 'Living nowadays means keeping up appearances, and you must +do it just as carefully before your own servants as before your +friends. The alternatives are, one general servant, with frank +confession of poverty, or a numerous household and everything <I>comme il +faut</I>. There's no middle way, with peace. I think your determination to +take care of Hughie yourself was admirable; but it won't work. These +two women think you do it because you can't afford a nurse, and at once +they despise us. It's the nature of the beasts—it's the tone of the +time. Nothing will keep them and their like in subordination but a +jingling of the purse. One must say to them all day long, "I am your +superior; I can buy you by the dozen, if need be; I never need soil my +finger with any sort of work, and you know it." Ruth was a good +creature, but I seriously doubt whether she would have been quite so +good if she hadn't seen us keeping our horse and our gardener and our +groom down yonder—everything handsome about us. For the sake of +quietness we must exalt ourselves.' +</P> + +<P> +'You're quite right about Ruth,' replied Alma, laughing. 'Several times +she has let me see how she admired my life of idleness; but it's just +that I don't want to go back to.' +</P> + +<P> +'No need. Ruth was practically a housekeeper. You can manage your own +house, but you must have a servant for everything. Get a nurse, by all +means.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma drew a breath of contentment. +</P> + +<P> +'You are not dissatisfied with <I>me</I>, Harvey?' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course not.' +</P> + +<P> +'But tell me—how does Mrs. Morton manage? Why isn't she despised by +her servants when she's always so busy?' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey had to close his lips against the first answer which occurred to +him. +</P> + +<P> +'For one thing,' he replied, 'there's a more natural state of things in +those little towns; something of the old spirit still lives. Then the +Mortons have the immense advantage of being an old family, settled +there for generations, known and respected by everyone. That's a kind +of superiority one can't buy, and goes for a great deal in comfortable +living. Morton's servants are the daughters of people who served his +parents. From their childhood they have thought it would be a privilege +to get into that house.' +</P> + +<P> +'Impossible in London.' +</P> + +<P> +'Unless you are a duchess.' +</P> + +<P> +'What a pleasant thing it must be,' said Alma musingly, 'to have +ancestors.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey chuckled. +</P> + +<P> +'The next best thing is to have descendants.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, then,' exclaimed Alma, 'we become ancestors ourselves. But one +ought to have an interesting house to live in. Nobody's ancestors ever +lived in a semi-detached villa. What I should like would be one of +those picturesque old places down in Surrey quite in the country, yet +within easy reach of town; a house with a real garden, and perhaps an +orchard. I believe you can get them very cheap sometimes. Not rent the +house, but buy it. Then we would have our portraits painted, and——' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey asked himself how long Alma would find satisfaction in such a +home; but it pleased him to hear her talking thus of the things which +were his own hopeless dream. +</P> + +<P> +'That reminds me, Alma, you have never sat yet for your picture, as I +said you should.' +</P> + +<P> +'We must wait—now.' +</P> + +<P> +'It shall be done next year.' +</P> + +<P> +They were content with each other this evening, and looked forward to +pleasures they might have in common. For Harvey had learnt to nourish +only the humblest hopes, and Alma thought she had subdued herself to an +undistinguished destiny. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0305"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 5 +</H3> + +<P> +Determined to have done once for all with a task she loathed, Alma +wrote out her advertisements for cook, house-parlourmaid, and nurse, +and sent them to half a dozen newspapers. After three weeks of +correspondence with servants and mistresses—a correspondence which, as +Rolfe said, would have made a printed volume of higher sociological +interest than anything yet published, or likely to be—the end of her +patience and her strength compelled her to decide half desperately, and +engage the three young women who appeared least insolent. At the same +time she had to find a new boy for boots, windows, knives, and coals, +the youngster hitherto employed having been so successful with his +'book' on Kempton Park and Hurst Park September meetings that he +relinquished menial duties and devoted himself wholly to the turf; but +this was such a simple matter, compared with the engaging of indoor +domestics, that she felt it almost a delight. When a strong, +merry-looking lad presented himself, eager for the job, and speaking +not a word that was beside the point, Alma could have patted his head. +</P> + +<P> +She amused Harvey that evening by exclaiming with the very accent of +sincerity—— +</P> + +<P> +'How I like men, and how I detest women!' +</P> + +<P> +Her nerves were so upset again that, when all was over, she generally +slept pretty well, but now her insomnia returned, and had to keep her +bed for a day or two. At the sea-side she had once more she had +recourse to the fashionable specific. Harvey knew nothing of this; she +was careful to hide it from him; and each time she measured out her +dose she assured herself that it should be the last. +</P> + +<P> +Oh, but to lie through those terrible small hours, her brain feverishly +active, compelling her to live again in the scenes and the emotions she +most desired to forget! She was haunted by the voice of Cyrus Redgrave, +which at times grew so distinct to her hearing that it became an +hallucination. Her memory reproduced his talk with astonishing +fidelity; it was as though she had learnt it by heart, instead of +merely listening to it at the time. This only in the silence of night; +during the day she could not possibly have recalled a tenth of what her +brain thus treacherously preserved. +</P> + +<P> +In sleep she sometimes dreamt of him, and that was perhaps worse; for +whilst the waking illusion only reproduced what he had actually said, +with all his tricks of tone, his suavities of expression, sleep brought +before her another Redgrave. He looked at her with a smile, indeed, but +a smile of such unutterable malignity that she froze with terror. It +was always the same. Redgrave stood before her smiling, silent; stood +and gazed until in a paroxysm of anguish she cried out and broke the +dream. Once, whilst the agony was upon her, she sprang from bed, +meaning to go to her husband and tell him everything, and so, it might +be, put an end to her sufferings. But with her hand upon the door she +lost courage. Impossible! She could not hope to be believed. She could +never convince her husband that she had told him all. +</P> + +<P> +Upon <I>her</I> lay the guilt of Redgrave's death. This had entered slowly +into her consciousness; at first rejected, but ever returning until the +last argument of self-solace gave way. But for her visit to the +bungalow that evening, Hugh Carnaby would not have been maddened to the +point of fatal violence. In the obscurity he had mistaken her figure +for that of Sibyl; and when Redgrave guarded her retreat, he paid for +the impulse with his life. +</P> + +<P> +On the Sunday before her concert, she had thought of going to see +Redgrave, but the risk seemed too great, and there was no certainty of +finding him at home. She wished above all things to see him, for there +was a suspicion in her mind that Mrs. Strangeways had a plot against +her, though of its nature she could form no idea. It might be true that +Redgrave was purposely holding aloof, whether out of real jealousy, or +simply as a stratagem, a new move in the game. She would not write to +him; she knew the danger of letters, and had been careful never to +write him even the simplest note. If she must remain in uncertainty +about his attitude towards her, the approaching ordeal would be +intensified with a new agitation: was he coming to her recital, or was +he not? She had counted upon triumphing before him. If he could stay +away, her power over him was incomplete, and at the moment when she had +meant it to be irresistible. +</P> + +<P> +The chance encounter on Monday with Hugh Carnaby made her think of +Sibyl, and she could not rest until she had endeavoured to learn +something of Sibyl's movements. As Carnaby was leaving town, his wife +would be free; and how did Sibyl use her freedom? On that subject Mrs +Strangeways had a decided opinion, and her knowledge of the world made +it more than probable that she was right. Without any scheme of +espionage, obeying her instinct of jealous enmity, Alma hastened to +Oxford and Cambridge Mansions. But Sibyl had left home, and—was not +expected to return that night. +</P> + +<P> +How she spent the next few hours Alma could but dimly remember. It was +a vortex of wretchedness. As dark fell she found herself at the gate +leading to the bungalow, lurking, listening, waiting for courage to go +farther. She stole at length over the grass behind the bushes, until +she could see the lighted window of Redgrave's study. The window was +open. She crept nearer and nearer, till she was actually in the veranda +and looking into the room. Redgrave sat within, smoking and reading a +newspaper. She purposely made a movement which drew his attention. +</P> + +<P> +How would it have ended but for Hugh Carnaby? +</P> + +<P> +Beyond ascertaining that Sibyl was not there, she had of course +discovered nothing of what she wished to know. As likely as not she had +come too early. Redgrave's behaviour when she drew his attention +suggested that such a sound at the open window did not greatly surprise +him; the surprise appeared when he saw who stood there—surprise and +momentary embarrassment, which would be natural enough if he expected a +different visitor. And he was so anxious that she should come in at +once. Had she done so, Redgrave's life would have been saved; but—— +</P> + +<P> +Its having been publicly proved that Mrs. Carnaby was then far away +from Wimbledon did not tend to shake Alma's conviction. The summons to +her mother's deathbed had disturbed Sibyl's arrangements, that was all. +Most luckily for her, as it turned out. But women of that kind (said +Alma bitterly) are favoured by fortune. +</P> + +<P> +Locked in a drawer of her writing-table lay a bundle of letters and +papers which had come to her immediately after the concert. To none of +the letters had she replied; it was time for her to go through them, +and answer, with due apologies, those which deserved an answer. Several +did not; they were from people whom she hoped never to see +again—people who wrote in fulsome terms, because they fancied she +would become a celebrity. The news of her breakdown had appeared in a +few newspapers, and brought her letters of sympathy; these also lay +unanswered. On a day of late autumn she brought herself to the task of +looking through this correspondence, and in the end she burnt it all. +Among the half-dozen people to whom she decided to write was Felix +Dymes; not out of gratitude, or any feeling of friendliness, but +because she could not overcome a certain fear of the man. He was +capable of any meanness, perhaps of villainy; and perhaps he harboured +malice against her, seeing that she had foiled him to the last. She +penned a few lines asking him to let her have a complete statement of +the financial results of her recital, which it seemed strange that he +had not sent already. +</P> + +<P> +'My health,' she added, 'is far from re-established, and I am unable +either to go to town or to ask you to come and see me. It is rather +doubtful whether I shall ever again play in public.' +</P> + +<P> +In her own mind there lingered no doubt at all, but she thought it +better not to be too abrupt with Dymes. +</P> + +<P> +After burning all the letters, she read once more through the press +notices of her performance. It was significant that the musical critics +whose opinion had any weight gave her only a word or two of cautious +commendation; her eulogists were writers who probably knew much less +about music than she, and who reported concerts from the social point +of view. Popular journalism represented her debut as a striking +success. Had she been able to use her opportunity to the utmost, +doubtless something of a 'boom'—the word then coming into +fashion—might have resulted for her; she could have given two or three +more recitals before the end of the season, have been much photographed +and paragraphed, and then have gone into the country 'to spread her +conquests farther'. This was Felix Dymes's hope. Writing with all +propriety, he had yet allowed it to be seen how greatly he was vexed +and disappointed at her failure to take the flood. Alma, too, had +regretful moments; but she fought against the feeling with all her +strength. Today she all but found courage to throw these newspapers +into the fire; it would be a final sacrifice, a grave symbolic act, and +might bring her peace. Yet she could not. Long years hence, would it +not be a legitimate pride to show these things to her children? A +misgiving mingled with the thought, but her reluctance prevailed. She +made up a parcel, wrote upon it, 'My Recital, May 1891', and locked it +up with other most private memorials. +</P> + +<P> +She had not long to wait for her answer from Dymes. He apologised for +his delay in the matter of business, and promised that a detailed +statement should be sent to her in a very few days. The unfortunate +state of her health—there Alma smiled—moved him to sympathy and +profound regret; her abandonment of a professional career <I>could</I> not, +<I>must</I> not, be a final decision! +</P> + +<P> +Something prompted her to hand this letter to Harvey. +</P> + +<P> +'I took it for granted,' he said humorously, 'that the man had sent you +a substantial cheque long ago.' +</P> + +<P> +'I believe the balance will be on my side.' +</P> + +<P> +'Would you like me to see to the rest of the business for you?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think that's necessary, is it?' +</P> + +<P> +To her relief, Harvey said no more. She waited for the promised +balance-sheet, but weeks passed by and it did not arrive. An +explanation of this readily occurred to her: Dymes calculated upon +bringing her to an interview. She thought of Harvey's proposal, and +wished she could dare to accept it; but the obscure risks were too +great. So, months elapsed, till the affair seemed forgotten. +</P> + +<P> +They never spoke to each other of Hugh Carnaby or of Sibyl. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile, Alma did not lack society. Mrs. Abbott, whom, without change +of feeling, she grew accustomed to see frequently, introduced her to +the Langland family, and in Mrs. Langland she found a not uncongenial +acquaintance. This lady had known many griefs, and seemed destined to +suffer many more; she had wrinkles on her face which should not have +been there at forty-five; but no one ever heard her complain or saw her +look downhearted. +</P> + +<P> +In her zeal for housewifery, Alma saw much to admire and to imitate in +Mrs. Langland. She liked the good-humoured modesty with which the elder +lady always spoke of herself, and was not displeased at observing an +air of deference when the conversation turned on such high matters as +literature and art. Mrs. Langland knew all about the recital at +Prince's Hall; she knew, moreover, as appeared from a casual remark one +day, that Mrs. Rolfe had skill in 'landscape painting'. +</P> + +<P> +'Who told you that?' asked Alma, with surprise. +</P> + +<P> +'I hope it wasn't a secret. Mrs. Abbott spoke of your water-colours +once. She was delighted with them.' +</P> + +<P> +Praise even from Mary Abbott gratified Alma; it surprised her, and she +doubted its sincerity, but there was satisfaction in knowing that her +fame went abroad among the people at Gunnersbury. Without admiration +she could not live, and nothing so severely tested her resolution to be +content with the duties of home as Harvey's habit of taking all for +granted, never remarking upon her life of self-conquest, never soothing +her with the flatteries for which she hungered. +</P> + +<P> +She hailed with delight the first visit after several months from her +friends Dora and Gerda Leach. During the summer their father's health +had suffered so severely that the overwrought man found himself +compelled to choose between a long holiday abroad and the certainty of +complete collapse if he tried to pursue his ordinary life. The family +went away, and returned in November, when it seemed probable that the +money-making machine known as Mr. Leach had been put into tolerable +working order for another year or so. Not having seen Alma since her +recital, the girls overflowed with talk about it, repeating all the +eulogies they had heard, and adding such rapturous laudation of their +own that Alma could have hung upon their necks in gratitude. They found +it impossible to believe that she would no more play in public. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, but when you are <I>quite</I> well!' they exclaimed. 'It would be a +shame—a sin!' +</P> + +<P> +In writing to them, Alma had put her decision solely on the ground of +health. Now, assuming a countenance of gentle gravity, she made known +her higher reasons. +</P> + +<P> +'I have felt it to be my duty. Remember that I can't consider myself +alone. I found that I must either devote myself wholly to music or give +it up altogether. You girls can't very well understand. When one is a +wife and a mother—I thought it all over during my illness. I had been +neglecting my husband and Hughie, and it was too bad—downright +selfishness. Art and housekeeping won't go together; I thought they +might, butt found my mistake. Of course, it cost me a struggle, but +that's over. I have learnt to <I>renounce</I>.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's very noble of you!' murmured Dora Leach. +</P> + +<P> +'I never heard anything so noble!' said her sister. +</P> + +<P> +Alma flushed with pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +'And yet you know,' Dora pursued, 'artists have a duty to the world.' +</P> + +<P> +'I can't help questioning,' said Gerda, 'whether you had a <I>right</I> to +sacrifice yourself.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma smiled thoughtfully. +</P> + +<P> +'You can't quite see it as I do. When one has children——' +</P> + +<P> +'It must make a great difference'—'Oh, a great difference!'—responded +the sisters. And again they exclaimed at the spectacle of such noble +devotedness. +</P> + +<P> +By natural transition the talk turned to Mrs. Carnaby. The girls spoke +of her compassionately, but Alma soon perceived that they did not utter +all their thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm afraid,' she said, 'that some people take another view. I have +heard—but one doesn't care to repeat such things.' +</P> + +<P> +Dora and Gerda betrayed a lively interest. Yes, they too had heard +disagreeable gossip; what a shame it was! +</P> + +<P> +'Of course, you see her?' said Dora. +</P> + +<P> +Alma shook her head, and seemed a trifle embarrassed. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't even know whether she still lives there.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh yes, she does,' replied Miss Leach eagerly. 'But I've been told +that very few people go. I wondered—we rather wished to know whether +<I>you</I> did.' +</P> + +<P> +Again Alma gently shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +'I haven't even heard from her. I suppose she has her reasons. To tell +you the truth, I'm not quite sure that my husband would like me to +call. It isn't a pleasant subject, is it? Let us talk of something +else.' +</P> + +<P> +So, when Dora and Gerda went away, they carried with them the +conviction that Mrs. Carnaby was an 'impossible' person and of course +lost no opportunity of imparting it to their friends. +</P> + +<P> +About a week before Christmas, when the new servants seemed to have +settled to their work, and the house routine needed less supervision, +Alma and her husband dined at the Langlands', to meet a few quiet +people. Among the guests was Mrs. Langland's brother, of whom Alma had +already heard, and whom, before the end of the evening, she came to +regard with singular interest. Mr. Thistlewood had no advantages of +physique, and little charm of manner; his long, meagre body never +seemed able to put itself at ease; sitting or standing, he displayed +the awkwardness of a naturally shy man who has not studied the habits +of society. But his features, in spite of irregularity, and a +complexion resembling the tone of 'foxed' paper, attracted observation, +and rewarded it; his eye had a pleasant twinkle, oddly in contrast with +the lines of painful thought upon his forehead, and the severity of +strained muscles in the lower part of his face. He was head-master of a +small school of art in a northern county; a post which he had held only +for a twelvemonth. Like his sister's husband, Thistlewood suffered from +disappointed ambition, for he had aimed at great things as a painter; +but he accepted his defeat, and at thirty-five was seeking content in a +'sphere of usefulness' which promised, after all, to give scope to his +best faculties. Not long ago he would have scorned the thought of +becoming a 'teacher'; yet for a teacher he was born, and the truth, in +dawning upon his mind, had brought with it a measure of consolation. +</P> + +<P> +A finger missing from his left hand told a story of student life in +Paris. It was a quarrel with a young Frenchman, about a girl. He and +his rival happening to sit opposite to each other at a restaurant +table, high words arose between them, and the Frenchman eventually made +a stab at Thistlewood's hand with his dinner-fork. That ended the +dispute, but the finger had to come off. Not long afterwards +Thistlewood accepted an engagement to go as artist with a party of +English explorers into Siberia. On his return he lingered for a week or +two in St Petersburg, and there chanced to meet the girl who had cost +him one of his digits. She, like himself, had been in pursuit of +adventures; but, whereas the artist came back with a well-filled purse, +the wandering damsel was at her last sou. They journeyed together to +London, and for the next year or two Thistlewood had the honour of +working himself almost to death to support a very expensive young +woman, who cared no more for him than for her cast-off shoes. Happily, +some richer man was at length found who envied him his privilege, and +therewith ended Thistlewood's devotion to the joys of a bohemian life. +Ever since, his habits had been excessively sober—perhaps a little +morose. But Mrs. Langland, who now saw him once a year; thought him in +every respect improved. Moreover, she had a project for his happiness, +and on that account frequently glanced at him during dinner, as he +conversed, much more fluently than of wont, with his neighbour, Mrs. +Abbott. +</P> + +<P> +Alma sat on the other side of the table, and was no less observant than +the hostess of a peculiar animation on Mr. Thistlewood's dark visage. +To be sure, she knew nothing of him, and it might be his habit to wear +that look when he talked with ladies; but Alma thought it unlikely. And +it seemed to her that Mary Abbott, though much as usual in manner, had +a just perceptible gleam of countenance beyond what one was accustomed +to remark in her moments of friendly conversation. This, too, might be +merely the result of a little natural excitement, seeing that the +school-mistress so seldom dined from home. But, in any case, the +proximity of these two persons was curiously interesting and suggestive. +</P> + +<P> +In the drawing-room, presently, Alma had a pleasant little talk with Mr +Thistlewood. By discreet experiment, she satisfied herself that Mrs +Abbott's name certainly quickened his interest; and, having learnt so +much, it was easy, by representing herself as that lady's old and +intimate friend, to win from the man a significant look of pleasure and +confidence. They talked of art, of landscape, and it appeared that +Thistlewood was acquainted with the part of Carnarvonshire where Alma +had lived. What was more, he had heard of her charming water-colours, +and he would so much like to see them. +</P> + +<P> +'Some enemy has done this,' replied Alma, laughing gaily. 'Was it Mrs +Abbott?' +</P> + +<P> +'No, it was not,' he answered, with corresponding vivacity. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, then, it must have been Mrs. Langland, and I have a good mind to +put her to open shame by asking you to come and see my wretched daubs.' +</P> + +<P> +Nothing would please him better, declared Thistlewood; and thereupon he +accepted an invitation to tea for the following afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +Alma asked no one else. She understood that this man was only to be +observed under favourable conditions by isolating him. She wished, +moreover, to bring him into fireside conversation with Harvey, and to +remark her husband's demeanour. By way of preparation for this +conjuncture, she let fall, in private chat with Harvey, a word or two +which pointed humorously at her suspicions concerning Thistlewood and +Mary Abbott. The hearer exhibited an incredulous surprise. +</P> + +<P> +'It was only a fancy,' said Alma, smiling rather coldly; and she felt +more desirous than ever of watching her husband in Thistlewood's +presence. +</P> + +<P> +Unexpectedly, from her point of view, the two men got along together +very well indeed. Harvey, thoroughly cordial, induced their guest to +speak of his work at the School of Art, and grew so interested in it +that the conversation went on for a couple of hours. Thistlewood had +pronounced and enthusiastic ideas on the subject. +</P> + +<P> +'My difficulty is,' he exclaimed, 'that I can't get hold of the +children young enough. People send their boys and girls to be taught +drawing as an "accomplishment"—the feeble old notion. I want to teach +it as a most important part of elementary education—in fact, to take +youngsters straight on from the kindergarten stage.' +</P> + +<P> +'Did I tell you,' put in Alma, 'that our little boy goes to Mrs +Abbott's?' and her eyes were on both men at once. +</P> + +<P> +'I should say you couldn't have done better than send him there,' +replied Thistlewood, shuffling his feet and fidgeting with his hands. +'Mrs. Abbott is an admirable teacher. She quite agrees with me—I +should say that I quite agree with her. But I am forgetting, Mrs. +Rolfe, that you know her better than I do.' +</P> + +<P> +Hughie was allowed to come into the room for a little while, and to +give an account of what he learnt at school. When at length Thistlewood +took his leave, it was with a promise that he would come again and dine +a few days hence. His visit at Mrs. Langland's would extend over +another fortnight. Before the day of his departure northwards, Alma met +him several times, and succeeded in establishing almost an intimate +friendship with him. He came to bid her goodbye on a black and bitter +January afternoon, when it happened that Harvey was away. As soon as he +entered, she saw upon his face a look of ill augury, a heavy-eyed +dejection very unlike the twinkling hopefulness with which he had +hitherto regarded her. +</P> + +<P> +'What's the matter?' she asked, holding his hand for a moment. 'Don't +you like going back to work?' +</P> + +<P> +'I enjoy my work, Mrs. Rolfe, as you know.' +</P> + +<P> +'But you are not like yourself.' +</P> + +<P> +'My friends here have made the time very pleasant. Naturally, I don't +like leaving them.' +</P> + +<P> +He was a little abrupt, and decidedly showed the less genial phase of +his disposition. +</P> + +<P> +'Have some tea,' said Alma, 'and warm yourself at the fire. You will +thaw presently, Mr. Thistlewood. I suppose, like other unregenerate +men, you live in rooms? Has that kind of life an irresistible charm for +you?' +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her with a frown which, to say the least, was +discouraging; it changed, however, to a more amiable expression as she +handed him his tea. +</P> + +<P> +'What do you imagine my income is, Mrs. Rolfe?' came growlingly from +him. +</P> + +<P> +'I have no idea. You mean, I'm afraid'—Alma's voice fell upon its +gentlest note—'that it doesn't allow you to think of—of any change?' +</P> + +<P> +'It <I>ought</I> not to allow me,' replied the other. 'I have about two +hundred pounds a year, and can't hope much more for a long time.' +</P> + +<P> +'And that,' exclaimed Alma, 'seems to you insufficient? I should have +thought in a little town—so far away—Oh! you want to surround +yourself with luxuries——' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't!—I beg your pardon, Mrs. Rolfe, I meant to say that you +surely know me better.' His hand trembled and spilt the tea, which he +had not yet touched. 'But how can you suppose that—that anyone——?' +</P> + +<P> +He turned his face to the fire, the light of which made his eyes glare +fiercely. Forthwith, Alma launched upon a spirited remonstrance. Never, +even in the days just before her marriage, had she been so fervid and +eloquent on behalf of the 'simple life'. Two hundred pounds! Why, it +was wealth for rational people! She inveighed against display and +extravagance. +</P> + +<P> +'You are looking round the room.—Oh, don't apologise; it was quite +natural. I confess, and I'm ashamed of myself. But ask Mrs. Abbott to +tell you about our little house in Wales; she came once to see us +there. We lived—oh so simply and cheaply; and it was our happiest +time. If only we could go back to it! But the world has been too much +for us. People call it comfort; it means, I assure you, ceaseless +trouble and worry. Who knows? some day we may come to our senses, and +shake off the burden.' +</P> + +<P> +Thistlewood smiled. +</P> + +<P> +'If we could all have cottages among the mountains,' he said. 'But a +little provincial town——' +</P> + +<P> +'Set an example! Who would have a better right to defy foolish +prejudice? A teacher of the beautiful—you might do infinite good by +showing how beautifully one can live without obeying mere fashion in a +single point.' +</P> + +<P> +'I heartily agree with you,' replied Thistlewood, setting down his +empty cup. 'You express my own thoughts much better than I could +myself. And your talk has done me good, Mrs. Rolfe. Thank you for +treating me with such friendly kindness.' +</P> + +<P> +Therewith he rose and said goodbye to her, with a hope that they might +meet again. Alma was vexed that he would not stay longer and take her +more completely into his confidence; but she echoed the hope, and +smiled upon him with much sweetness. +</P> + +<P> +His behaviour could have only one interpretation: he had proposed to +Mary Abbott, and she had refused him. The longer Alma thought, the more +certain she was—and the more irritated. It would be very difficult to +continue her civility to Mrs. Abbott after this. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0306"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 6 +</H3> + +<P> +In these days Rolfe had abandoned even the pretence of study. He could +not feel at home among his books; they were ranked about him on the old +shelves, but looked as uncomfortable as he himself; it seemed a +temporary arrangement; he might as well have been in lodgings. At +Pinner, after a twelvemonth, he was beginning to overcome the sense of +strangeness; but a foreboding that he could not long remain there had +always disturbed him. Here, though every probability pointed to a +residence of at least two or three years, he scarcely made an effort to +familiarise himself with the new surroundings; his house was a shelter, +a camp; granted a water-tight roof, and drains not immediately +poisonous, what need to take thought for artificial comforts? Thousands +of men, who sleep on the circumference of London, and go each day to +business, are practically strangers to the district nominally their +home; ever ready to strike tent, as convenience bids, they can feel no +interest in a vicinage which merely happens to house them for the time +being, and as often as not they remain ignorant of the names of streets +or roads through which they pass in going to the railway station. +Harvey was now very much in this case. That he might not utterly waste +his time, he had undertaken regular duties under Cecil Morphew's +direction, and spent some hours daily in Westminster Bridge Road. +Thence he went to his club, to see the papers; and in returning to +Gunnersbury he felt hardly more sense of vital connection with this +suburb than with the murky and roaring street in which he sat at +business. By force of habit he continued to read, but only books from +the circulating library, thrown upon his table pell-mell—novels, +popular science, travels, biographies; each as it came to hand. The +intellectual disease of the time took hold upon him: he lost the power +of mental concentration, yielded to the indolent pleasure of desultory +page-skimming. There remained in him but one sign of grace: the qualms +that followed on every evening's debauch of mind, the headachey +impression that he was going through a morbid experience which somehow +would work its own cure. +</P> + +<P> +Alma seemed quite unaware of any change in him. To his physical comfort +she gave all due attention, anxious lest he should catch cold in this +hideous weather, and doing her best to rule the house as he desired; +but his intellectual life was no concern to her. Herein, of course, +Harvey did but share the common lot of men married; he recognised the +fact, and was too wise to complain of it, even in his own mind. Yet it +puzzled him a little, now and then, that a woman so intelligent as Alma +should in this respect be simply on a level with the brainless +multitude of her sex. One evening, when they were together in his room, +he took down a volume, and blew the dust off it, saying as he did so—— +</P> + +<P> +'They're not often disturbed nowadays, these solid old fellows.' +</P> + +<P> +'But I suppose you like to have them about you?' Alma replied +carelessly, as she glanced at the shelves. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, yes, they're good furniture; help to warm the room.' +</P> + +<P> +'No doubt they do,' Alma replied. 'It's always more comfortable here +than in the drawing-room.' +</P> + +<P> +Daily he asked himself whether she was reconciled to the loss of her +ambitions, and he could not feel any certainty. In the present state of +her health it might be natural for her to acquiesce in a humdrum life; +but when the next few months were over, and she found herself once more +able to move about as she pleased, would her mind remain the same? +Happy she was not, and probably nothing in his power to do could make +her so. Marriage rarely means happiness, either for man or woman; if it +be not too grievous to be borne, one must thank the fates and take +courage. But Harvey had a troublesome conscience. In acting with +masculine decision, with the old-fashioned authority of husbands, he +had made himself doubly responsible for any misery that might come to +Alma through the conditions of her life. It might be that, on the +higher plane of reasoning, he was by no means justified; there might +have been found a middle way, which, whilst guarding Alma from obvious +dangers, still left her free to enjoy and to aspire. What he had done +was very much like the clipping of wings. Practically it might be +needful, and of safe result; but there is a world beyond the barnyard, +for all that; and how should he know, with full assurance, whether Alma +had not suffered a grave wrong! He durst not reopen the discussion with +her. He had taken his stand, and must hold it, or lose all +self-respect. Marriage is like life itself, easiest to those who think +least about it. Rolfe knew that well enough, and would gladly have +acted upon the knowledge; he came nearest to doing so at the times when +Hughie was his companion. Relieved by the nursemaid from duties she had +only borne by the exertion of something like heroism, Alma once more +drew a broad line of demarcation between nursery and drawing-room; it +was seldom she felt in a mood for playing with the child, and she had +no taste for 'going walks'. But Harvey could not see too much of the +little boy, indoors or out, and it rejoiced him to know that his love +was returned in full measure; for Hughie would at any time abandon +other amusements to be with his father. In these winter months, when by +rare chance there came a fine Saturday or Sunday, they went off +together to Kew or Richmond, and found endless matter for talk, +delightful to both of them. Hughie, now four years old, was well grown, +and could walk two or three miles without weariness. He had no colour +in his cheeks, and showed the nervous tendencies which were to be +expected in a child of such parentage, but on the whole his health gave +no cause for uneasiness. If anything chanced to ail him, Harvey +suffered an excessive disquiet; for the young life seemed to him so +delicate a thing that any touch of pain might wither it away. Because +of the unutterable anguish in the thought, he had often forced himself +to front the possibility of Hughie's death, and had even brought +himself to feel that in truth it would be no reason for sorrow; how +much better to fall asleep in playtime, and wake no more, than to +outlive the happiness and innocence which pass for ever with childhood. +And when the fear of life lay heaviest upon him, he found solace in +remembering that after no great lapse of time he and those he loved +would have vanished from the earth, would be as though they had not +been at all; every pang and woe awaiting them suffered and forgotten; +the best and the worst gone by for ever; the brief flicker of troubled +light quenched in eternal oblivion. It was Harvey Rolfe's best +substitute for the faith and hope of the old world. +</P> + +<P> +He liked to feel the soft little hand clasping his own fingers, so big +and coarse in comparison, and happily so strong. For in the child's +weakness he felt an infinite pathos; a being so entirely helpless, so +utterly dependent upon others' love, standing there amid a world of +cruelties, smiling and trustful. All his heart went forth in the desire +to protect and cherish. Nothing else seemed of moment beside this one +duty, which was also the purest joy. The word 'father' however sweet to +his ear, had at times given him a thrill of awe; spoken by childish +lips, did it mean less than 'God'? He was the giver of life, and for +that dread gift must hold himself responsible. A man in his agony may +call upon some unseen power, but the heavens are mute; can a father +turn away in heedlessness if the eyes of his child reproach him? All +pleasures, aims, hopes that concerned himself alone, shrank to the +idlest trifling when he realised the immense debt due from him to his +son; no possible sacrifice could discharge it. He marvelled how people +could insist upon the duty of children to parents. But did not the +habit of thought ally itself naturally enough with that strange +religion which, under direst penalties, exacts from groaning and +travailing humanity a tribute of fear and love to the imagined Author +of its being? +</P> + +<P> +With delight he followed every step in the growth of understanding; and +yet it was not all pleasure to watch the mind outgrowing its +simplicity. Intelligence that has learnt the meaning of a doubt +compares but sadly with the charm of untouched ingenuousness—that +exquisite moment (a moment, and no more) when simplest thought and +simplest word seek each other unconsciously, and blend in sweetest +music. At four years old Hughie had forgotten his primitive language. +The father regretted many a pretty turn of tentative speech, which he +was wont to hear with love's merriment. If a toy were lost, a little +voice might be heard saying, 'Where has that gone now <I>to</I>?' And when +it was found again—'There is <I>it</I>!' After a tumble one day, Hughie was +cautious in running. 'I shall fall down and break myself.' Then came +distinction between days of the week. 'On Sunday I do' so and so; 'on +Monday days I do' something else. He said, 'Do you remember?' and what +a pity it seemed when at last the dull grown-up word was substituted. +Never again, when rain was falling, would Hughie turn and plead, +'Father, tell the sun to come out!' Nor, when he saw the crescent moon +in daytime, would he ever grow troubled and exclaim, 'Someone has +broken it!' +</P> + +<P> +It was the rule now that before his bedtime, seven o'clock, Hughie +spent an hour in the library, alone with his father. A golden hour, +sacred to memories of the world's own childhood. He brought with him +the book that was his evening's choice—Grimm, or Andersen, or AEsop. +Already he knew by heart a score of little poems, or passages of verse, +which Rolfe, disregarding the inept volumes known as children's +anthologies, chose with utmost care from his favourite singers, and +repeated till they were learnt. Stories from the Odyssey had come in of +late; but Polyphemus was a doubtful experiment—Hughie dreamt of him. +Great caution, too, was needful in the matter of pathos. On hearing for +the first time Andersen's tale of the Little Tin Soldier, Hughie burst +into tears, and could scarce be comforted. Grimm was safer; it seemed +doubtful whether Andersen was really a child's book at all, every page +touched with the tears of things, every line melodious with sadness. +</P> + +<P> +And all this fostering of the imagination—was it right? was it wise? +Harvey worried himself with doubts insoluble. He had merely obeyed his +own instincts. But perhaps he would be doing far better if he never +allowed the child to hear a fairy-tale or a line of poetry. Why not +amuse his mind with facts, train him to the habit of scientific +thought? For all he knew, he might be giving the child a bias which +would result in a life's unhappiness; by teaching him to see only the +hard actual face of things, would he not fit him far more surely for +citizenship of the world? +</P> + +<P> +He would have liked to talk about the child with Mary Abbott, but there +never came an opportunity. Though it shamed and angered him to be under +such constraint, he felt obliged to avoid any private meeting with her. +Alma, he well understood, still nursed the preposterous jealousy which +had been in her mind so long; and in the present state of things, +dubious, transitional, it behoved him to give no needless occasion of +disquiet. As the months went on, he saw her spirits fail; with the +utmost difficulty she was persuaded to leave the house, and for hours +at a time she sat as if in melancholy brooding, unwilling to talk or to +read. Harvey tried reading to her, but in the daytime she could not +keep her thoughts from wandering, and after dinner it merely sent her +to sleep. Yet she declared that there was nothing to trouble about; she +would be herself again before long. +</P> + +<P> +But one day the doctor who was attending her had a few words in private +with Rolfe, and told him that he had made an unpleasant discovery—Mrs +Rolfe was in the habit of taking a narcotic. At first, when the doctor +asked if this was the case, she had denied it, but in the end he had +elicited a confession, and a promise that the dangerous habit should be +relinquished. +</P> + +<P> +'I was on no account to mention this to you, and you mustn't let it be +seen that I have done so. If it goes on, and I'm rather afraid it will +for a short time, I shall tell her that you must be informed of it.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey, to whom such a suspicion had never occurred, waited anxiously +for the doctor's further reports. As was anticipated, Alma's promise +held good only for a day or two, and when again she confessed, her +husband was called into counsel. The trio went through a grave and +disagreeable scene. On the doctor's departure, Alma sat for a long time +stubbornly and dolorously mute; then came tears and passionate +penitence. +</P> + +<P> +'You mustn't think I'm a slave to it,' she said. 'It isn't so at all. I +can break myself off it at once, and I will.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then why did you go on after the doctor's first warning?' +</P> + +<P> +'Out of perversity, nothing else. I suffer much from bad nights, but it +wasn't that; I could bear it. I said to myself that I should do as I +liked.' She gave a tearful laugh. +</P> + +<P> +'That's the whole truth. I felt just like a child when it's determined +to be naughty.' +</P> + +<P> +'But this is far too serious a matter——' +</P> + +<P> +'I know, I know. There shall be an end of it. I had my own way, and I'm +satisfied. Now I shall be reasonable.' +</P> + +<P> +Judging from results, this seemed to be a true explanation. From that +day the doctor saw no reason for doubt. But Harvey had a most +uncomfortable sense of strangeness in his wife's behaviour; it seemed +to him that the longer he lived with Alma, the less able he was to read +her mind or comprehend her motives. It did not reassure him to reflect +that a majority of husbands are probably in the same case. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile trouble was once more brewing in the back regions of the +house. The cook made an excuse for 'giving notice'. Rolfe, in his fury, +talked about abandoning the house and going with wife and child to some +village in the heart of France; yet this was hardly practicable. Again +were advertisements sent forth; again came the ordeal of +correspondence—this time undertaken by Harvey himself, for Alma was +unequal to it. The cook whom they at length engaged declared with +fervour that the one thing she panted for was downright hard work; she +couldn't abide easy places, and in fact had left her last because too +little was expected of her. +</P> + +<P> +'She will stay for two months,' said Harvey, 'and then it will be time +for the others to think of moving. Oh, we shall get used to it.' +</P> + +<P> +At the end of March, Alma's second child was born—a girl. Remembering +what she had endured at Hughie's birth, Rolfe feared that her trial +would be even worse this time; but it did not prove so. In a few days +Alma was well on the way to recovery. But the child, a lamentable +little mortal with a voice scarce louder than a kitten's, held its life +on the frailest tenure; there was doubt at first whether it could draw +breath at all, and the nurse never expected it to live till the second +day. At the end of a week, however, it still survived; and Alma turned +to the poor weakling with a loving tenderness such as she had never +shown for her first-born. To Harvey's surprise she gladly took it to +her breast, but for some reason this had presently to be forbidden, and +the mother shed many tears. After a fortnight things looked more +hopeful. Nurse and doctor informed Harvey that for the present he need +have no uneasiness. +</P> + +<P> +It was a Saturday morning, and so cheerful overhead that Rolfe used his +liberty to have a long stretch towards the fields. Hughie, who had no +school today, would gladly have gone with him, but after such long +restraint Harvey felt the need of four miles an hour, and stole away. +He made for Twickenham and Hampton Court, then by a long circuit came +round into Richmond Park. The Star and Garter gave him a late luncheon, +after which he lit his cigar and went idly along the terrace. There, +whom should he meet but Mary Abbott. +</P> + +<P> +She was seated, gazing at the view. Not till he came quite near did +Harvey recognise her, and until he stopped she did not glance in his +direction. Thus he was able to observe her for a moment, and noticed +that she looked anything but well; one would have thought her +overworked, or oppressed by some trouble. She did not see what her eyes +were fixed upon, and her features had a dreaming tenderness of +expression which made them more interesting, more nearly beautiful, +than when they were controlled by her striving will. When Harvey paused +beside her she gave him a startled smile, but was at once herself again. +</P> + +<P> +'Do you care for that?' he asked, indicating the landscape. +</P> + +<P> +'I can't be enthusiastic about it.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nor I. A bit of ploughed field in the midlands gives me more pleasure.' +</P> + +<P> +'It was beautiful once.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; before London breathed upon it.—Do you remember the view from +Cam Bodvean?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, indeed I do! The larches are coming out now.' +</P> + +<P> +'And the gorse shines, and the sea is blue, and the mountains rise one +behind the other!—Did you talk about it with Mr. Thistlewood? I found +that he knew all that country.' +</P> + +<P> +'We spoke of it,' replied Mrs. Abbott, taking a step forward. +</P> + +<P> +'An interesting man, don't you think?' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey glanced at her, remembering the odd suggestion he had heard from +Alma; and in truth it seemed that his inquiry caused her some +embarrassment. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, very interesting,' answered his companion quietly, as she walked +on. +</P> + +<P> +'You had met him before——?' +</P> + +<P> +'He always comes to the Langlands' at Christmas.' She added in another +voice, 'I was glad to hear from Hughie yesterday that all was well at +home.' +</P> + +<P> +They sauntered along the path. Harvey described the walk he had had +this morning. Mrs. Abbott said that the bright day had tempted her to +an unusual distance; she had come, of course, by train, and must now +think of turning back towards the station. +</P> + +<P> +'Let me go so far with you,' said Harvey. 'What is your report of the +boy? He gives you no trouble, I hope?' +</P> + +<P> +She replied in detail, with the conscientiousness which always appeared +in her when speaking of her work. It was not the tone of one who +delights in teaching; there was no spontaneity, no enthusiasm; but +every word gave proof of how seriously she regarded the duties she had +undertaken. And she was not without pride in her success. The little +school had grown, so that it now became a question whether she should +decline pupils or engage an assistant teacher. +</P> + +<P> +'You are resolved to go on with the infantry?' said Rolfe, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +'The little ones—yes. I begin to feel some confidence with <I>them</I>; I +don't think I'm in danger of going far wrong. But I shouldn't have the +least faith in myself, now, with older children.—Of course I have +Minnie Wager. She'll soon be eleven, you know. I do my best with her.' +</P> + +<P> +'Mrs. Langland says you have done wonders.' +</P> + +<P> +'Minnie will never learn much from books; I feel pretty sure of that. +But'—she laughed—'everyone has a strong point, if it can be +discovered, and I really think I have found Minnie's at last. It was +quite by chance. The other day I was teaching my maid to make pastry, +and Minnie happened to stand by. Afterwards, she begged me to let <I>her</I> +try her hand at it, and I did, and the result was surprising. For the +very first time she had found something that she enjoyed doing. She +went to it with zeal, and learnt in no time. Since then she has made +tarts, and puddings, and cake——' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey broke into laughter. It was an odd thing that the employment he +had suggested for this girl, in his talk at Greystone, should prove to +be her genuine vocation. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't you think it's as well to encourage her?' said Mrs. Abbott. +</P> + +<P> +'By all manner of means! I think it's a magnificent discovery. I should +give her the utmost encouragement. Let her learn cookery in all its +branches, steadily and seriously.' +</P> + +<P> +'It may solve the problem of her future. She might get employment in +one of the schools of cookery.' +</P> + +<P> +'Never again be uneasy about her,' cried Rolfe delightedly. 'She is +provided for. She will grow old with honour, love, obedience, troops of +friends!—A culinary genius! Why, it's the one thing the world is +groaning and clamouring for. Let her burn her school-books. Sacrifice +everything to her Art.—You have rejoiced me with this news.' +</P> + +<P> +Slenderly endowed on the side of humour, Mary Abbott could not feel +sure whether he was really pleased or not; he had to repeat to her, +with all gravity, that he no longer felt anxious on the girl's account. +</P> + +<P> +'For my own part,' said Mary, 'I would rather see her a good cook in a +lady's kitchen, if it came to that, than leading a foolish life at some +so-called genteel occupation.' +</P> + +<P> +'So would any one who has common-sense.—And her brother; I don't think +we can go wrong about him. The reports from school are satisfactory; +they show that he loathes everything but games and fighting. At fifteen +they'll take him on a training ship.—I wonder whether their father's +alive or dead?' +</P> + +<P> +'It is to be hoped they'll never see him again.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey was smiling—at a thought which he did not communicate. +</P> + +<P> +'You say you wouldn't trust yourself to teach older children. You mean, +of course, that you feel much the difficulty of the whole thing—of all +systems of education.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. And I dare say it's nothing but foolish presumption when I fancy +I can teach babies.' +</P> + +<P> +'You have at all events a method,' said Harvey, 'and it seems to be a +very good one. For the teaching of children after they can read and +write, there seems to be no method at all. The old classical education +was fairly consistent, but it exists no longer. Nothing has taken its +place. Muddle, experiment, and waste of lives—too awful to think +about. We're savages yet in the matter of education. Somebody said to +me once: "Well, but look at the results; they're not so bad." Great +heavens! not so bad—when the supreme concern of mankind is to perfect +their instruments of slaughter! Not so bad—when the gaol and the +gallows are taken as a matter of course! Not so bad—when huge filthy +cities are packed with multitudes who have no escape from toil and +hunger but in a wretched death! Not so bad—when all but every man's +life is one long blunder, the result of ignorance and unruled passions!' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Abbott showed a warm assent. +</P> + +<P> +'People don't think or care anything about education. Seriously, I +suppose it has less place in the thoughts of most men and women than +any other business of life?' +</P> + +<P> +'Undoubtedly,' said Rolfe. 'And one is thought a pedant and a bore if +one ever speaks of it. It's as much against good manners as to begin +talking about religion. But a pedant must relieve his mind sometimes. +I'm so glad I met you today; I wanted to hear what you thought about +the boy.' +</P> + +<P> +For the rest of the way, they talked of lighter things; or rather, +Rolfe talked and his companion listened. Nothing more difficult than +easy chat between a well-to-do person of abundant leisure and one whose +days are absorbed in the earning of a bare livelihood. Mary Abbott had +very little matter for conversation beyond the circle of her pursuits; +there was an extraordinary change in her since the days of her married +life, when she had prided herself on talking well, or even brilliantly. +Harvey could not help a feeling of compassion as she walked at his +side. For all his admiration of her self-conquest, and of the tasks to +which she had devoted herself, he would have liked to free her from the +daily mill. She was young yet, and should taste of joy before the years +began to darken about her. But these are the thoughts that must not be +uttered. To show pity is to insult. A merry nod to the friend who +staggers on beneath his burden; and, even at his last gasp, the friend +shall try to nod merrily back again. +</P> + +<P> +He took leave of her at the station, saying that he meant to walk by +the river homeward. A foolish scruple, which would never have occurred +to him but for Alma's jealousy. +</P> + +<P> +When he reached his house at about four o'clock, he felt very tired; it +was a long time since he had walked so far. Using his latch-key to +enter, he crossed the hall to the study without seeing anyone or +hearing a sound. There was a letter on his table. As he opened it, and +began to read, the door—which he had left ajar—was pushed softly +open; there entered Hughie, unusually silent, and with a strange look +in his bright eyes. +</P> + +<P> +'Father—Louie says that baby is dead.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey's hand fell. He stared, stricken mute. +</P> + +<P> +'Father—I don't want baby to be dead! Don't let baby be dead!' +</P> + +<P> +The child's voice shook, and tears came into his eyes. Without a word, +Rolfe hastened from the room and up the stairs. As he reached the +landing, a wail of grief sounded from somewhere near; could that be +Alma's voice? In a moment he had knocked at her door. He durst not turn +the handle; the beating of his heart shook him in every limb. The door +opened, and the nurse showed her face. A hurried whisper; the baby had +died two hours ago, in convulsions. +</P> + +<P> +Alma's voice sounded again. +</P> + +<P> +'Who is that?—Harvey—oh, come, come to me! My little baby is dead!' +</P> + +<P> +He sat alone with her for an hour. He scarcely knew her for his wife, +so unlike herself had she become under the stress of passionate woe; +her face drawn in anguish, yet illumined as he had never seen it; her +voice moving on a range of notes which it had never sounded. The little +body lay pressed against her bosom; she would not let it be taken from +her. Consolation was idle. Harvey tried to speak the thought which was +his first and last as he looked at the still, waxen face; the thought +of thankfulness, that this poor feeble little being was saved from +life; but he feared to seem unfeeling. Alma could not yet be comforted. +The sight of the last pitiful struggles had pierced her to the heart; +she told of it over and over again, in words and tones profoundly +touching. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor had been here, and would return in the evening. It was Alma +now who had to be cared for; her state might easily become dangerous. +</P> + +<P> +When Harvey went downstairs again, he met Hughie and his nurse in the +hall. The little boy ran to him. +</P> + +<P> +'Mayn't I come to you, Father? Louie says I mustn't come.' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, yes; come, dear.' +</P> + +<P> +In the library he sat down, and took Hughie upon his knee, and pressed +the soft little cheek against his own. Without mention of baby, the +child asked at once if his father would not read to him as usual. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think I can tonight, Hughie.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why not, Father? Because baby is dead?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes. And Mother is very poorly. I must go upstairs again soon.' +</P> + +<P> +'Is Mother going to be dead?' asked the child, with curiosity rather +than fear. +</P> + +<P> +'No! No!' +</P> + +<P> +'But—but if mother went there, she could fetch baby back again.' +</P> + +<P> +'Went where?' +</P> + +<P> +Hughie made a vague upward gesture. +</P> + +<P> +'Louie says baby is gone up into the sky.' +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps it was best so. What else can one say to a little child of four +years old? Harvey Rolfe had no choice but to repeat what seemed good to +Louie the nursemaid. But he could refrain from saying more. +</P> + +<P> +Alma was in a fever by night-time. There followed days and days of +misery; any one hour of which, as Rolfe told himself, outbalanced all +the good and joy that can at best be hoped for in threescore years and +ten. But Alma clung to life. Harvey had thought she would ask for her +little son, and expend upon him the love called forth by her dead baby; +she seemed, however, to care even less for Hughie than before. And, +after all, the bitter experience had made little change in her. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0307"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 7 +</H3> + +<P> +Since the removal from Pinner, Rolfe had forgotten his anxieties with +regard to money. Expenses were reduced; not very greatly, but to a +point which made all the difference between just exceeding his income +and living just within it. He had not tried to economise, and would +scarcely have known how to begin; it was the change in Alma's mode of +life that brought about this fortunate result. With infinite +satisfaction he dismissed from his mind the most hateful of all worries. +</P> + +<P> +It looked, too, as if the business in Westminster Bridge Road might +eventually give a substantial return for the money he had invested in +it. Through the winter, naturally, little trade was done; but with +springtime things began to look brisk and hopeful. Harvey had applied +himself seriously to learning the details of the business; he was no +longer a mere looker-on, but could hold practical counsel with his +partner, make useful suggestions, and help in carrying them out. +</P> + +<P> +In the sixth month after her father's decease, Rolfe enjoyed the +privilege of becoming acquainted with Miss Winter. Morphew took him one +afternoon to the house at Earl's Court, where the widow and her +daughter were still living, the prospect of Henrietta's marriage having +made it not worth while for them to change their abode in the interim. +With much curiosity, with not a little mistrust, Harvey entered the +presence of these ladies, whose names and circumstances had been so +familiar to him for years. Henrietta proved to be very unlike the image +he had formed of her. Anticipating weakness, conventionality, and some +affectation, he was surprised to meet a lady of simple, grave manners; +nervous at first, but soon perfectly self-possessed; by no means +talkative, but manifesting in every word a well-informed mind and a +habit of reflection. It astonished him that such a man as Cecil Morphew +should have discovered his ideal in Henrietta Winter; it perplexed him +yet more that Cecil's attachment should have been reciprocated. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Winter was a very ordinary person; rather pretentious, rather too +fluent of speech, inclined to fretfulness, and probably of trying +temper. Having for many years lived much beyond his means (in the +manner so often described by Morphew), Mr. Winter had left his family +as good as unprovided for. There was money to be divided between mother +and daughter, but so small a sum that it could not be regarded as a +source of income. To the widow was bequeathed furniture; to Henrietta, +a library of two thousand volumes; <I>finally</I>, the testator directed +that the sum of five hundred pounds should be spent on a window of +stained glass (concerning which full particulars were given), to be set +up, in memory of himself, in the church he had been wont to honour with +his pious attendance. This item of her husband's will had so embittered +Mrs. Winter, that she hardly ever spoke of him; if obliged to do so, it +was with cold severity that she uttered his name. Immediately, she +withdrew all opposition to Henrietta's marriage with the man she had +considered so objectionable; she would not have been sorry had her +daughter chosen to be married with the least possible delay. As for the +future, of course she must live in her daughter's house; together, they +must make what they could of their small capital, and hope that Cecil's +business would prosper. +</P> + +<P> +Harvey had been acquainted with these facts since Mr. Winter's death. +Bearing them in mind as he talked with Henrietta, and exerting his +powers of observation to the utmost, he still found himself as far as +ever from a definite opinion as to the wisdom of the coming marriage. +That Mrs. Winter would be a great obstacle to happiness admitted of no +doubt; but Henrietta herself might or might not prove equal to the +change of circumstances. Evidently one of her characteristics was an +extreme conscientiousness; it explained, perhaps, her long inability to +decide between the claims of parents and lover. Her tastes in +literature threw some light upon the troubles which had beset her; she +was a student of George Eliot, and spoke of the ethical problems with +which that author is mainly concerned, in a way suggestive of +self-revelation. Conversing for the first time with Morphew's friend, +and finding him sufficiently intelligent, she might desire to offer +some indirect explanation of the course she had followed. Harvey could +not question her sincerity, but she seemed to him a trifle morbid. It +might be natural reaction, in a temper such as hers, against the +monstrous egotism by which her life had been subdued and shadowed. She +inclined to mystical views; mentioned Christina Rossetti as one of her +favourites; cared little or nothing for the louder interests of the +time. Impossible to detect the colour of her thoughts with regard to +Cecil; she spoke of him gravely and gently, but without the least +perceptible emotion. Harvey noticed her when Morphew was saying +goodbye; her smile was sweet, and perhaps tender, but even then she +seemed to be debating with herself some point of conscience. Perhaps +Cecil had pressed her hand rather too fervently? +</P> + +<P> +The friends walked away in silence along the dim-lighted street, +between monotonous rows of high sombre houses, each with its pillared +portico which looked like the entrance to a tomb. Glancing about him +with a sense of depression, Harvey wondered that any mortal could fix +his pride on the fact of residence in such a hard, cold, ugly +wilderness. +</P> + +<P> +'Has she altered much since you first knew her?' he asked at length. +</P> + +<P> +'A good deal,' answered the other. 'Yes, a good deal. She used to laugh +sometimes; now she never does. She was always quiet—always looked at +things seriously—but it was different. You think her gloomy?' +</P> + +<P> +'No, no; not gloomy. It's all natural enough. Her life wants a little +sunlight, that's all.' +</P> + +<P> +For the rest, he could speak with sincere admiration, and Cecil heard +him delightedly. +</P> + +<P> +The choice of a dwelling was a most difficult matter. As it must be +quite a small house, the remoter suburbs could alone supply what was +wanted; Morphew spent every Saturday and Sunday in wearisome +exploration. Mrs. Winter, though in theory she accepted the necessity +of cheapness, shrank from every practical suggestion declaring it +impossible to live in such places as Cecil requested her to look at. +She had an ideal of the 'nice little house,' and was as likely to discover +it in London's suburbs as to become possessed once more of the +considerable fortune which she and her husband had squandered in mean +extravagance. Morphew had already come to the conclusion, and Henrietta +agreed with him, that their future home must be chosen without regard to +Mrs. Winter's impracticable ideas. And the sooner the better, in her own +interests; for it was plain that so long as she continued in the old +house she would thoughtlessly waste her means. The end of the +twelvemonth, at latest, must see them all in their new home.</p> + +<p>But meanwhile fate was preparing a new trial for Henrietta's +much-disciplined conscience.</p> + +<p> +On a Saturday afternoon, when the crisis of Alma's illness was over, +Harvey received a telegram summoning him to Westminster Bridge Road. +"Come if you possibly can. Or I must come to you." Only yesterday he had +been with Morphew for a couple of hours, and all seemed well; Cecil +thought he had found the house that would suit him; he was in jubilant +spirits, laughing, singing, more boylike than ever. Suspecting new +obstructiveness on the part of Mrs. Winter, Harvey went to town in an +impatient mood. He found the shop closed, as usual at this hour on +Saturday, and rang the house-door bell. Morphew himself replied, with a +countenance which made known forthwith that something extraordinary had +happened; eyes red and swollen, cheeks puffy, colourless, smeared.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>Cecil clutched at his hand, and drew him in. They went upstairs to the +office, where all was quiet.</p> + +<p>"Rolfe, if I hadn't had you to send for, I should have been dead by now. +There's poison enough in this place. It has tempted me fearfully."</p> + +<p>"What, is it?" asked the other, in a not very sympathetic voice. His own +troubles of the past month made mere love-miseries seem artificial.</p> + +<p> +"I shall have to tell you what I wanted to tell you long ago. If I had, +most likely this would never have happened.--It's all over with me, +Rolfe. I wish to God you had let me die in that hotel at Brussels.--She +has been told something about me, and there's an end of everything. She +sent for me this morning. I never thought she could be so pitiless.--The +kind of thing that a man thinks nothing of. And herself the cause of it, +if only I had dared to tell her so!" +</P> + +<P> +'The old story, I suppose,' said Harvey. 'Some other woman?' +</P> + +<P> +'I was very near telling you, that day you came to my beastly garret in +Chelsea; do you remember? It was the worst time with me then—except +when you found me in Brussels. I'd been gambling again; you knew that. +I wanted money for something I felt ashamed to speak of.—You know the +awful misery I used to suffer about Henrietta. I was often enough +nearly mad with—what is one to call it? Why isn't there a decent name +for the agony men go through at that age? I simply couldn't live alone +any longer—I couldn't; and only a fool and a hypocrite would pretend +to blame me. A man, that is; women seem to be made different.—Oh, +there's nothing to tell. The same thing happens a hundred times every +day in London. A girl wandering about in the Park—quarrel at home—all +the rest of it. A good many lies on her side; a good deal of +selfishness on mine. I happened to have money just then. And just when +I had <I>no</I> money—about the time you met me—a child was born. She said +it was mine; anyway, I had to be responsible. Of course I had long ago +repented of behaving so badly to Henrietta. But no woman can +understand, and it's impossible to explain to them. You're a beast and +a villain, and there's an end of it.' +</P> + +<P> +'And how has this become known to Miss Winter?' Harvey inquired, seeing +that Morphew lost himself in gloom. +</P> + +<P> +'You might almost guess it; these things always happen in the same way. +You've heard me speak of a fellow called Driffel—no? I thought I might +have mentioned him. He got to know the girl. He and I were at a +music-hall one night, and she met us; and I heard, soon after, that she +was living with him. It didn't last long. She got ill, and wrote to me +from Westminster Hospital; and I was foolish enough to give her money +again, off and on, up to only a few months ago. She talked about living +a respectable life, and so on, and I couldn't refuse to help her. But I +found out it was all humbug, and of course I stopped. Then she began to +hunt me, Out of spite. And she heard from someone—Driffel, as likely +as not—all about Henrietta; and yesterday Henrietta had a letter from +her. This morning I was sent for, to explain myself.' +</P> + +<P> +'At one time, then, you had lost sight of her altogether?' +</P> + +<P> +'She has always had money from me, more or less regularly, except at +the time that Driffel kept her. But there has been nothing else between +us, since that first year. I kept up payments on account of the child, +and she was cheating me in that too. Of course she put out the baby to +nurse, and I understood it lived on; but the truth was it died after a +month or two—starved to death, no doubt. I only learnt that, by taking +a good deal of trouble, when she was with Driffel.' +</P> + +<P> +'Starved to death at a month or two old,' murmured Rolfe. 'The best +thing for it, no doubt.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's worse than anything I have done,' said Morphew, miserably. 'I +think more of it now than I did at the time. A cruel, vile thing!' +</P> + +<P> +'And you told Miss Winter everything?' +</P> + +<P> +'Everything that can be spoken about. The plain truth of the story. The +letter was a lie from beginning to end, of course. It made me out a +heartless scoundrel. I had been the ruin of the girl—a helpless +innocent; and now, after all these years, wanted to cut her adrift, not +caring what became of her. My defence seemed to Henrietta no defence at +all. The fact that there had been such an episode in my life was quite +sufficient. Everything must be at an end between us, at once and for +ever. She <I>could</I> not live with me, knowing this. No one should learn +the cause; not even her mother; but I must never see her again. And so +I came away, meaning to end my life. It wasn't cowardice that prevented +me; only the thought that <I>she</I> would be mixed up in it, and suffer +more than I had made her already.' +</P> + +<P> +Voice and look constrained Harvey to believe this. He spoke more +sympathetically. +</P> + +<P> +'It's better that it happened before than after.' +</P> + +<P> +'I've tried to think that, but I can't. Afterwards, I could have made +her believe me and forgive me.' +</P> + +<P> +'That seems to me more than doubtful.' +</P> + +<P> +'But why should it have happened at all?' cried Cecil, in the tone of +despairing bitterness. 'Did I deserve it? Haven't I behaved better, +more kindly, than most men would have done? Isn't it just because I was +too good-natured that this has come on me?' +</P> + +<P> +'I myself readily take that view,' answered Rolfe. 'But I can perfectly +understand why Miss Winter doesn't.' +</P> + +<P> +'So can I—so can I,' groaned Cecil. 'It's in her nature. And do you +suppose I haven't cursed myself for deceiving her? The thought has made +me miserable, often enough. I never dreamt she would get to know of it; +but it weighed upon me all the same. Yet who was the cause of it, +really and truly? I'm glad I could keep myself from saying all I +thought. She wouldn't have understood; I should only have looked more +brutal in her eyes. But if she had married me when she might have done! +<I>There</I> was the wrong that led to everything else.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey nodded and muttered. +</P> + +<P> +'At one and twenty she might have taken her own way. I wasn't a +penniless adventurer. My name is as good as hers. We could have lived +well enough on my income, until I found a way of increasing it, as I +should have done. Girls don't know what they are doing when they make +men wait year after year. No one can tell them. But I begged—I prayed +to her—I said all I dared. It was her cursed father and mother! If I +had had three thousand, instead of three hundred, a year, they would +have rushed her into marriage. No! we must have a big house, like their +own, and a troop of thieving servants, or we were eternally disgraced. +<I>How</I> I got the money didn't matter, so long as I got it. And she +hadn't courage—she thought it wrong to defy them. As if the wrong +wasn't in giving way to such a base superstition! I believe she has +seen that since her father's death. And now——' +</P> + +<P> +He broke down, shaking and choking in an agony of sobs. Harvey could +only lay a kind hand upon him; there was no verbal comfort to offer. +Presently Cecil talked on again, and so they sat together as twilight +passed into darkness. Rolfe would gladly have taken the poor fellow +home with him, out of solitude with its miseries and dangers, but Cecil +refused. Eventually they walked westward for a few miles; then Morphew, +with a promise to see his friend next day, turned back into the crowd. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0308"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 8 +</H3> + +<P> +Alma was walking on the sea-road at Penzance, glad to be quite alone, +yet at a loss how to spend the time. Rolfe had sailed for Scilly, and +would be absent for two or three days; Mrs. Frothingham, with Hughie +for companion, was driving to Marazion. Why—Alma asked herself—had +she wished to be left alone this morning? Some thought had glimmered +vaguely in her restless mind; she could not recover it. +</P> + +<P> +The little shop window, set out with objects carved in serpentine, held +her for a moment; but remembering how often she had paused here lately, +she felt ashamed, and walked on. Presently there moved towards her a +lady in a Bath-chair; a lady who had once been beautiful, but now, +though scarcely middle-aged, looked gaunt and haggard from some long +illness. The invalid held open a newspaper, and Alma, in passing, saw +that it was <I>The World</I>. At once her step quickened, for she had +remembered the desire which touched her an hour ago. +</P> + +<P> +She walked to the railway station, surveyed the papers on the +bookstall, and bought three—papers which would tell her what was going +on in society. With these in hand she found a quiet spot, sheltered +from the August sun, where she could sit and read. She read eagerly, +enviously. And before long her eye fell upon a paragraph in which was a +name she knew. Lady Isobel Barker, in her lovely retreat at Boscombe, +was entertaining a large house-party; in the list appeared—Mrs. Hugh +Carnaby. Unmistakable: Mrs. Hugh Carnaby. Who Lady Isobel might be, +Alma had no idea; nor were any of the other guests known to her, but +the names of all seemed to roll upon the tongue of the announcing +footman. She had a vision of Sibyl in that august company; Sibyl, +coldly beautiful, admirably sage, with—perhaps—ever so little of the +air of a martyr, to heighten her impressiveness. +</P> + +<P> +When she could command herself, she glanced hurriedly through column +after column of all the papers, seeking for that name again. In one, an +illustrated publication, she came upon a couple of small portraits, +side by side. Surely she recognised that face—the bold, +coarse-featured man, with his pretentious smile? But the girl, no; a +young and very pretty girl, smirking a little, with feathery hair which +faded off into an aureole. The text was illuminating. +</P> + +<P> +'I am able to announce,' wrote Ego, 'and I think I shall be one of the +first to do so, that the brilliant composer, Mr. Felix Dymes, will +shortly vanish from the gay (if naughty) world of bachelorhood. I learn +on excellent authority that Mr. Dymes has quite recently become engaged +to Miss Lettice Almond, a very charming young lady, whose many gifts +(especially musical) have as yet been known only to a comparatively +small circle, and for the delightful reason that she is still only +eighteen. Miss Almond is the daughter of Mr. Haliburton Almond, senior +partner in the old and well-known firm of Almond Brothers, the +manufacturers of fireworks. She is an only daughter, and, though she +has two brothers, I may add (I trust without indiscretion) that the +title of heiress may be fittingly applied to her. The marriage may take +place in November, and will doubtless be a brilliant as well as a most +interesting affair. By-the-bye, Mr. Dymes's new opera is not likely to +be ready till next year, but some who have been privileged to hear the +parts already composed declare that it will surpass even "Blue Roses" +in the charm of sweet yet vivacious melody.' +</P> + +<P> +When she had read and mused for more than an hour, Alma tore out the +two passages that had a personal interest for her, and put them in her +purse. The papers she left lying for anyone who chose to pick them up. +</P> + +<P> +A fortnight later she was back at Gunnersbury; where, indeed, she would +have been content to stay all through the summer, had not Harvey and +the doctor insisted on her leaving home. All sorts of holidays had been +proposed, but nothing of the kind attracted her. She declared that she +was quite well, and that she preferred home to anywhere else; she had +got used to it, and did not wish to be unsettled. Six weeks at Penzance +simply wearied her; she brightened wonderfully on the day of return. +Harvey, always anxious, tried to believe that the great sorrow through +which she had passed was effecting only a natural change, subduing her +troublesome mutability of temper, and leading her to find solace in +domestic quietude. +</P> + +<P> +On the third day after her return, she had lunched alone, and was +sitting in the library. Her dress, more elaborate than usual, and the +frequent glances which she cast at the clock, denoted expectation of +some arrival. Hearing a knock at the front door, she rose and waited +nervously. +</P> + +<P> +'Mr. Dymes is in the drawing-room, mum.' +</P> + +<P> +She joined him. Dymes, with wonted frankness, not to say impudence, +inspected her from head to foot, and did not try to conceal surprise. +</P> + +<P> +'I was awfully glad to get your note. As I told you, I called here +about a month ago, and I should have called again. I didn't care to +write until I heard from you. You've been ill, I can see. I heard about +it. Awfully sorry.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma saw that he intended respectful behaviour. The fact of being in +her own house was, of course, a protection, but Dymes, she quite +understood, had altered in mind towards her. She treated him distantly, +yet without a hint of unfriendliness. +</P> + +<P> +'I began to wonder whether I had missed a letter of yours. It's some +time since you promised to write—on business.' +</P> + +<P> +'The fact is,' he replied, 'I kept putting it off, hoping to see you, +and it's wonderful how time slips by. I can hardly believe that it's +more than a year since your recital. How splendidly it came off! If +only you could have followed it up—but we won't talk about that.' +</P> + +<P> +He paused for any remark she might wish to make. Alma, dreamy for a +moment, recovered herself, and asked, in a disinterested tone—— +</P> + +<P> +'We paid all expenses, I suppose?' +</P> + +<P> +'Well—not quite.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not quite? I understood from you that there was no doubt about it.' +</P> + +<P> +'I thought,' said Dymes, as he bent forward familiarly, 'that my +silence would let you know how matters stood. If there had been +anything due to you, of course I should have sent a cheque. We did very +well indeed, remarkably well, but the advertising expenses were very +heavy.' He took a paper from his pocket. 'Here is the detailed account. +I shouldn't have spent so much if I hadn't regarded it as an +investment. You had to be boomed, you know—floated, and I flatter +myself I did it pretty well. But, of course, as things turned out——' +</P> + +<P> +Alma glanced over the paper. The items astonished her. +</P> + +<P> +'You mean to say, then, that I am in your debt for a hundred and thirty +pounds?' +</P> + +<P> +'Debt be hanged!' cried Dymes magnanimously. 'That's all done with, +long ago. I only wanted to explain how things were.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma reddened. She was trying to remember the state of her banking +account, and felt sure that, at this moment, considerably less than a +hundred pounds stood to her credit. But she rose promptly. +</P> + +<P> +'Of course, I shall give you a cheque.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nonsense! Don't treat me like a regular agent, Mrs. Rolfe. Surely you +know me better than that? I undertook it for the pleasure of the +thing——' +</P> + +<P> +'But you don't suppose I can accept a present of money from you, Mr +Dymes?' +</P> + +<P> +'Hang it! Just as you like, of course. But don't make me take it now, +as if I'd looked in with my little bill. Send the cheque, if you must. +But what I really came for, when I called a few weeks ago, was +something else—quite a different thing, and a good deal more +important. Just sit down again, if you can spare me a few minutes.' +</P> + +<P> +With face averted, Alma sank back into her chair. Harvey would give her +the money without a word, but she dreaded the necessity of asking him +for it. So disturbed were her thoughts that she did not notice how +oddly Dymes was regarding her, and his next words sounded meaningless. +</P> + +<P> +'By-the-bye, can we talk here?' +</P> + +<P> +'Talk——?' +</P> + +<P> +'I mean'—he lowered his voice—'are we safe from interruption? It's +all right; don't look frightened. The fact is, I want to speak of +something rather awkward—but it's something you ought to know about, +if you don't already.' +</P> + +<P> +'I am quite at leisure,' she replied; adding, with a nervous movement +of the head, 'there will be no interruption.' +</P> + +<P> +'I want to ask you, then, have you seen Mrs. Strangeways lately?' +</P> + +<P> +'No.' +</P> + +<P> +'Nor Mrs. Carnaby?' +</P> + +<P> +'No.' +</P> + +<P> +'I understand you've broken with them altogether? You don't want +anything more to do with that lot?' +</P> + +<P> +'I have nothing whatever to do with them,' Alma replied, steadying her +voice to a cold dignity. +</P> + +<P> +'And I think you're quite right. Now, look here—you've heard, I dare +say, that I'm going to be married? Well, I'm not the kind of fellow to +talk sentiment, as you know. But I've had fair luck in life, and I feel +pretty pleased with myself, and if I can do anybody a friendly +turn—anybody that deserves it—I'm all there. I want you just to think +of me as a friend, and nothing else. You're rather set against me, I +know; but try and forget all about that. Things are changed. After all, +you know, I'm one of the men that people talk about; my name has got +into the "directories of talent", as somebody calls them; and I have a +good deal at stake. It won't do for me to go fooling about any more. +All I mean is, that you can trust me, down to the ground. And there's +nobody I would be better pleased to help in a friendly way than you, +Mrs. Rolfe.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma was gazing at him in surprise, mingled with apprehension. +</P> + +<P> +'Please say what you mean. I don't see how you can possibly do me any +service. I have given up all thought of a professional career. +</P> + +<P> +'I know you have. I'm sorry for it, but it isn't that I want to talk +about. You don't see Mrs. Carnaby, but I suppose you hear of her now +and then?' +</P> + +<P> +'Very rarely.' +</P> + +<P> +'You know that she has been taken up by Lady Isobel Barker?' +</P> + +<P> +'Who is Lady Isobel Barker?' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, she's a daughter of the Earl of Bournemouth, and she married a +fellow on the Stock Exchange. There are all sorts of amusing stories +about her. I don't mean anything shady—just the opposite. She did a +good deal of slumming at the time when it was fashionable, and started +a home for women of a certain kind—all that sort of thing. Barker is +by way of being a millionaire, and they live in great style; have +Royalties down at Boscombe, and so on. Well, Mrs. Carnaby has got hold +of her. I don't know how she managed it. Just after that affair it +looked as if she would have a bad time. People cut her—you know all +about that?' +</P> + +<P> +'No, I don't. You mean that they thought——' +</P> + +<P> +'Just so; they did think.' He nodded and smiled. 'She was all the talk +at the clubs, and, no doubt, in the boudoirs. I wasn't a friend of +hers, you know—I met her now and then, that was all; so I didn't quite +know what to think. But it looked—<I>didn't</I> it?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma avoided his glance, and said nothing. +</P> + +<P> +'I shouldn't wonder,' pursued Dymes, 'if she went to Lady Isobel and +talked about her hard case, and just asked for help. At all events, +last May we began to hear of Mrs. Carnaby again. Women who wanted to be +thought smart had quite altered their tone about her. Men laughed, but +some of them began to admit that the case was doubtful. At all events, +Lady Isobel was on her side, and that meant a good deal.' +</P> + +<P> +'And she went about in society just as if nothing had happened?' +</P> + +<P> +'No, no. That would have been bad taste, considering where her husband +was. She wasn't seen much, only talked about. She's a clever woman, and +by the time Carnaby's let loose she'll have played the game so well +that things will be made pretty soft for him. I'm told he's a bit of a +globe-trotter, sportsman, and so on. All he has to do is to knock up a +book of travels, and it'll go like wildfire.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma had pulled to pieces a tassel on her chair. +</P> + +<P> +'What has all this to do with me?' she asked abruptly. +</P> + +<P> +'I'm coming to that. You don't know anything about Mrs. Strangeways +either? Well, there <I>may</I> be a doubt about Mrs. Carnaby, but there's +none about Mrs. S. She's just about as bad as they make 'em. I could +tell you things—but I won't. What I want to know is, did you quarrel +with her?' +</P> + +<P> +'Quarrel! Why should we have quarrelled? What had I to do with her?' +</P> + +<P> +'Nothing about Redgrave?' asked Dymes, pushing his head forward and +speaking confidentially. +</P> + +<P> +'What do you mean?' +</P> + +<P> +'No harm, I assure you—all the other way. I <I>know</I> Mrs. Strangeways, +and I've had a good deal of talk with her lately, and I couldn't help +suspecting you had a reason of your own for getting clear of her. Let +me tell you, first of all, that she's left her house in Porchester +Terrace. My belief is that she and her husband haven't a five-pound +note between them. And the queer thing is, that this has come about +since Redgrave's death.' +</P> + +<P> +He paused to give his words their full significance. Alma, no longer +disguising her interest, faced him with searching eyes. +</P> + +<P> +'She's a bad un,' pursued the musician, 'and I shouldn't care to tell +all I think about her life for the last few years. I've seen a good +deal of life myself, you know, and I don't pretend to be squeamish; but +I draw a line for women. Mrs. Strangeways goes a good bit beyond it, as +I know for certain.' +</P> + +<P> +'What is it to <I>me</I>?' said Alma, with tremulous impatience. +</P> + +<P> +'Why, this much. She is doing her best to harm you, and in a devilish +artful way. She tries to make <I>me</I> believe—and it's certain she says +the same to others—that what happened at Wimbledon was <I>the result of +a plot between you and Redgrave's housekeeper</I>!' +</P> + +<P> +Alma stared at him, her parted lips quivering with an abortive laugh. +</P> + +<P> +'Do you understand? She says that you were furiously jealous of Mrs +Carnaby, and didn't care what you did to ruin her; that you put +Redgrave's housekeeper up to telling Carnaby lies about his wife.' +</P> + +<P> +'How long has she been saying this?' +</P> + +<P> +'I heard it for the first time about two months ago. But let me go on. +The interesting thing is that, at the time of the trial and after it, +she was all the other way. She as good as told me that she had proof +against Mrs. Carnaby; I fancy she told lots of people the same. She +talked as if she hated the woman. But now that Mrs. Carnaby is looking +up—you see?—she's going to play Mrs. Carnaby's game at your expense. +What I should like to know is whether they've done it together?' +</P> + +<P> +'There can't be much doubt of that,' said Alma, between her teeth. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know,' rejoined the other cautiously. 'Have you reason to +think that Mrs. Carnaby would like to injure you?' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm quite sure she would do so if it benefited herself.' +</P> + +<P> +'And yet you were fast friends not long ago, weren't you?' asked Dymes, +with a look of genuine curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +'We don't always know people as well as we think. Where is that woman +living now?—I mean, Mrs. Strangeways.' +</P> + +<P> +'That's more than I can tell you. She is—or is supposed to be—out of +town. I saw her last just before she left her house.' +</P> + +<P> +'Is the other in town?' +</P> + +<P> +'Mrs. Carnaby? I don't know. I was going to say,' Dymes pursued, 'that +the story Mrs. S. has been telling seems to me very clumsy, and that's +why I don't think the other has any hand in it. She seemed to have +forgotten that Redgrave's housekeeper, who was wanted by the police, +wasn't likely to put herself in Carnaby's way—the man she had robbed. +I pointed that out, but she only laughed. "We're not bound to believe," +she said, "all that Carnaby said on his trial."' +</P> + +<P> +'We are not,' Alma remarked, with a hard smile. +</P> + +<P> +'You think he dressed things up a bit?' +</P> + +<P> +'I think,' answered Alma, 'that he may have known more than he told.' +</P> + +<P> +'That's my idea, too. But never mind; whatever the truth may be, that +woman is doing you a serious injury. I felt you ought to know about it. +People have talked about you a good deal, wondering why on earth you +dropped out of sight so suddenly after that splendid start; and it was +only natural they should connect your name with the Carnaby affair, +knowing, as so many did, that you were a friend of theirs, and of +Redgrave too.' +</P> + +<P> +'I knew Mr. Redgrave,' said Alma, 'but I was no friend of his.' +</P> + +<P> +Dymes peered at her. +</P> + +<P> +'Didn't he interest himself a good deal in your business?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not more than many other people.' +</P> + +<P> +'Well, I'm very glad to hear that,' said Dymes, looking about the room. +'I tell you, honestly, that whenever I have a chance of speaking up for +you, I shall do it.' +</P> + +<P> +'I am very much obliged, but I really don't think it matters what is +said of me. I am not likely ever to meet the people who talk about such +things.' +</P> + +<P> +She said it in so convincing a tone that Dymes looked at her gravely. +</P> + +<P> +'I never know any one change so much,' he observed. 'Is it really your +health? No other reason for giving up such magnificent chances?' +</P> + +<P> +'Of course, I have my reasons. They concern nobody but myself.' +</P> + +<P> +'I might give a guess, I dare say. Well, you're the best judge, and we +won't say any more about that. But look here—about Mrs. S. and her +scandal. I feel sure, as I said, that she's toadying to Mrs. Carnaby, +and expects to make her gain out of it somehow. Her husband's a +loafing, gambling fellow, and I shouldn't wonder if he gave her the +skip. Most likely she'll have to live by her wits, and we know what +that means in a woman of her kind. She'll be more or less dangerous to +everybody that's worth blackmailing.' +</P> + +<P> +'You think she had—she was dependent in some way upon Mr. Redgrave?' +asked Alma, in an undertone. +</P> + +<P> +'I've heard so. Shall I tell you what a woman said who is very likely +to know? Long ago, in the time of her first marriage, she got hold of +something about him that would have made a furious scandal, and he had +to pay for her silence. All gossip; but there's generally a foundation +for that kind of thing. If it's true, no doubt she has been at his +relatives since his death. It doesn't look as if they were disposed to +be bled. Perhaps they turned the tables on her. She has looked sour and +disappointed enough for a long time.' +</P> + +<P> +'I was just thinking,' said Alma, with an air of serious deliberation, +'whether it would be worth while for <I>me</I> to turn the tables on her, +and prosecute her for slander.' +</P> + +<P> +'If you take my advice, you'll keep out of that,' replied the other, +with emphasis. 'But another thing has occurred to me. I see your +opinion of Mrs. Carnaby, and no doubt you have good reason for it. Now, +would it be possible to frighten her? Have you'—he peered more +keenly—'any evidence that would make things awkward for Mrs. Carnaby?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma kept close lips, breathing rapidly. +</P> + +<P> +'If you <I>have</I>,' pursued the other, 'just give her a hint that Mrs +Strangeways had better stop talking. You'll find it effectual, no +doubt.' +</P> + +<P> +He watched her, and tried to interpret the passion in her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +'If I think it necessary,' said Alma, and seemed to check herself. +</P> + +<P> +'No need to say any more. I wished to put you on your guard, that's +all. We've known each other for a longish time, and I've often enough +felt sorry that something didn't come off—you remember when. No good +talking about that; but I shall always be glad if I can be a friend to +you. And, I say, don't think any more about that cheque, there's a good +girl.' +</P> + +<P> +The note of familiar patronage was more than distasteful to Alma. +</P> + +<P> +'I shall, of course, send it,' she replied curtly. +</P> + +<P> +'As you please. Would you like to hear a bit from my new opera? It +isn't every one gets the chance, you know.' +</P> + +<P> +Quite in his old way, he seated himself at the piano, and ran lightly +through a few choice <I>morceaux</I>, exacting praise, and showing himself +vexed because it was not fervent. In spite of her wandering thoughts, +Alma felt the seductiveness of these melodies—their originality, their +grace—and once more she wondered at their coming from the mind of such +a man. +</P> + +<P> +'Very pretty.' +</P> + +<P> +'Pretty!' exclaimed the composer scornfully. 'It's a good deal more +than that, and you know it. I don't care—there's somebody else feels +deuced proud of me, and good reason too. Well, ta-ta!' +</P> + +<P> +There are disadvantages in associating with people whose every word, as +likely as not, may be an insidious falsehood. Thinking over what she +had heard from Dymes, Alma was inclined to believe him; on the other +hand, she knew it to be quite possible that he sought her with some +interested motive. The wise thing, she knew, would be to disregard his +reports, and hold aloof from the world in which they originated. But +she had a strong desire to see Mrs. Strangeways. There might be someone +at the house in Porchester Terrace who could help her to discover its +late tenant. However dangerous the woman's wiles and slanders, an +interview with her could do no harm, and might set at rest a curiosity +long lurking, now feverishly stimulated. With regard to Sibyl, there +could be little doubt that Dymes had heard, or conjectured, the truth. +Sibyl was clever enough to make her perilous reverse a starting-point +for new social conquests. Were there but a hope of confronting her with +some fatal disclosure, and dragging her down, down! +</P> + +<P> +That cheque must be sent. She would show Harvey the account this +evening, and have done with the unpleasantness of it. Probably he +remembered from time to time that she had never told him how her +business with Dymes was settled. No more duplicity. The money would be +paid, and therewith finis to that dragging chapter of her life. +</P> + +<P> +Harvey came home at five o'clock, and, as usual, had tea with her. Of +late he had been uneasy about Cecil Morphew, whose story Alma knew; +today he spoke more hopefully. +</P> + +<P> +'Shall I bring him here tomorrow, and make him stay over Sunday? Sunday +is his bad day, and no wonder. If there were a licensed poison-shop in +London, they'd do a very fair trade on Sundays.' +</P> + +<P> +'There are the public-houses,' said Alma. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes; but Morphew doesn't incline that way. The fellow has delicate +instincts, and suffers all the more; so the world is made. I can't help +hoping it may come right for him yet. I have a suspicion that Mrs. +Winter may be on his side; if so, it's only a question of time. I keep +at him like a slave-driver; he <I>has</I> to work whilst I'm there; and he +takes it very good-humouredly. But you mustn't give him music, Alma; he +says he can't stand it.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm much obliged to him,' she answered, laughing. +</P> + +<P> +'You understand well enough.' +</P> + +<P> +After dinner Alma found her courage and the fitting moment. +</P> + +<P> +'I have something disagreeable to talk about. Mr. Dymes called this +afternoon, and handed in his <I>bill</I>.' +</P> + +<P> +'His bill? Yes, yes, I remember.—What's all this? Surely you haven't +obliged him to come looking after his money?' +</P> + +<P> +'It's the first account I have received.' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe puckered his face a little as he perused the document, but ended, +as he began, with a smile. In silence he turned to the writing-table, +took out his cheque-book, and wrote. +</P> + +<P> +'You don't mind its being in my name?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not at all. Indeed, I prefer it. But I am sorry and ashamed,' she +added in a murmur. +</P> + +<P> +'Let it be taken to the post at once,' said Rolfe quietly. +</P> + +<P> +When this was done, Alma made known what Dymes had told her about +Sibyl, speaking in an unconcerned voice, and refraining from any hint +of suspicion or censure. +</P> + +<P> +'I had heard of it,' said Harvey, with troubled brow, and evidently +wished to say no more. +</P> + +<P> +'What do you suppose Mr. Carnaby will do?' Alma inquired. +</P> + +<P> +'Impossible to say. I'm told that the business at Coventry is +flourishing, and no doubt his interest in it remains. I hear, too, that +those Queensland mines are profitable at last. So there'll be no money +troubles. But what he will do——' +</P> + +<P> +The subject was dropped. +</P> + +<P> +Harvey had succeeded in hiding his annoyance at the large debt to +Dymes, a sum he could ill afford; but he was glad to have paid it, and +pleased with Alma's way of dismissing it to oblivion. The talk that +followed had turned his mind upon a graver trouble: he sat thinking of +Hugh Carnaby. Dear old Hugh! Not long ago the report ran that his +health was in a bad state. To one who knew him the wonder was that he +kept alive. But the second year drew on. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0309"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 9 +</H3> + +<P> +On Monday morning, when Harvey and his friend had started for town, and +Hughie was at school, Alma made ready to go out. In many months she had +been to London only two or three times. Thus alone could she subdue +herself. She tried to forget all that lay eastward from Gunnersbury, +rejecting every kind of town amusement, and finding society in a very +small circle of acquaintances who lived almost as quietly as herself. +But this morning she yielded to the impulse made irresistible by +Dymes's visit. In leaving the house, she seemed to escape from an +atmosphere so still and heavy that it threatened her blood with +stagnation; she breathed deeply of the free air, and hastened towards +the railway as if she had some great pleasure before her. +</P> + +<P> +But this mood had passed long before the end of her journey. Alighting +at Queen's Road, she walked hurriedly to Porchester Terrace, and from +the opposite side of the way had a view of Mrs. Strangeways' house. It +was empty, to let. She crossed, and rang the bell, on the chance that +some caretaker might be within; but no one answered. Her heart +throbbing painfully, she went on a little distance, then stood +irresolute. A cab crawled by; she raised her hand, and gave the +direction, 'Oxford and Cambridge Mansions'. Once here, she had no +difficulty in carrying out her purpose. Passion came to her aid; and +when Sibyl's door opened she could hardly wait for an invitation before +stepping in. +</P> + +<P> +The drawing-room was changed; it had been refurnished, and looked even +more luxurious than formerly. For nearly ten minutes she had to stand +waiting; seat herself she could not. Then entered Sibyl. +</P> + +<P> +'Good morning, Mrs. Rolfe. I am glad to see you.' +</P> + +<P> +The latter sentence was spoken not as a mere phrase of courtesy, but +with intention, with quiet yet unmistakable significance. Sibyl did not +offer her hand; she moved a chair so that its back was to the light, +and sat down very much as she might have done if receiving an applicant +for a 'situation'. +</P> + +<P> +'You had some reason for coming so early?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma, who had felt uncertain how this interview would begin, was glad +that she had to meet no pretences of friendship. Her heart burned +within her; she was pallid, and her eyes shone fiercely. +</P> + +<P> +'I came to ask if you could tell me where Mrs. Strangeways is to be +found?' +</P> + +<P> +'Mrs. Strangeways?' Sibyl repeated, with cold surprise. 'I know nothing +about her.' +</P> + +<P> +Feeling in every way at a disadvantage—contrast of costume told in +Sibyl's favour, and it was enhanced by the perfection of her +self-command—Alma could not maintain the mockery of politeness. +</P> + +<P> +'Of course, you say that,' she rejoined haughtily; 'and, of course, I +don't believe it.' +</P> + +<P> +'That is nothing to me, Mrs. Rolfe,' remarked the other, smiling. +'Doubtless you have your own reasons for declining to believe me; just +as you have your own reasons for—other things. Your next inquiry?' +</P> + +<P> +'Hasn't it been rather unwise of you, keeping away from me all this +time?' +</P> + +<P> +'Unwise? I hardly see your meaning.' +</P> + +<P> +'It looked rather as if you felt afraid to meet me.' +</P> + +<P> +'I see; that is your point of view.' Sibyl seemed to reflect upon it +calmly. 'To me, on the other hand, it appeared rather strange that I +neither saw nor heard from you at a time when other friends were +showing their sympathy. I heard that you were ill for a short time, and +felt sorry I was unable to call. Later, you still kept silence. I +didn't know the reason, and could hardly be expected to ask for it. As +for being afraid to meet you—that, I suppose, is a suspicion natural +to your mind. We won't discuss it. Is there any other question you +would like to ask?' +</P> + +<P> +Humiliated by her inability to reply with anything but a charge she +could not support, and fearing the violence of her emotions if she were +longer subjected to this frigid insult, Alma rose. +</P> + +<P> +'One moment, if you please,' continued Mrs. Carnaby. 'I was glad that +you had come, as I had half wished for an opportunity of speaking a few +words to you. It isn't a matter of much importance, but I may as well +say, perhaps, that you are indiscreet in your way of talking about me +to your friends. Of course, we haven't many acquaintances in common, +but I happen to have heard the opinion of me which you expressed +to—let me see, some ladies named Leach, whom I once knew slightly. It +seems hardly worth while to take serious steps in the matter—though I +might find it necessary. I only wish, in your own interest, to say a +word of warning. You have behaved, all things considered'—she dwelt on +the phrase—'rather indiscreetly.' +</P> + +<P> +'I said what I knew to be the truth,' replied Alma, meeting her look +with the satisfaction of defiance. +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl approached one step. +</P> + +<P> +'You knew it?' she asked, very softly and deliberately, searching the +passionate face with eyes as piercing as they were beautiful. +</P> + +<P> +'With certainty.' +</P> + +<P> +'I used to think you intelligent,' said Sibyl, 'but I fancy you don't +perceive what this "certainty" of yours suggests.' She paused, with a +curling lip. 'Let me put you on your guard. You have very little +command of your primitive feelings, and they bring you into danger. I +should be sorry to think that an unpleasant story I have heard +whispered was anything more than ill-natured scandal, but it's as well +to warn you that <I>other</I> people have a taste for that kind of gossip.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm well aware of it,' flashed the listener. 'And that was the very +reason why I came to ask you where Mrs. Strangeways is hiding.' +</P> + +<P> +'Mrs. Rolfe, you are aware of too many things. In your position I +should be uneasy.' +</P> + +<P> +'I will leave you to enjoy your <I>own</I> uneasiness,' returned Alma, with +a contemptuous laugh. 'You must have enough of it, without imagining +that of others.' +</P> + +<P> +She half turned. Sibyl again took one step forward, and spoke with ever +so little tremor in the even voice. +</P> + +<P> +'You have understood me, I hope?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, quite. You have shown plainly how—afraid you are. Good morning, +Mrs. Carnaby.' +</P> + +<P> +Baker Street station being so near, Alma was tempted to go straightway +and demand from the Leach sisters an explanation of what she had heard; +they, too, seemed to be behaving treacherously. But she was unwilling +to miss the luncheon hour at home, for Hughie would speak of it to his +father, and so oblige her to make false excuses. Besides, she had +suffered more than enough indignity (though not unavenged!), and it was +better to summon the sisters to her presence. +</P> + +<P> +On reaching home, she at once sent them an ordinary invitation, but of +the briefest. In the evening she received Dymes's acknowledgment of the +cheque. Next day she wrote to him, a few formal lines, requesting that +he would let her know Mrs. Strangeways' address as soon as he had +discovered it. +</P> + +<P> +Dora Leach came to Gunnersbury alone. She was in distress and worry, +for her father had fallen ill again, and the doctors doubted whether he +would ever be fit to resume work; it had just dawned upon Dora that the +breadwinner of the family deserved rather more consideration than he +had been wont to receive, and that his death might involve unpleasant +consequences for those dependent upon him. To Alma's questioning she +replied frankly and with self-reproach. It was true that she had +whispered her friend's suspicions of Mrs. Carnaby, but only to one +person, and in strictest confidence. Neither she nor Gerda had met Mrs +Carnaby, and how the whisper could have reached Sibyl's ears was +inconceivable to her. +</P> + +<P> +'It doesn't matter in the least,' said Alma, finally. 'To tell you the +truth, I'm not sorry.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, that's just what I thought!' exclaimed Dora, with sudden clearing +of her countenance. +</P> + +<P> +In a fortnight or so there came a note from Dymes, written at Brussels. +He had ascertained that Mrs. Strangeways was somewhere on the +Continent, but as yet he could not succeed in 'running her down'. Let +Mrs. Rolfe depend upon his zeal in this search, as in any other matter +in which he could be of use to her. Unfortunately, this envelope came +under Harvey's eyes, and Alma, knowing he had seen it, felt obliged to +speak. +</P> + +<P> +'Mr. Dymes refuses to believe that I shall never play again in public,' +she remarked, putting down his letter, as carelessly as possible, by +her plate at breakfast. +</P> + +<P> +'Does he pester you? If so, it might be better for me to——' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh dear, no! I can manage my own correspondence, Harvey, thank you.' +</P> + +<P> +Her tone of slight petulance was due to fear that he might ask to see +the letter, and it had its effect. But Alma's heart sank at the +deception, and her skill in practising it. Was it impossible to become +what she desired to be, an honest woman! Only yesterday Harvey had +spoken to her with vexation of a piece of untruthfulness in Hughie, and +had begged her to keep a watch upon the child's habit in this respect. +And she had promised, with much earnestness, much concern. +</P> + +<P> +There are women who can breathe only in the air of lies and of +treachery. Alma rebelled against the fate which made her life +dishonourable. Fate—she declared—not the depravity of her own heart. +From the dark day that saw her father's ruin, she had been condemned to +a struggle with circumstances. She meant honestly; she asked no more +than the free exercise of instincts nature had given her; but destiny +was adverse, and step by step had brought her into a position so false, +so hopeless, that she wondered at her strength in living on. +</P> + +<P> +Hughie had begun to learn the maps of countries, and prided himself on +naming them as he turned over an atlas. One day, about this time, she +looked over his shoulder and saw the map of Italy. +</P> + +<P> +'Those are lakes,' said the child, pointing north. 'Tell me their +names, Mother.' +</P> + +<P> +But she was silent. Her eye had fallen upon Garda, and at the head of +the lake was a name which thrilled her memory. What if she had gone to +Riva? Suddenly, and for the first time, she saw it as a thing that +might have happened; not as a mere dark suggestion abhorrent to her +thought. Had she known the world a little better, it might have been. +Then, how different her life! Pleasure, luxury, triumph; for she had +proved herself capable of triumphing. He, the man of money and +influence, would have made it his pride to smooth the way for her. And +perhaps never a word against her reputation; or, if whispers, did she +not know by this time how indulgent society can be to its brilliant +favourites? +</P> + +<P> +As it was: a small house at Gunnersbury, a baffled ambition, a life of +envy, hatred, fear, suffered in secret, hidden by base or paltry +subterfuge. A husband whom she respected, whose love she had never +ceased to desire, though, strange to say, she knew not whether she +loved him. Only death could part them; but how much better for him and +for her if they had never met! Their thoughts and purposes so unlike; +he, with his heart and mind set on grave, quiet, restful things, hating +the world's tumult, ever hoping to retire beyond its echo; she, her +senses crying for the delight of an existence that loses itself in +whirl and glare. +</P> + +<P> +In a crowded drawing-room she had heard someone draw attention to +her—'the daughter of Bennet Frothingham'. That was how people thought +of her, and would it not have been wiser if she had so thought of +herself? Daughter of a man who had set all on a great hazard; who had +played for the world's reward, and, losing, flung away his life. What +had <I>she</I> to do with domestic virtues, and the pleasures of a dull, +decorous circle? Could it but come over again, she would accept the +challenge of circumstance, which she had failed to understand; accept +the scandal and the hereditary shame; welcome the lot cast for her, +and, like her father, play boldly for the great stakes. His widow might +continue to hold her pious faith in him, and refuse to believe that his +name merited obloquy; his child knew better. She had mistaken her path, +lost the promise of her beauty and her talent, led astray by the feeble +prejudice of those who have neither one nor the other. Too late, and +worse than idle now, to recognise it. She would be a good woman, rule +her little house, bring up her child, and have no will but her +husband's. +</P> + +<P> +House-ruling was no easy matter. Things did not go as she wished; the +servants were inefficient, sometimes refractory, and she loathed the +task of keeping them up to their duties. Insomnia began to trouble her +again, and presently she had recourse to the forbidden +sleeping-draught. Not regularly, but once a week or so, when the long +night harried her beyond endurance. Rolfe did not suspect it, for she +never complained to him. Winter was her bad time. In the spring her +health would improve, as usual, and then she would give up the habit. +</P> + +<P> +At Christmas the Langlands had the customary visit from their relative, +Mr. Thistlewood, who renewed his acquaintance with Alma. At their first +meeting she was struck by his buoyant air, his animated talk. A week +later, he called in the afternoon. Two ladies happened to be with Alma, +and they stayed a long time; but Thistlewood, who comported himself +rather oddly, saying little and sometimes neglecting a remark addressed +to him, stayed yet longer. When he was alone with his hostess, he took +a chair near to her, bent forward, and said, smiling—— +</P> + +<P> +'You remember our talk about marriage on a minute income?' +</P> + +<P> +'I do, very well.' +</P> + +<P> +'I have found someone who isn't afraid of it.' +</P> + +<P> +'You have? The same person who formerly <I>was</I>?' +</P> + +<P> +'No; she was not afraid of the income, but of me. I couldn't be +surprised, though it hit me hard. Time has spoken for me.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey was dining in town. He came back with vexatious news about Cecil +Morphew, who neglected business, looked ill, and altogether seemed in a +bad way. As he talked, he began to notice that Alma regarded him with +brighter and happier eyes than for many a day. +</P> + +<P> +'Why does it amuse you?' he asked, stopping in his narrative. +</P> + +<P> +'It doesn't; I'm as sorry as you are. But I have a surprise for you.' +</P> + +<P> +'A pleasant one, this time, I see.' +</P> + +<P> +'Mrs. Abbott is going to marry Mr. Thistlewood.' +</P> + +<P> +She watched the effect of her words, and for an instant felt the old +pang, the old bitterness. But Harvey's confusion of feeling soon +passed, giving way to a satisfaction that could not be mistaken. +</P> + +<P> +'Who has told you?' +</P> + +<P> +'The happy man himself.' +</P> + +<P> +'I am glad—heartily glad! But I didn't think it would interest you so +much.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, women—marriages——!' +</P> + +<P> +She threw a pretty scorn upon herself. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, that's good news. They will suit each other. But she'll give up +her school, and that's a nuisance.' +</P> + +<P> +'There are others as good.' +</P> + +<P> +'But not here. Another removal, I suppose.—When is it to be?' +</P> + +<P> +'Not till the Easter holidays.' +</P> + +<P> +They were in the library. Harvey began to fill his pipe, and nothing +more was said until he had drawn a few meditative puffs. +</P> + +<P> +'Another removal,' then escaped him, with half a groan. +</P> + +<P> +'Why should you care?' asked Alma thoughtfully. 'You don't like this +place.' +</P> + +<P> +'As well as any other. It's convenient for town.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you really think of going on in that business, which you detest?' +</P> + +<P> +'It has brought in a little money, and may—ought to—bring more. But +if Morphew goes down——' +</P> + +<P> +Alma glanced at him, and said timidly—— +</P> + +<P> +'You are going to Greystone at Easter.' +</P> + +<P> +'We shall all go. What of that?' +</P> + +<P> +'Haven't you'—she spoke with an effort—'sometimes thought you would +like to live there?' +</P> + +<P> +'Great heavens—Alma!' +</P> + +<P> +He stared at her in humorous astonishment, then slowly shook his head. +How could <I>she</I> live in such a place as Greystone? And what on earth +did she mean by disturbing him with such a suggestion? But Alma, +gravely and repeatedly, assured him that she could live there very +well; that in all likelihood she would be much more contented there +than here. +</P> + +<P> +'I should bring out my violin again, and the Greystone people would +admire me. There's a confession—to prove that I am in earnest. I can't +conquer the world; I don't wish it; that's all over. But I should find +it pleasant to have a reputation in Greystone—I should indeed.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey sighed, and could not look at her. +</P> + +<P> +'And Hughie,' she continued, 'would go to the Grammar-School. You know +how you would like that. And living there is cheap; we might keep our +horse again.—Don't say anything now, but think about it.' +</P> + +<P> +He raised his eyes, and fixed them upon her with a look of infinite +tenderness and gratitude. It was Alma now who sighed, but not audibly. +</P> + +<P> +Before Thistlewood went north again, Harvey enjoyed long talks with +him. Mary Abbott he saw only in the presence of other people. But on an +evening in February, when Alma was at the Langlands' and he had +promised to call for her at ten o'clock, he left home an hour earlier +and walked past Mrs. Abbott's house. A light in the window of her +sitting-room showed that Mary was at home. After a turn or two +backwards and forwards, he went up to the door and knocked. A very +young servant took his name to her mistress, and then admitted him. +</P> + +<P> +'Will you let me answer your letter personally?' he said, as Mrs. +Abbott welcomed him in the room where she sat alone. +</P> + +<P> +She had written about Minnie Wager, begging that he would in future +cease to contribute to the girl's support, and be responsible only for +the boy. In her new home there would be no need of a servant; she and +Minnie would do the housework together. Impossible, she wrote, to speak +of his kindness both to her and the children. For Minnie, who might +henceforth be looked upon as self-supporting, he must no longer be +taxed. The child owed him every hope in her life; let him be satisfied +with what he had done so generously. +</P> + +<P> +Of these things they talked for a few minutes. It was easy to see how +great a change had befallen Mary Abbott's outlook upon life. She was +younger by several years, yet not like herself of that earlier time; +much gentler, much sweeter in face and word. Harvey observed her with +keen pleasure, and, becoming aware of his gaze, his smile, she blushed +like a girl. +</P> + +<P> +'Mr. Rolfe—I am sure you feel that I am deserting my post.' +</P> + +<P> +'To be sure you are. I shall always owe you a grudge for it.' +</P> + +<P> +'I thought of it all—of Hughie and the others. I didn't know how I +should ever face you.' +</P> + +<P> +''Twas a shameless thing. And yet I can find it in my heart to forgive +you. You are so ingenuous about it.' +</P> + +<P> +Mary looked up again. +</P> + +<P> +'What shall you do—about Hughie?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, there's a great scheme on foot. Alma suggests that we shall go and +live at Greystone. It tempts me.' +</P> + +<P> +'That it must, indeed! I know how you would like it.' +</P> + +<P> +'We shouldn't be so very far apart then—an hour's journey or so. You +would come to us, and we to you.' +</P> + +<P> +'Delightful!' +</P> + +<P> +They had not much more to say, but each was conscious of thought in the +other's mind that supplemented their insufficient phrases. As they +shook hands, Mary seemed trying to speak. The lamplight made a glimmer +in her eyes, and their lids drooped as she said at length—— +</P> + +<P> +'I am so glad that you like each other.' +</P> + +<P> +'He's a splendid fellow,' replied Rolfe joyously. 'I think no end of +him.' +</P> + +<P> +'And he of you—for I have told him everything.' +</P> + +<P> +Then Harvey quitted the house, and walked about under the starry sky +until it was time to call for Alma. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0310"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 10 +</H3> + +<P> +Yet once again did Alma hypnotise her imagination with a new ideal of +life. Her talk was constantly of Greystone. She began a correspondence +with Mrs. Morton, who did her best to encourage all pleasant +anticipations—careful the while, at her husband's bidding and Harvey's +too, not to exaggerate the resources of Greystone for a mind and temper +such as Alma's. Of course the little town had its musical circle, in +which Mrs. Rolfe's talent would find an appreciative reception. +Touching on this point to her correspondent, Alma remarked, with +emphasised modesty, that she must <I>not</I> be regarded as a professional +violinist; it would be better, perhaps, if nothing were said about her +'rather audacious experiment' in London. Meanwhile, a suitable house +was being looked for. There need be no hurry; Midsummer was the +earliest possible date for removal, and a few months later might prove +more convenient. +</P> + +<P> +At Easter came Mary Abbott's wedding, which was celebrated as quietly +as might be. Alma had done her utmost to atone for bygone slights and +coldness; she and Mary did not love each other, nor ever could, and for +that reason they were all the more affectionate at this agitating time. +When all was over, the Rolfes set forth on their visit to Greystone. +Harvey could not look forward to complete enjoyment of the holiday, for +by this time Cecil Morphew had succumbed to his old habits of tossing +indolence, and only pretended to look after his business. If Harvey +withdrew, the shop must either be closed or pass into other hands. +Pecuniary loss was the least vexatious part of the affair. Morphew, +reckless in the ruin of his dearest hope, would seek excitement, try +once more to enrich himself by gambling, and so go down to the depths +whence there is no rescue. As a last hope, Harvey had written to +Henrietta Winter a long letter of all but passionate appeal; for answer +he received a few lines, infinitely sorrowful, but of inflexible +resolve. 'In the sight of God, Mr. Morphew already has a wife. I should +be guilty of a crime if I married him.' With a desperate ejaculation, +Rolfe crushed up the sheet of paper, and turned to other things. +</P> + +<P> +Whilst she was at Greystone, Alma heard again from Felix Dymes, his +letter having been forwarded. He wrote that Mrs. Strangeways was about +to return to England, and that before long she might be heard of at a +certain hotel in London. As this letter had escaped Harvey's notice, +Alma was spared the necessity of shaping a fiction about it. Glad of +this, and all but decided to put Mrs. Strangeways utterly out of her +life and mind, she sent no answer. +</P> + +<P> +But when she had been back again for some weeks at Gunnersbury; when a +house at Greystone was taken (though it would not be ready for them +till Michaelmas); when she was endeavouring, day after day, to teach +Hughie, and to manage her servants, and to support a wavering hope, +there arrived one morning a letter from Mrs. Strangeways. It was dated +from the hotel which Dymes had mentioned, and it asked Alma to call +there. A simple, friendly invitation, suggestive of tea and chat. Alma +did not speak of it, and for an hour or two thought she could disregard +it altogether. But that evening she talked to Harvey of shopping she +had to do in town, and the following afternoon she called upon Mrs. +Strangeways. +</P> + +<P> +A lift carried her to the topmost, or all but topmost, storey of the +vast hotel, swarming, murmurous. She entered a small sitting-room, +pretentiously comfortless, and from a chair by the open window—for it +was a day of hot sunshine—Mrs. Strangeways rose to greet her; quite in +the old way, smiling with head aside, cooing rapidly an effusive +welcome. Alma looked round to see that the door was shut; then, +declining the offered hand, she said coldly—— +</P> + +<P> +'You are mistaken if you think I have come as a friend.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh! I am so sorry to hear you say that. Do sit down, and let me hear +all about it. I have so looked forward to seeing you.' +</P> + +<P> +'I am only here to ask what good it can do you to talk ill of me.' +</P> + +<P> +'I really don't understand. I am quite at a loss.' +</P> + +<P> +'But I know for certain that you have tried to injure me by telling +extraordinary falsehoods.' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Strangeways regarded her with an air of gently troubled +deprecation. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, you have been grievously misled. Who can have told you this?' +</P> + +<P> +'The name doesn't matter. I have no doubt of the fact.' +</P> + +<P> +'But at least you will tell me what I am supposed to have said.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma hesitated, and only after several interchanges of question and +answer did the full extent of her accusation appear. Thereupon Mrs +Strangeways smiled, as if with forbearance. +</P> + +<P> +'Now I understand. But I have been cruelly misrepresented. I heard such +a rumour, and I did my best to contradict it. I heard it, +unfortunately, more than once.' +</P> + +<P> +Again Alma found herself in conflict with an adroitness, a +self-possession, so much beyond her own, that the sense of being +maliciously played with goaded her into rage. +</P> + +<P> +'No one but yourself could ever have started such a story!' +</P> + +<P> +'You mean,' sounded the other voice, still soft, though not quite so +amiable, 'that I was the only person who knew——' +</P> + +<P> +And there Mrs. Strangeways paused, as if discreetly. +</P> + +<P> +'Knew? Knew what?' +</P> + +<P> +'Only that you had reason for a little spite against your dear friend.' +</P> + +<P> +'Suppose it was so,' exclaimed Alma, remembering too well her last +conversation with this woman. 'Whatever you knew, or thought you knew, +about me—and it was little enough—you have been making use of it +disgracefully.' +</P> + +<P> +'You say I knew very little,' put in the other, turning a ring upon her +hand; 'but you will admit that it was enough to excite my curiosity. +May I not have taken trouble to learn more?' +</P> + +<P> +'Any amount of trouble would have taught you nothing; there was nothing +to discover. And that you know as well as I do.' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Strangeways moved her head, as if in good-natured acquiescence. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't let us be harsh with each other, my dear. We have both had our +worries and trials in consequence of that unfortunate affair. You, I +can see, have gone through a good deal; I assure you, so have I. But +oughtn't you to remember that our misfortunes were caused by the same +person? If I——' +</P> + +<P> +'Your misfortunes are nothing to me. And I shouldn't think you would +care to talk about them.' +</P> + +<P> +'Surely I might say the same to you, my dear Alma? Is there very much +to choose between us?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma flushed with resentment, but had no word ready on her parched +tongue. The other went on in an unbroken flow of mocking good humour. +</P> + +<P> +'We ought to be the best of friends. I haven't the least wish to do you +harm, and nothing would please me better than to gratify your little +feeling against a certain person. I may be able to manage that. Let me +tell you something—of course in the strictest confidence.' Her voice +was playful for a moment. 'I have been trying to find someone—you know +who I mean—who mysteriously disappeared. That interests you, I see. +It's very difficult; such people don't let themselves be dropped upon +by chance a second time. But, do you know, I have something very like a +clue, at last. Yes'—she nodded familiarly—'I have.' +</P> + +<P> +In vain Alma tried to lock her lips. +</P> + +<P> +'What if you find her?' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you forget that someone will very soon be at large again, and that +someone's wife, a very clever woman, counts on deceiving the world as +she deceived <I>him</I>?' +</P> + +<P> +'You are sure she <I>did</I> deceive him?' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Strangeways laughed. +</P> + +<P> +'You are acute, my dear. You see the puzzle from all sides. But I won't +go into that just now. What I want to show you is, that our interests +are the same. We should both dearly like to see a certain person shown +up. I begin to see my way to do it very thoroughly. It would delight +you if I were at liberty to tell what I actually <I>have</I> got hold of, +but you must wait a little. My worst difficulty, now, is want of money. +People have to be bought, you know, and I am not rich——. Don't you +think you could help a little?' +</P> + +<P> +The question came out with smooth abruptness, accompanied by a look +which startled the hearer. +</P> + +<P> +'I? I have no money.' +</P> + +<P> +'What an idea!' +</P> + +<P> +'I tell you I haven't a penny of my own!' +</P> + +<P> +'My dear Alma, you have obliging bankers. One of them is doing very +well indeed. You didn't go to his wedding?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma felt a chill of fear. The woman's eyes seemed to cast a net about +her, and to watch her struggle as it tightened. +</P> + +<P> +'I don't understand you. I have nothing to do with your plots.' +</P> + +<P> +She strung her muscles and stood up; but Mrs. Strangeways, scarcely +moving, still looked at her with baleful directness. +</P> + +<P> +'It would be a shame to lose our sport for want of a little money. I +must ask you to help, really.' +</P> + +<P> +'I can't—and won't.' +</P> + +<P> +'I feel sure you will—rather than have anything happen. You are +leading, I hear, a most exemplary life; I should be so sorry to disturb +it. But really, you <I>must</I> help in our undertaking.' +</P> + +<P> +There was a very short silence. +</P> + +<P> +'A week, even a fortnight hence, will do. No great sum; two or three +hundred pounds. We won't say any more about it; I depend upon you. In a +fortnight's time will do.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you imagine,' exclaimed Alma, on a high, quivering note, 'that I am +in your power?' +</P> + +<P> +'Hush! It is very dangerous to talk like that in a hotel.—Think over +what I have said. You will find me here. Think, and remember. You will +be quite satisfied with the results, but your help is indispensable.' +</P> + +<P> +Therewith Mrs. Strangeways turned to the open window. Looking at her +elaborately plaited yellow hair, her thin neck, her delicate fingers +just touching the long throat, Alma felt instinct of savagery; in a +flash of the primitive mind, she saw herself spring upon her enemy, +tear, bite, destroy. The desire still shook her as she stood outside in +the corridor, waiting to descend. And in the street she walked like a +somnambulist, with wide eyes, straight on. Curious glances at length +recalled her to herself; she turned hurriedly from the crowded highway. +</P> + +<P> +Before reaching home, she had surveyed her position, searched her +memory. 'The wretch is counting on my weakness. Knowing she can do +nothing, she thinks I shall be frightened by the threat. Money? And +perhaps all she said only a lie to tempt me! Let her do her worst—and +that will be nothing.' +</P> + +<P> +And by this she held, letting the days go by. The fortnight passed. She +was ill with apprehension, with suspense; but nothing happened. Three +weeks, and nothing happened. Then Alma laughed, and went about the +house singing her deliverance. +</P> + +<P> +On that day, Mrs. Strangeways sat talking with Mrs. Carnaby, in the +latter's drawing-room. Her manner was deferential, but that of a +friend. Sibyl, queening it at some distance, had the air of conferring +a favour as she listened. +</P> + +<P> +'I haven't the least doubt that I shall soon lay my hand upon her. I +have had an answer to my last advertisement.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then let me see it,' replied Sibyl coldly. +</P> + +<P> +'Impossible. I put myself in a position of much danger. I dare not +trust even you, Mrs. Carnaby.' +</P> + +<P> +'Very well. You know my promise. Get her into the hands of the police, +and your reward is waiting.' +</P> + +<P> +'But I may lose my opportunity, for want of money. If you would trust +me with only—say a hundred pounds.' +</P> + +<P> +'Not a farthing. I didn't ask you to undertake this. If you do it, well +and good, I will pay you. But nothing till then.' +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Strangeways perused the carpet. +</P> + +<P> +'Anyone else,' she murmured, 'might be tempted to think that you didn't +really care to have her caught.' +</P> + +<P> +'You may be tempted to think exactly what you like,' answered Sibyl, +with fine scorn. +</P> + +<P> +The other scrutinised her, with an eye of anxious uncertainty. +</P> + +<P> +'Have you thought, again, of taking any steps in the other matter?' +</P> + +<P> +'Have you anything to show?' +</P> + +<P> +'No. But it can be obtained. A charge of slander could be brought +against her at any moment. If you prefer libel, it is merely taking a +little trouble.' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl reflected. +</P> + +<P> +'There is no hurry. I will pay you, as I said, for any trustworthy +evidence—of any kind. You bring me none.—Does she come to see you?' +</P> + +<P> +'Occasionally.' +</P> + +<P> +'And—have you succeeded in making <I>her</I> pay?' asked Sibyl, with a curl +of the lips. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Strangeways merely smiled. After a brief pause, Sibyl looked at +her watch, and rose. +</P> + +<P> +'I have an engagement. And—pray don't trouble to come again unless you +have really something to come for. I can't pretend to have any taste +for this kind of conversation. It really matters very little; we know +that woman will be caught some day, and I shall have the pleasure of +prosecuting her for stealing my jewellery and things. The other +person—perhaps she is a little beneath my notice.' +</P> + +<P> +She rang the bell, and Mrs. Strangeways, having no alternative, +slightly bent her head and withdrew. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Carnaby had no engagement; she was quite at leisure, and, as usual +nowadays, spent her leisure in thought. She did not read much, and not +at all in the solid books which were to be seen lying about her rooms; +but Lady Isobel Barker, and a few other people, admired her devotion to +study. Certainly one or two lines had begun to reveal themselves on +Sibyl's forehead, which might possibly have come of late reading and +memory overstrained; they might also be the record of other +experiences. Her beauty was more than ever of the austere type; in +regarding her, one could have murmured— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + Chaste a' the icicle<BR> + That's curded by the frost from purest snow,<BR> + And hangs on Dian's temple.<BR> +</P> + +<P> +But in privacy Sibyl did not look her best. Assuredly not after the +withdrawal of Mrs. Strangeways, when her lips, sneering away their fine +contour, grew to an ugly hardness, and her eyes smalled themselves in a +vicious intensity of mental vision. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0311"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 11 +</H3> + +<P> +Major Carnaby, Hugh's brother, was now in England. A stranger to the +society in which Mrs. Carnaby had lived, he knew nothing of the gossip +at one time threatening her with banishment from polite circles. An +honest man, and taking for granted the honesty of his kinsfolk, he put +entire faith in Hugh's story, despatched to him by letter a few days +after the calamitous event at Wimbledon. On arriving in London, the +good Major was pleased, touched, flattered by the very warm welcome +with which his sister-in-law received him. Hitherto they had seen +hardly anything of each other; but since the disaster their +correspondence had been frequent, and Sibyl's letters were so brave, +yet so pathetic, that Major Carnaby formed the highest opinion of her. +She did not pose as an injured woman; she never so much as hinted at +the activity of slanderous tongues; she spoke only of Hugh, the dear, +kind, noble fellow, whom fate had so cruelly visited The favourable +impression was confirmed as soon as they met. The Major found that this +beautiful, high-hearted creature had, among her many virtues, a sound +capacity for business; no one could have looked after her husband's +worldly interests with more assiduity and circumspection. He saw that +Hugh had been quite right in assuring him (at Sibyl's instance) that +there was no need whatever for him to neglect his military duties and +come home at an inconvenient time. Hugh's affairs were in perfect +order; all he would have to think about was the recovery of health and +mental tranquillity. +</P> + +<P> +To this end, they must decide upon some retreat in which he might pass +a quiet month or two. That dear and invaluable friend, to whom Sibyl +owed 'more than she could tell' (much more than she could tell to Major +Carnaby), was ready with a delightful suggestion. Lady Isobel (that is +to say, her auriferous husband, plain Mr. Barker) had a little house in +the north, cosy amid moor and mountain, and she freely offered it. +There Hugh and his wife might abide in solitude until the sacred +Twelfth, when religious observance would call thither a small company +of select pilgrims. The offer was gratefully accepted. Major Carnaby +saw no reason for hesitating, and agreed with Sibyl that the plan +should be withheld from Hugh until the last moment, as a gratifying +surprise. By some means, however, on the day before Hugh's release, +there appeared in certain newspapers a little paragraph making known to +the public this proof of Lady Isabel's friendship for Sibyl and her +husband. +</P> + +<P> +'It's just as well,' said Mrs. Carnaby, after appearing vexed for a +moment. 'People will be saved the trouble of calling here. But it +really is mysterious how the papers get hold of things.' +</P> + +<P> +She was not quite sure that Hugh would approve her arrangement, and the +event justified this misgiving. Major Carnaby was to bring his brother +to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, and, if possible, all were to travel +northward that same day. But Hugh, on hearing what was proposed, made +strong objection: he refused to accept the hospitality of people quite +unknown to him; why, with abundant resources of their own, should they +become indebted to strangers? So vehement was his resistance, and so +pitiful the state of body and mind which showed itself in his all but +hysterical excitement, that Sibyl pretended to abandon the scheme. +Today they would remain here, talking quietly; by tomorrow they might +have decided what to do. +</P> + +<P> +At ten o'clock next morning, when Sibyl had been up for an hour, Hugh +still lay asleep. She went softly into the room, lighted by the sun's +yellow glimmer through blind and lace curtains, and stood looking at +him, her husband. To him she had given all the love of which she was +capable; she had admired him for his strength and his spirit, had liked +him as a companion, had prized the flattery of his ardent devotion, his +staunch fidelity. To have married him was, of course, a mistake, not +easy of explanation in her present mind; she regretted it, but with no +bitterness, with no cruel or even unkind thought. His haggard features, +branded with the long rage of captivity; his great limbs, wasted to +mere bone and muscle, moved her indignant pity. Poor dear old boy! +</P> + +<P> +He believed her; he still believed her. She saw that these two years of +misery had made his faith in her something like a religion; he found it +his one refuge from despair. 'But for that, Sibyl, I shouldn't be alive +now!' She had known self-reproach; now again it touched her slightly, +passingly—poor old boy! But unfaithful to him? To call <I>that</I> +unfaithfulness? The idea was too foolish. +</P> + +<P> +Her fears were all outlived. She had dared the worst, and daring was +grown an easy habit. But in the life that lay before them, <I>her</I> +judgment, <I>her</I> ambitions, must prevail and direct. Yesterday she had +no course save yielding; today her rule must begin. +</P> + +<P> +Hugh was stirring. He groaned, and threw out one of his arms; muttered, +as if angrily. She touched him, and on the instant he awoke. +</P> + +<P> +'Sibyl? Good God! that's a queer thing—I dreamt that yesterday was a +dream, and that I had woke up to find myself—— Did you ever do +that—dream you were dreaming?' +</P> + +<P> +She stroked his head, laughing playfully. +</P> + +<P> +'You've had a good long night. Don't you feel better? Shall I bring you +some breakfast here?' +</P> + +<P> +'No; I must get up. What's the time? Miles will be coming.' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl knew that the Major would not be here until two o'clock; but she +said nothing, and left him to dress. +</P> + +<P> +On the breakfast-table were delicacies to tempt his palate, but Hugh +turned from them. He ate for a few minutes only, without appetite, and, +as on the day before, Sibyl was annoyed by the strange rudeness with +which he fed himself; he seemed to have forgotten the habits of +refinement at table. Afterwards he lighted a cigar, but soon threw it +aside; tobacco made him sick. In the drawing-room he moved aimlessly +about, blundering now and then against a piece of furniture, and +muttering a curse. The clothes he wore, out of his old wardrobe, hung +loose about him; he had a stoop in the shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +'Sibyl, what are we going to do?' +</P> + +<P> +For this she had waited. She sat looking at him with a compassionate +smile. It was an odd thing if this poor broken-down man could not be +made subservient to her will. +</P> + +<P> +'I still think, dear boy, that we ought to accept Lady Isobel's +invitation.' +</P> + +<P> +A nervous paroxysm shook him. +</P> + +<P> +'Damn Lady Isobel! I thought that was done with.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think you would speak of her like that, Hugh, if you knew all +her kindness to me. I couldn't tell you all yesterday. May I now? Or +shall I only irritate you?' +</P> + +<P> +'What is it? Of course, I don't want you to offend her. But I suppose +she has common-sense?' +</P> + +<P> +'More than most women. There's no fear of offending her. I have another +reason. Come and sit quietly by me, and let us talk as we used to do. +Do you know, dear, it's a good thing for me that I had powerful +friends; I needed all their help against my enemies.' +</P> + +<P> +'What enemies?' +</P> + +<P> +'Have you forgotten what you yourself said, and felt so strongly, at +that time—what a danger I was exposed to when we determined to tell +the whole truth? You knew what some people would say.' +</P> + +<P> +'They've said it, no doubt; and what harm has it done you? Tell me a +name, and if it's a man——' +</P> + +<P> +'Don't! I can't bear to see that look on your face, Hugh. You could do +nothing but endless harm, trying to defend me that way. I have lived it +down, thinking of you even more than of myself. There was a time when I +almost despaired; people are so glad to think evil. If I had been a +weak woman, I should have run away and hidden myself; and then +everybody would have said, "I told you so." But I had to think of you, +and that gave me strength. What could I do? Truth alone is no good +against the world; but truth with a handle to its name and with a +million of money—that's a different thing. It was life or death, dear +boy, and I had to fight for it. So I went to Lady Isobel Barker. I only +knew her by name. She, of course, knew <I>me</I> by name, and cold enough +she was when I got admitted to her. But half an hour's talk—and I had +won! She was my friend; she would stand by me, and all the world should +know it. Stay! The worst is over, but there's still a good deal to be +done. It has to be known that my friends are your friends also. There +was a paragraph in the papers yesterday, saying that you and your wife +were going as Lady Isobel's guests to that house of hers. She did that +for me. And now, do you think we ought to seem even seem—to slight her +kindness?' Hugh was turning about, chafing impotently. +</P> + +<P> +'Then you mean to go on here?' he asked, with half-appealing, +half-resentful eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl made a gesture of entreaty. +</P> + +<P> +'What other life is there for me? What would you have me do?' +</P> + +<P> +His arms fell; for a minute he sat with head hanging, his eyes fixed +and blank like those of a drunken man. Then, as if goaded suddenly—— +</P> + +<P> +'Who are these enemies you talk about?' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl's look wandered; her lips moved in hesitancy. +</P> + +<P> +'Name one of them.' +</P> + +<P> +'Isn't it better to try to forget them?' +</P> + +<P> +'Women, I suppose?—You say you haven't seen Rolfe. Has <I>he</I> heard this +talk about you, do you think?' +</P> + +<P> +'No doubt,' she answered distantly. 'Isn't he coming to see you?' +</P> + +<P> +'If he saw that in the papers, he won't think I am here. But I should +like to see him. I've a good mind to telegraph—but I don't know his +address. Yes—I forgot—there's a letter from him somewhere.' +</P> + +<P> +'I know the address,' said Sibyl, in the same tone of reserve. +</P> + +<P> +'I should like to see old Rolfe—poor old Rolfe.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why do you pity him?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh—only a way of speaking. You know the address, you say? Has he +written? Has <I>she</I> written?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh no!' +</P> + +<P> +'You haven't seen her?' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl evaded the question. +</P> + +<P> +'Doesn't it seem to you rather strange,' she said, 'that the Rolfes +should keep away from me—never call or write?' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh's lips were set. When she repeated her inquiry more urgently, he +gave a peevish answer. +</P> + +<P> +'You cared very little about her at the last. And Rolfe—when a man +marries—No, I won't see him just yet. I'll write to him when we're +away.' +</P> + +<P> +'It wouldn't astonish you'—Sibyl spoke in a thin voice, not quite +under her control—'if you heard that Mrs. Rolfe had done her best and +her worst against me?' +</P> + +<P> +'She? Against you?' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't know that it matters. You said "poor Rolfe". I should fancy he +is poor, in every sense. As I have said so much, it's better to let you +know all; it will show you that I am not exaggerating what I have gone +through. People knew, of course, that she had called herself a friend +of mine; and just then she came into notice—just enough to give her +opportunities of being dangerous. Well, I heard before long that she +was slandering me to all her acquaintances. Oh, <I>she</I> knew all about +me! It was lucky for me I had a credulous husband. And it still goes +on. She came here not long ago; yes, she came. She told me that she +knew I was afraid of her, and she threatened me.' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh sat staring like a paralytic. +</P> + +<P> +'<I>She</I>? Rolfe's wife did this?' +</P> + +<P> +'Her motive, I don't know. Pure hatred, it seemed. But I've had a +strange fancy. She talked about a woman I used to know very slightly, a +Mrs. Strangeways, and seemed to be in fear of her; she said that woman +and I were circulating stories about her. And I have wondered—Why are +you looking like that?' +</P> + +<P> +'She must be mad.—I'll tell you. I only wish I had told you before. +She was <I>there</I> that night—at Redgrave's. But for <I>her</I> it would never +have happened. I saw him standing with her, by the window of his +room—that is, I saw a woman, but it wasn't light enough to know her; +and all at once she ran back, through the open French windows into the +house; and then I rushed in and found her there—it was Rolfe's wife.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why did you keep this from me?' +</P> + +<P> +'She implored me—vowed there was nothing wrong—cried and begged. And +I thought of Rolfe. I see now that I ought to have told him. The woman +must be crazy to have behaved like this to you.' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl's face shone. +</P> + +<P> +'Now I understand. This explains her. Oh, my dear, foolish husband! +After all, you did <I>not</I> tell the whole truth. To spare your friend's +feelings, you risked your wife's reputation. And I have been at the +mercy of that woman's malice! Don't you think, Hugh, that I have had to +bear a little more than I deserved? Your distrust and what came of +it—I have long forgiven you all that. But this—wasn't it rather too +hard upon me?' +</P> + +<P> +He flinched under her soft reproach. +</P> + +<P> +'I couldn't be sure, Sibyl. Perhaps it was true—perhaps she was only +there——' +</P> + +<P> +A flash of scorn from her eyes struck him into silence. +</P> + +<P> +'Perhaps? And perhaps she meant no harm in lying about me! You will +send at once for Rolfe and tell him.' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh moved from her, and stood with his face averted. +</P> + +<P> +'Can you hesitate for a moment?' she asked severely +</P> + +<P> +'Why need I tell Rolfe? Send for <I>her</I>, and say what you like. Won't +that be enough? It's awful to think of telling Rolfe. Don't ask me do +to that, Sibyl.' +</P> + +<P> +He approached her, voice and attitude broken to humility. Sibyl grew +only more resolute. +</P> + +<P> +'You must tell him. Don't you owe it me?' +</P> + +<P> +'By God, I can't do that!—I can't do that! Have her here, before us +both. Shame her and threaten her as much as you like; but don't tell +Rolfe. It's like you and me, Sibyl. Suppose she has really done no +wrong, and we put that thought into his mind?' +</P> + +<P> +'Have you lost all your senses?' she exclaimed passionately. 'Must I +keep reminding you what she has done to <I>me</I>? Is a woman that will +behave in that way likely to be innocent? Is her husband to be kept in +the dark about her, deceived, cheated? I can't understand you. If you +are too cowardly to do your plain duty—Hugh, how am I talking? You +make me forget myself. But you know that it's impossible to spare your +friend. It wouldn't be just to him. Here's a form; write the telegram +at once.' +</P> + +<P> +'Write it yourself,' he answered, in a low, nerveless voice, moving +away again. +</P> + +<P> +It was quickly done, though Sibyl paused to reflect after the first +word or two. The message ran thus—— +</P> + +<P> +'I want to see you and Mrs. Rolfe before going away. Please both come +this evening if possible. If you cannot, reply when.' +</P> + +<P> +Without showing what she had written, she left the room, and despatched +a servant to the post-office. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0312"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 12 +</H3> + +<P> +As a last resource against Cecil Morphew's degeneration, Harvey had +given up his daily work in Westminster Bridge Road. 'I shall go no +more,' he wrote. 'I am quite unable to manage the business alone, and +if you won't attend to it, it must smash. But please to remember that I +took a share on certain conditions.' For a week he had stayed at home. +Morphew did not reply, but the fact that no appeals arrived from the +trusty shopman seemed to prove that this last step had been effectual. +This morning Rolfe was half-minded to go up to town, but decided that +he had better not. Thus the telegram from Oxford and Cambridge Mansions +came into his hands at about twelve o'clock. +</P> + +<P> +Alma, after giving Hughie his morning's lesson, had gone out with him +for an hour. As soon as she returned, Harvey showed her the message. +</P> + +<P> +'Why does he want both of us to go?' he asked uneasily. +</P> + +<P> +Alma merely shook her head, as if the matter interested her very +little, and turned to leave the room again. +</P> + +<P> +'I think I had better go alone,' said Harvey, his eyes on the telegram. +</P> + +<P> +'Just as you like,' answered Alma, and withdrew. +</P> + +<P> +She spent the afternoon much as usual. Rolfe had said at lunch that he +would go to Carnaby's immediately after dinner. Mrs. Langland and one +of her daughters called; they thought Mrs. Rolfe rather absent-minded, +but noticed nothing else. At dinner-time she said carelessly to her +husband—— +</P> + +<P> +'I think I had better go with you, as I was asked.' +</P> + +<P> +'No, no; I think not.' +</P> + +<P> +'I had rather, Harvey, if you don't mind. I am quite ready; shall only +have to put my hat on.' +</P> + +<P> +He made no further objection, but looked a little displeased, and was +silent through the meal. +</P> + +<P> +They travelled by rail to Edgware Road, exchanging scarce a word on the +way. On the stairs of the Mansions, Alma found the ascent too much for +her; she stopped, and put out a hand to support herself. Rolfe looked +round. +</P> + +<P> +'Nothing. You have made me walk rather quickly.' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm sorry. Rest a moment.' +</P> + +<P> +But Alma hastened upwards. +</P> + +<P> +They were shown at once into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Carnaby, who +was sitting alone, rose at the announcement of their names. Alma +stepped forwards, and seemed about to offer her hand, but she was +disregarded. Their hostess stood with her eyes on Rolfe, who, observing +the strangeness of this reception, bowed and said nothing. +</P> + +<P> +'It was I who sent the telegram, Mr. Rolfe.' Sibyl's voice had its +wonted refinement, and hardly disturbed the silence. 'My husband would +have postponed the pleasure of seeing you, but I thought it better you +should meet him at once.' Her finger touched an electric bell. 'And I +particularly wished Mrs. Rolfe to be with you; I am so glad she was +able to come. Pray sit down.' +</P> + +<P> +Harvey, with no thought of accepting this invitation, cast stern +glances at the speaker and at his wife. +</P> + +<P> +'What does all this mean, Mrs. Carnaby?' +</P> + +<P> +'Your old friend will tell you.' +</P> + +<P> +The door had opened, and Hugh Carnaby slouched in. At the sight of Alma +he stood still. Then meeting Harvey's eyes, he exclaimed, with hoarse +indistinctness, 'Rolfe!' Each advanced, and their hands clasped. +</P> + +<P> +'Rolfe!—old fellow!—I'm the most miserable devil on earth.' +</P> + +<P> +Tears were in his eyes and in his voice. He held Harvey's hand tight +prisoned in both his own, and stood tottering like a feeble old man. +'Old friend, I can't help myself—don't feel hard against me—I have to +tell you something.' +</P> + +<P> +He looked towards Alma, who was motionless. Sibyl had sat down, and +watched as at a play, but with no smile. +</P> + +<P> +'Come into the next room with me,' added the choking voice. +</P> + +<P> +'No. Here, if you please, Hugh,' sounded with gentle firmness. +</P> + +<P> +'Sibyl—then tell it. I can't.' +</P> + +<P> +'It's a simple story, Mr. Rolfe,' began Sibyl. 'I am sure you are not +aware that Mrs. Rolfe, ever since our great misfortune, has lost no +opportunity of slandering me. She has told people, in plain words, that +she knew me to be guilty of what my husband was for a moment trapped +into suspecting. Among others, she told it to her friend Miss Leach. +Not long ago, she went so far as to call upon me here and accuse me to +my face, telling me I was afraid of what she knew against me. I have +thought of taking legal measures to protect myself; perhaps I shall +still do so. Today something has come to my knowledge which possibly +explains Mrs. Rolfe's singular malice. My husband tells me—and it's a +sad pity he kept it a secret so long—that there was a third person +present that evening when he came upon Mr. Redgrave. I dare say you +remember the details of the story told in court. All was perfectly +true; but my husband should have added that a woman was with Mr. +Redgrave, talking alone with him in the dark; and when the blow had +been struck, this woman, who had quickly disappeared from the veranda +into the house, was found to be Mrs. Rolfe.' +</P> + +<P> +Hugh's hand had fallen on to his friend's shoulder. He spoke as soon as +Sibyl ceased. +</P> + +<P> +'She said she had done no wrong. I had no proof of any—no proof +whatever.' +</P> + +<P> +Rolfe was looking at Alma. She, through the unimpassioned arraignment, +stood with eyes fixed upon her enemy, rather as if lost in thought than +listening; her mouth was tortured into a smile, her forehead had the +lines of age and misery. At the sound of Hugh's voice, she turned to +him, and spoke like one recovering consciousness. +</P> + +<P> +'You have told the truth.' +</P> + +<P> +'Why did you compel me to make this known, Mrs. Rolfe?' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, that's quite a mistake. It was she who made you tell it—as she +will make you do anything, and believe anything, she likes. I can +imagine how delighted she was. But it doesn't matter. If you care to +know it, either of you'—she included Carnaby and her husband in one +glance, as equally remote from her—'I haven't gone about seeking to +injure her. Perhaps I let one or two people know what I thought; but +they had heard the truth already. It wasn't prudent; and it wasn't a +right return for the kindness you had shown me, Mr. Carnaby. But I'm +not sure that I should have done better in helping to deceive you. Has +she anything more to say? If not, I will leave you to talk about it.' +</P> + +<P> +The tone of this speech, so indifferent that it seemed light-headed, +struck the hearers mute. Rolfe, speaking for the first time since +Hugh's entrance, said at length, with troubled sternness—— +</P> + +<P> +'Alma, you have repeated your charge against Mrs. Carnaby; what grounds +have you for it?' +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him with a vague smile, but did not answer. +</P> + +<P> +'Surely you don't make an accusation of this kind without some proof?' +</P> + +<P> +'Harvey!' The cry quivered on a laugh. 'O Harvey! who would know you +with that face?' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl rose. The men exchanged a quick glance. Rolfe moved to his wife's +side, and touched her. +</P> + +<P> +'Yes, yes, I <I>know</I>,' she went on, drawing away—'I know what you asked +me. Keep quiet, just a little. There are three of you, and it's hard +for me alone. It isn't so easy to make <I>you</I> believe things, Harvey. Of +course, I knew how it would be if this came out. I can tell you, but +not now; some other time, when we are alone. You won't believe me; I +always knew <I>I</I> shouldn't be believed. I ought to have been cautious, +and have kept friends with her. But it wasn't as if I had anything to +hide—anything that mattered. Let me go, and leave you three to talk. +And when you come home——' +</P> + +<P> +Turning, looking for the door, she fell softly on to her knees. In a +moment Harvey had raised her, and seated her in the chair which Hugh +pushed forward. Sibyl, motionless, looked on. Seeing that Alma had not +lost consciousness, she awaited her next word. +</P> + +<P> +'We will go away,' said Hugh, under his breath; and he beckoned to +Sibyl. Reluctantly she took a step towards him, but was stopped by +Alma's voice. +</P> + +<P> +'Don't go on my account. Haven't <I>you</I> any question to ask me? When I +go, I shan't be anxious to see you again. Don't look frightened; I know +what I am talking about. My head went round for a moment—and no +wonder. Stand there, face to face.—Leave me alone, Harvey; I can stand +very well. I want her to ask me anything she has to ask. It's her only +chance, now. I won't see her again—never after this.' +</P> + +<P> +'Mrs. Carnaby,' said Rolfe, 'there must be an end of it. You had better +ask Alma what she has against you.' +</P> + +<P> +Sibyl, summoning all her cold dignity, stood before the half-distraught +woman, and looked her in the eyes. +</P> + +<P> +'What harm or wrong have I done you, Mrs. Rolfe, that you hate me so?' +</P> + +<P> +'None that I know of, until you brought me here today.' +</P> + +<P> +'But you have said that you think me no better than a guilty hypocrite, +and isn't it natural that I should defend myself?' +</P> + +<P> +'Quite natural. You have done it very cleverly till now, and perhaps +you will to the end. I feel sure there is no evidence against you, +except the word of the woman who told your husband; and even if she +comes forward, you have only to deny, and keep on denying.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then why do you believe that woman rather than me?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma answered only with a frivolous laugh. Sibyl, turning her head, +looked an appeal to the listeners. +</P> + +<P> +'Mrs. Rolfe,' said Hugh, in a rough, imploring voice, 'have you no +other answer? You can't ruin people's lives like this, as if it were +sport to you.' +</P> + +<P> +Alma gazed at him, as if she had but just observed his face. +</P> + +<P> +'You have gone through dreadful things,' she said earnestly. 'I'm sorry +to cause you more trouble, but the fault is hers. She got that secret +from you, and it delighted her. Go on believing what she says; it's the +best way when all's over and done with. You can never know as <I>I</I> do.' +</P> + +<P> +She laughed again, a little spurt of joyless merriment. Upon that, in +the same moment, followed a loud hysterical cry; then sobs and wailing, +with movements as if to tear open the clothing that choked her. Sibyl +hastened away, and returned with her vinaigrette, which she handed to +Rolfe. But already the crisis was over. Alma lay back in a chair, +sobbing quietly, with head bent aside. +</P> + +<P> +Carnaby and his wife, after an exchange of signals, silently left the +room. Rolfe paced backwards and forwards for a minute or two, until he +heard his name spoken; then he drew near, and Alma looked at him with +her own eyes once more. +</P> + +<P> +'I won't go back home unless you wish, Harvey.' +</P> + +<P> +'Do you feel able to go?' +</P> + +<P> +'If you wish me. If not, I'll go somewhere else.' +</P> + +<P> +He sat down by her. +</P> + +<P> +'Are you yourself, Alma? Do you know what you are saying?' +</P> + +<P> +'Yes—indeed I do. I know I lost myself; my head went round; but I am +well again now.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then tell me in a word—is there any reason why you should <I>not</I> go +home with me?' +</P> + +<P> +'What's the use? You won't believe me. You can't believe me!' +</P> + +<P> +He grasped her hand, and spoke imperatively, but not unkindly. +</P> + +<P> +'Stop that! Answer me, and I will believe what you say.' +</P> + +<P> +'There is no reason. I have done no wrong.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then come, if you feel able to.' +</P> + +<P> +She rose without help, and walked to a mirror, at which she arranged +her dress. Harvey opened the door, and found all quiet. He led her +through the passage, out into the common staircase, and down into the +street. Here she whispered to him that a faintness was upon her; it +would pass if she could have some restorative. They found a +four-wheeled cab, and drove to a public-house, where Rolfe obtained +brandy and brought it out to her. Then, wishing to avoid the railway +station until Alma had recovered her strength, he bade the cabman drive +on to Notting Hill Gate. +</P> + +<P> +'May I sit at your side?' she asked, bending towards him in the +darkness, when they had been silent for a few minutes. +</P> + +<P> +Harvey replied by changing his own place. +</P> + +<P> +'I want to tell you,' she resumed, her face near to his. 'I can't wait, +and know you are thinking about me. There isn't much to tell. Are you +sure you can believe me?' +</P> + +<P> +'I have promised that I will.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't ask you to be kind or to love me. You will never love me +again. Only believe that I tell the truth, that's all. I am not like +that woman.' +</P> + +<P> +'Tell me,' he urged impatiently. +</P> + +<P> +'I wanted to make use of Mr. Redgrave to use his influence with people +in society, so that I could have a great success. I knew he wasn't to +be trusted, but I had no fear; I could trust myself. I never said or +did anything—it was only meeting him at people's houses and at +concerts, and telling him what I hoped for. You couldn't take any +interest in my music, and you had no faith in my power to make a +success. I wanted to show you that you were wrong.' +</P> + +<P> +'I was wrong in more ways than one,' said Harvey. +</P> + +<P> +'You couldn't help it. If you had tried to make me go another way, it +would only have led to unhappiness. At that time I was mad to make my +name known, and, though I loved you, I believe I could have left you +rather than give up my ambition. Mr. Redgrave used to invite people to +his house in the summer to afternoon tea, and I went there once with a +lady. Other people as well—a lot of other people. That's how I knew +the house. I was never there alone until that last evening.—Don't +shrink away from me!' +</P> + +<P> +'I didn't. Go on, and be quick.' +</P> + +<P> +'I suspected Sibyl from the moment you told me about her husband and Mr +Redgrave. You did, too, Harvey.' +</P> + +<P> +'Leave her aside.' +</P> + +<P> +'But it was because of her. I saw she was getting to dislike me, and I +thought she knew Mr. Redgrave was doing his best for me, and that she +was jealous, and would prevent him—do you understand? He was my +friend, nothing else; but <I>she</I> would never believe that. And a few +days before my recital he seemed to lose interest, and I thought it was +her doing. Can you understand how I felt? Not jealousy, for I never +even liked him. I was living only for the hope of a success. Do you +believe me, Harvey?' 'Easily enough.' +</P> + +<P> +Thereupon she related truly, without omission, the train of +circumstances that brought her to Wimbledon on the fatal night, and all +that happened until she fled away into the darkness. +</P> + +<P> +'It would be silly to say I oughtn't to have gone there. Of course, I +knew all I was risking; but I felt I could give my life to detect that +woman and have her in my power. +</P> + +<P> +'It's just that I don't understand. If it had been ordinary +jealousy—why, of course——' +</P> + +<P> +'Men never can understand why women hate each other. She thought +herself so superior to me, and showed it in every look and word; and +all the time I knew she was a wicked hypocrite.' +</P> + +<P> +'<I>How</I> did you know that?' Rolfe broke in vehemently, staring into her +white face as a ray from the street illumined it. +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, I can't tell you!' she replied, in a moaning, quivering voice. 'I +knew it—I knew it—something told me. But I don't ask you to believe +that. Only about myself—can you believe about myself?' +</P> + +<P> +He replied mechanically, 'Yes.' Alma, with a sigh as much of +hopelessness as of relief, lay back and said no more. +</P> + +<P> +At Notting Hill Gate they waited for a train. Alma wandered about the +platform, her head bent, silent and heeding nothing. In the railway +carriage she closed her eyes, and Harvey had to draw her attention when +it was time to alight. On entering the house she went at once upstairs. +Harvey loitered about below, and presently sat down in the study, +leaving the door ajar. +</P> + +<P> +He was trying to persuade himself that nothing of much moment had come +to pass. A doubt troubled him; most likely it would trouble him for the +rest of his life; but he must heed it as little as possible. What other +course was open to a sensible man? To rave and swear in the high tragic +style would avail nothing, one way or the other; and the fact +was—whatever its explanation—that he felt no prompting to such +violence. Two years had passed; the man was dead; Alma had changed +greatly, and was looking to new life in new conditions. His worst +uneasiness arose from the hysteria which had so alarmingly declared +itself this evening. He thought of Bennet Frothingham, and at length +rose from his chair, meaning to go upstairs. But just then a step +sounded in the hall; his door was pushed open, and Alma showed herself. +</P> + +<P> +'May I come?' she asked, looking at him steadily +</P> + +<P> +He beckoned with his head. She closed the door, and came slowly +forward, stopping at a few paces from him. +</P> + +<P> +'Harvey——' +</P> + +<P> +'Well?' +</P> + +<P> +'I want you to decide tonight. If you think it would be better for both +of us, let me go. I shouldn't part from you unkindly; I don't mean +that. I should ask you to let me have money as long as I needed it. But +you know that I could support myself very soon. If you think it better, +do say so, and we'll talk about it as friends.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't think anything of the kind. I shouldn't let you go, say what +you might.' +</P> + +<P> +'You wouldn't? But if you find that you <I>can't</I> believe me——' +</P> + +<P> +'It would make no difference, even that. But I do believe you.' +</P> + +<P> +She drew nearer, looking wistfully into his face. +</P> + +<P> +'But <I>she</I> has made her husband believe her. You will always think of +that—always.' +</P> + +<P> +'You must remember, Alma, that I have no serious reason for doubting +her word.' +</P> + +<P> +She uttered a cry of distress. +</P> + +<P> +'Then you doubt mine!—you doubt mine!' +</P> + +<P> +'Nonsense, dear. Do try to think and talk more reasonably. What is it +to you and me whether she was guilty or not? I may doubt your judgment +about her, and yet believe perfectly all you tell me about yourself.' +</P> + +<P> +'Then you think I have slandered her?' +</P> + +<P> +'There's no earthly use in talking about it. You can give no reasons; +you <I>have</I> no reasons. Your suspicion may be right or wrong; I don't +care the toss of a button. All I know is, that we mustn't talk of it. +Sit down and be quiet for a little. Oughtn't you to eat something +before you go up?' +</P> + +<P> +Alma put her hands upon his shoulders, bending her face so as to hide +it from him. +</P> + +<P> +'Dear—if you could just say that you believe me; not about myself—I +know you do—but about <I>her</I>. Could you say that?' +</P> + +<P> +He hesitated, all a man's common-sense in revolt against the entreaty; +but he saw her quiver with a sob, and yielded. +</P> + +<P> +'Very well, I will believe that too.' +</P> + +<P> +Her touch became an embrace, gentle and timid; she threw her head back, +gazing at him in rapture. +</P> + +<P> +'You will never again doubt it?' +</P> + +<P> +'Never again.' +</P> + +<P> +'Oh, you are good!—you are kind to me, dear! And will you love me a +little? Do you think you can, just a little?' +</P> + +<P> +His answer satisfied her, and she lay in his arms, shedding tears of +contentment. Then, for a long time, she talked of the new life before +them. She would be everything he wished; no moment's trouble should +ever again come between him and her. Nothing now had any charm for her +but the still, happy life of home; her ambitions were all dead and +buried. And Harvey answered her with tenderness; forgetting the doubt, +refusing to look forward, knowing only that Alma had a place for ever +in his heart. +</P> + +<P> +Tonight she must sleep. Whilst undressing she measured the familiar +draught of oblivion, and said to herself: 'The last time.' She lay down +in darkness, closed her eyes, and tried to think only of happy things. +But sleep would not come, and quiet thoughts would not linger with her. +More than an hour must have passed, when she heard Harvey come +upstairs. His step paused near her door, and she raised herself, +listening. He went on, and his own door closed. +</P> + +<P> +Then, for a short time, she lost herself, but in no placid slumber. +Startled to wakefulness, she found that she had left her bed and was +sitting on the chair beside it. She felt for the matches, and lit a +candle. A great anguish of mind came upon her, but she could not shed +tears; she wished to escape from her room to Harvey's, but durst not +look out into the dark passage. +</P> + +<P> +When her heart grew quieter, she went again to the drawer in which she +kept her remedy for insomnia. Saying to herself, 'The last time—I +shall be well again after tomorrow,' she measured another dose, a +larger, and drank it off. Trembling now with cold, she crept into bed +again, and lay watching the candle-flame. +</P> + +<P> +Half an hour after this—it was about two o'clock—the handle of her +door was turned, and Rolfe quietly looked in. He had awoke with an +anxious feeling; it seemed to him that he heard Alma's voice, on the +borderland of dream, calling his name. But Alma lay asleep, breathing +steadily, her face turned from the light. As the candle had nearly +burnt down, he blew it out, and went back to his bed. +</P> + +<P> +At breakfast time Alma did not appear. The housemaid said that, half an +hour ago, she was still sleeping. When he had had his meal with Hughie, +Rolfe went up and entered his wife's room. Alma lay just as he had seen +her in the night. He looked close—laid his hand upon her—— +</P> + +<P> +A violent ringing of the bedroom bell brought up the servant. Harvey +met her at the door, and bade her run instantly to the doctor's house, +which was quite near. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor could only say, 'We warned her.' +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0313"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER 13 +</H3> + +<P> +<I>Sicut umbra praeterit dies</I>. +</P> + +<P> +The dial on the front of the old house was just shadowing four o'clock. +Harvey Rolfe and his friend Morton sat on the lawn, Harvey reading +aloud from a small volume which he had slipped into his pocket before +walking over this afternoon. From another part of the garden sounded +young voices, musical in their merriment. +</P> + +<P> +It was a little book called 'Barrack-Room Ballads'. Harvey read in it +here and there, with no stinted expression of delight, occasionally +shouting his appreciation. Morton, pipe in mouth, listened with a +smile, and joined more moderately in the reader's bursts of enthusiasm. +</P> + +<P> +'Here's the strong man made articulate,' cried Rolfe at length. 'It's +no use; he stamps down one's prejudice—what? It's the voice of the +reaction. Millions of men, natural men, revolting against the softness +and sweetness of civilisation; men all over the world; hardly knowing +what they want and what they don't want; and here comes one who speaks +for them—speaks with a vengeance.' +</P> + +<P> +'Undeniable.' +</P> + +<P> +'<I>But</I>——' +</P> + +<P> +'I was waiting for the <I>but</I>,' said Morton, with a smile and a nod. +</P> + +<P> +'The brute savagery of it! The very lingo—how appropriate it is! The +tongue of Whitechapel blaring lust of life in the track of English +guns!— He knows it; the man is a great artist; he smiles at the voice +of his genius.—It's a long time since the end of the Napoleonic wars. +Since then Europe has seen only sputterings of temper. Mankind won't +stand it much longer, this encroachment of the humane spirit. See the +spread of athletics. We must look to our physique, and make ourselves +ready. Those Lancashire operatives, laming and killing each other at +football, turning a game into a battle. For the milder of us there's +golf—an epidemic. Women turn to cricket—tennis is too soft—and +tomorrow they'll be bicycling by the thousand;—they must breed a +stouter race. We may reasonably hope, old man, to see our boys blown +into small bits by the explosive that hasn't got its name yet.' +</P> + +<P> +'Perhaps,' replied Morton meditatively. 'And yet there are considerable +forces on the other side.' +</P> + +<P> +'Pooh! The philosopher sitting on the safety-valve. He has breadth of +beam, good sedentary man, but when the moment comes—The Empire; that's +beginning to mean something. The average Englander has never grasped +the fact that there was such a thing as a British Empire. He's +beginning to learn it, and itches to kick somebody, to prove his +Imperialism. The bully of the music-hall shouting "Jingo" had his +special audience. Now comes a man of genius, and decent folk don't feel +ashamed to listen this time. We begin to feel our position. We can't +make money quite so easily as we used to; scoundrels in Germany and +elsewhere have dared to learn the trick of commerce. We feel sore, and +it's a great relief to have our advantages pointed out to us. By God! +we are the British Empire, and we'll just show 'em what <I>that</I> means!' +</P> + +<P> +'I'm reading the campaigns of Belisarius,' said Morton, after a pause. +</P> + +<P> +'What has that to do with it?' +</P> + +<P> +'Thank Heaven, nothing whatever.' +</P> + +<P> +'I bore you,' said Harvey, laughing. 'Well, I read little or nothing, +except what I can use for Hughie. We're doing the geography of Asia, +and I try to give him a few clear notions. Do you remember the idiotic +way in which they used to teach us geography? I loathed the +lesson.—That reminds me; Henrietta Winter is dead.' +</P> + +<P> +'Is she? How did it remind you?' +</P> + +<P> +'Why, because Morphew is going to New Zealand. I had a letter from him +this morning. Here it is. "I heard yesterday that H. W. is dead. She +died a fortnight ago, and a letter from her mother has only just +reached me in a roundabout way. She had been ailing for some time. They +suspected drains, and had workmen in, with assurance that all had been +put right. Since H.'s death the drains have again been examined, and it +was found that the men who came before so bungled and scamped their +work that an abominable state of things was made much worse."—Those +fellows will shout nobly for the Empire one of these days!—"I never +saw her, but she spoke of me just before the end; spoke very kindly, +says her mother. Damnation! I can write no more about it. I know you +don't care to hear from me, but I'll just say that I'm going out to New +Zealand. I don't know what I shall do there, but a fellow has asked me +to go with him, and it's better than rotting here. It may help me to +escape the devil yet; if so, you shall hear. Goodbye!"' +</P> + +<P> +He thrust the letter back into his pocket. +</P> + +<P> +'I rather thought the end would be pyrogallic acid.' +</P> + +<P> +'He has the good sense to prefer ozone,' said Morton. +</P> + +<P> +'For a time, at all events.—Look behind you. The young rascal is +creeping this way. He'd rather sit and listen to our talk than be with +the other youngsters. That's wrong, you know.' +</P> + +<P> +Morton look round, and saw Hugh Rolfe. Seven years old now; slight, and +with little or no colour in his cheeks; a wistful, timid smile on the +too intelligent face. He was gazing towards his father, and evidently +wished to draw near, yet feared that his presence might not be welcome. +Morton beckoned him, and at once he ran and threw himself upon the +grass by his father's side. +</P> + +<P> +'Tired of playing?' asked Harvey, with voice and look which betrayed a +tenderness he was always trying to conceal. +</P> + +<P> +'A little tired. We are going to have tea soon.—May I look at this +book, Father?' +</P> + +<P> +'No pictures.' +</P> + +<P> +'I don't mind.—Yes, there's a picture; a soldier!' +</P> + +<P> +Interest quickened in the boy's eyes, and he turned eagerly from +title-page to text. But just then there came a loud calling of his name +from the other end of the garden. +</P> + +<P> +'They want you,' said Harvey. 'Off you go. You can have the book +another time.' +</P> + +<P> +Hughie obeyed without hesitation, but his face had a weary look as he +walked away to join the other children. +</P> + +<P> +'I must send him to the Grammar-School next year,' said Rolfe. 'It +won't do; he must be among boys, and learn to be noisy. Perhaps I have +been altogether wrong in teaching him myself. What right has a man to +teach, who can't make up his mind on any subject of thought? Of course +I don't talk to <I>him</I> about my waverings and doubtings, but probably +they affect him.' +</P> + +<P> +'Don't bother your head so much about it,' replied Morton. 'He'll be +all right as he grows stronger.' +</P> + +<P> +A servant had brought out two little tables; tea was going to be served +in the garden. When it was ready, Mrs. Morton appeared; the men rose as +she came towards them, a newspaper in her hand. +</P> + +<P> +'Have you noticed this?' she asked of Rolfe, with a smile, pointing out +a paragraph to him. +</P> + +<P> +He read it; first to himself, then aloud. +</P> + +<P> +'Yesterday, at Lady Isobel Barker's house in Pont Street, a meeting was +held of ladies interested in a project for the benefit of working-class +women in the West End. It is proposed to arrange for a series of +lectures, specially adapted to such an audience, on subjects of +literary and artistic interest. Unfortunately, Lady Isobel herself was +unable to take part in the proceedings, owing to sudden indisposition; +but her views were most suggestively set forth by Mrs. Hugh Carnaby, +who dwelt on the monotony of the lives of decent working-class women, +and showed how much they would be benefited by being brought into touch +with the intellectual movements of the day. Practical details of the +scheme will shortly be made public.' +</P> + +<P> +Morton chuckled quietly. +</P> + +<P> +'Splendid idea,' said Rolfe. 'Anyone who knows anything of the West End +working-class woman will be sure to give it warm support.' +</P> + +<P> +The tea-bell rang; the children came running. Morton's eldest boy, who +had been busy in his workshop, exhibited a fine model schooner, just +finished. Presently, the hostess asked Rolfe whether he had heard of +late from Mr. Carnaby. +</P> + +<P> +'A week ago; the first time for a year. The demand for shares in their +company was tremendous, and they are turning out the new bicycle at the +rate of hundreds a week.' +</P> + +<P> +'Has he quite got over that illness?' +</P> + +<P> +'Says he suffers much from dyspepsia; otherwise, fairly well. The +prospect of money-making on a great scale seems pleasant to him.' +</P> + +<P> +'To Mrs. Carnaby, also, I dare say.' +</P> + +<P> +'No doubt,' replied Rolfe absently. +</P> + +<P> +After tea, a trio of little singers, one of whom was Hughie, gave the +songs they had newly learnt with Mrs. Morton, she accompanying them on +the piano. Rolfe sat in a corner of the room and listened, as always, +with keen pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +'One more,' he asked, when they were about to cease. +</P> + +<P> +They sang that which he liked best—— +</P> + +<P> + Fear no more the heat o' the sun<BR> +</P> + +<P> +After it there came a minute's silence; then Harvey rose. +</P> + +<P> +'Say goodbye, Hughie; we must be going home.' +</P> + +<P> +Hand in hand, each thinking his own thoughts, they walked homeward +through the evening sunshine. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Whirlpool, by George Gissing + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHIRLPOOL *** + +***** This file should be named 4299-h.htm or 4299-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/9/4299/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Whirlpool + +Author: George Gissing + +Posting Date: July 7, 2009 [EBook #4299] +Release Date: July, 2003 +First Posted: January 1, 2002 +[Last updated: October 6, 2011] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHIRLPOOL *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + + +The Whirlpool + + +by + +George Gissing + + + + + +Part the First + + + + +CHAPTER 1 + + +Harvey Rolfe was old enough to dine with deliberation, young and +healthy enough to sauce with appetite the dishes he thoughtfully +selected. You perceived in him the imperfect epicure. His club had no +culinary fame; the dinner was merely tolerable; but Rolfe's unfinished +palate flattered the second-rate cook. He knew nothing of vintages; it +sufficed him to distinguish between Bordeaux and Burgundy; yet one saw +him raise his glass and peer at the liquor with eye of connoisseur. All +unaffectedly; for he was conscious of his shortcoming in the art of +delicate living, and never vaunted his satisfactions. He had known the +pasture of poverty, and the table as it is set by London landladies; to +look back on these things was to congratulate himself that nowadays he +dined. + +Beyond the achievement of a vague personal distinction at the +Metropolitan Club, he had done nothing to make himself a man of note, +and it was doubtful whether more than two or three of the members +really liked him or regarded him with genuine interest. His +introduction to this circle he owed to an old friend, Hugh Carnaby, +whose social position was much more clearly defined: Hugh Carnaby, the +rambler, the sportsman, and now for a twelvemonth the son-in-law of +Mrs. Ascott Larkfield. Through Carnaby people learnt as much of his +friend's history as it concerned anyone to know: that Harvey Rolfe had +begun with the study of medicine, had given it up in disgust, +subsequently was 'in business', and withdrew from it on inheriting a +competency. They were natives of the same county, and learnt their +Latin together at the Grammar School of Greystone, the midland town +which was missed by the steam highroad, and so preserves much of the +beauty and tranquillity of days gone by. Rolfe seldom spoke of his own +affairs, but in talking of travel he had been heard to mention that his +father had engineered certain lines of foreign railway. It seemed that +Harvey had no purpose in life, save that of enjoying himself. Obviously +he read a good deal, and Carnaby credited him with profound historical +knowledge; but he neither wrote nor threatened to do so. Something of +cynicism appeared in his talk of public matters; politics amused him, +and his social views lacked consistency, tending, however, to an +indolent conservatism. Despite his convivial qualities, he had traits +of the reserved, even of the unsociable, man: a slight awkwardness in +bearing, a mute shyness with strangers, a hesitancy in ordinary talk, +and occasional bluntness of assertion or contradiction, suggesting a +contempt which possibly he did not intend. Hugh Carnaby declared that +the true Rolfe only showed himself after a bottle of wine; maintained, +moreover, that Harvey had vastly improved since he entered upon a +substantial income. When Rolfe was five and twenty, Hugh being two +years younger, they met after a long separation, and found each other +intolerable; a decade later their meeting led to hearty friendship. +Rolfe had become independent, and was tasting his freedom in a +twelvemonth's travel. The men came face to face one day on the deck of +a steamer at Port Said. Physically, Rolfe had changed so much that the +other had a difficulty in recognising him; morally, the change was not +less marked, as Carnaby very soon became aware. At thirty-seven this +process of development was by no means arrested, but its slow and +subtle working escaped observation unless it were that of Harvey Rolfe +himself. + +His guest this evening, in a quiet corner of the dining-room where he +generally sat, was a man, ten years his junior, named Morphew: slim, +narrow-shouldered, with sandy hair, and pale, delicate features of more +sensibility than intelligence; restless, vivacious, talking incessantly +in a low, rapid voice, with frequent nervous laughs which threw back +his drooping head. A difference of costume--Rolfe wore morning dress, +Morphew the suit of ceremony--accentuated the younger man's advantage +in natural and acquired graces; otherwise, they presented the contrast +of character and insignificance. Rolfe had a shaven chin, a weathered +complexion, thick brown hair; the penumbra of middle-age had touched +his countenance, softening here and there a line which told of +temperament in excess. At this moment his manner inclined to a bluff +jocularity, due in some measure to the bottle of wine before him, as +also was the tinge of colour upon his cheek; he spoke briefly, but +listened with smiling interest to his guest's continuous talk. This ran +on the subject of the money-market, with which the young man boasted +some practical acquaintance. + +'You don't speculate at all?' Morphew asked. + +'Shouldn't know how to go about it,' replied the other in his deeper +note. + +'It seems to me to be the simplest thing in the world if one is content +with moderate profits. I'm going in for it seriously--cautiously--as a +matter of business. I've studied the thing--got it up as I used to work +at something for an exam. And here, you see, I've made five pounds at a +stroke--five pounds! Suppose I make that every now and then, it's worth +the trouble, you know--it mounts up. And I shall never stand to lose +much. You see, it's Tripcony's interest that I should make profits.' + +'I'm not quite sure of that.' + +'Oh, but it _is_! Let me explain--' + +These two had come to know each other under peculiar circumstances a +year ago. Rolfe was at Brussels, staying--his custom when abroad--at a +hotel unfrequented by English folk. One evening on his return from the +theatre, he learnt that a young man of his own nationality lay +seriously ill in a room at the top of the house. Harvey, moved by +compassion, visited the unfortunate Englishman, listened to his +ravings, and played the part of Good Samaritan. On recovery, the +stranger made full disclosure of his position. Being at Brussels on a +holiday, he had got into the company of gamblers, and, after winning a +large sum (ten thousand francs, he declared), had lost not only that, +but all else. that he possessed, including his jewellery. He had +gambled deliberately; he wanted money, money, and saw no other way of +obtaining it. In the expansive mood of convalescence, Cecil Morphew +left no detail of his story unrevealed. He was of gentle birth, and had +a private income of three hundred pounds, charged upon the estate of a +distant relative; his profession (the bar) could not be remunerative +for years, and other prospects he had none. The misery of his situation +lay in the fact that he was desperately in love with the daughter of +people who looked upon him as little better than a pauper. The girl had +pledged herself to him, but would not marry without her parents' +consent, of which there was no hope till he had at least trebled his +means. His choice of a profession was absurd, dictated merely by social +opinion; he should have been working hard in a commercial office, or at +some open-air pursuit. Naturally he turned again to the thought of +gambling, this time the great legalised game of hazard, wherein he was +as little likely to prosper as among the blacklegs of Brussels. Rolfe +liked him for his ingenuousness, and for the vein of poetry in his +nature. The love affair still went on, but Morphew seldom alluded to +it, and his seasoned friend thought of it as a youthful ailment which +would pass and be forgotten. + +'I'm convinced,' said the young man presently, 'that any one who really +gives his mind to it can speculate with moderate success. Look at the +big men--the brokers and the company promoters, and so on; I've met +some of them, and there's nothing in them--nothing! Now, there's Bennet +Frothingham. You know him, I think?' + +Rolfe nodded. + +'Well, what do you think of him? Isn't he a very ordinary fellow? How +has he got such a position? I'm told he began just in a small way--by +chance. No doubt _he_ found it so easy to make money he was surprised +at his success. Tripcony has told me a lot about him. Why, the +"Britannia" brings him fifteen thousand a year; and he must be in a +score of other things.' + +'I know nothing about the figures,' said Rolfe, 'and I shouldn't put +much faith in Tripcony; but Frothingham, you may be sure, isn't quite +an ordinary man.' + +'Ah, well, of course there's a certain knack--and then, experience--' + +Morphew emptied his glass, and refilled it. Nearly all the tables in +the room were now occupied, and the general hum of talk gave security +to intimate dialogue. Flushed and bright-eyed, the young man presently +leaned forward. + +'If I could count upon five hundred, she would take the step.' + +'Indeed?' + +'Yes, that's settled. What do you think? Plenty of people live very +well on less.' + +'You want my serious opinion?' + +'If you _can_ be serious.' + +'Then I think that the educated man who marries on less than a thousand +is either mad or a criminal.' + +'Bosh! We won't talk about it.' + +They rose, and walked towards the smoking-room, Rolfe giving a nod here +and there as he passed acquaintances. In the hall someone addressed him. + +'How does Carnaby take this affair?' + +'What affair?' + +'Don't you know? Their house has been robbed--stripped. It's in the +evening papers.' + +Rolfe went on into the smoking-room, and read the report of his +friend's misfortune. The Carnabys occupied a house in Hamilton Terrace. +During their absence from home last night, there had been a clean sweep +of all such things of value as could easily be removed. The +disappearance of their housekeeper, and the fact that this woman had +contrived the absence of the servants from nine o'clock till midnight, +left no mystery in the matter. The clubmen talked of it with amusement. +Hard lines, to be sure, for Carnaby, and yet harder for his wife, who +had lost no end of jewellery; but the thing was so neatly and +completely done, one must needs laugh. One or two husbands who enjoyed +the luxury of a housekeeper betrayed their uneasiness. A discussion +arose on the characteristics of housekeepers in general, and spread +over the vast subject of domestic management, not often debated at the +Metropolitan Club. In general talk of this kind Rolfe never took part; +smoking his pipe, he listened and laughed, and was at moments +thoughtful. Cecil Morphew, rapidly consuming cigarettes as he lay back +in a soft chair, pointed the moral of the story in favour of humble +domesticity. + +In half an hour, his guest having taken leave, Rolfe put on his +overcoat, and stepped out into the cold, clammy November night. He was +overtaken by a fellow Metropolitan--a grizzled, scraggy-throated, +hollow-eyed man, who laid a tremulous hand upon his arm. + +'Excuse me, Mr. Rolfe, have you seen Frothingham recently?' + +'Not for a month.' + +'Ah! I thought perhaps--I was wondering what he thought about the +Colebrook smash. To tell you the truth, I've heard unpleasant rumours. +Do you--should you think the Colebrook affair would affect the +"Britannia" in any way?' + +It was not the first time that this man had confided his doubts and +timidities to Harvey Rolfe; he had a small, but to him important, +interest in Bennet Frothingham's wide-reaching affairs, and seemed to +spend most of his time in eliciting opinion on the financier's +stability. + +'Wouldn't you be much more comfortable,' said Rolfe, rather bluntly, +'if you had your money in some other kind of security?' + +'Ah, but, my dear sir, twelve and a half per cent--twelve and a half! I +hold preference shares of the original issue.' + +'Then I'm afraid you must take your chance.' + +'But,' piped the other in alarm, 'you don't mean that--' + +'I mean nothing, and know nothing. I'm the last man to consult about +such things.' + +And Rolfe, with an abrupt 'Goodnight,' beckoned to a passing hansom. +The address he gave was Hugh Carnaby's, in Hamilton Terrace. + +Twice already the horse had slipped at slimy crossings, when, near the +top of Regent Street, it fell full length, and the abrupt stoppage +caused a collision of wheels with another hansom which was just passing +at full speed in the same direction. Rolfe managed to alight in the +ordinary way, and at once heard himself greeted by a familiar voice +from the other cab. His acquaintance showed a pallid, drawn, all but +cadaverous visage, with eyes which concealed pain or weariness under +their friendly smile. Abbott was the man's name. Formerly a lecturer at +a provincial college, he had resigned his post on marrying, and taken +to journalism. + +'I want to speak to you, Rolfe,' he said hurriedly, 'but I haven't a +moment to spare. Going to Euston--could you come along for a few +minutes?' + +The vehicles were not damaged; Abbott's driver got quickly out of the +crowd, and the two men continued their conversation. + +'Do you know anything of Wager?' inquired the journalist, with a +troubled look. + +'He came to see me a few evenings ago--late.' + +'Ha, he did! To borrow money, wasn't it?' + +'Well, yes.' + +'I thought so. He came to me for the same. Said he'd got a berth at +Southampton. Lie, of course. The fellow has disappeared, and left his +children--left them in a lodging-house at Hammersmith. How's that for +cool brutality? The landlady found my wife's address, and came to see +her. Address left out on purpose, I dare say. There was nothing for it +but to take care of the poor little brats.--Oh, damn!' + +'What's the matter?' + +'Neuralgia--driving me mad. Teeth, I think. I'll have every one +wrenched out of my head if this goes on. Never mind. What do you think +of Wager?' + +'I remember, when we were at Guy's, he used to advocate the +nationalisation of offspring. Probably he had some personal interest in +the matter, even then.' + +'Hound! I don't know whether to set the police after him or not. It +wouldn't benefit the children. I suppose it's no use hunting for his +family?' + +'Not much, I should say.' + +'Well, lucky we have no children of our own. Worst of it is, I don't +like the poor little wretches, and my wife doesn't either. We must find +a home for them.' + +'I say, Abbott, you must let me go halves at that.' + +'Hang it, no! Why should you support Wager's children? They're +relatives of ours, unfortunately. But I wanted to tell you that I'm +going down to Waterbury.' He looked at his watch. 'Thirteen +minutes--shall I do it? There's a good local paper, the _Free Press_, +and I have the offer of part-ownership. I shall buy, if possible, and +live in the country for a year or two, to pick up my health. Can't say +I love London. Might get into country journalism for good. Curse this +torment!' + +In Tottenham Court Road, Rolfe bade his friend goodbye, and the cab +rushed on. + + + + +CHAPTER 2 + + +It was half past ten when Rolfe knocked at the door in Hamilton +Terrace. He learnt from the servant that Mr. Carnaby was at home, and +had company. In the room known as the library, four men sat smoking; +their voices pealed into the hall as the door opened, and a boisterous +welcome greeted the newcomer's appearance. + +'Come to condole?' cried Hugh, striding forward with his +man-of-the-wide-world air, and holding out his big hand. 'No doubt +they're having a high old time at the club. Does it please them? Does +it tickle them?' + +'Why, naturally. There's the compensation, my boy--you contribute to +the gaiety of your friends.' + +Carnaby was a fair example of the well-bred, well-fed Englishman--tall, +brawny, limber, not uncomely, with a red neck, a powerful jaw, and a +keen eye. Something more of repose, of self-possession, and a slightly +more intellectual brow, would have made him the best type of +conquering, civilising Briton. He came of good family, but had small +inheritance; his tongue told of age-long domination; his physique and +carriage showed the horseman, the game-stalker, the nomad. Hugh had +never bent over books since the day when he declined the university and +got leave to join Colonel Bosworth's exploring party in the Caucasus. +After a boyhood of straitened circumstances, he profited by a skilful +stewardship which allowed him to hope for some seven hundred a year; +his elder brother, Miles, a fine fellow, who went into the army, +pinching himself to benefit Hugh and their sister Ruth. Miles was now +Major Carnaby, active on the North-West Frontier. Ruth was wife of a +missionary in some land of swamps; doomed by climate, but of spirit +indomitable. It seemed strange that Hugh, at five and thirty, had done +nothing particular. Perhaps his income explained it--too small for +traditional purposes, just large enough to foster indolence. For Hugh +had not even followed up his promise of becoming an explorer; he had +merely rambled, mostly in pursuit of fowl or quadruped. When he +married, all hope for him was at an end. The beautiful and brilliant +daughter of a fashionable widow, her income a trifle more than +Carnaby's own; devoted to the life of cities, wherein she shone; an +enchantress whose spell would not easily be broken, before whom her +husband bowed in delighted subservience--such a woman might flatter +Hugh's pride, but could scarce be expected to draw out his latent +energies and capabilities. This year, for the first time, he had +visited no wild country; his journeying led only to Paris, to Vienna. +In due season he shot his fifty brace on somebody's grouse-moor, but +the sport did not exhilarate him. + +An odd and improbable alliance, that between Hugh Carnaby and Harvey +Rolfe. Yet in several ways they suited each other. Old-time memories +had a little, not much, to do with it; more of the essence of the +matter was their feeling of likeness in difference. Ten years ago +Carnaby felt inclined to call his old school-fellow a 'cad'; Harvey saw +nothing in Hugh but robust snobbishness. Nowadays they had the pleasant +sense of understanding each other on most points, and the result was a +good deal of honest mutual admiration. The one's physical vigour and +adroitness, the other's active mind, liberal thoughts, studious habits, +proved reciprocally attractive. Though in unlike ways, both were +impressively modern. Of late it had seemed as if the man of open air, +checked in his natural courses, thrown back upon his meditations, +turned to the student, with hope of guidance in new paths, of counsel +amid unfamiliar obstacles. To the observant Rolfe, his friend's +position abounded in speculative interest. With the course of years, +each had lost many a harsher characteristic, whilst the inner man +matured. That their former relations were gradually being reversed, +neither perhaps had consciously noted; but even in the jests which +passed between them on Harvey's arrival this evening, it appeared +plainly enough that Hugh Carnaby no longer felt the slightest +inclination to regard his friend as an inferior. + +The room, called library, contained one small case of books, which +dealt with travel and sport. Furniture of the ordinary kind, still new, +told of easy circumstances and domestic comfort. Round about the walls +hung a few paintings and photographs, intermingled with the stuffed +heads of animals slain in the chase, notably that of a great ibex with +magnificent horns. + +'Come, now, tell me all about it,' said Rolfe, as he mixed himself a +glass of whisky and water. 'I don't see that anything has gone from +this room.' + +'Don't you?' cried his host, with a scornful laugh. 'Where are my +silver-mounted pistols? Where's the ibex-hoof made into a paperweight? +And'--he raised his voice to a shout of comical despair--'where's my +cheque-book?' + +'I see.' + +'I wish _I_ did. It must break the record for a neat house-robbery, +don't you think? And they'll never be caught--I'll bet you anything you +like they won't. The job was planned weeks ago; that woman came into +the house with no other purpose.' + +'But didn't your wife know anything about her?' + +'What can one know about such people? There were references, I +believe--as valuable as references usually are. She must be an old +hand. But I'm sick of the subject; let's drop it.--You were +interrupted, Hollings. What about that bustard?' + +A very tall, spare man, who seemed to rouse himself from a nap, resumed +his story of bustard-stalking in Spain last spring. Carnaby, who knew +the country well, listened with lively interest, and followed with +reminiscences of his own. He told of a certain boar, shot in the +Sierras, which weighed something like four hundred pounds. He talked, +too, of flamingoes on the 'marismas' of the Guadalquivir; of punting +day after day across the tawny expanse of water; of cooking his meals +on sandy islets at a fire made of tamarisk and thistle; of lying +wakeful in the damp, chilly nights, listening to frogs and bitterns. +Then again of his ibex-hunting on the Cordilleras of Castile, when he +brought down that fine fellow whose head adorned his room, the horns +just thirty-eight inches long. And in the joy of these recollections +there seemed to sound a regretful note, as if he spoke of things gone +by and irrecoverable, no longer for him. + +One of the men present had recently been in Cyprus, and mentioned it +with disgust. Rolfe also had visited the island, and remembered it much +more agreeably, his impressions seeming to be chiefly gastronomic; he +recalled the exquisite flavour of Cyprian hares, the fat francolin, the +delicious beccaficoes in commanderia wine; with merry banter from +Carnaby, professing to despise a man who knew nothing of game but its +taste. The conversation reverted to technicalities of sport, full of +terms and phrases unintelligible to Harvey; recounting feats with +'Empress' and 'Paradox', the deadly results of a 'treble A', or of +'treble-nesting slugs', and boasting of a 'right and left with No. 6'. +Hugh appeared to forget all about his domestic calamity; only when his +guests rose did he recur to it, and with an air of contemptuous +impatience. But he made a sign to Rolfe, requesting him to stay, and at +midnight the two friends sat alone together. + +'Sibyl has gone to her mother's,' began Hugh in a changed voice. 'The +poor girl takes it pluckily. It's a damnable thing, you know, for a +woman to lose her rings and bracelets and so on--even such a woman as +Sibyl. She tried to laugh it off, but I could see--we must buy them +again, that's all. And that reminds me--what's your real opinion of +Frothingham?' + +Harvey laughed. + +'When such a lot of people go about asking that question, it would make +_me_ rather uneasy if I had anything at stake.' + +'They do? So it struck me. The fact is, we have a good deal at stake. +The dowager swears by Frothingham. I believe every penny she has is in +the "Britannia", one way or another.' + +'It's a wide net,' said Rolfe musingly. 'The Britannia Loan, Assurance, +Investment, and Banking Company, Limited. Very good name, I've often +thought.' + +'Yes; but, look here, you don't seriously doubt--' + +'My opinion is worthless. I know no more of finance than of the Cabala. +Frothingham personally I rather like, and that's all I can say.' + +'The fact is, I have been thinking of putting some of my own--yet I +don't think I shall. We're going away for the winter. Sibyl wants to +give up the house, and I think she's right. For people like us, it's +mere foolery to worry with a house and a lot of servants. We're neither +of us cut out for that kind of thing. Sibyl hates housekeeping. Well, +you can't expect a woman like her to manage a pack of thieving, lying, +lazy servants. The housekeeper idea hasn't been a conspicuous success, +you see, and there's nothing for it but hotel or boarding-house.' + +'If you remember,' said Rolfe, 'I hinted something of the kind a year +ago.' + +'Yes; but--well, you know, when people marry they generally look for a +certain natural consequence. If we have no children, it'll be all +right.' + +Rolfe meditated for a moment. + +'You remember that fellow Wager--the man you met at Abbott's? His wife +died a year ago, and now he has bolted, leaving his two children in a +lodging-house.' + +'What a damned scoundrel!' cried Hugh, with a note of honest +indignation. + +'Well, yes; but there's something to be said for him. It's a natural +revolt against domestic bondage. Of course, as things are, someone else +has to bear the bother and expense; but that's only our state of +barbarism. A widower with two young children and no income--imagine the +position. Of course, he ought to be able to get rid of them in some +legitimate way--state institution--anything you like that answers to +reason.' + +'I don't know whether it would work.' + +'Some day it will. People talk such sentimental rubbish about children. +I would have the parents know nothing about them till they're ten or +twelve years old. They're a burden, a hindrance, a perpetual source of +worry and misery. Most wives are sacrificed to the next generation--an +outrageous absurdity. People snivel over the deaths of babies; I see +nothing to grieve about. If a child dies, why, the probabilities are it +_ought_ to die; if it lives, it lives, and you get survival of the +fittest. We don't want to choke the world with people, most of them +rickety and wheezing; let us be healthy, and have breathing space.' + +'I believe in _that_,' said Carnaby. + +'You're going away, then. Where to?' + +'That's the point,' replied Hugh, moving uneasily. 'You see, with +Sibyl--. I have suggested Davos. Some people she knows are there--girls +who go in for tobogganing, and have a good time. But Sibyl's afraid of +the cold. I can't convince her that it's nothing to what we endure here +in the beastliness of a London winter. She hates the thought of ice and +snow and mountains. A great pity; it would do her no end of good. I +suppose we must go to the Riviera.' + +He shrugged his shoulders, and for a moment there was silence. + +'By-the-bye,' he resumed, 'I have a letter from Miles, and you'd like +to see it.' + +From a pile of letters on the table he selected one written on two +sheets of thin paper, and handed it to Rolfe. The writing was bold, the +style vigorous, the matter fresh and interesting. Major Carnaby had no +graces of expression; but all the more engrossing was his brief +narrative of mountain warfare, declaring its truthfulness in every +stroke of the pen. + +'Fine fellow!' exclaimed Rolfe, when he had read to the end. 'Splendid +fellow!' + +'Isn't he! And he's seeing life.' + +'That's where you ought to be, my boy,' remarked Rolfe, between puffs +of tobacco. + +'I dare say. No use thinking about it. Too late.' + +'If I had a son,' pursued Harvey, smiling at the hypothesis, 'I think +I'd make a fighting man of him, or try to. At all events, he should go +out somewhere, and beat the big British drum, one way or another. I +believe it's our only hope. We're rotting at home--some of us sunk in +barbarism, some coddling themselves in over-refinement. What's the use +of preaching peace and civilisation, when we know that England's just +beginning her big fight--the fight that will put all history into the +shade! We have to lead the world; it's our destiny; and we must do it +by breaking heads. That's the nature of the human animal, and will be +for ages to come.' + +Carnaby nodded assent. + +'If we were all like your brother,' Rolfe went on. 'I'm glad he's +fighting in India, and not in Africa. I can't love the buccaneering +shopkeeper, the whisky-distiller with a rifle--ugh!' + +'I hate that kind of thing. The gold grubbers and diamond bagmen! But +it's part of the march onward. We must have money, you know.' + +The speaker's forehead wrinkled, and again he moved uneasily. Rolfe +regarded him with a reflective air. + +'That man you saw here tonight,' Carnaby went on, 'the short, thick +fellow--his name is Dando--he's just come back from Queensland. I don't +quite know what he's been doing, but he evidently knows a good deal +about mines. He says he has invented a new process for getting gold out +of ore--I don't know anything about it. In the early days of mining, he +says, no end of valuable stuff was abandoned, because they couldn't +smelt it. Something about pyrites--I have a vague recollection of old +chemistry lessons. Dando wants to start smelting works for his new +process, somewhere in North Queensland.' + +'And wants money, I dare say,' remarked the listener, with a twinkle of +the eye. + +'I suppose so. It was Carton that brought him here for the first time, +a week ago. _Might_ be worth thinking about, you know.' + +'I have no opinion. My profound ignorance of everything keeps me in a +state of perpetual scepticism. It has its advantages, I dare say.' + +'You're very conservative, Rolfe, in your finance.' + +'Very.' + +'Quite right, no doubt. Could you join us at Nice or some such place?' + +'Why, I rather thought of sticking to my books. But if the fogs are +very bad--' + +'And you would seriously advise us to give up the house?' + +'My dear fellow, how can you hesitate? Your wife is quite right; +there's not one good word to be said for the ordinary life of an +English household. Flee from it! Live anywhere and anyhow, but don't +keep house in England. Wherever I go, it's the same cry: domestic life +is played out. There isn't a servant to be had--unless you're a Duke +and breed them on your own estate. All ordinary housekeepers are at the +mercy of the filth and insolence of a draggle-tailed, novelette-reading +feminine democracy. Before very long we shall train an army of +menservants, and send the women to the devil.' + +'Queer thing, Rolfe,' put in his friend, with a laugh; 'I've noticed it +of late, you're getting to be a regular woman-hater.' + +'Not a bit of it. I hate a dirty, lying, incapable creature, that's +all, whether man or woman. No doubt they're more common in petticoats.' + +'Been to the Frothinghams' lately?' + +'No.' + +'I used to think you were there rather often.' + +Rolfe gave a sort of grunt, and kept silence. + +'To my mind,' pursued the other, 'the best thing about Alma is that she +appreciates my wife. She has really a great admiration for Sibyl; no +sham about it, I'm sure. I don't pretend to know much about women, but +I fancy that kind of thing isn't common--real friendship and admiration +between them. People always say so, at all events.' + +'I take refuge once more,' said Rolfe, 'in my fathomless ignorance.' + +He rose from his chair, and sat down again on a corner of the table. +Carnaby stood up, threw his arms above his head, and yawned with animal +vehemence, the expression of an intolerable ennui. + +'There's something damnably wrong with us all--that's the one thing +certain.' + +'Idleness, for one thing,' said Rolfe. + +'Yes. And I'm too old to do anything. Why didn't I follow Miles into +the army? I think I was more cut out for that than for anything else. I +often feel I should like to go to South Africa and get up a little war +of my own.' + +Rolfe shouted with laughter. + +'Not half a bad idea, and the easiest thing in the world, no doubt.' + +'Nigger-hunting; a superior big game.' + +'There's more than that to do in South Africa,' said Harvey. 'I was +looking at a map in Stanford's window the other day, and it amused me. +Who believes for a moment that England will remain satisfied with bits +here and there? We have to swallow the whole, of course. We shall go on +fighting and annexing, until--until the decline and fall of the British +Empire. That hasn't begun yet. Some of us are so over-civilised that it +makes a reaction of wholesome barbarism in the rest. We shall fight +like blazes in the twentieth century. It's the only thing that keeps +Englishmen sound; commercialism is their curse. Happily, no sooner do +they get fat than they kick, and somebody's shin suffers; then they +fight off the excessive flesh. War is England's Banting.' + +'You'd better not talk like that to Sibyl.' + +'Why, frankly, old man, I think that's your mistake. But you'll tell +me, and rightly enough, to mind my own business.' + +'Nonsense. What do you mean exactly? You think I ought to--' + +Hugh hesitated, with an air of uneasiness. + +'Well,' pursued his friend cautiously, 'do you think it's right to +suppress your natural instincts? Mightn't it give her a new interest in +life if she came round a little to your point of view?' + +'Queer thing, how unlike we are, isn't it?' said Carnaby, with a sudden +drop of his tone to amiable ingenuousness. 'But, you know; we get along +together very well.' + +'To be sure. Yet you are going to rust in the Riviera when you want to +be on the Himalayas. Wouldn't it do your wife good to give up her books +and her music for a while and taste fresh air?' + +'I doubt if she's strong enough for it.' + +'It would make her stronger. And here's a good opportunity. If you give +up housekeeping (and housekeepers), why not reform your life +altogether? Go and have a look at Australia.' + +'Sibyl hates the sea.' + +'She'd soon get over that. Seriously, you ought to think of it.' + +Carnaby set his lips and for a moment hung his head. + +'You're quite right. But--' + +'A little pluck, old fellow.' + +'I'll see what can be done. Have another whisky?' + +They went out into the hall, where a dim light through coloured glass +illumined a statue in terracotta, some huge engravings, the massive +antlers of an elk, and furniture in carved oak. + +'Queer feeling of emptiness,' said Carnaby, subduing his voice. 'I feel +as if they'd carried off everything, and left bare walls. Sibyl +couldn't stay in the place. Shall I whistle for a cab? By Jove! that +reminds me, the whistle has gone; it happened to be silver. A wedding +present from that fool Benson, who broke his neck in a steeplechase +three weeks after.' Harvey laughed, and stepped out into the watery fog. + + + + +CHAPTER 3 + + +A cab crawling at the upper end of the terrace took him quickly home. +He entered with his latch-key as a church clock tolled one. + +It was a large house, within a few minutes' walk of Royal Oak Station. +Having struck a match, and lit a candle which stood upon the hall table +(indicating that he was the last who would enter tonight), Harvey put +up the door-chain and turned the great key, then went quietly upstairs. +His rooms were on the first floor. A tenancy of five years, with long +absences, enabled him to regard this niche in a characterless suburb as +in some sort his home; a familiar smell of books and tobacco welcomed +him as he opened the door; remnants of a good fire kept the air warm, +and dispersed a pleasant glow. On shelves which almost concealed the +walls, stood a respectable collection of volumes, the lowest tier +consisting largely of what secondhand booksellers, when invited to +purchase, are wont to call 'tomb-stones' that is to say, old folios, of +no great market value, though good brains and infinite labour went to +the making of them. A great table, at one end of which was a tray with +glasses and a water-bottle, occupied the middle of the floor; nearer +the fireplace was a small writing-desk. For pictures little space could +be found; but over the mantelpiece hung a fine water-colour, the flood +of Tigris and the roofs of Bagdad burning in golden sunset. Harvey had +bought it at the gallery in Pall Mall not long ago; the work of a man +of whom he knew nothing; it represented the farthest point of his own +travels, and touched profoundly his vague historico-poetic +sensibilities. + +Three letters lay on the desk. As soon as he had lit his lamp, and +exchanged his boots for slippers, he looked at the envelopes, and chose +one addressed in a woman's hand. The writer was Mrs. Bennet Frothingham. + +'We have only just heard, from Mrs. Carnaby, that you are back in town. +_Could_ you spare us tomorrow evening? It would be so nice of you. The +quartet will give Beethoven's F minor, and Alma says it will be well +done--the conceit of the child! We hope to have some interesting people +What a shocking affair of poor Mrs. Carnaby's! I never knew anything +_quite_ so bad.--Our united kind regards.' + +Harvey thrust out his lips, in an ambiguous expression, as he threw the +sheet aside. He mused before opening the next letter. This proved to be +of startling contents: a few lines scribbled informally, undated, +without signature. A glance at the postmark discovered 'Liverpool'. + +'The children are at my last address,--you know it. I can do no more +for them. If the shabby Abbotts refuse--as I dare say they will--it +wouldn't hurt you to keep them from the workhouse. But it's a devilish +hard world, and they must take their chance.' + +After a stare and a frown, Harvey woke the echoes with boisterous +laughter. It was long since any passage in writing had so irresistibly +tickled his sense of humour. Well, he must let Abbott know of this. It +might be as well, perhaps, if he called on Mrs. Abbott tomorrow, to +remove any doubt that might remain in her mind. The fellow Wager being +an old acquaintance of his, he could not get rid of a sense of far-off +responsibility in this matter; though, happily, Wager's meeting with +Mrs. Abbott's cousin, which led to marriage and misery, came about quite +independently of him. + +The last letter he opened without curiosity, but with quiet interest +and pleasure. It was dated from Greystone; the writer, Basil Morton, +had a place in his earliest memories, for, as neighbours' children, +they had played together long before the grammar-school days which +allied him with Hugh Carnaby. + +'For aught I know,' began Morton, 'you may at this moment be drifting +on the Euphrates, or pondering on the site of Alexandreia Eschate. It +is you who owe me an account of yourself; nevertheless, I am prompted +to write, if only to tell you that I have just got the complete set of +the Byzantine Historians. A catalogue tempted me, and I did buy.' + +And so on in the same strain, until, in speaking of nearer matters, his +style grew simpler. + +'Our elder boy begins to put me in a difficulty. As I told you, he has +been brought up on the most orthodox lines of Anglicanism; his +mother--best of mothers and best of wives, but in this respect +atavistic--has had a free hand, and I don't see how it could have been +otherwise. But now the lad begins to ask awkward questions, and to put +me in a corner; the young rascal is a vigorous dialectician and +rationalist--odd result of such training. It becomes a serious question +how I am to behave. I cannot bear to distress his mother, yet how can I +tell him that I literally believe those quaint old fables? _Solvetur +vivendo_, of course, like everything else, but just now it worries me a +little. Generally I can see a pretty clear line of duty; here the duty +is divided, with a vengeance. Have you any counsel?' + +Harvey Rolfe mumbled impatiently; all domestic matters were a trial to +his nerves. It seemed to him an act of unaccountable folly to marry a +woman from whom one differed diametrically on subjects that lay at the +root of life; and of children he could hardly bring himself to think at +all, so exasperating the complication they introduced into social +problems which defied common-sense. He disliked children; fled the +sight and the sound of them in most cases, and, when this was not +possible, regarded them with apprehension, anxiety, weariness, anything +but interest. In the perplexity that had come upon him, Basil Morton +seemed to have nothing more than his deserts. 'Best of mothers and of +wives', forsooth! An excellent housekeeper, no doubt, but what shadow +of qualification for wifehood and motherhood in this year 1886? The +whole question was disgusting to a rational man--especially to that +vigorous example of the class, by name Harvey Rolfe. + +Late as it was, he did not care to go to bed. This morning he had +brought home a batch of books from the London Library, and he began to +turn them over, with the pleasure of anticipation. Not seldom of late +had Harvey flattered himself on the growth of intellectual gusto which +proceeded in him together with a perceptible decline of baser +appetites, so long his torment and his hindrance. His age was now seven +and thirty; at forty he might hope to have utterly trodden under foot +the instincts at war with mental calm. He saw before him long years of +congenial fellowship, of bracing travel, of well-directed studiousness. +Let problems of sex and society go hang! He had found a better way. + +On looking back over his life, how improbable it seemed, this happy +issue out of crudity, turbulence, lack of purpose, weakness, +insincerity, ignorance. First and foremost he had to thank good old Dr +Harvey, of Greystone; then, his sister, sleeping in her grave under the +old chimes she loved; then, surely himself, that seed of good within +him which had survived all adverse influences--watched, surely, by his +unconscious self, guarded long, and now deliberately nurtured. Might he +not think well of himself. + +His library, though for the most part the purchase of late years, +contained books which reminded him of every period of his life. Up +yonder, on the top shelf, were two score volumes which had belonged to +his father, the share that fell to him when he and his sister made the +ordained division: scientific treatises out of date, an old magazine, +old books of travel. Strange that, in his times of folly, he had not +sold these as burdensome rubbish; he was very glad now, when love and +reverence for things gone by began to take hold upon him. There, at the +same height, stood a rank of school-books preserved for him by his +sister till she died; beside them, medical works, relics of his +abortive study when he was neither boy nor man. Descending, the eye +fell upon yellow and green covers, dozens of French novels, acquired at +any time from the year of his majority up to the other day; in the +mass, they reminded him of a frothy season, when he boasted a cheap +Gallicism, and sneered at all things English. A sprinkling of +miscellaneous literature accounted for ten years or more when he cared +little to collect books, when the senses raged in him, and only by +miracle failed to hurl him down many a steep place. Last came the +serious acquisitions, the bulk of his library: solid and expensive +works--historians, archaeologists, travellers, with noble volumes of +engravings, and unwieldy tomes of antique lore. Little enough of all +this had Rolfe digested, but more and more he loved to have erudition +within his reach. He began to lack room for comely storage; already a +large bookcase had intruded into his bedroom. If he continued to +purchase, he must needs house himself more amply; yet he dreaded the +thought of a removal. + +He knew enough and to spare of life in lodgings. His experience began +when he came up as a lad to Guy's Hospital, when all lodgings in London +shone with the glorious light of liberty. It took a wider scope when, +having grasped his little patrimony, he threw physic to the dogs, and +lived as a gentleman at large. In those days he grew familiar with many +kinds of 'apartments' and their nomadic denizens. Having wasted his +substance, he found refuge in the office of an emigration agent, where, +by slow degrees, he proved himself worth a couple of hundred pounds per +annum. This was the 'business' to which Hugh Carnaby vaguely referred +when people questioned him concerning his friend's history. + +Had he possessed the commercial spirit, Harvey might have made his +position in this office much more lucrative. Entering nominally as a +clerk, he undertook from the first a variety of duties which could only +be discharged by a man of special abilities; for instance, the literary +revision of seductive pamphlets and broadsheets issued by his employer +to the public contemplating emigration. These advertisements he +presently composed, and, from the point of view of effectiveness, did +it remarkably well. How far such work might be worthy of an honest man, +was another question, which for several years scarcely troubled his +conscience. Before long a use was found for his slender medical +attainments; it became one of his functions to answer persons who +visited the office for information as to the climatic features of this +or that new country, and their physical fitness for going out as +colonists. Of course, there was demanded of him a radical +unscrupulousness, and often enough he proved equal to the occasion; but +as time went on, bringing slow development of brain and character, he +found these personal interviews anything but agreeable. He had +constantly before him the spectacle of human misery and defeat, now and +then in such dread forms that his heart sank and his tongue refused to +lie. When disgust made him contemplate the possibility of finding more +honourable employment, the manifest difficulties deterred him. + +He held the place for nearly ten years, living in the end so soberly +and frugally that his two hundred pounds seemed a considerable income; +it enabled him to spend his annual month of holiday in continental +travel, which now had a significance very different from that of his +truancies in France or Belgium before he began to earn a livelihood. +Two deaths, a year's interval between them, released him from his +office. Upon these events and their issue he had not counted; +independence came to him as a great surprise, and on the path of +self-knowledge he had far to travel before the significance of that and +many another turning-point grew clear to his backward gaze. + +Seeking for a comfortable abode, he discovered these rooms in +Bayswater. They were to let furnished, the house being occupied by a +widow not quite of the ordinary type of landlady, who entertained only +bachelors, and was fairly conscientious in the discharge of her +obligations. Six months later, during Harvey's absence abroad, this +woman died, and on his return the house had already been stripped of +furniture. For a moment he inclined to take a house of his own, but +from this perilous experiment he was saved by an intimation that, if he +were willing to supply himself with furniture and service, an incoming +tenant would let him occupy his old quarters. Harvey grasped at the +offer. His landlord was a man named Buncombe, a truss manufacturer, who +had two children, and seemingly no wife. The topmost storey Buncombe +assigned to relatives of his own--a middle-aged woman, Mrs. Handover, +with a sickly grownup son, who took some part in the truss business. +For a few weeks Rolfe was waited upon by a charwoman, whom he paid +extravagantly for a maximum of dirt and discomfort; then the +unsatisfactory person fell ill, and, whilst cursing his difficulties, +Harvey was surprised by a visit from Mrs. Handover, who made an +unexpected suggestion--would Mr. Rolfe accept her services in lieu of +the charwoman's, paying her whatever he had been accustomed to give? +The proposal startled him. Mrs. Handover seemed to belong pretty much +to his own rank of life; he was appalled at the thought of bidding her +scrub floors and wash plates; and indeed it had begun to dawn upon him +that, for a man with more than nine hundred a year, he was living in a +needlessly uncomfortable way. On his reply that he thought of removing, +Mrs. Handover fell into profound depression, and began to disclose her +history. Very early in life she had married a man much beneath her in +station, with the natural result. After some years of quarrelling, +which culminated in personal violence on her husband's part, she +obtained a judicial separation. For a long time the man had ceased to +send her money, and indeed he was become a vagabond pauper, from whom +nothing could be obtained; she depended upon her son, and on the +kindness of Buncombe, who asked no rent. If she could earn a little +money by work, she would be much happier, and with tremulous hope she +had taken this step of appealing to her neighbour in the house. + +Harvey could not resist these representations. When the new arrangement +had been in operation for a week or so, Harvey began to reflect upon +Mrs. Handover's personal narrative, and in some respects to modify his +first impulsive judgment thereon. It seemed to him not impossible that +Mr. Handover's present condition of vagabond pauper might be traceable +to his marriage with a woman who had never learnt the elements of +domestic duty. Thoroughly well-meaning, Mrs. Handover was the most +incompetent of housewives. Yet such was Harvey Rolfe's delicacy, and so +intense his moral cowardice, that year after year he bore with Mrs. +Handover's defects, and paid her with a smile the wages of two +first-rate servants. Dust lay thick about him; he had grown accustomed +to it, as to many another form of sluttishness. After all, he possessed +a quiet retreat for studious hours, and a tolerable sleeping-place, +with the advantage of having his correspondence forwarded to him when +he chose to wander. To be sure, it was not final; one would not wish to +grow old and die amid such surroundings; sooner or later, circumstance +would prompt the desirable change. Circumstance, at this stage of his +career, was Harvey's god; he waited upon its direction with an air of +wisdom, of mature philosophy. + +Of his landlord, Buncombe, he gradually learnt all that he cared to +know. The moment came when Buncombe grew confidential, and he, too, had +a matrimonial history to disclose. Poverty played no part in it; his +business flourished, and Mrs. Buncombe, throughout a cohabitation of +five years, made no complaint of her lot. All at once--so asserted +Buncombe--the lady began to talk of dullness; for a few months she +moped, then of a sudden left home, and in a day or two announced by +letter that she had taken a place as barmaid at a music-hall. There +followed an interview between husband and wife, with the result, said +Buncombe, that they parted the best of friends, but with an +understanding that Mrs. Buncombe should be free to follow her own walk +in life, with a moderate allowance to supplement what she could earn. +That was five years ago. Mrs. Buncombe now sang at second-rate halls, +and enjoyed a certain popularity, which seemed to her an ample +justification of the independence she had claimed. She was just thirty, +tolerably good-looking, and full of the enjoyment of life. Her +children, originally left in the care of her mother, whom Buncombe +supported, were now looked after by the two servants of the house, and +Buncombe seemed to have no conscientious troubles on that score; to +Harvey Rolfe's eye it was plain that the brother and sister were +growing up as vicious little savages, but he permitted himself no +remark on the subject. + +After a few conversations, he gained an inkling of Buncombe's motive in +taking a house so much larger than he needed. This magnificence was +meant as an attraction to the roaming wife, whom, it was clear, +Buncombe both wished and hoped to welcome back before very long. She +did occasionally visit the house, though only for an hour or two; just +to show, said Buncombe, that there was no ill-feeling. On his part, +evidently, there was none whatever. An easy-going, simple-minded +fellow, aged about forty, with a boyish good temper and no will to +speak of, he seemed never to entertain a doubt of his wife's honesty, +and in any case would probably have agreed, on the least persuasion, to +let bygones be bygones. He spoke rather proudly than otherwise of Mrs. +Buncombe's artistic success. + +'It isn't every woman could have done it, you know, Mr. Rolfe.' + +'It is not,' Harvey assented. + +Only those rooms were furnished which the little family used, five or +six in all; two or three stood vacant, and served as playgrounds for +the children in bad weather. Of his relatives at the top, Buncombe +never spoke; he either did not know, or viewed with indifference, the +fact that Mrs. Handover served his lodger in a menial capacity. About +once a month he invited three or four male friends to a set dinner, and +hilarity could be heard until long after midnight. Altogether it was a +strange household, and, as he walked about the streets of the +neighbourhood, Harvey often wondered what abnormalities even more +striking might be concealed behind the meaningless uniformity of these +heavily respectable housefronts. As a lodger he was content to dwell +here; but sometimes by a freak of imagination he pictured himself a +married man, imprisoned with wife and children amid these leagues of +dreary, inhospitable brickwork, and a great horror fell upon him. + +No. In his time he had run through follies innumerable, but from the +supreme folly of hampering himself by marriage, a merciful fate had +guarded him. It was probably the most remarkable fact of his life; it +heightened his self-esteem, and appeared to warrant him in the +assurance that a destiny so protective would round the close of his +days with tranquillity and content. + +Upon this thought he lay down to rest. For half an hour Basil Morton's +letter had occupied his mind: he had tried to think out the problem it +set forth, not to leave his friend quite unanswered; but weariness +prevailed, and with it the old mood of self-congratulation. + +Next morning the weather was fine; that is to say, one could read +without artificial light, and no rain fell, and far above the +house-tops appeared a bluish glimmer, shot now and then with pale +yellowness. Harvey decided to carry out his intention of calling upon +Mrs. Abbott. She lived at Kilburn, and thither he drove shortly before +twelve o'clock. He was admitted to a very cosy room, where, amid books +and pictures, and by a large fire, the lady of the house sat reading. +Whatever the cause, it seemed to him that his welcome fell short of +cordiality, and he hastened to excuse himself for intruding at so early +an hour. + +'I received a letter last night which I thought you had better know of +without delay.' + +'From that man--Mr. Wager?' said Mrs. Abbott quickly and hopefully, her +face brightening. + +'Yes. But there's nothing satisfactory in it. He writes from Liverpool, +and merely says that the children are at his lodgings, and he can do no +more for them.' + +Mrs. Abbott set her lips in an expression almost of sullenness. Rolfe +had never seen her look thus, but it confirmed a suspicion which he had +harboured concerning her. Why, he hardly knew--for she always presented +a face of amiability, and talked in gentle, womanly tones--doubt as to +Abbott's domestic felicity haunted his mind. Perhaps he now saw her, +for the first time, as she commonly appeared to her husband--slightly +peevish, unwilling to be disturbed, impatient when things did not run +smoothly. + +'You saw my husband yesterday?' was her next remark, not very +graciously uttered. + +'We met in the street last night--before I got Wager's letter. He was +suffering horribly from neuralgia.' + +Harvey could not forbear to add this detail, but he softened his voice +and smiled. + +'I don't wonder at it,' returned the lady; 'he takes no care of +himself.' + +Harvey glanced about the room. Its furnishing might be called +luxurious, and the same standard of comfort prevailed through the +house. Considering that Edgar Abbott, as Rolfe knew, married on small +means, and that he had toiled unremittingly to support a home in which +he could seldom enjoy an hour's leisure, there seemed no difficulty in +explaining this neglect of his own health. It struck the visitor that +Mrs. Abbott might have taken such considerations into account, and have +spoken of the good fellow more sympathetically. In truth, Harvey did +not quite like Mrs. Abbott. Her age was about seven and twenty. She +came of poor folk, and had been a high-school teacher; very clever and +successful, it was said, and Harvey could believe it. Her features were +regular, and did not lack sweetness; yet, unless an observer were +mistaken, the last year or two had emphasised a certain air of +conscious superiority, perchance originating in the schoolroom. She had +had one child; it struggled through a few months of sickly life, and +died of convulsions during its mother's absence at a garden-party. To +all appearances, her grief at the loss betokened tenderest feeling. +When, in half a year's time, she again came forth into the world, a +change was noted; her character seemed to have developed a new energy, +she exhibited wider interests, and stepped from the background to +become a leader in the little circle of her acquaintances. + +'Have you read this?' asked his hostess abruptly, holding up to him a +French volume, Ribot's _L'Heredite Psychologique_. + +'No. That kind of thing doesn't interest me much.' + +'Indeed! I find it _intensely_ interesting.' + +Harvey rose; he was in no mood for this kind of small-talk. But no +sooner had he quitted his chair, than Mrs. Abbott threw her book aside, +and spoke in another tone, seriously, though still with a perceptible +accent of annoyance. + +'Of course that man's children are here, and I suppose it is our duty +to provide for them till some other arrangement is made. But I think we +ought to put the matter in the hands of the police. Don't you, Mr +Rolfe?' + +'I'm afraid there's small chance of making their father support them. +He is certainly out of England by now, and won't easily be caught.' + +'The worst of it is, they are anything but _nice_ children. What could +one expect with such a father? Since their poor mother died, they have +been in the hands of horrible people--low-class landladies, no doubt; +their talk shocks me. The last amusement they had, was to be taken by +somebody to Tussaud's, and now they can talk of nothing but "the hunted +murderer"--one sees it on the walls, you know; and they play at being +murderer and policeman, one trying to escape the other. Pretty play for +children of five and seven, isn't it?' + +Rolfe made a gesture of disgust. + +'I know the poor things can't help it,' pursued Mrs. Abbott, with +softer feeling, 'but it turns me against them. From seeing so little of +their father, they have even come to talk with a vulgar pronunciation, +like children out of the streets almost. It's dreadful! When I think of +my cousin--such a sweet, good girl, and _these_ her children--oh, it's +horrible!' + +'They are very young,' said Harvey, in a low voice, perturbed in spite +of himself. 'With good training----' + +'Yes, of course we must put them in good hands somewhere.' + +Plainly it had never occurred to Mrs. Abbott that such a task as this +might, even temporarily, be undertaken by herself; her one desire was +to get rid of the luckless brats, that their vulgarity might not pain +her, and the care of them encumber her polite leisure. + +After again excusing himself for this call, and hearing his apology +this time more graciously received, Harvey withdrew from the cosy +study, and left Mrs. Abbott to her _Heredite Psychologique_. On his way +to lunch in town, he thought of the overworn journalist groaning with +neuralgia, and wondered how Mrs. Abbott would relish a removal to the +town of Waterbury. + + + + +CHAPTER 4 + + +Uncertain to the last moment, Harvey did at length hurry into his dress +clothes, and start for Fitzjohn Avenue. He had little mind for the +semi-fashionable crowd and the amateur music, but he could not answer +Mrs. Bennet Frothingham with any valid excuse, and, after all, she +meant kindly towards him. Why he enjoyed so much of this lady's favour +it was not easy to understand; intellectual sympathy there could be +none between them, and as for personal liking, on his side it did not +go beyond that naturally excited by a good-natured, feather-brained, +rather pretty woman, whose sprightliness never passed the limits of +decorum, and who seemed to have better qualities than found scope in +her butterfly existence. Perhaps he amused her, being so unlike the +kind of man she was accustomed to see. His acquaintance with the family +dated from their social palingenesis, when, after obscure prosperity in +a southern suburb, they fluttered to the northern heights, and were +observed of the paragraphists. Long before that, Bennet Frothingham had +been known in the money-market; it was the 'Britannia'--Loan, +Assurance, Investment, and Banking Company, Limited--that made him +nationally prominent, and gave an opportunity to his wife (in second +marriage) and his daughter (by the first). Three years ago, when +Carnaby (already lured by the charms of Sibyl Larkfield) presented his +friend Rolfe as 'the man who had been to Bagdad', Alma Frothingham, not +quite twenty-one, was studying at the Royal Academy of Music, and, +according to her friends, promised to excel alike on the piano and the +violin, having at the same time a 'really remarkable' contralto voice. +Of late the young lady had abandoned singing, rarely used the +pianoforte, and seemed satisfied to achieve distinction as a violinist. +She had founded an Amateur Quartet Society, whose performances were +frequently to be heard at the house in Fitzjohn Avenue. + +Last winter Harvey had chanced to meet Alma and her stepmother at +Leipzig, at a Gewandhaus concert. He was invited to go with them to +hear the boys' motet at the Thomaskirche; and with this intercourse +began the change in their relations from mere acquaintance to something +like friendship. Through the following spring Rolfe was a familiar +figure at the Frothinghams'; but this form of pleasure soon wearied +him, and he was glad to escape from London in June. He knew the shadowy +and intermittent temptation which beckoned him to that house; music had +power over him, and he grew conscious of watching Alma Frothingham, her +white little chin on the brown fiddle, with too exclusive an interest. +When 'that fellow' Cyrus Redgrave, a millionaire, or something of the +sort, began to attend these gatherings with a like assiduity, and to +win more than his share of Miss Frothingham's conversation, Harvey felt +a disquietude which happily took the form of disgust, and it was easy +enough to pack his portmanteau. + +Through the babble of many voices in many keys, talk mingling with +laughter more or less melodiously subdued, he made his way up the great +staircase. As he neared the landing, there sounded the shrill squeak of +a violin and a 'cello's deep harmonic growl. His hostess, small, +slender, fair, and not yet forty, a jewel-flash upon her throat and in +the tiara above her smooth low forehead, took a step forward to greet +him. + +'Really? How delightful! I shot at a venture, and it was a hit after +all!' + +'They are just beginning?' + +'The quartet--yes. Herr Wilenski has promised to play afterwards.' + +He moved on, crossed a small drawing-room, entered the larger room +sacred to music, and reached a seat in the nick of time. Miss +Frothingham, the violin against her shoulder, was casting a final +glance at the assembly, the glance which could convey a noble severity +when it did not forthwith impose silence. A moment's perfect stillness, +and the quartet began. There were two ladies, two men. Miss Frothingham +played the first violin, Mr. AEneas Piper the second; the 'cello was in +the hands of Herr Gassner, and the viola yielded its tones to Miss Dora +Leach. Harvey knew them all, but had eyes only for one; in truth, only +one rewarded observation. Miss Leach was a meagre blonde, whose form, +face, and attitude enhanced by contrast the graces of the First Violin. +Alma's countenance shone--possibly with the joy of the artist, perhaps +only with gratified vanity. As she grew warm, the rosy blood mantled in +her cheeks and flushed her neck. Every muscle and nerve tense as the +strings from which she struck music, she presently swayed forward on +the points of her feet, and seemed to gain in stature, to become a more +commanding type. Her features suggested neither force of intellect or +originality of character: but they had beauty, and something more. She +stood a fascination, an allurement, to the masculine sense. Harvey +Rolfe had never so responded to this quality in the girl; the smile +died from his face as he regarded her. Of her skill as a musician, he +could form no judgment; but it seemed to him that she played very well, +and he had heard her praised by people who understood the matter; for +instance, Herr Wilenski, the virtuoso, from whom--in itself a great +compliment--Alma was having lessons. + +He averted his eyes, and began to seek for known faces among the +audience. His host he could not discover; Mr. Frothingham must be away +from home this evening; it was seldom he failed to attend Alma's +concerts. But near the front sat Mrs. Ascott Larkfield, a dazzling +figure, and, at some distance, her daughter Mrs. Carnaby, no shadow of +gloom upon her handsome features. Hugh was not in sight; probably he +felt in no mood for parties. Next to Mrs. Carnaby sat 'that fellow', +Cyrus Redgrave, smiling as always, and surveying the people near him +from under drooping brows, his head slightly bent. Mr. Redgrave had +thin hair, but a robust moustache and a short peaked beard; his +complexion was a rifle sallow; he lolled upon the chair, so that, at +moments, his head all but brushed Mrs. Carnaby's shoulder. + +Long before the close of the piece, Rolfe had ceased to listen, his +thoughts drifting hither and hither on a turbid flood of emotion. +During the last passage--_Allegro molto leggieramente_--he felt a +movement round about him as a general relief, and when, on the last +note, there broke forth (familiar ambiguity) sounds of pleasure and of +applause, he at once stood up. But he had no intention of pressing into +the throng that rapidly surrounded the musicians. Seeing that Mr. +Redgrave had vacated his place, whilst Mrs. Carnaby remained seated, he +stepped forward to speak with his friend's wife. She smiled up at him, +and lifted a gloved finger. + +'No! Please don't!' + +'Not sit down by you?' + +'Oh, certainly. But I saw condolence in your face, and I'm tired of it. +Besides, it would be mere hypocrisy in you.' + +Harvey gave a silent laugh. He had tried to understand Sibyl Carnaby, +and at different times had come to very different conclusions regarding +her. All women puzzled, and often disconcerted, him; with Sibyl he +could never talk freely, knowing not whether to dislike or to admire +her. He was not made on the pattern of Cyrus Redgrave, who probably +viewed womankind with instinctive contempt, yet pleased all with the +flattery of his homage. + +'Well, then, we won't talk of it,' he said, noticing, in the same +moment, that her person did not lack the adornment of jewels. Perhaps +she had happened to be wearing these things on the evening of the +robbery; but Rolfe felt a conviction that, under any circumstances, +Sibyl would not be without rings and bracelets. + +'They certainly improve,' she remarked, indicating the quartet with the +tip of her fan. + +Her opinions were uttered with calm assurance, whatever the subject. An +infinite self-esteem, so placid that it never suggested the vulgarity +of conceit, shone in her large eyes and dwelt upon the beautiful curve +of her lips. No face could be of purer outline, of less sensual +suggestiveness; it wore at times an air of cold abstraction which was +all but austerity. Rolfe imagined her the most selfish of women, +thought her incapable of sentiment; yet how was her marriage to be +accounted for, save by supposing that she fell in love with Hugh +Carnaby? Such a woman might surely have sold herself to great +advantage; and yet--odd incongruity--she did not impress one as +socially ambitious. Her mother, the ever-youthful widow, sped from +assembly to assembly, unable to live save in the whirl of fashion; not +so Sibyl. Was she too proud, too self-centred? And what ambition did +she nourish? + +Or was it all an illusion of the senses? Suppose her a mere graven +image, hollow, void. Call her merely a handsome woman, with the face of +some remarkable ancestress, with just enough of warmth to be subdued by +the vigorous passion of such a fine fellow as Carnaby. On the whole, +Rolfe preferred this hypothesis. He had never heard her say anything +really bright, or witty, or significant. But Hugh spoke of her fine +qualities of head and heart; Alma Frothingham made her an exemplar, and +would not one woman see through the vacuous pretentiousness of another? + +Involuntarily, he was gazing at her, trying to read her face. + +'So you think we ought to go to Australia,' said Sibyl quietly, +returning his look. + +Hugh had repeated the conversation of last night; indiscreet, but +natural. One could not suppose that Hugh kept many secrets from his +wife. + +'I?' He was confused. 'Oh, we were talking about the miseries of +housekeeping----' + +'I hate the name of those new countries.' + +It was said smilingly, but with what expression in the word 'hate'! + +'Vigorous cuttings from the old tree,' said Rolfe. 'There is England's +future.' + +'Perhaps so. At present they are barbarous, and I have a decided +preference for civilisation. So have you, I am quite sure.' + +Rolfe murmured his assent; whereupon Sibyl rose, just bent her head to +him, and moved with graceful indolence away. + +'Now she hates _me_,' Harvey said in his mind; 'and much I care!' + +As a matter of courtesy, he thought it well to move in Miss +Frothingham's direction. The crowd was thinning; without difficulty he +approached to within a few yards of her, and there exchanged a word or +two with the player of the viola, Miss Leach--a good, ingenuous +creature, he had always thought; dangerous to no man's peace, but +rather sentimental, and on that account to be avoided. Whilst talking, +he heard a man's voice behind him, pretentious, coarse, laying down the +law in a musical discussion. + +'No, no; Beethoven is not _Klaviermaszig_. His thoughts ate +symphonic--they need the orchestra.... A string quartet is to a +symphony what a delicate water-colour is to an oil-painting.... Oh, I +don't care for his playing at all! he has not--what shall I call +it?--_Sehnsucht_.' + +Rolfe turned at length to look. A glance showed him a tall, bony young +man, with a great deal of disorderly hair, and shaven face; +harsh-featured, sensual, utterly lacking refinement. He inquired of +Miss Leach who this might be, and learnt that the man's name was Felix +Dymes. + +'Isn't he a humbug?' + +The young lady was pained and shocked. + +'Oh, he is very clever,' she whispered. 'He has composed a most +beautiful song--don't you know it?--"Margot". It's very likely that +Topham may sing it at one of the Ballad Concerts.' + +'Now I've offended _her_,' said Rolfe to himself. 'No matter.' + +Seeing his opportunity, he took a few steps, and stood before Alma +Frothingham. She received him very graciously, looking him straight in +the face, with that amused smile which he could never interpret. Did it +mean that she thought him 'good fun'? Had she discussed him with Sibyl +Carnaby, and heard things of him that moved her mirth? Or was it pure +good nature, the overflowing spirits of a vivacious girl? + +'So good of you to come, Mr. Rolfe. And what did you think of us?' + +This was characteristic. Alma delighted in praise, and never hesitated +to ask for it. She hung eagerly upon his unready words. + +'I only show my ignorance when I talk of music. Of course, I liked it.' + +'Ah! then you didn't think it very good. I see----' + +'But I _did_! Only my opinion is worthless.' + +Alma looked at him, seemed to hesitate, laughed; and Harvey felt the +conviction that, by absurd sincerity, he had damaged himself in the +girl's eyes. What did it matter? + +'I've been practising five hours a day,' said Alma, in rapid, ardent +tones. Her voice was as pleasant to the ear as her face to look upon; +richly feminine, a call to the emotions. 'That isn't bad, is it?' + +'Tremendous energy!' + +'Oh, music is my religion, you know. I often feel sorry I haven't to +get my living by it; it's rather wretched to be only an amateur, don't +you think?' + +'Religion shouldn't be marketable,' joked Harvey. + +'Oh, but you know what I mean. You are so critical, Mr. Rolfe. I've a +good mind to ask Father to turn me out of house and home, with just +half-a-crown. Then I might really do something. It would be splendid!-- +Oh, what do you think of that shameful affair in Hamilton Terrace? Mrs +Carnaby takes it like an angel. They're going to give up housekeeping. +Very sensible, I say. Everybody will do it before long. Why should we +be plagued with private houses?' + +'There are difficulties----' + +'Of course there are, and men seem to enjoy pointing them out. They +think it a crime if women hate the bother and misery of housekeeping.' + +'I am not so conservative.' + +He tried to meet her eyes, which were gleaming fixedly upon him; but +his look fell, and turned as quickly from the wonderful white +shoulders, the throbbing throat, the neck that showed its colour +against swan's-down. To his profound annoyance, someone intervened--a +lady bringing someone else to be introduced. Rolfe turned on his heel, +and was face to face with Cyrus Redgrave. Nothing could be suaver or +more civil than Mr. Redgrave's accost; he spoke like a polished +gentleman, and, for aught Harvey knew, did not misrepresent himself. +But Rolfe had a prejudice; he said as little as possible, and moved on. + +In the smaller drawing-room he presently conversed with his hostess. +Mrs. Frothingham's sanguine and buoyant temper seemed proof against +fatigue; at home or as a guest she wore the same look of enjoyment; +vexations, rivalries, responsibilities, left no trace upon her beaming +countenance. Her affections were numberless; her ignorance, as an +observer easily discovered, was vast and profound; but the desire to +please, the tact of a 'gentlewoman, and thorough goodness of heart, +appeared in all her sayings and doings; she was never offensive, never +wholly ridiculous. Small-talk flowed from her with astonishing +volubility, tone and subject dictated by the characteristics of the +person with whom she gossiped; yet her preference was for talk on +homely topics, reminiscences of a time when she knew not luxury. 'You +may not believe it,' she said to him in a moment of confidence, 'but I +assure you I am a very good cook.' Rolfe did not quite credit the +assurance, but he felt it not improbable that Mrs. Frothingham would +accept a reverse of fortune with much practical philosophy; he could +imagine her brightening a small house with the sweetness of her +disposition, and falling to humble duties with sprightly goodwill. In +this point she was a noteworthy exception among the prosperous women of +his acquaintance. + +'And what have you been doing?' she asked, not as a mere phrase of +civility, but in a voice and which a look of genuine interest. + +'Wasting my time, for the most part.' + +'So you always say; but it can't be true. I know the kind of man who +wastes his time, and you're not a bit like him. Nothing would gratify +my curiosity more than to be able to watch you through a whole day. +What did you think of the quartet?' + +'Capital!' + +'I'm sure they would make wonderful progress, and Alma does work so +hard! I'm only afraid she may injure her health.' + +'I see no sign of it yet.' + +'She's certainly looking very well,' said Mrs. Frothingham, with +manifest pride and affection. Of Alma she always spoke thus; nothing of +the step-mother was ever observable. + +'Mr. Frothingham is not here this evening!' + +'I really don't know why,' replied the hostess, casting her eyes round +the room. 'I quite expected him. But he has been dreadfully busy the +last few weeks. And people do worry him so. Somebody called whilst we +were at dinner, and refused to believe that Mr. Frothingham was not at +home, and made quite a disturbance at the door--so they told me +afterwards. I'm really quite nervous sometimes; crazy people are always +wanting to see him--people who really ought not to be at large. No +doubt they have had their troubles, poor things; and everybody thinks +my husband can make them rich if only he chooses.' + +A stout, important-looking man paused before Mrs. Frothingham, and +spoke familiarly. + +'I'm looking for B. F. Hasn't he put in an appearance yet?' + +'I really hope he's enjoying himself somewhere else,' replied the +hostess, rising, with a laugh. 'You leave him no peace.' + +The stout man did not smile, but looked gravely for a moment at Rolfe, +a stranger to him, and turned away. + +Herr Wilenski, the virtuoso, was about to play something; the guests +moved to seat themselves. Rolfe, however, preferred to remain in this +room, where he could hear the music sufficiently well. He had not quite +recovered from his chagrin at the interruption of his talk with Alma--a +foolishness which made him impatient with himself. At the same time, he +kept thinking of the 'crazy people' of whom Mrs. Frothingham spoke so +lightly. A man such as Bennet Frothingham must become familiar with +many forms of 'craziness', must himself be responsible for a good deal +of folly such as leads to downright aberration. Recalling Mrs. +Frothingham's innocent curiosity concerning his own life, Harvey +wished, in turn, that it were possible for him to watch and comprehend +the business of a great finance-gambler through one whole day. What +monstrous cruelties and mendacities might underlie the surface of this +gay and melodious existence! Why was the stout man looking for 'B. F.'? +Why did he turn away with such a set countenance? Why was that old bore +at the club in such a fidget about the 'Britannia'? + +Ha! There indeed sounded the violin! It needed no technical +intelligence to distinguish between the playing of Wilenski and that of +Alma Frothingham. Her religion, forsooth! Herr Wilenski, one might be +sure, talked little enough about his 'religion'. What did Alma think as +she listened? Was she overcome by the despair of the artist-soul +struggling in its immaturity? Or did she smile, as ever, and +congratulate herself on the five hours a day, and tell herself how soon +she would reach perfection if there were real necessity for it? +Hopeless to comprehend a woman. The senses warred upon the wit; seized +by calenture, one saw through radiant mists. + +He did not like the name 'Alma'. It had a theatrical sound, a +suggestion of unreality. + +The _maestro_ knew his audience; he played but for a quarter of an +hour, and the babble of tongues began again. Rolfe, sauntering before +the admirable pictures which hung here as a mere symbol of wealth, +heard a voice at his shoulder. + +'I'm very thirsty. Will you take me down?' + +His heart leapt with pleasure; Alma must have seen it in his eyes as he +turned. + +'What did Wilenski play?' he asked confusedly, as they moved towards +the staircase. + +'Something of Grieg's Mr. Wilbraham is going to sing "Wie bist du, +meine Koniginn"--Brahms, you know. But you don't really care for music.' + +'What an astounding accusation!' + +'You don't really care for it. I've known that since we were at +Leipzig.' + +'I have never pretended to appreciate music as you do. That needs +education, and something more. Some music wearies me, there's no +denying it.' + +'You like the Melody in F?' + +'Yes, I do.' + +Alma laughed, with superiority, but not ill-naturedly. + +'And I think it detestable--but of course that doesn't matter. When I +talk about books you think me a nincompoop.--That word used to amuse me +so when I was a child. I remember laughing wildly whenever I saw or +heard it. It _is_ a funny word, isn't it?' + +'The last I should apply to you,' said Rolfe in an absent undertone, as +he caught a glimpse of the white teeth between her laughing lips. + +They entered the supper-room, where as yet only a few people were +refreshing themselves. Provisions for a regiment spread before the +gaze; delicacies innumerable invited the palate: this house was famed +for its hospitable abundance. Alma, having asked her companion to get +her some lemonade, talked awhile with two ladies who had begun to eat +and drink in a serious spirit; waiting for her, Rolfe swallowed two +glasses of wine to counteract a certain dullness and literalness which +were wont to possess him in such company. + +'I won't sit down,' she said. 'No, thanks, nothing to eat. I wonder +where Papa is? Now, _he_ enjoys music, though he is no musician. I +think Papa a wonderful man. For years he has never had more than six +hours sleep; and the work he does! He _can't_ take a holiday; idleness +makes him ill. We were down in Hampshire in July with some relatives of +Mamma's--the quietest, sleepiest village--and Papa tried to spend a few +days with us, but he had to take to flight; he would have perished of +ennui.' + +'Life at high pressure,' remarked Rolfe, as the least offensive comment +he could make. + +'Yes; and isn't it better than life at low?' exclaimed the girl, with +animation. 'Most people go through existence without once exerting all +the powers that are in them. I should hate to die with the thought that +I hadn't really lived myself _out_. A year ago Papa took me into the +City to see the offices of _Stock and Share_, just after the paper +started. It didn't interest me very much; but I pretended it did, +because Papa always takes an interest in _my_ affairs. But I found +there was something else. After we had seen the printing machinery, and +so on, he took me up to the top of the building into a small room, +where there was just a table and a chair and a bookshelf; and he told +me it was his first office, the room in which he had begun business +thirty years ago. He has always kept it for his own, and just as it +was--a fancy of his. There's no harm in my telling you; he's very proud +of it, and so am I. That's energy!' + +'Very interesting indeed.' + +'I must go up again,' she added quickly. 'Oh, there's miss Beaufoy; do +let me introduce you to Miss Beaufoy.' + +She did so, unaware of Rolfe's groaning reluctance, and at once +disappeared. + +The supper-room began to fill. As soon as he could escape from Miss +Beaufoy, who had a cavalier of her own, Harvey ascended the stairs +again, and found a quiet corner, where he sat for a quarter of an hour +undisturbed. Couples and groups paused to talk near him, and whenever +he caught a sentence it was the merest chatter, meaningless repetition +of commonplaces which, but for habit, must have been an unutterable +weariness to the least intelligent of mortals. He was resolved never to +come here again; never again to upset his peace of mind and sully his +self-respect by grimacing amid such a crowd. He enjoyed human +fellowship, timely merry-making; but to throng one's house with people +for whom, with one or two exceptions, one cared not a snap of the +fingers, what was this but sheer vulgarism? As for Alma Frothingham, +long ago he had made up his mind about her. Naturally, inevitably, she +absorbed the vulgarity of her atmosphere. All she did was for effect: +it was her cue to pose as the artist; she would keep it up through +life, and breathe her last, amid perfumes, declaring that she had +'lived herself out'. + +In his peevishness he noticed that women came up from supper with +flushed cheeks and eyes unnaturally lustrous. What a grossly sensual +life was masked by their airs and graces! He had half a mind to start +tomorrow for the Syrian deserts. + +'Do let us see you again soon,' said his hostess, as he took leave of +her. 'Come in at five o'clock on Wednesday, that's our quiet day; only +a few of our _real_ friends. We shall be in town till Christmas, for +certain.' + +On the stairs he passed Mr. Felix Dymes, the composer of 'Margot'. + +'Oh, it's the easiest thing in the world,' Mr. Dymes was saying, 'to +compose a song that will be popular. I'll give you the recipe, and +charge nothing You must have a sudden change to the minor, and a waltz +refrain--that's all. Oh yes, there's money in it. I know a man who----' + +Rolfe had never left the house in such a bad temper. + + + + +CHAPTER 5 + + +When he awoke next morning, the weather was so gloomy that he seriously +resumed his thought of getting away from London. Why, indeed, did he +make London his home, when it would be easy to live in places vastly +more interesting, and under a pure sky? He was a citizen of no city at +all, and had less desire than ever to bind himself to a permanent +habitation. All very well so long as he kept among his male friends, at +the club and elsewhere; but this 'society' played the deuce with him, +and he had not the common-sense, the force of resolve, to keep out of +it altogether. + +Well, he must go to his bank this morning, to draw cash. + +It was about twelve o'clock when he stood at the counter, waiting with +his cheque. The man before him talked with the teller. + +'Do you know that the "Britannia" has shut up?' + +'The bank? No!' + +'But it has. I passed just now, and there were a lot of people standing +about. Closed at half-past eleven, they say. + +Harvey had a singular sensation, a tremor at his heart, a flutter of +the pulses, a turning cold and hot; then he was quite calm again, and +said to himself, 'Of course.' For a minute or two the quiet routine of +the bank was suspended; the news passed from mouth to mouth; newcomers +swelled a gossiping group in front of the counter, and Harvey listened. +The general tone was cynical; there sounded scarcely a note of +indignation; no one present seemed to be personally affected by the +disaster. The name of Bennet Frothingham was frequently pronounced, +with unflattering comments. + +'Somebody'll get it hot,' remarked one of the speakers; and the others +laughed. + +Rolfe, having transacted his business, walked away. It struck him that +he would go and look at the closed bank, but he did not remember the +address; a policeman directed him, and he walked on, the distance not +being very great. At the end of the street in which the building stood, +signs of the unusual became observable--the outskirts of a crowd, +hanging loose in animated talk, as after some exciting occurrence; and +before the bank itself was gathered a throng of men, respectability's +silk hats mingling with the felts and caps of lower strata. Here and +there a voice could be heard raised in anger, but the prevailing +emotion seemed to be mere curiosity. The people who would suffer most +from the collapse of this high-sounding enterprise could not reach the +scene of calamity at half an hour's notice; they were dwellers in many +parts of the British Isles, strangers most of them to London city, with +but a vague mental picture of the local habitation of the Britannia +Loan, Assurance, Investment, and Banking Company, Limited. + +His arm was seized, and a voice said hoarsely in his ear-- + +'By God! too late.' + +Hugh Carnaby had tumbled out of a cab, and saw his friend in the same +moment that he got near enough to perceive that the doors of the bank +were shut. + +'The thieves have lost no time,' he added, pale with fury. + +'You had warning of it?' + +Hugh pulled him a few yards away, and whispered---- + +'Bennet Frothingham shot himself last night.' + +Again Harvey experienced that disagreeable heart-shock, with the +alternation of hot and cold. + +'Where? At home?' + +'At the office of _Stock and Share_. Come farther away. It'll be in the +evening papers directly, but I don't want those blackguards to hear me. +I got up late this morning, and as I was having breakfast, Sibyl rushed +in. She brought the news; had it from some friend of her mother's, a +man connected somehow with _Stock and Share_. I thought they would shut +up shop, and came to try and save Sibyl's balance--a couple of hundred, +that's all--but they've swallowed it with the rest.' + +'With the rest?' + +Hugh laughed mockingly. + +'Of hers. Devilish bad luck Sibyl has. It was just a toss-up that a +good deal of my own wasn't in, one way or another.' + +'Do you know any more about Frothingham?' + +'No. Only the fact. Don't know when it was, or when it got known. We +shall have it from the papers presently. I think every penny Mrs +Larkfield had was in.' + +'But it may not mean absolute ruin,' urged Harvey. + +'I know what to think when B. F. commits suicide. We shall hear that +some of the others have bolted. It'll be as clean a sweep as our +housekeeper's little job.' + +'I've had queer presentiments,' Harvey murmured. + +'Why, damn it, so have I! So had lots of people. But nobody ever does +anything till it's too late. I must get home again with my agreeable +news. You'll be going to the club, I dare say? They'll have plenty to +talk about for the next month or two.' + +'Try to come round tonight to my place.' + +'Perhaps. It depends on fifty chances. There's only one thing I know +for certain--that I shall get out of this cursed country as soon as +possible.' + +They parted, and Harvey walked westward. He had no reason for hurry; as +usual, the tumult of the world's business passed him by; he was merely +a looker-on. It occurred to him that it might be a refreshing and a +salutary change if for once he found himself involved in the anxieties +to which other men were subject; this long exemption and security +fostered a too exclusive regard of self, an inaptitude for sympathetic +emotion, which he recognised as the defect of his character. This +morning's events had startled him, and given a shock to his +imagination; but already he viewed them and their consequences with a +self-possession which differed little from unconcern. Bennet +Frothingham, no doubt, had played a rascally game, foreseeing all along +the issues of defeat. As to his wife and daughter, it would be strange +if they were not provided for; suffer who might, they would probably +live on in material comfort, and nowadays that was the first +consideration. He was surprised that their calamity left him so +unmoved; it showed conclusively how artificial were his relations with +these persons; in no sense did he belong to their world; for all his +foolish flutterings, Alma Frothingham remained a stranger to him, alien +from every point of view, personal, intellectual, social. And how many +of the people who crowded to her concert last night would hear the news +this morning with genuine distress on her account? Gratified envy would +be the prevailing mood, with rancorous hostility in the minds of those +who were losers by Bennet Frothingham's knavery or ill-fortune. Hugh +Carnaby's position called for no lament; he had a sufficient income of +his own, and would now easily overcome his wife's pernicious influence; +with or without her, he would break away from a life of corrupting +indolence, and somewhere beyond seas 'beat the British drum'--use his +superabundant vitality as nature prompted. + +After all, it promised to clear the air. These explosions were +periodic, inevitable, wholesome. The Britannia Loan, &c, &c, &c, had +run its pestilent course; exciting avarice, perturbing quiet industry +with the passion of the gamester, inflating vulgar ambition, now at +length scattering wreck and ruin. This is how mankind progresses. +Harvey Rolfe felt glad that no theological or scientific dogma +constrained him to a justification of the laws of life. + +At lunchtime, newspaper boys began to yell. The earliest placards +roared in immense typography. In the Metropolitan Club, sheets moist +from the press suddenly descended like a fall of snow. Rolfe stood by a +window and read quietly. This first report told him little that he had +not already learnt, but there were a few details of the suicide. +Frothingham, it appeared, always visited the office of _Stock and +Share_ on the day before publication. Yesterday, as usual, he had +looked in for half an hour at three o'clock; but unexpectedly he came +again at seven in the evening, and for a third time at about eleven, +when the printing of the paper was in full swing. 'It was supposed by +the persons whom he then saw that Mr. Frothingham finally quitted the +office; whether he actually left the building or not seems to remain +uncertain. If so, he re-entered without being observed, which does not +seem likely. Between two and three o'clock this morning, when _Stock +and Share_ was practically ready for distribution, a man employed on +the premises is said, for some unexplained reason, to have ascended to +the top floor of the building, and to have entered a room ordinarily +unused. A gas-jet was burning, and the man was horrified to discover +the dead body of Mr. Frothingham, at full length on the floor, in his +hand a pistol. On the alarm being given, medical aid was at once +summoned, and it became evident that death had taken place more than an +hour previously. That no one heard the report of a pistol can be easily +explained by the noise of the machinery below. The dead man's face was +placid. Very little blood had issued from the wound, and the shot must +have been fired with a remarkably steady hand.' + +'A room on the top floor of the building, ordinarily unused----' What +story was it that Alma Frothingham told last night, of her visit to the +office of _Stock and Share_? Rolfe had not paid much attention to it at +the time; now he recalled the anecdote, and was more impressed by its +significance. That room, his first place of business, the scene of poor +beginnings, Bennet Frothingham had chosen for his place of death. +Perhaps he had long foreseen this possibility, had mused upon the +dramatic fitness of such an end; for there was a strain of melancholy +in the man, legible on his countenance, perceptible in his private +conversation. Just about the time when Alma laughingly told the story, +her father must have been sitting in that upper room, thinking his last +thoughts; or it might be that he lay already dead. + +Later issues contained much fuller reports. The man who found the body +had explained his behaviour in going up to the unused room, and it +relieved the dark affair with a touch of comedy. Before coming to work, +he had quarrelled with his wife, and, rather than go home in the early +hours of the morning, he hit upon the idea of finding a sleeping-place +here on the premises, to which he could slink unnoticed. 'It's little +enough sleep I get in my own house,' was his remark to the reporter who +won his confidence. Clubmen were hilarious over this incident, +speculating as to the result of its publication on the indiscreet man's +domestic troubles. + +It was not unremarked that a long time elapsed between the discovery of +the suicide and its being heard of by anyone who had an interest in +making it generally known. With the exception of two persons, all who +were engaged upon the production of the newspaper went home in complete +ignorance of what had happened, so cautiously and successfully was the +situation dealt with by the sub-editor and his informant. When, after +an examination by the doctor, who had been summoned in all secrecy, it +became necessary to communicate with the police, the employees had all +gone away, and the printed sheets had been conveyed to the distributing +agents. Naturally, the subeditor of _Stock and Share_' preserved a +certain reticence in the matter; but one could hardly be mistaken in +assuming that the directors of the Britannia Company--two or three of +them, at all events--had an opportunity of surveying their position +long before the hour when this momentous news got abroad. + +With regard to the company's affairs, only conjecture could be as yet +indulged in. In view of the immediate stoppage of business, it was +pretty safe to surmise that alarming disclosures awaited the public. No +one, of course, would be justified in prejudging the case against the +unhappy man who, amid seemingly brilliant circumstances, had been +driven to so desperate an act. + +And so on, and so on, in one journal after another, in edition upon +edition. Harvey Rolfe read them till he was weary, listened to the +gossip of the club till he was nauseated. He went home at length with a +headache, and, having carefully avoided contact with Buncombe or Mrs +Handover, made an effort to absorb himself in a volume of Gregorovius, +which was at present his study. The attempt was futile. Talk still +seemed to buzz about him; his temples throbbed; his thoughts wandered +far and wide. Driven to bed long before his accustomed hour, he heard +raucous voices rending the night, bellowing in hideous antiphony from +this side of the street and the other, as the vendors of a halfpenny +paper made the most of what Providence had sent them. + +The first thing after breakfast next morning, he posted a line to Hugh +Carnaby. 'Is there any way in which I can be of use to you? If you +think not, I shall be off tomorrow to Greystone for a few days. I feel +as if we were all being swept into a ghastly whirlpool which roars over +the bottomless pit. Of course, I will stay if I can do anything, no +matter what. Otherwise, address for a week to Basil Morton's.' + +This he dropped into the nearest pillar-box, and, as the sun was +endeavouring to shine, he walked the length of the street, a pretence +of exercise. On his way back he was preceded by a telegraph boy, who +stopped at Buncombe's front door, and awoke the echoes with a twofold +double knock. Before the servant could open, Harvey was on the steps. + +'What name?' + +'Rolfe.' + +'For me, then.' + +He tore open the envelope. + +'Could you come at once? Something has happened.--Abbott.' + +The boy wished to know if there would be a reply. Harvey shook his +head, and stepped into the hall, where he stood reflecting. What could +have happened that Edgar Abbott should summon him? Had his wife run +away?-- Ah, to be sure, it must have something to do with Wager's +children--an accident, a death. But why send for _him_? + +He made a little change in his dress, and drove forthwith to Kilburn. +As his cab stopped, he saw that all the blinds in the front of the +Abbotts' house were drawn down. Death, then, obviously. It was with a +painful shaking of the nerves that he knocked for admission. + +'Mr. Abbott----?' + +The servant girl, who had a long-drawn face, said nothing, but left him +where he stood, returning in a moment with a mumbled 'Will you please +to come in, sir?' He followed her to the room in which he had talked +with Mrs. Abbott two days ago; and she it was who again received him. +Her back to the light, she stood motionless. + +'Your husband has telegraphed for me----' + +A voice that struggled with a sob made thick reply---- + +'No--I--he is dead!' + +The accent of that last monosyllable was heart-piercing. It seemed to +Harvey as though the word were new-minted, so full it sounded of +dreadful meaning. + +'Dead?' + +Mrs. Abbott moved, and he could see her face better. She must have wept +for hours. + +'He has been taking morphia--he couldn't sleep well--and then his +neuralgia. The girl found him this morning, at seven o'clock--there.' + +She pointed to the couch. + +'You mean that he had taken an overdose--by accident----' + +'It _must_ have been so. He had to work late--and then he must have +lain down to sleep.' + +'Why here?' + +'A flood of anguish whelmed her. She uttered a long moan, all the more +terrible for its subdual to a sound that could not pass beyond the +room. Her struggle for self-command made her suffering only the more +impressive, the more grievous to behold.' + +'Mr. Rolfe, I sent for you because you are his old friend. I meant to +tell you all the truth, as I know it. I _can't_ tell it before +strangers--in public! I _can't_ let them know--the shame--the shame!' + +Harvey's sympathy gave way to astonishment and strange surmise. +Hurriedly he besought her not to reveal anything in her present +distress; to wait till she could reflect calmly, see things in truer +proportion. His embarrassment was heightened by an inability to +identify this woman with the Mrs. Abbott he had known; the change in +her self-presentment seemed as great and sudden as that in her +circumstances. Face and voice, though scarce recognisable, had changed +less than the soul of her--as Harvey imaged it. This entreaty she +replied to with a steadiness, a resolve, which left him no choice but +to listen. + +'I cannot, dare not, think that he did this knowingly. No! He was too +brave for that. He would never have left me in that way--to my despair. +But it was my fault that made him angry--no, not angry; he was never +that with me, or never showed it. But I had behaved with such utter +selfishness----' + +Her misery refused to word itself. She sank down upon a chair and +sobbed and moaned. + +'Your grief exaggerates every little fault,' said Harvey. + +'No--you must hear it all--then perhaps I can hide my shame from +strangers. What use would it be if they knew? It alters nothing--it's +only in my own heart. I have no right to pain you like this. I will +tell you quietly. You know that he went to Waterbury, on business. Did +he tell you?--it was to buy a share in a local newspaper. I, in my +blindness and selfishness, disliked that. I wanted to live here; the +thought of going to live in the country seemed unbearable. That Edgar +was overworked and ill, seemed to me a trifle. Don't you remember how I +spoke of it when you came here the other morning?--I can't understand +myself. How could I think so, speak so!' + +The listener said nothing. + +'He did what he purposed--made a bargain, and came back to conclude the +purchase by correspondence. But his money--the small capital he counted +upon--was in "Britannia" shares; and you know what happened +yesterday--yesterday, the very day when he went to sell the shares, +thinking to do so without the least difficulty.' + +Harvey gave a grim nod. + +'He came home, and I showed that I was glad----' + +'No! You accuse yourself unreasonably.' + +'I tell you the truth, as my miserable conscience knows it. I was crazy +with selfishness and conceit. Rightly, he left me to my cowardly +temper, and went out again, and was away for a long time. He came back +to dinner, and then the suffering in his face all but taught me what I +was doing. I wanted to ask him to forgive me--to comfort him for his +loss; but pride kept me from it. I couldn't speak--I couldn't! After +dinner he said he had a lot of work to do, and came into this room. At +ten o'clock I sent him coffee. I wished to take it myself--O God! if +only I had done so! I _wished_ to take it, and speak to him, but still +I couldn't. And I knew he was in torture; I saw at dinner that pain was +racking him. But I kept away, and went to my own bed, and slept--whilst +he was lying here.' + +A rush of tears relieved her. Harvey felt his own eyes grow moist. + +'It was only that he felt so worn out,' she pursued. 'I know how it +was. The pain grew intolerable, and he went upstairs for his draught, +and then--not having finished his work--he thought he would lie down on +the sofa for a little; and so sleep overcame him. He never meant +_this_. If I thought it, I couldn't live!' + +'Undoubtedly you are right,' said Harvey, summoning an accent of +conviction. 'I knew him very well, and he was not the man to do that.' + +'No? You are sure of it? You feel it impossible, Mr. Rolfe?' + +'Quite impossible. There are men--oh, you may assure yourself that it +was pure accident. Unfortunately, it happens so often.' + +She hung on his words, leaning towards him, her eyes wide and lips +parted. + +'So often! I have seen so many cases, in the papers. And he was +absent-minded. But what right have I to seek comfort for myself? Was I +any less the cause of his death? But must I tell all this in public? Do +you think I ought to?' + +With comfortable sincerity Rolfe was able to maintain the needlessness +of divulging anything beyond the state of Abbott's health and his +pecuniary troubles. + +'It isn't as if we had lived on ill terms with each other,' said the +widow, with a sigh of gratitude. 'Anything but that. Until of late we +never knew a difference, and the change that came was wholly my fault. +I hadn't the honesty to speak out and say what was in my mind. I never +openly opposed his wish to leave London. I pretended to agree to +everything, pretended. He showed me all his reasons, put everything +simply and plainly and kindly before me, and if I had said what I +thought, I feel sure he would have given it up at once. It was in my +own hands to decide one way or the other.' + +'Why should you reproach yourself so with mere thoughts, of which he +never became aware?' + +'Oh, it was yesterday, when he came back from the City. He knew then +that I was glad he couldn't carry out his purpose. He looked at me as +he never had done before--a look of surprise and estrangement. I shall +always see that look on his face.' + +Harvey talked in the strain of solace, feeling how extraordinary was +his position, and that of all men he had least fitness for such an +office. It relieved him when, without undue abruptness, he could pass +to the practical urgencies of the case. Were Wager's children still in +the house? Alas! they were, and Mrs. Abbott knew not what to do about +them. + +'You can't think of anyone who would take them--for a day or two, even?' + +Among her acquaintances there was not one of whom she could venture to +ask such a service. 'People have such a dread of children.' Her sister +was a governess in Ireland; other near relatives she had none. Edgar +Abbott's mother, old and in feeble health, lived near Waterbury; how +was the dreadful news to be conveyed to her? + +Harvey bestirred himself. Here, at all events, was a call to active +usefulness; he felt the privilege of money and leisure. + +'Can you give me the name of any one at Waterbury who would be a fit +person to break the news to Mrs. Abbott?' + +Two names were mentioned, and he noted them. + +'I will send telegrams at once to both.' + +'You will say it was an accident----' + +'That shall be made clear. As for the children, I think I can have them +taken away this morning. In the house where I live there is a decent +woman who I dare say would be willing to look after them for the +present. Will you leave this entirely in my hands?' + +'I am ashamed--I don't know how to thank you.' + +'No time shall be lost.' He rose. 'If Mrs. Handover will help us, I +will bring her here; then I shall see you again. In any case, of +course, I will come back--there will be other business. But you ought +to have some friend--some lady.' + +'There's _no_ one I can ask.' + +'Oh, but of all the people you know in London--surely!' + +'They are not friends in that sense. I understand it now--fifty +acquaintances; no friend.' + +'But let me think--let me think. What was the name of that lady I met +here, whose children you used to teach?' + +'Mrs. Langland. She is very kind and friendly, but she lives at +Gunnersbury--so far--and I couldn't trouble her.' + +Upon one meeting and a short conversation, with subsequent remarks from +Edgar Abbott, Rolfe had grounded a very favourable opinion of Mrs +Langland. She dwelt clearly in his mind as 'a woman with no nonsense +about her', likely to be of much helpfulness at a crisis such as the +present. With difficulty he persuaded Mrs. Abbott to sit down and write +a few lines, to be posted at once to Gunnersbury. + +'I haven't dared to ask her to come. But I have said that I am alone.' + +'Quite enough, I think, if she is at home.' + +He took his leave, and drove back to Bayswater, posting the letter and +despatching two telegrams on the way. + +Of course, his visit to Greystone was given up. + + + + +CHAPTER 6 + + +Hugh Carnaby was gratified by the verdict of _felo de se_. He applauded +the jury for their most unexpected honesty. One had taken for granted +the foolish tag about temporary madness, which would have been an +insult to everybody's common-sense. + +'It's a pity they no longer bury at four cross-roads, with a stake in +his inside. (Where's that from? I remember it somehow.) The example +wouldn't be bad.' + +'You're rather early-Victorian,' replied Sibyl, who by this term was +wont to signify barbarism or crudity in art, letters, morality, or +social feeling. 'Besides, there's no merit in the verdict. It only +means that the City jury is in a rage. Yet every one of them would be +dishonest on as great a scale if they dared, or had the chance.' + +'Something in that, I dare say,' conceded Hugh. + +He admired his wife more than ever. Calm when she lost her trinkets, +Sibyl exhibited no less self-command now that she was suddenly deprived +of her whole fortune, about eight hundred a year. She had once remarked +on the pleasantness and fitness of a wife's possessing in her own name +an income equal to that of her husband; yet she resigned it without +fuss. Indeed, Sibyl never made a fuss about anything. She intimated her +wishes, and, as they were always possible of gratification, obtained +them as a matter of course. Naturally, since their marriage, she and +Hugh had lived to the full extent of their means. Carnaby had reduced +his capital by a couple of thousand pounds in preliminary expenses, and +debt to the amount of two or three hundred was outstanding at the end +of the first twelvemonth; but Sibyl manifested no alarm. + +'We have been great fools,' she said, alluding to their faith in Bennet +Frothingham. + +'It's certain that _I_ have,' replied her husband. 'I oughtn't to have +let your mother have her way about that money. If there had been a +proper settlement, you would have run no risk. Trustees couldn't have +allowed such an investment.' + +The same day Sibyl bought a fur for her neck which cost fifteen +guineas. The weather was turning cold, and she had an account at the +shop. + +That afternoon, too, she went to see her mother, and on returning at +six o'clock looked into the library, where Hugh sat by the fire, a book +in his hand. Carnaby found the days very long just now. He shunned his +clubs, the Metropolitan and the Ramblers', because of a fear that his +connection with the 'Britannia' was generally known; to hear talk on +the subject would make him savage. He was grievously perturbed in mind +by his position and prospects; and want of exercise had begun to affect +his health. As always, he greeted his wife's entrance with a smile, and +rose to place a chair for her. + +'Thanks, I won't sit down,' said Sibyl. 'You look comfortable.' + +'Well?' + +She looked at him reflectively, and said in balanced tones---- + +'I really think I can boast of having the most selfish mother in +England.' + +Hugh had his own opinion concerning Mrs. Ascott Larkfield, but would +not have ventured to phrase it. + +'How's that?' + +'I never knew anyone who succeeded so well in thinking steadily and +exclusively of herself. It irritates me to see her since this affair; I +shan't go again. I really didn't know what a detestable temper she has. +Her talk is outrageous. She doesn't behave like a lady. Could you +believe that she has written a violent letter to Mrs. +Frothingham--"speaking her mind", as she says? It's disgraceful!' + +'I'm sorry she has done that. But it isn't every one that can bear +injury as you do, Sibyl.' + +'I supposed she could behave herself. She raises her voice, and uses +outrageous words, and shows temper with the servants. I wouldn't spend +a day in that house now on any account. And, after all, I find she +hasn't lost much more than I have. She will be able to count on six +hundred a year at least.' + +Carnaby received the news with a brightened visage. + +'Oh come! That's something.' + +'She took very good care, you see, not to risk everything herself.' + +'It's possible,' said Hugh, 'that she hadn't control of all her money.' + +'Oh yes, she had. She let that fact escape in her fury--congratulated +herself on being so far prudent. Really, I never knew a more hateful +woman.' + +It was said without vehemence, with none of that raising of the voice +which so offended her: a deliberate judgment, in carefully chosen +words. Hugh tried to smile, but could not quite command his features; +they expressed an uneasy thoughtfulness. + +'Do you go out this evening?' he asked, after a pause. + +'No; I'm rather tired and out of sorts. Dinner is at seven. I shall go +to bed early.' + +The police had as yet failed to get upon the track of the felonious +housekeeper, known as Mrs. Maskell. Mrs. Carnaby's other servants still +kept their places, protesting innocence, and doubtless afraid to leave +lest they should incur suspicion. Domestic management was now In the +hands of the cook. Sibyl always declared that she could not eat a +dinner she had had the trouble of ordering, and she seemed unaffectedly +to shrink from persons of the menial class, as though with physical +repulsion. Perforce she submitted to having her hair done by her maid, +but she found the necessity disagreeable. + +The dinner was simple, but well cooked. Sibyl never ate with hearty +appetite, and declined everything not of excellent quality; unlike +women in general, she was fastidious about wine, yet took of it +sparingly; liqueurs, too, she enjoyed, and very strong coffee. To a +cigarette in the mouth of a woman she utterly objected; it offended her +sense of the becoming, her delicate perception of propriety. When +dining alone or with Hugh, she dressed as carefully as for a +ceremonious occasion. Any approach to personal disorder or neglect was +inconceivable in Sibyl. Her husband had, by accident, heard her called +'the best-groomed woman in London'; he thought the praise well merited, +and it flattered him. + +At table they talked of things as remote as possible from their +immediate concerns, and with the usual good humour. When he rose to +open the door, Hugh said---- + +'Drawing-room or library?' + +'Library. You would like to smoke.' + +For ten minutes he sat with his arms on the table, his great +well-shapen hands loosely clenched before him. He drank nothing. His +gaze was fixed on a dish of fruit, and widened as if in a growing +perplexity. Then he recovered himself, gave a snort, and went to join +his wife. + +Sibyl was reading a newspaper. Hugh lit his pipe in silence, and sat +down opposite to her. Presently the newspaper dropped, and Sibyl's eyes +were turned upon her husband with a smile. + +'Well?' + +'Well?' + +They smiled at each other amiably. + +'What do you suggest, Birdie?' + +The fondling name was not very appropriate, and had not been used of +late; Carnaby hit upon it in the honeymoon days, when he said that his +wife was like some little lovely bird, which he, great coarse fellow, +had captured and almost feared to touch lest he should hurt it. Hugh +had not much originality of thought, and less of expression. + +'There are places, you know, where one lives very comfortably on very +little,' said Sibyl. + +'Yes; but it leads to nothing.' + +'What _would_ lead to anything?' + +'Well, you see, I have capital, and some use ought to be made of it. +Everybody nowadays goes in for some kind of business.' + +She listened with interest, smiling, meditative. + +'And a great many people come out of it--wishing they had done so +before.' + +'True,' said Carnaby; 'there's the difficulty. I had a letter from +Dando this morning. He has got somebody to believe in his new smelting +process--somebody in the City; talks of going out to Queensland +shortly. Really--if I could be on the spot----' + +He hesitated, timidly indicating his thoughts. Sibyl mused, and slowly +shook her head. + +'No; wait for reports.' + +'Yes; but it's those who are in it first, you see.' + +Sibyl seemed to forget the immediate subject, and to let her thoughts +wander in pleasant directions. She spoke as if on a happy impulse. + +'There's one place I think I should like--though I dread the voyage.' + +'Where's that?' + +'Honolulu.' + +'What has put that into your head?' + +'Oh, I have read about it. The climate is absolute perfection, and the +life exquisite. How do you get there?' + +'Across America, and then from San Francisco. It's anything but a cheap +place, I believe.' + +'Still, for a time. The thing is to get away, don't you think?' + +'No doubt of that.--Honolulu--by Jove! it's an idea. I should like to +see those islands myself.' + +'And it isn't commonplace,' remarked Sibyl. 'One would go off with a +certain eclat. Very different from starting for the Continent in the +humdrum way.' + +The more Carnaby thought of it, the better he liked this suggestion. +That Sibyl should voluntarily propose so long a journey surprised and +delighted him. The tropics were not his favourite region, and those +islands of the Pacific offered no scope for profitable energy; he did +not want to climb volcanoes, still less to lounge beneath bananas and +breadfruit-trees, however pleasant such an escape from civilisation +might seem at the first glance. A year of marriage, of idleness amid +amusements, luxuries, extravagances, for which he had no taste, was +bearing its natural result in masculine restiveness. His robust +physique and temper, essentially combative, demanded liberty under +conditions of rude or violent life. He was not likely to find a +satisfying range in any mode of existence that would be shared by +Sibyl. But he clutched at any chance of extensive travel. It might be +necessary--it certainly would be--to make further incision into his +capital, and so diminish the annual return upon which he could count +for the future; but when his income had already become ludicrously +inadequate, what did that matter? The years of independence were past; +somehow or other, he must make money. Everybody did it nowadays, and an +'opening' would of course present itself, something would of course +'turn up'. + +He stretched his limbs in a sudden vast relief. + +'Bravo! The idea is excellent. Shall we sell all this stuff?' waving a +hand to indicate the furniture. + +'Oh, I think not. Warehouse it.' + +Hugh would have rejoiced to turn every chair and table into hard cash, +not only for the money's sake, but for the sense of freedom that would +follow; but he agreed, as always, to whatever his wife preferred. They +talked with unwonted animation. A great atlas was opened, routes were +fingered; half the earth's circumference vanished in a twinkling. +Sibyl, hitherto mewed within the circle of European gaieties and +relaxations, all at once let her fancy fly--tasted a new luxury in +experiences from which she had shrunk. + +'I'll order my outfit tomorrow. Very light things, I suppose? Who could +advise me about that?' + +Among a number of notes and letters which she wrote next day was one to +Miss Frothingham. 'Dear Alma,' it began, and it ended with 'Yours +affectionately'--just as usual. + +'Could you possibly come here some day this week? I haven't written +before, and haven't tried to see you, because I felt sure you would +rather be left alone. At the same time I feel sure that what has +happened, though for a time it will sadden us both, cannot affect our +friendship. I want to see you, as we are going away very soon, first of +all to _Honolulu_. Appoint your own time; I will be here.' + +By return of post came the black-edged answer, which began with +'Dearest Sibyl,' and closed with 'Ever affectionately'. + +'I cannot tell you how relieved I am to get your kind letter. These +dreadful days have made me ill, and one thing that increased my misery +was the fear that I should never hear from you again. I should not have +dared to write. How noble you are!--but then I always knew that. I +cannot come tomorrow--you know why--but the next day I will be with you +at three o'clock, if you don't tell me that the hour is inconvenient.' + +They met at the appointed time. Mrs. Carnaby's fine sense of the +becoming declared itself in dark array; her voice was tenderly subdued; +the pressure of her hand, the softly lingering touch of her lips, +conveyed a sympathy which perfect taste would not allow to become +demonstrative. Alma could at first say nothing. The faint rose upon her +cheek had vanished; her eyes were heavy, and lacked their vital gleam; +her mouth, no longer mobile and provocative, trembled on the verge of +sobs, pathetic, childlike. She hung her head, moved with a languid, +diffident step, looked smaller and slighter, a fashionable garb of woe +aiding the unhappy transformation. + +'I oughtn't to have given you this trouble,' said Sibyl. 'But perhaps +you would rather see me here----' + +'Yes--oh yes--it was much better----' + +'Sit down, dear. We won't talk of wretched things, will we? If I could +have been of any use to you----' + +'I was so afraid you would never----' + +'Oh, you know me better than that,' broke in Mrs. Carnaby, almost with +cheerfulness, her countenance already throwing off the decorous shadow, +like a cloak that had served its turn. 'I hope I am neither foolish nor +worldly-minded.' + +'Indeed, indeed not! You are goodness itself.' + +'How is Mrs. Frothingham?' + +The question was asked with infinite delicacy, head and body bent +forward, eyes floatingly averted. + +'Really ill, I'm afraid. She has fainted several times--yesterday was +unconscious for nearly half an hour.' + +Sibyl flinched. Mention of physical suffering affected her most +disagreeably; she always shunned the proximity of people in ill health, +and a possibility of infection struck her with panic. + +'Oh, I'm so sorry. But it will pass over.' + +'I hope so. I have done what I could.' + +'I'm sure you have.' + +'But it's so hard--when every word of comfort sounds heartless--when +it's kindest to say nothing----' + +'We won't talk about it, dear. You yourself--I can see what you have +gone through. You must get away as soon as possible; this gloomy +weather makes everything worse.' + +She paused, and with an air of discreet interest awaited Alma's reply. + +'Yes, I hope to get away. I shall see if it's possible.' + +The girl's look strayed with a tired uncertainty; her hands never +ceased to move and fidget; only the habits of good breeding kept her +body still. + +'Of course, it is too soon for you to have made plans.' + +'It's so difficult,' replied Alma, her features more naturally +expressive, her eyes a little brighter. 'You see, I am utterly +dependent upon Mamma. I had better tell you at once--Mamma will have +enough to live upon, however things turn out. She has money of her own; +but of course I have nothing--nothing whatever. I think, most likely, +Mamma will go to live with her sister, in the country, for a time. She +couldn't bear to go on living in London, and she doesn't like life +abroad. If only I could do as I wish!' + +'I guess what that would be,' said the other, smiling gently. + +'To take up music as a profession--yes. But I'm not ready for it.' + +'Oh, half a year of serious study; with your decided talent, I should +think you couldn't hesitate. You are a born musician.' + +The words acted as a cordial. Alma roused herself, lifted her drooping +head and smiled. + +'That's the praise of a friend.' + +'And the serious opinion of one not quite unfit to judge,' rejoined +Sibyl, with her air of tranquil self-assertion. 'Besides, we have +agreed--haven't we?--that the impulse is everything. What you wish for, +try for. Just now you have lost courage; you are not yourself. Wait +till you recover your balance.' + +'It isn't that I want to make a name, or anything of that sort,' said +Alma, in a voice that was recovering its ordinary pitch and melody. 'I +dare say I never should; I might just support myself, and that would be +all. But I want to be free--I want to break away.' + +'Of course!' + +'I have been thinking that I shall beg Mamma to let me have just a +small allowance, and go off by myself. I know people at Leipzig--the +Gassners, you remember. I could live there on little enough, and work, +and feel free. Of course, there's really no reason why I shouldn't. I +have been feeling so bound and helpless; and now that nobody has any +right to hinder me, you think it would be the wise thing?' + +Alma had occasionally complained to her friend, as she did the other +evening to Harvey Rolfe, that easy circumstances were not favourable to +artistic ambition, but no very serious disquiet had ever declared +itself in her ordinary talk. The phrases she now used, and the look +that accompanied them, caused Sibyl some amusement. Only two years +older than Alma, Mrs. Carnaby enjoyed a more than proportionate +superiority in knowledge of the world; her education had been more +steadily directed to that end, and her natural aptitude for the study +was more pronounced. That she really liked Alma seemed as certain as +that she felt neither affection nor esteem for any other person of her +own sex. Herself not much inclined to feminine friendship, Alma had +from the first paid voluntary homage to Sibyl's intellectual claims, +and thought it a privilege to be admitted to her intimacy; being +persuaded, moreover, that in Sibyl, and in Sibyl alone, she found +genuine appreciation of her musical talent. Sibyl's choice of a husband +had secretly surprised and disappointed her, for Hugh Carnaby was not +the type of man in whom she felt an interest, and he seemed to her +totally unworthy of his good fortune; but this perplexity passed and +was forgotten. She saw that Sibyl underwent no subjugation; nay, that +the married woman did but perfect herself in those qualities of mind +and mood whereby she had shone as a maiden. It was a combination of +powers and virtues which appeared to Alma little short of the ideal in +womanhood. The example influenced her developing character in ways she +recognised, and in others of which she remained quite unconscious. + +'I think you couldn't do better,' Mrs. Carnaby replied to the last +question; 'provided that----' + +She paused intentionally, with an air of soft solicitude, of bland +wisdom. + +'That's just what I wanted,' said Alma eagerly. 'Advise me--tell me +just what you think.' + +'You want to live alone, and to have done with all the silly +conventionalities and proprieties--our old friend Mrs. Grundy, in fact.' + +'That's it! You understand me perfectly, as you always do.' + +'If it had been possible, we would have lived together.' + +'Ah! how delightful! Don't speak of what can't be.' + +'I was going to say,' pursued Sibyl thoughtfully, 'that you will meet +with all sorts of little troubles and worries, which you have never had +any experience of. For one thing, you know'--she leaned back, smiling, +at ease--'people won't behave to you quite as you have been accustomed +to expect. Money is very important even to a man; but to a woman it +means more than you can imagine.' + +'Oh, but I shan't be living among the kind of people----' + +'No, no. Perhaps you don't quite understand me yet. It isn't the people +you seek who matter, but the people that will seek _you_; and some of +them will have very strange ideas--very strange indeed.' + +Alma looked self-conscious, kept her eyes down, and at length nodded. + +'Yes. I think I understand.' + +'That's why I said "provided". You are not the ordinary girl, and you +won't imagine that I feared for you; I know you too well. It's a +question of being informed and on one's guard. I don't think there's +anyone else who would talk to you like this. It doesn't offend you?' + +'Sibyl!' + +'Well, then, that's all right. Go into the world by all means, but go +prepared--armed; the word isn't a bit too strong, as I know perfectly. +Some day, perhaps--but there's no need to talk about such things now.' + +Alma kept a short silence, breaking it at length with note of +exultation. + +'I'm quite decided now. I wanted just to hear what you would say. I +shan't wait a day longer than I can help. The old life is over for me. +If only it had come about in some other way, I should be singing with +rapture. I'm going to begin to live!' + +She quivered with intensity of feeling, or with that excitement of the +nerves which simulates intense feeling in certain natures. A flush +stole to her cheek; her eyes were once more full of light. Sibyl +regarded her observantly and with admiration. + +'You never thought of the stage, Alma?' + +'The stage? Acting?' + +'No; I see you never did. And it wouldn't do--of course it wouldn't do. +Something in your look--it just crossed my mind--but of course you have +much greater things before you. It means hard work, and I'm only afraid +you'll work yourself all but to death.' + +'I shouldn't wonder,' replied the girl, with a little laugh of pride in +this possibility. + +'Well, I too am going away, you know.' + +Alma's countenance fell, shame again crept over it, and she murmured, +'O Sibyl----!' + +'Don't distress yourself the least on my account. That's an understood +thing; no mention, no allusion, ever between us. And the truth is that +my position is just a little like yours: on the whole, I'm rather glad. +Hugh wants desperately to get to the other end of the world, and I dare +say it's the best thing I could do to go with him. No roughing it, of +course; that isn't in my way.' + +'I should think not, indeed!' + +'Oh, I may rise to those heights, who knows! If the new sensation ever +seemed worth the trouble.--In a year or two, we shall meet and compare +notes. Don't expect long descriptive letters; I don't care to do +indifferently what other people have done well and put into print--it's +a waste of energy. But you are sure to have far more interesting and +original things to tell about; it will read so piquantly, I'm sure, at +Honolulu.' + +They drank tea together, and talked, in all, for a couple of hours. +When she rose to leave, Alma, but for her sombre drapings, was totally +changed from the limp, woebegone, shrinking girl who had at first +presented herself. + +'There's no one else,' she said, 'who would have behaved to me so +kindly and so nobly.' + +'Nonsense! But _that's_ nonsense, too. Let us admire each other; it +does us good, and is so very pleasant.' + +'I shall say goodbye to no one but you. Let people think and say of me +what they like; I don't care a snap of the fingers. In deed, I _hate_ +people.' + +'Both sexes impartially?' + +It was a peculiarity of their intimate converse that they never talked +of men, and a jest of this kind had novelty sufficient to affect Alma +with a slight confusion. + +'Impartially--quite,' she answered. + +'Do make an exception in favour of Hugh's friend, Mr. Rolfe. I abandon +all the rest.' + +Alma betrayed surprise. + +'Strange! I really thought you didn't much like Mr. Rolfe,' she said, +without any show of embarrassment. + +'I didn't when I first knew him; but he grows upon one. I think him +interesting; he isn't quite easy to understand.' + +'Indeed he isn't.' + +They smiled with the confidence of women fancy-free, and said no more +on the subject. + +Carnaby came home to dinner brisk and cheerful; he felt better than for +many a day. Brightly responsive, Sibyl welcomed his appearance in the +drawing-room. + +'Saw old Rolfe for a minute at the club. In a vile temper. I wonder +whether he really has lost money, and won't confess? Yet I don't think +so. Queer old stick.' + +'By-the-bye, what _is_ his age?' asked Alma unconcernedly. + +'Thirty-seven or eight. But I always think of him as fifty.' + +'I suppose he'll never marry?' + +'Rolfe? Good heavens, no! Too much sense--hang it, you know what I +mean! It would never suit _him_. Can't imagine such a thing. He gets +more and more booky. Has his open-air moods, too, and amuses me with +his Jingoism. So different from his old ways of talking; but I didn't +care much about him in those days. Well, now, look here, I've had a +talk with a man I know, about Honolulu, and I've got all sorts of +things to tell you.--Dinner? Very glad; I'm precious hungry.' + + + + +CHAPTER 7 + + +About the middle of December, Alma Frothingham left England, burning +with a fever of impatience, resenting all inquiry and counsel, making +pretence of settled plans, really indifferent to everything but the +prospect of emancipation. The disaster that had befallen her life, the +dishonour darkening upon her name, seemed for the moment merely a price +paid for liberty. The shock of sorrow and dismay had broken innumerable +bonds, overthrown all manner of obstacles to growth of character, of +power. She gloried in a new, intoxicating sense of irresponsibility. +She saw the ideal life in a release from all duty and obligation--save +to herself. + +Travellers on that winter day from Antwerp into Germany noticed the +English girl, well dressed, and of attractive features, whose excited +countenance and restless manner told of a journey in haste, with +something most important, and assuredly not disagreeable, at the end of +it. She was alone, and evidently quite able to take care of herself. +Unlike the representative English _Fraulein_, she did not reject +friendly overtures from strangers; her German was lame, but she spoke +it with enjoyment, laughing at her stumbles and mistakes. With her in +the railway carriage she kept a violin-case. A professional musician? +'Noch nicht' was her answer, with a laugh. She knew Leipzig? Oh dear, +yes, and many other parts of Germany; had travelled a good deal; was an +entirely free and independent person, quite without national prejudice, +indeed without prejudice of any kind. And in the same breath she spoke +slightingly, if not contemptuously, of England and everything English. + +At Leipzig she stayed until the end of April, living with a family +named Gassner, people whom she had known for some years. Only on +condition that she would take up her abode with this household had Mrs. +Frothingham consented to make her an allowance and let her go abroad. +Alma fretted at the restriction; she wished to have a room of her own +in a lodging-house; but the family life improved her command of +German--something gained. To music, meanwhile, she gave very little +attention, putting off with one excuse after another the beginning of +her serious studies. She seemed to have quite forgotten that music was +her 'religion', and, for the matter of that, appeared to have no +religion at all. 'Life' was her interest, her study. She made +acquaintances, attended concerts and the theatre, read multitudes of +French and German novels. But her habits were economical. All the +pleasures she desired could be enjoyed at very small expense, and she +found her stepmother's remittances more than sufficient. + +In April she gained Mrs. Frothingham's consent to her removal from +Leipzig to Munich. A German girl with whom she had made friends was +going to Munich to study art. For reasons, vague even to herself (so +ran her letters to Mrs. Frothingham), she could not 'settle' at +Leipzig. The climate did not seem to suit her. She had suffered from +bad colds, and, in short, was doing no good. At Munich lived an +admirable violinist, a friend of Herr Wilenski's, who would be of great +use to her. 'In short, dear Mamma, doesn't it seem to you rather +humiliating that at the age of four-and-twenty I should be begging for +permission to go here and there, do this or that? I know all your +anxieties about me, and I am very grateful, and I feel ashamed to be +living at your expense, but really I must go about making a career for +myself in my own way.' Mrs. Frothingham yielded, and Alma took lodgings +in Munich together with her German friend. + +English newspapers were now reporting the trial of the directors of the +Britannia Company, for to this pass had things come. The revelations of +the law-court satisfied public curiosity, and excited indignant +clamour. Alma read, and tried to view the proceedings as one for whom +they had no personal concern; but her sky darkened, her heart grew +heavy. The name of Bennet Frothingham stood for criminal recklessness, +for huge rascality; it would be so for years to come. She had no +courage to take up her violin; the sound of music grew hateful to her, +as if mocking at her ruined ambition. + +Three months had passed since she received her one and only letter from +Honolulu; two months since she had written to Sibyl. On a blue day of +spring, when despondency lowered upon her, and all occupation, all +amusements seemed a burden, she was driven to address her friend on the +other side of the world, to send a cry of pain and hopelessness to the +dream-island of the Pacific. + +'What is the use of working at music? The simple truth is, that since I +left England I have given it up. I am living here on false pretences; I +shall never care to play the violin again. What sort of a reception +could I expect from an English audience? If I took another name, of +course it would get known who I was, and people would just come to +stare at me--pleasant thought! And I have utterly lost confidence in +myself. The difficulties are great, even where there is great talent, +and I feel I have nothing of the kind. I might toil for years, and +should do no good. I feel I am not an artist--I am beaten and +disgraced. There's nothing left but to cry and be miserable, like any +other girl who has lost her money, her hopes, everything. Why don't you +write to me? If you wait till you get this, it will be six or seven +weeks before I could possibly hear. And a letter from you would do me +so much good.' + +Some one knocked at her door. She called '_Herein_!' and there appeared +a little boy, the child of her landlady, who sometimes ran errands for +her. He said that a gentleman was asking to see her. + +'_Ein Deutscher_?' + +'_Nein. Ein Englander, glaub'ich, und ein schnurriges Deutsch ist's, +das er verbricht_!' + +Alma started up, shut her unfinished letter in the blotting-case, and +looked anxiously about the room. + +'What is his name? Ask him to give you his name.' + +The youngster came back with a card, and Alma was astonished to read +the name of 'Mr. Felix Dymes'. Why, she had all but forgotten the man's +existence. How came he here? What right had he to call? And yet she was +glad--nay, delighted. Happily, she had the sitting-room (shared with +her art-studying friend) to herself this morning. + +'Bring him up here,' she said to the boy hurriedly, 'and ask him to +wait a minute for me.' + +And she escaped to make a rapid change of dress. For Alma was not like +Sibyl Carnaby in perpetual regard for personal finish; she dressed +carelessly, save when the occasion demanded pains; she liked the ease +of gowns and slippers, of loose hair and free throat; and this taste +had grown upon her during the past months. But she did not keep Mr. +Dymes waiting very long, and on her entrance he gazed at her with very +frank admiration. Frank, too, was his greeting--that of a very old and +intimate friend, rather than of a drawing-room acquaintance. He came +straight from England, he said; a spring holiday, warranted by the +success of his song 'Margot', which the tenor, Topham, had sung at St +James's Hall. A few days ago he had happened to see Miss Leach, who +gave him Miss Frothingham's address, and he could not deny himself the +pleasure of calling. Chatting thus, he made himself comfortable in a +chair, and Alma sat over against him. The man was loud, conceited, +vulgar; but, after all, he composed very sweet music, which promised to +take the public ear; and he brought with him a waft from the happiness +of old days; and how could one expect small proprieties of a bohemian, +an artist? Alma began to talk eagerly, joyously. + +'And what are you doing, Miss Frothingham?' + +'Oh, fiddling a little. But I haven't been very well.' + +'I can see that. Yet in another sense you look a better than ever.' + +He began to hum an air, glancing round the room. + +'You haven't a piano. Just listen to this; how do you think it will +do?' He hummed through a complete melody. 'Came into my head last +night. Wants rather sentimental words--the kind of thing that goes down +with the British public. Rather a good air, don't you think?' + +Felix Dymes had two manners of conversation. In a company at all +ceremonious, and when it behoved him to make an impression, he talked +as the artist and the expert in music, with many German phrases, which +he pronounced badly, to fill up the gaps in his knowledge. His familiar +stream of talk was very different: it discarded affectation, and had a +directness, a vigour, which never left one in doubt as to his actual +views of life. How melody of any kind could issue from a nature so +manifestly ignoble might puzzle the idealist. Alma, who had known a +good many musical people, was not troubled by this difficulty; in her +present mood, she submitted to the arrogance of success, and felt a +pleasure, an encouragement, in Dymes's bluff _camaraderie_. + +'Let me try to catch it on the violin,' she said when, with nodding +head and waving arm, he had hummed again through his composition. + +She succeeded in doing so, and Dymes raised his humming to a +sentimental roar, and was vastly pleased with himself. + +'I like to see you in a place like this,' he said. 'Looks more +business-like--as if you really meant to do something. Do you live here +alone?' + +'With a friend.' + +Something peculiar in Dymes's glance caused her to add, 'A German girl, +an art student.' Whereat the musician nodded and smiled. + +'And what's your idea? Come now, let's talk about it. I wonder whether +I could be of any use to you--awfully glad if I could.' + +Alma was abashed, stammered her vague projects, and reddened under the +man's observant eye. + +'Look here,' he cried, with his charming informality, 'didn't you use +to sing? Somebody told me you had a pretty good voice.' + +'Oh, that was long ago.' + +'I wish you'd let me hear you.' + +'No, no! I don't sing at all.' + +'Pity, if it's true. I want to write a serio-comic opera, a new sort of +thing, and it struck me you were just cut out for that kind of singing. +You have the face and the--you know--the refinement; sort of thing not +easy to find. It's a poor chance, I'm afraid, coming out as a +violinist.' + +Half inclined to resent his impertinence, yet subdued by the practical +tone and air of superior knowledge, Alma kept a grave face. Dymes, +crossing his legs, went on with talk of projects he had in view, all +intended to be lucrative. He had capital; nothing great, just a +comfortable sum which he was bent on using to the best advantage. His +songs would presently be bringing him in a few hundreds a year--so he +declared--and his idea of life was to get as much enjoyment as possible +without working over-hard for it. The conversation lasted for a couple +of hours, Dymes growing even more genial and confidential, his eyes +seldom moving from Alma's face. + +'Well,' he said at length, rising, 'it's very jolly to see you again, +after all this time. I shall be staying here for a few days. You'll let +me call tomorrow?' + +At once glad and sorry to see him go, Alma laughingly gave the desired +permission. When, that evening, she looked at her unfinished letter, it +seemed such a miserable whine that she tore it up in annoyance. Dymes's +visit had done her good; she felt, if not a renewal of hope, at all +events the courage which comes of revived spirits. + +The next day she awaited his arrival with a pleasant expectation. He +entered humming an air--another new composition--which again she caught +from him and played on the violin. + +'Good, don't you think? I'm in great vein just now--always am in the +spring, and when the weather's fine. I say, you're looking much better +today--decidedly more fit. What do you do here for exercise? Do you go +to the Englische Garten? Come now, will you? Let's have a drive.' + +With sudden coldness Alma excused herself. The musician scrutinised her +rapidly, bit his lip, and looked round to the window; but in a moment +he had recovered his loud good humour. + +'You'll hardly believe it, but it's the plain truth, that I came all +this way just to see you. I hadn't thought of coming to Germany till I +met Miss Leach and heard about you. Now I'm so far, I might as well go +on into Italy, and make a round of it. I wish you were coming too.' + +Alma made no reply. He scrutinised her as before, and his features +worked as if with some emotion. Then, abruptly, he put a blunt question. + +'Do you think people who go in for music, art, and that kind of thing, +ought to marry?' + +'I never thought about it at all,' Alma replied, with a careless laugh, +striking a finger across the strings of the violin which she held on +her lap. + +'We're generally told they shouldn't,' pursued Dymes, in a voice which +had lost its noisy confidence, and was a little uncertain. 'But it all +depends, you know. If people mean by marriage the ordinary kind of +thing--of course, that's the deuce. But it needn't be. Lots of people +marry nowadays and live in a rational way--no house, or bother of that +kind; just going about as they like, and having a pleasant, reasonable +life. It's easy enough with a little money. Sometimes they're a good +deal of help to each other; I know people who manage to be.' + +'Oh, I dare say,' said Alma when he paused. 'It all depends, as you +say. You're going on to Italy at once?' + +Her half-veiled eyes seemed to conceal amusement, and there was +good-humoured disdain in the setting of her lips. With audacity so +incredible that it all but made her laugh, Dymes, not heeding her +inquiry, jerked out the personal application of his abstract remarks. +Yes, it was a proposal of marriage--marriage on the new plan, without +cares or encumbrance; a suggestion rather than a petition; off-hand, +unsentimental, yet perfectly serious, as look and tone proclaimed. + +'There's much to be said for your views,' Alma replied, with humorous +gravity, 'but I haven't the least intention of marrying.' + +'Well, I've mentioned it.' He waved his hand as if to overcome an +unwonted embarrassment. 'You don't mind?' + +'Not a bit.' + +'I hope we shall meet again before long, and--some day, you know--you +may see the thing in another light. You mustn't think I'm joking.' + +'But it _is_ rather a joke.' + +'No; I never was more in earnest about anything, believe me. And I'm +convinced it's a good idea. However, you know one thing--if I can be of +use to you, I shall. I'll think it over--your chances and so on; +something may suggest itself. You're not cut out for everyday things.' + +'I try to hope not.' + +'Ah, but you can take my word for it.' + +With this comforting assurance, Felix Dymes departed. No melodrama; a +hand-grip, a significant nod, a loud humming as he went downstairs. + +Alma presently began a new letter to Sibyl Carnaby. It was written in a +cheery humour, though touched by the shadow of distressful +circumstance. She told the story of Mr. Dymes's visit, and made merry +over it. 'I am sure this is the very newest thing in "proposals". +Though I live in such a dull, lonely way, it has made me feel that I am +still in touch with civilisation. And really, if the worst come to the +worst--but it's dangerous to joke about such things.' She touched +lightly on the facts of her position. 'I'm afraid I have not been doing +very much. Perhaps this is a fallow time with me; I may be gaining +strength for great achievements. Unfortunately, I have a lazy +companion. Miss Steinfeld (you know her from my last letter, if you got +it) only pretends to work. I like her for her thorough goodness and her +intelligence; but she is just a little _melancholisch_, and so not +exactly the companion I need. Her idea just now is that we both need +"change" and she wants me to go with her to Bregenz, on the Bodensee. +Perhaps I shall when the weather gets hot.' + +It had surprised her to be told by Felix Dymes that he obtained her +address at Munich from Miss Leach, for the only person in England to +whom she had yet made known her departure from Leipzig was her +step-mother. Speak of her how they might, her acquaintances in London +still took trouble to inform themselves of her movements. Perhaps the +very completeness of the catastrophe in which she was involved told in +her favour; possibly she excited much more interest than could ever +have attached to her whilst her name was respected. There was new life +in the thought. She wrote briefly to Dora Leach, giving an account of +herself, which, though essentially misleading, was not composed in a +spirit of conscious falsehood. For all her vanity, Alma had never aimed +at effect by practice of deliberate insincerities. Miss Leach was +informed that her friend could not find much time for correspondence. +'I am living in the atmosphere of art, and striving patiently. Some day +you shall hear of me.' And when the letter was posted, Alma mused long +on the effect it would produce. + +With the distinguished violinist; the friend of Herr Wilenski, spoken +of to Mrs. Frothingham, she had as yet held no communication, and +through the days of early summer she continued to neglect her music. +Indolence grew upon her; sometimes she spent the whole day in a +dressing-gown, seated or reclining, with a book in her hand, or totally +unoccupied. Sometimes the military bands in the public gardens tempted +her to walk a little, or she strolled with Miss Steinfeld through the +picture galleries; occasionally they made short excursions into the +country. The art student had acquaintances in Munich, but did not see +much of them, and they were not the kind of people with whom Alma cared +to associate. + +In July it was decided that they should go for a few weeks to Bregenz; +their health called for the change, which, as Miss Steinfeld knew of a +homely _pension_, could be had at small expense. Before their departure +the art student was away for a few days, and, to relieve the dreariness +of an existence which was becoming burdensome, Alma went out alone one +afternoon, purposing a trip by steam-tram to the gardens at +Nymphenburg. She walked to the Stiglmeyerplatz, where the tram starts, +and there stood waiting. A carriage drove past, with a sound of English +voices, which drew her attention. She saw three children, a lady, and a +gentleman. The last-mentioned looked at her, and she recognised Cyrus +Redgrave. Whether he knew her face seemed uncertain. Hoping to escape +unobserved, she turned quickly, and walked a few yards. Before she +faced round again, a quick footstep approached her, and the next moment +Mr. Redgrave stood, hat in hand, courteously claiming her acquaintance. + +'I thought I could not possibly be mistaken!' + +The carriage, having stopped for him to alight, was driving away. + +'That is my sister and her children,' said Redgrave, when he had warmly +shaken hands and expressed his pleasure at the meeting. 'You never met +her. Her husband is in India, and you see me in full domesticity. This +morning I posted a note to you; of course, you haven't received it yet.' + +Alma did her best to behave with dignity. In any case it would have +been trying to encounter such a man as Redgrave--wealthy, elegant, a +figure in society, who must necessarily regard her as banished from +polite circles; and in her careless costume she felt more than abashed. +For the first time a sense of degradation, of social inferiority, +threatened to overwhelm her self-respect. + +'How did you know my address?' she asked, with an involuntary imitation +of hauteur, made pathetic by the flush on her face and the lingering +half-smile. + +'Mrs. Frothingham kindly gave it me.--You were walking this way, I +think?--My sister is living at Stuttgart, and I happened to come over +just in time to act as her courier on a journey to Salzburg. We got +here yesterday, and go on tomorrow, or the day after. I dropped you a +note, asking if I might call.' + +'Where have you seen Mamma lately?' asked Alma, barely attentive to the +explanations he was giving her. + +'In London, quite by chance. In fact, it was at Waterloo Station. Mrs +Frothingham was starting for the country, and I happened to be going to +Wimbledon. I told her I might possibly see you on my way through +Munich.' + +Alma began to recover herself. That Cyrus Redgrave should still take an +interest in her was decidedly more gratifying than the eccentric +compliment of Felix Dymes. She strove to forget the humiliation of +having been found standing in a public place, waiting for a tram-car. +In Redgrave's manner no change was perceptible, unless, indeed, he +spoke with more cordiality, which must be prompted by kind feeling. +Their acquaintance covered only a year or two, and had scarcely +amounted to what passes for friendship, but Redgrave seemed oblivious +of late unpleasant events. + +'I'm glad you didn't call unexpectedly,' she said, trying to strike a +light note. 'I'm a student now--no longer an amateur--and live as a +student must.' + +'So much the better. I'm a natural bohemian myself, and like nothing so +well as to disregard ceremony. And, by-the-bye, that's the very reason +why I ran away from my sister to speak to you; I knew you would dislike +formalities. I'm afraid I was rather glad than otherwise to escape. We +have been taking the children for a drive--charming little rascals, but +for the moment my domestic instincts are satisfied. Mrs. Frothingham +mentioned that you were living with a friend--an art student.' + +'We go away for a holiday in a day or two,' said Alma, more at her +ease. 'To Bregenz--do you know it?' + +'By name only. You go in a day or two? I wish you would let me know +your address there,' he added, with frank friendliness. 'I go on with +my sister to Salzburg, and then turn off on my own account; I might be +able to pass your way, and I should so much like to have a talk with +you--a real talk, about music and all sorts of things. Did I ever tell +you of my little place at Riva, head of Lake Garda? Cosy little nook, +but I'm not there very often; I half thought of going for a week or +two's quietness. Quite cool there by the lake. But I really must try to +see you at Bregenz--do let me.' + +He begged it as a favour, a privilege, and Alma without hesitation told +him where she would be living. + +'For a few weeks? Oh, then, I shall make a point of coming that way. +You're not working too hard, I hope? I know you don't do things by +halves. When I first heard you were going in seriously for music, I +said to myself, "_Tant mieux_, another great violinist!"' + +The listener reddened with delight; her step became elastic; she +carried her head gallantly, and feared not the glances Redgrave cast at +her. + +'I have learnt not to talk about myself,' she said, bestowing a smile +upon him. 'That's the first bad habit to be overcome by the amateur +converted.' + +'Capital! An axiom worth putting into print, for the benefit of all and +sundry. Now I must say goodbye; that fellow yonder will take me back to +the domesticities.' He hailed an empty carriage. 'We shall meet again +among the mountains. _Auf Wiedersehen_!' + +Alma continued to walk along the Nymphenburg road, unconscious of +external things. The tram for which she had been waiting passed by; she +no longer cared to go out into the country. It was enough to keep +moving in the bright sunshine, and to think her thoughts. + +No; people had by no means forgotten her. Whilst she was allowing +herself to fall into gloom and indolence, her acquaintances, it was +evident, made her a constant subject of talk, of speculation; just what +she had desired, but had lost courage to believe. They expected great +things of her; her personal popularity and her talents had prevailed +against the most prejudicial circumstance; people did not think of her +as the daughter of Bennet Frothingham,--unless to contrast the +hopefulness of her future with the black calamity that lay behind. + +She waxed philosophical. How everything in this world tends to good! At +her father's death she had mourned bitterly; it had struck her to the +heart; his imprudence (she could never use, even in thought, a harsher +word) pained more than it shamed her, and not a day passed but she +sorrowed over the dishonour that darkened his memory. Yet were not +these woes and disasters the beginning of a new life for _her_! In +prosperity, what would she ever have become? Nothing less than being +thrown out into the world could have given her the impulse needed to +realise a high ambition. '_Tant mieux_, another great violinist!' How +sincerely, how inspiringly, it was said! + +And Alma's feet had brought her home again before she paused to reflect +that, for all purposes of ambition, the past half-year had been utterly +wasted. Never mind; after her return from Bregenz! + +On her table lay Redgrave's note; a very civil line or two, requesting +permission to call. There was another letter, black-bordered, which +came from her step-mother. Mrs. Frothingham said that she had been +about to write for several days, but all sorts of disagreeable business +had hindered her; even now, she could only write hurriedly. In the last +fortnight she had had to go twice to London. 'And really I think I +shall be obliged to go and live there again, for a time; so many things +have to be seen to. It might be best, perhaps, if I took a small flat. +I was going to say, however, that the last time I went up, I met Mr. +Redgrave, and we had quite a long talk--about _you_. He was most +sincerely interested in your future; indeed it quite surprised me, for +I will confess that I had never had a very high opinion of him. I fancy +he suffered _no loss_. His behaviour to me was that of a gentleman, +very different from that of some people I could name. But it was _you_ +he spoke of most. He said he was shortly going to Germany, and begged +me to let him have your address, and really I saw no harm in it. He may +call upon you. If so, let me hear all about it, for it will interest me +very much.' + +Alma had half a mind to reply at once, but on reflection decided to +wait. After all, Mr. Redgrave might not keep his promise of coming to +see her at Bregenz, and in that event a very brief report of what had +happened would suffice. But she felt sure that he meant to come. + +And decidedly she hoped it; why, she was content to leave a rosy +vagueness. + + + + +CHAPTER 8 + + +Alma and her German friend silently agreed in foreseeing that they +would not live together much longer. Miss Steinfeld, eager at first to +talk English, was relapsing into her native tongue, and as Alma lazily +avoided German, they conversed in different languages, each with a +sprinkling of foreign phrase. The English girl might have allied +herself with a far worse companion; for, in spite of defects which +resembled Alma's own, vagueness of purpose, infirmity of will, Miss +Steinfeld had a fund of moral principle which made her talk wholesome +and her aspirations an influence for good. She imagined herself in love +with an artist whom she had seen only two or three times, and no strain +could have been more exalted than that in which she confided her +romance to the sympathetic Alma. Sympathetic, that is, within her +limits; for Miss Frothingham had never been in love, and rarely +indulged a mood of sentiment. Her characteristic emotions she of course +did not reveal, save unconsciously, and Miss Steinfeld knew nothing of +the tragic circumstances which explained her friend's solitude. + +In the first days at Bregenz they felt a renewal of pleasure in each +other's society; Alma's spirits were much improved; she enjoyed the +scenery, and lived in the open air. There was climbing of mountains, +the Pfander with its reward of noble outlook, and the easier +Gebhardsberg, with its hanging woods; there was boating on the lake, +and rambling along its shores, with rest and refreshment at some +Gartenwithschaft. Miss Steinfeld, whose reading and intelligence were +superior to Alma's, liked to explore the Roman ruins and linger in the +museum. Alma could not long keep up a pretence of interest in the +relics of Brigantium; but she said one day, with a smile---- + +'I know someone who would enjoy this kind of thing--an Englishman--very +learned----' + +'Old?' inquired her friend significantly. + +'Yes--no. Neither old nor young. A strange man; rather interesting. +I've a good mind,' she added mischievously, 'to send him a photograph.' + +'Of yourself?' + +'Oh dear, no! He wouldn't care for that. A view of the Alt-Stadt.' + +And in her mood of frolic she acted upon the thought. She purchased two +or three views, had them done up for post, and addressed them to Harvey +Rolfe, Esq, at the Metropolitan Club; for his private address she could +not remember, but the club remained in her mind from Sibyl's talk of +it. When the packet was gone, of course she regretted having sent it. +More likely than not, Mr. Rolfe considered himself to have ended all +acquaintance with the disgraced family, and, if he recognised her +handwriting, would just throw the photographs aside. Let him; it +mattered nothing, one way or the other. + +When a week had passed, the novelty of things wore off; the friends +began to wander apart; Miss Steinfeld made acquaintances in the +_pension_, and Alma drifted into solitude. At the end of a fortnight +she was tired of everything, wished to go away, thought longingly of +England. It was plain that Mr. Redgrave would not come; he had never +seriously meant it; his _Auf Wiedersehen_ was a mere civility to get +rid of her in the street. Why had he troubled to inquire about her at +all? Of course it didn't matter--nothing mattered--but if ever she met +him again! Alma tried her features in expression of cold scornfulness. + +On the next day, as she was returning from an idle walk with her friend +along the Lindau road, Mr. Redgrave met them. He was dressed as she had +never seen him, in flannels, with a white necktie loosely knotted and a +straw hat. Not till he had come near enough to salute did she recognise +him; he looked ten years younger. + +They talked as if the meeting were of daily occurrence. Redgrave +addressed himself to Miss Steinfeld as often as to Alma, and showed a +graceful command of decorous commonplace. He had arrived early this +morning, had put up at the Oesterreichischer Hof, was already delighted +with Brogenz. Did Miss Steinfeld devote herself to landscape? Had she +done anything here? Had Miss Frothingham brought her violin? They +strolled pleasantly to the Hafen promenade, and parted at length with +assurances of meeting again, as if definite appointment were needless. + +'That is my idea of the English gentleman,' said Miss Steinfeld +afterwards. 'I think I should have taken him for a lord. No doubt he is +very rich?' + +'Oh, pretty well off,' Alma replied, with assumed indifference. 'Ten +thousand pounds a year, I dare say.' + +'Ten thousand! _Lieber Himmel_! And married?' + +'No.' + +'In Parliament, I suppose?' + +'No.' + +'Then, what does he do?' + +'Oh, amuses himself.' + +Each became occupied with her thoughts. Alma's were so agreeable, that +Miss Steinfeld, observing her, naturally fell into romantic speculation. + +Redgrave easily contrived that his next walk should be with Miss +Frothingham alone. He overtook her next morning, soon after she had +left the house, and they rambled in the Gebhardsberg direction. + +'Now let us have the promised talk,' he began at a favourable moment. +'I've been thinking about you all the time.' + +'Did you go to your place on Lake Garda?' + +'Yes; just to look at it, and get it put in order. I hope to be there +again before long. You didn't doubt I should come?' + +'You left it uncertain.' + +'To be sure. Life is uncertain. But I should have been desperately +disappointed if I hadn't found you here. There are so many things to be +said about going in for music as a profession. You have the talent, you +have the physical strength, I think.' His eye flattered her from head +to foot. 'But, to be a great artist, one must have more than technical +qualifications. It's the soul that must be developed.' + +Alma laughed. + +'I know it. And what is your receipt for developing the soul?' + +Redgrave paused in his walk. Smiling, he gave a twist to his moustache, +and appeared to meditate profoundly. + +'The soul--well, it has a priggish sound. Let us say the character; and +that is developed through experience of life.' + +'I'm getting it.' + +'Are you? In the company of Miss Steinfeld? I'm afraid that won't carry +you very far. Experience means emotion; certainly, for a woman. Believe +me, you haven't begun to live yet. You may practise on your violin day +and night, and it won't profit you--until you have _lived_.' + +Alma was growing serious. These phrases harmonised well enough with her +own insubstantial thoughts and idly-gathered notions. When preparing to +escape from England, she had used much the same language. But, after +all, what did it mean? What, in particular, did Cyrus Redgrave mean, +with his expressive eyes, and languid, earnest tone? + +'You will say that a girl has few opportunities. True, thanks to her +enslavement by society.' + +'I care nothing for society,' Alma interposed. + +'Good! I like the sound of that defiance; it has the right ring. A man +hasn't often the pleasure of hearing that from a woman he can respect. +It's easy, of course, to defy the laws of a world one doesn't belong +to; but you, who are a queen in your circle, and may throne, at any +moment, in a wider sphere--it means much when you refuse to bow down +before the vulgar idols, to be fettered by superstitions.' + +His aim was dark to her, but she tasted the compliment which ignored +her social eclipse. Redgrave's conversation generally kept on the +prosaic levels--studiously polite, or suavely cynical. It was a new +experience to see him borne on a wave of rhetoric; yet not borne away, +for he spoke with an ease, a self-command, which to older ears would +have suggested skill rather than feeling. He had nothing of the ardour +of youth; his poise and deliberation were quite in keeping with the two +score years that subtly graved his visage; the passions in him were +sportive, half-fantastical, as though, together with his brain, they +had grown to a ripe worldliness. He inspired no distrust; his good +nature seemed all-pervading; he had the air of one who lavishes +disinterested counsel, and ever so little exalts himself with his +facile exuberance of speech. + +'I have seen much of artists; known them intimately, and studied their +lives. One and all, they date their success from some passionate +experience. From a cold and conventional existence can come nothing but +cold and conventional art. You left England, broke away from the common +routine, from the artificial and the respectable. That was an +indispensable first step, and I have told you how I applauded it. But +you cannot stop at this. I begin to fear for you. There is a convention +of unconventionality: poor quarters, hard life, stinted pleasures--all +that kind of thing. I fear its effect upon you.' + +'What choice have I?' exclaimed Alma, moved to familiar frankness. 'If +I _am_ poor, I must live poorly.' + +He smiled graciously upon her, and raised his hand almost as though he +would touch her with reassuring kindness; but it was only to stroke his +trimmed beard. + +'Oh, you have a choice, believe me,' came his airy answer. 'There's no +harm in poverty that doesn't last too long. You may have profited by +it; it is an experience. But now--Don't let us walk so far as to tire +you. Yes, we will turn. Variety of life, travel, all sorts of joys and +satisfactions--these are the things you need.' + +'And if they are not within my reach?' she asked, without looking at +him. + +'By-the-bye'--he disregarded her question--'your friend, Mrs. Carnaby, +has taken a long flight.' + +'Yes.' + +The monosyllable was dropped. Alma walked with her eyes on the ground, +trailing her sunshade. + +'I didn't think she had much taste for travel. But you know her so much +better than I do.' + +'She is enjoying herself,' said Alma. + +'No need for _you_ to go so far. Down yonder'--he nodded southward--'I +was thinking, the other day, of the different kinds of pleasure one +gets from scenery in different parts of the world. I have seen the +tropics; they left me very much where I was, intellectually. It's the +human associations of natural beauty that count. You have no desire to +go to the islands of the Pacific?' + +'I can't say that I have.' + +'Of course not. The springs of art are in the old world. Among the +vines and the olives one hears a voice. I must really try to give you +some idea of my little place at Riva.' + +He began a playful description--long, but never tedious; alluring, yet +without enthusiasm--a dreamy suggestion of refined delights and +luxuries. + +'I have another place in the Pyrenees, to suit another mood; and not +long ago I was sorely tempted by the offer of a house not far from +Antioch, in the valley of the Orontes--a house built by an Englishman. +Charming place, and so entirely off the beaten track. Isn't there a +fascination in the thought of living near Antioch? Well away from bores +and philistines. No Mrs. Grundy with her clinking tea-cups. I dare say +the house is still to be had.--Oh, do tell me something about your +friend, Fraulein Steinfeld. Is she in earnest? Will she do anything?' + +His eloquence was at an end. Thenceforward he talked of common things +in unemotional language; and when Alma parted from him, it was with a +sense of being tired and disappointed. + +On the following day she did not see him at all. He could not have left +Bregenz, for, of course, he would have let her know. She thought of him +incessantly, reviewing all his talk, turning over this and that +ambiguous phrase, asking herself whether he meant much or little. It +was natural that she should compare and contrast his behaviour with +that of Felix Dymes. If his motive were not the same, why did he seek +her society? And if it were? If at length he spoke out, summing his +hints in the plain offer of all those opportunities she lacked? + +A brilliant temptation. To leave the world as Alma Frothingham, and to +return to it as Mrs. Cyrus Redgrave! + +But, in that event, what of her musical ambitions? He spoke of her art +as the supreme concern, to which all else must be subordinate. And +surely that was his meaning when he threw scorn upon 'bores and +philistines'. Why should the fact of his wealth interfere with her +progress as an artist? Possibly, on the other hand, he did not intend +that she should follow a professional career. Cannot one be a great +artist without standing on public platforms? Was it his lordly thought +to foster her talents for his own delectation and that of the few +privileged? + +Her brain grew confused with interpreting and picturing. But once more +she had made an advance in self-esteem. She could await the next +meeting with a confidence and pride very unlike her sensations in the +Stiglmeyerplatz at Munich. + +It took place on the second day. This time Redgrave did not wait upon +accident; he sent a note, begging that he might have the pleasure of +another talk with her. He would call at a certain hour, and take his +chance of finding her at home. When he presented himself, Alma was +sitting in the common room of the _pension_ with two German ladies; +they in a few minutes withdrew, and familiar conversation became +possible. As the windows stood open, and there were chairs upon the +balcony, Redgrave shortly proposed a move in that direction. They sat +together for half an hour. + +When Redgrave took his leave, it was without shaking of hands--with no +_Auf Wiedersehen_. He smiled, he murmured civilities; Alma neither +smiled nor spoke. She was pale, and profoundly agitated. + +So this was his meaning?--made plain enough at last, though with the +most graceful phrasing. Childish vanity and ignorance had forbidden her +to dream of such an issue. She had not for a moment grasped the +significance to a man of the world of the ruin and disgrace fallen upon +her family. In theory she might call herself an exile from the polite +world; none the less did she imagine herself still illumined by the +social halo, guarded by the divinity which doth hedge a member of the +upper-middle class. Was she not a lady? And who had ever dared to offer +a lady an insult such as this? Shop-girls, minor actresses, the +inferior sort of governess, must naturally be on their guard; their +insecurity was traditional; novel and drama represented their moral +vicissitudes. But a lady, who had lived in a great house with many +servants, who had founded an Amateur Quartet Society, the hem of whose +garment had never been touched with irreverent finger--could _she_ +stand in peril of such indignity? + +Not till now had she called to mind the forewarnings of Sibyl Carnaby, +which, at the time of hearing them, she did not at all understand. +'People,' said Sibyl, 'would approach her with strange ideas.' This she +might have applied to the grotesque proposal (as it seemed to her) of +Felix Dymes, or to the risk of being tempted into premature publicity +by a business offer from some not very respectable impresario. What +Sibyl meant was now only too clear; but how little could Mrs. Carnaby +have imagined that her warning would be justified by one of her own +friends--by a man of wealth and consideration. + +She durst not leave the house for fear of encountering Redgrave, who, +if they crossed by chance, might fancy she invited another meeting. She +dreaded the observation of women, especially of Miss Steinfeld. The +only retreat was her bedroom, and here she secluded herself till +dinner-time. At this meal she must needs face the company or incur +remark. She tried to return her friend's smile with the ordinary +unconcern. After dinner there was no avoiding Miss Steinfeld, whose air +of extreme discretion showed that she had an inkling of events, and +awaited confidences. + +'Mr. Redgrave has gone--he called to say goodbye.' + +'_So_?' + +Irritated by self-consciousness, revolting against a misinterpretation +which would injure her vanity, though it was not likely to aim at her +honour, Alma had recourse to fiction. + +'I daresay you guess?--Yes, and I refused.' + +Miss Steinfeld was puzzled. It did not astonish her that a girl should +reject ten thousand pounds per annum, for that she was too high-minded; +but she had thought it beyond doubt that Alma's heart was engaged. +Here, it had seemed to her, was the explanation of a mystery attaching +to this original young Englishwoman; unhoped, the brilliant lover, the +secretly beloved, had sought her in her retirement. And after all, it +was a mistake. + +'I don't care for him a bit,' Alma went on. 'It had to be got over and +done with, that was all.' + +She felt ashamed of herself. In childhood she had told falsehoods +freely, but with the necessity for that kind of thing the habit had +fallen away. Solace, however, was at hand, for the German girl looked +at her with a new interest, a new sympathy, which Alma readily +construed as wonder and admiration, if not gentle envy. To have refused +an offer of marriage from a handsome man of great wealth might be +counted for glory. And Alma's momentary shame yielded to a +gratification which put her outwardly at ease. + +The restless night brought torment of the mind and harassed spirits. +Redgrave's proposal echoed in the vacant chambers of her life, sounding +no longer an affront, but an allurement. Why, indeed, had she repelled +it so unthinkingly? It did not necessarily mean scandal. He had not +invited her to open defiance of the world. 'You can absolutely trust +me; I am discretion itself. All resources are at my command.' Why had +she rejected with scorn and horror what was, perhaps, her great +opportunity, the one hope of her struggling and sinking ambition? She +had lost faith in herself; in her power to overcome circumstances, not +yet in her talent, in her artistic birthright. Redgrave would have made +her path smooth. 'I promise you a great reputation in two or three +years' time.' And without disgrace, without shadow of suspicion, it +would all be managed, he declared, so very easily. For what alternative +had she rebuffed him? + +Redgrave's sagacity had guided him well up to a certain point, but it +had lost sight of one thing essential to the success of his scheme. +Perhaps because he was forty years of age, perhaps because he had so +often come and seen and conquered, perhaps because he made too low an +estimate of Bennet Frothingham's daughter,--he simply overlooked +sentimental considerations. It was a great and a fatal oversight. He +went far in his calculated appeal to Alma's vanity; had he but credited +her with softer passions, and given himself the trouble to play upon +them, he would not, at all events, have suffered so sudden a defeat. +Men of Redgrave's stamp grow careless, and just at the time of life +when, for various causes, the art which conceals art has become +indispensable. He did not flatter himself that Alma was ready to fall +in love with him; and here his calm maturity served him ill. To his own +defect of ardour he was blinded by habit. After all, the affair had +little consequence. It had only suggested itself after the meeting in +Munich, and perhaps--he said to himself--all things considered, the +event was just as well. + +But Alma felt the double insult, to her worldly honour, to her +womanhood. The man had not even made pretence of loving her; and this, +whilst it embittered her disappointment, strengthened her to cast from +her mind the baser temptation. Marriage she would have accepted, though +doubtless with becoming hesitancy; the offer could not have been made +without one word of tenderness (for Cyrus Redgrave was another than +Felix Dymes), and she had not felt it impossible to wed this polished +capitalist. Out of the tumult of her feelings, as another day went by, +issued at length that one simple and avowable sense of disappointment. +She had grasped the prize, and heated her imagination in regarding it; +had overcome natural reluctances, objections personal and moral; was +ready to sit down and write to Mrs. Frothingham the splendid, startling +announcement. And here she idled in her bedroom, desolate, hopeless, +wishing she had courage to steal down at night to the waters of the +Bodensee, and end it all. + +On the third day she returned to Munich, having said farewell to her +friend, who was quite prepared for the parting. From Munich she +proceeded to Leipzig, and there entered again the family circle of the +Gassners. She had no intention of staying for very long; the pretence +of musical study could not be kept up; but her next step was quite +uncertain. + +A fortnight later, Mrs. Frothingham wrote thus:---- + +'I am sending you on a letter which, if I am not mistaken, comes from +Mr. Rolfe. Do tell me if I am right. Odd that he should write to you, if +it is he. You have not told me yet whether you saw Mr. Redgrave again. +But I see that you don't care much, and perhaps it is as well.' + +The forwarded letter had been originally addressed to the care of Mrs +Frothingham, and Alma, at a glance, recognised Harvey Rolfe's writing. +He dated from London. Was he mistaken, he began, in thinking that +certain photographs from Bregenz had come to him by Miss Frothingham's +kindness? For his part, he had spent June in a ramble in South-west +France, chiefly by the Dordogne, and through a strange, interesting bit +of marsh-country, called La Double. 'I hardly know how I got there, and +I shall not worry you by writing any account of the expedition. But at +a miserable village called La Roche Chalais, where I had a most +indigestible supper and a bed unworthy of the name, I managed to fall +ill, and quite seriously thought, "Ah, here is the end!" It has to come +somewhere, and why not on a _grabat_ at La Roche Chalais? A mistake; I +am here again, wasting life as strenuously as ever. Would you let me +hear from you? I should think it a great addition to your kindness in +sending the views. And so, with every good wish, he remained, &c. + +Having nothing better to do, Alma got out a map of France, and searched +for La Roche Chalais; but the place was too insignificant to be marked. +On the morrow, being still without occupation, she answered Rolfe's +letter, and in quite a playful vein. She had no time to correspond with +people who 'wasted their lives'. To her, life was a serious matter +enough. But he knew nothing of the laborious side of a musician's +existence, and probably doubted its reality. As an afterthought, she +thanked him gravely for his letter, and hoped that some day, when she +had really 'done something', they might meet and renew their friendship. + + + + +CHAPTER 9 + + +On an afternoon in September, Harvey Rolfe spent half an hour at a +certain London bookseller's, turning over books that dealt with the +theory and practice of elementary education. Two or three of them he +selected, and ordered to be sent to a lady at Gunnersbury. On his way +out he came upon an acquaintance making a purchase in another +department of the shop. It was some months since he had seen Cecil +Morphew, who looked in indifferent health, and in his dress came near +to shabbiness. They passed out together, Morphew carrying an enwrapped +volume, which he gave Rolfe to understand was a birthday present--for +_her_. The elder man resisted his inclination to joke, and asked how +things were going on. + +'Much the same as usual, except that her father is in very bad health. +It's brutal, but I wish he would die.' + +'Naturally.' + +'That's what one's driven to, you see. And anyone but you, who know me, +would set me down as a selfish, calculating beast. Can't help it. I had +rather have her penniless.--Will you come in here with me? I want to +buy some pyrogallic acid.' + +In the street again, Morphew mentioned that he had taken up photography. + +'It gives me something to do, and it takes me out into the open air. +This beastly town is the ruin of me, in every way.--Come to my rooms +for an hour, will you? I'll show you some attempts; I've only just +tried my hand at developing. And it's a long time since we had a talk.' + +They made for a Chelsea omnibus and mounted. + +'I thought you were never in town at this time,' Morphew resumed. 'I +want to get away, but can't afford it; devilish low-water with me. I +must have a bicycle. With that and the camera I may just manage to +live; often there seems little enough to live for.--Tripcony? Oh, +Tripcony's a damned swindler; I've given him up. Speculation isn't +quite so simple as I imagined. I made a couple of hundred, though--yes, +and lost nearly three.' + +The young man's laugh was less pleasant to hear than formerly. +Altogether, Rolfe observed in him a decline, a loss of refinement as +well as of vitality. + +'Why don't you go into the country?' he said. 'Take a cottage and grow +cabbages; dig for three hours a day. It would do you no end of good.' + +'Of course it would. I wish I had the courage.' + +'I'm going to spend the winter in Wales,' said Harvey. 'An +out-of-the-world place in Carnarvonshire--mountains and sea. Come along +with me, and get the mephitis blown out of you. You've got town +disease, street-malaria, lodging-house fever.' + +'By Jove, I'll think of it,' replied the other, with a strange look of +eagerness. 'But I don't know whether I can. No, I can't be sure. But +I'll try.' + +'What holds you?' + +'Well, I like to be near, you know, to _her_. And then--all sorts of +difficulties----' + +Morphew had his lodgings at present in a street near Chelsea Hospital, +a poor-looking place, much inferior to those in which Rolfe had +formerly seen him. His two rooms were at the top, and he had converted +a garret into a dark chamber for his photographic amusement. Dirt and +disorder made the sitting-room very uninviting; Rolfe looked about him, +and wondered what principle of corruption was at work in the young +man's life. + +Morphew showed a new portrait of his betrothed, Henrietta Winter; a +comely face, shadowed with pensiveness. 'Taken at Torquay; she sent it +a day or two ago.--I've been thinking of giving her up. If I do, I +shall do it brutally and savagely, to make it easy for her. I've spoilt +her life, and I'm pretty sure I've ruined my own.' + +He brought out a bottle of whisky and half filled two tumblers. His own +measure he very slightly diluted, and drank it off at once. + +'You're at a bad pass, my boy,' remarked Rolfe. 'What's wrong? +Something more than usual, I know. Make a clean breast of it.' + +Morphew continued to declare that he was only low-spirited from the +longstanding causes, and, though Rolfe did not believe him, nothing +more could at present be elicited. The talk turned to photography, but +still had no life in it. + +'I think you had better dine with me this evening,' said Harvey. + +'Impossible. I wish I could. An engagement.' + +The young man shuffled about, and after a struggle with embarrassment, +aided by another tumbler of whisky, threw out something he wished to +say. + +'It's deuced hard to ask you, but--could you lend me some money?' + +'Of course. How much? Why do you make such a sputter about it?' + +'I've been making a fool of myself--got into difficulties. Will you let +me have fifty pounds?' + +'Yes, if you'll promise to clear at once out of this dust-bin, and in a +month or so come into Wales.' + +'You're an awfully good fellow, Rolfe,--and I'm a damned fool. I +promise! I will! I'll get out of it, and then I'll think about breaking +with that girl. Better for both of us--but you shall advise me.-- I'll +tell you everything some day. I can't now. I'm too ashamed of myself.' + +When he got home, Harvey wrote a cheque for fifty pounds, and posted it +at once. + +Not many days after, there came to him a letter from Mrs. Frothingham. +With this lady he had held no communication since the catastrophe of +last November; knowing not how to address her without giving more pain +than his sympathy could counterbalance, he remained silent. She wrote +from the neighbourhood of Swiss Cottage, where she had taken a flat; it +was her wish, if possible, to see him 'on a matter of business', and +she requested that he would make an appointment. Much wondering in what +business of Mrs. Frothingham's he could be concerned, Harvey named his +time, and went to pay the call. He ascended many stairs, and was +conducted by a neat servant-maid into a pleasant little drawing-room, +where Mrs. Frothingham rose to receive him. She searched his face, as +if to discern the feeling with which he regarded her, and her timid +smile of reassurance did not lack its pathos. + +'Mr. Rolfe, it seems years since I saw you.' + +She was aged a little, and her voice fell in broken notes, an unhappy +contrast to the gay, confident chirping of less than twelve months ago. + +'I have only been settled here for a week. I thought of leaving London +altogether, but, after all, I had to come backwards and forwards so +often,--it was better to have a home here, and this little flat will +just suit me, I think.' + +She seemed desirous of drawing attention to its modest proportions. + +'I really don't need a house, and lodgings are so wretched. These flats +are a great blessing--don't you think? I shall manage here with one +servant, only one.' + +Rolfe struggled with the difficulty of not knowing what to say. There +was nothing for it but to discourse as innocently as might be on the +advantages of flats, their increasing popularity, and the special +charms of this particular situation. Mrs. Frothingham eagerly agreed +with everything, and did her best to allow no moment of silence. + +'You have heard from Miss Frothingham, I think?' she presently let +fall, with a return of anxiety. + +'Not very long ago. From Leipzig.' + +'Yes. Yes.--I don't know whether she will stay there. You know she is +thinking of taking up music professionally?--Yes. Yes.--I do so hope +she will find it possible, but of course that kind of career is so very +uncertain. I'm not sure that I shouldn't be glad if she turned to +something else.' + +The widow was growing nervous and self-contradictory. With a quick +movement of her hands, she suddenly resumed in another tone. + +'Mr. Rolfe, I do so wish you would let me speak to you in confidence. I +want to ask your help in a most delicate matter. Not, of course, about +my step-daughter, though I shall have to mention her. It is something +quite personal to myself. If I could hope that you wouldn't think it +tiresome--I have a special reason for appealing to you.' + +He would gladly, said Harvey, be of any use he could. + +'I want to speak to you about painful things,' pursued his hostess, +with an animation and emphasis which made her more like the lady of +Fitzjohn Avenue. 'You know everything--except my own position, and that +is what I wish to explain to you. I won't go into details. I will only +say that a few years ago my husband made over to me a large sum of +money--I had none of my own--and that it still belongs to me. I say +belongs to me; but there is my trouble. I fear I have no right whatever +to call it mine. And there are people who have suffered such dreadful +losses. Some of them you know. There was a family named Abbott. I +wanted to ask you about them. Poor Mr. Abbott--I remember reading----' + +She closed her eyes for an instant, and the look upon her face told +that this was no affectation of an anguished memory. + +'It was accident,' Rolfe hastened to say. 'The jury found it accidental +death.' + +'But there was the loss--I read it all. He had lost everything. Do tell +me what became of his family. Someone told me they were friends of +yours.' + +'Happily they had no children. There was a small life-insurance. Mrs +Abbott used to be a teacher, and she is going to take that up again.' + +'Poor thing! Is she quite young?' + +'Oh, about thirty, I should say.' + +'Will she go into a school?' + +'No. Private pupils at her own house. She has plenty of courage, and +will do fairly well, I think.' + +'Still, it is shocking that she should have lost all--her husband, too, +just at that dreadful time. This is what I wanted to say, Mr. Rolfe. Do +you think it would be possible to ask her to accept something----? I do +so feel,' she hurried on, 'that I ought to make some sort of +restitution--what I can--to those who lost everything. I am told that +things are not quite hopeless; something may be recovered out of the +wreck some day. But it will be such a long time, and meanwhile people +are suffering so. And here am I left in comfort--more than comfort. It +isn't right; I couldn't rest till I did something. I am glad to say +that I have been able to help a little here and there, but only the +kind of people whom it's easy to help. A case like Mrs. Abbott's is far +worse, yet there's such a difficulty in doing anything; one might only +give offence. I'm sure my name must be hateful to her--as it is to so +many.' + +Rolfe listened with a secret surprise. He had never thought ill of Mrs +Frothingham; but, on the other hand, had never attributed to her any +save superficial qualities, a lightsome temper, pleasure in +hospitality, an easy good nature towards all the people of her +acquaintance. He would not have supposed her capable of substantial +sacrifices; least of all, on behalf of strangers and inspired by a +principle. She spoke with the simplest sincerity; it was impossible to +suspect her motives. The careless liking with which he had always +regarded her was now infused with respect; he became gravely attentive, +and answered in a softer voice. + +'She was embittered at first, but is overcoming it. To tell you the +truth, I think she will benefit by this trial. I don't like the words +that are so often used in cant; I don't believe that misery does any +good to most people--indeed, I know very well that it generally does +harm. But Mrs. Abbott seems to be an exception; she has a good deal of +character; and there were circumstances--well, I will only say that she +faces the change in her life very bravely.' + +'I do wish I knew her. But I daren't ask that. It's too much to expect +that she could bear to see me and listen to what I have to say.' + +'The less she's reminded of the past the better, I think.' + +'But would it not be possible to do something? I am told that the sum +was about fifteen hundred pounds. The whole of that I couldn't restore; +but half of it--I could afford so much. Could I offer to do so--not +directly, in my own name, but through you?' + +Harvey reflected, his head and body bent forward, his hands folded +together. In the flat beneath, someone was jingling operetta on a piano +not quite in tune; the pertinacious vivacity of the airs interfered +with Harvey's desire to view things seriously. He had begun to wonder +how large a capital Mrs. Frothingham had at her command. Was it not +probable that she could as easily bestow fifteen hundred pounds as the +half of that sum? But the question was unworthy. If in truth she had +set herself to undo as much as possible of the wrong perpetrated by her +husband, Mrs. Frothingham might well limit her benefactions, be her +fortune what it might. + +'I will do whatever you desire,' he said, with deliberation. 'I cannot +answer for Mrs. Abbott, but, if you wish it, she shall know what you +have in mind.' + +'I do wish it,' replied the lady earnestly. 'I beg you to put this +before her, and with all the persuasion you can use. I should be very, +very glad if she would allow me to free my conscience from a little of +this burden. Only that I dare not speak of it, I would try to convince +you that I am doing what my dear husband himself would have wished. You +can't believe it; no one will ever believe it; even Alma, I am +afraid--and that is so cruel, so dreadful; but he did not mean to wrong +people in this way. It wasn't in his nature. Who knew him better than +I, or so well? I know--if he could come back to us----' + +Her voice broke. The piano below jingled more vivaciously than ever, +and a sound of shrill laughter pierced through the notes. Afraid to sit +silent, lest he should seem unsympathetic and sceptical, Rolfe murmured +a few harmless phrases, tending to nervous incoherence. + +'I am thinking so much about Alma,' pursued the widow, recovering +self-command. 'I am so uncertain about my duty to her. Of her own, she +has nothing; but I know, of course, that her father wished her to share +in what he gave me. It is strange, Mr. Rolfe, that I should be talking +to you as if you were a relative--as if I had a right to trouble you +with these things. But if you knew how few people I dare speak to. +Wasn't it so much better for her to lead a very quiet life? And so I +gave her only a little money, only enough to live upon in the simplest +way. I hoped she would get tired of being among strangers, and come +back. And now I fear she thinks I have behaved meanly and selfishly. +And we were always so kindly disposed to each other, such thorough +friends; never a word that mightn't have passed between a mother and +her own child.' + +'I gathered from her letter,' interposed Harvey, 'that she was well +contented and working hard at her music.' + +'Do you think so? I began to doubt--she wrote in low spirits. Of +course, one can't say whether she would succeed as a violinist. Oh, I +don't like to think of it! I must tell you that I haven't said a word +to her yet of what I am doing; I mean, about the money. I know I ought +to consider _her_ as much as other people. Poor girl, who has suffered +more, and in so many ways? But I think of what I keep for myself as +hers. I was not brought up in luxury, Mr. Rolfe. It wouldn't seem to me +hard to live on a very little. But in this, too, I must consider Alma. +I daren't lose all my acquaintances. I must keep a home for Alma, and a +home she wouldn't feel ashamed of. Here, you see, she could have her +friends. I have thought of going to Leipzig; but I had so much rather +she came to London--if only for us just to talk and understand each +other.' + +Harvey preserved the gravest demeanour. Of Alma he would not permit +himself to speak, save in answer to a direct question; and that was not +long in coming. + +'I am sure you think I should be quite open with her?' + +'That would seem to me the best.' + +'Yes; she shall know all my thoughts. But with regard to Mrs. Abbott, I +know so well what she would say. I beg you to do me that kindness, Mr +Rolfe.' + +'I will write to Mrs. Abbott at once.' + +The interview was at an end; neither had anything more to say. They +parted with looks of much mutual kindliness, Harvey having promised to +make another call when Mrs. Abbott's reply had reached him. + +After exchanging letters with Mrs. Abbott, Harvey went over to see her; +for the sake of both persons concerned, he resolved to leave no +possibility of misunderstanding. A few days passed in discussions and +reflections, then, at the customary hour for paying calls, he again +ascended the many stairs to Mrs. Frothingham's flat. It had rained all +day, and in this weather there seemed a certainty that the lady would +be at home. But, as he approached the door, Harvey heard a sound from +within which discomposed him. Who, save one person, was likely to be +playing on the violin in these rooms? He paused, cast about him a +glance of indecision, and finally pressed the electric bell. + +Mrs. Frothingham was not at home. She might return very shortly. + +'Is--Miss Frothingham at home?' + +The servant did not straightway admit him, but took his name. On his +entering the drawing-room, three figures appeared before him. He saw +Alma; he recognised Miss Leach; the third lady was named to him as Miss +Leach's sister. + +'You knew I was in London?' Alma remarked rather than inquired. + +'I had no idea of it--until I heard your violin.' + +'My violin, but not my playing. It was Miss Leach.' + +From the first word--her 'Ah, how d'you do' as he entered--Alma's tone +and manner appeared to him forced, odd, unlike anything he remembered +of her. In correcting him, she gave a hard, short laugh, glancing at +Dora Leach in a way verging upon the ill-bred. Her look had nothing +amiable, though she continuously smiled, and when she invited the +visitor to be seated, it was with off-hand familiarity very +unflattering to his ear. + +'You came to see Mamma, of course. I dare say she won't be long. She +had to go through the rain on business with someone or other--perhaps +you know. Have you been in London all the summer? Oh no, I remember you +told me you had been somewhere in France; on the Loire, wasn't it?' + +Rolfe dropped a careless affirmative. His temper prompted him to ask +whether Miss Frothingham knew the difference between the Loire and the +Garonne; but on the whole he was more puzzled than offended. What had +come over this young woman? Outwardly she was not much altered--a +little thinner in the face, perhaps; her eyes seeming a trifle darker +and deeper set; but in the point of demeanour she had appreciably +suffered. Her bearing and mode of speech were of that kind which, in a +man, would be called devil-may-care. Was it a result of student-life? +If her stinted allowance had already produced effects such as this, Mrs +Frothingham was justified in uneasiness. + +He turned to Miss Leach, and with her talked exclusively for some +minutes. As soon as civility permitted, he would rise and make his +escape. Alma, the while, chatted with the younger sister, whom she +addressed as 'Gerda'. Then the door opened, and Mrs. Frothingham came +in, wearing her out-of-doors and gave him cordial welcome, though in +few and nervous costume; she fixed her eyes on Rolfe with a peculiar +intensity, words. + +'I am no longer alone, you see.' She threw a swift side-glance at Alma. +'It is a great pleasure.' + +'Does it rain still, Mamma?' asked Alma in a high voice. + +'Not just now, my dear; but it's very disagreeable.' + +'Then I'll walk with you to the station.' She addressed the sisters. +'Dora and Gerda can't stay; they have an appointment at five o'clock. +They'll come again in a day or two.' + +After the leave-takings, and when Alma, with a remark that she would +not be long, had closed the door behind her, Mrs. Frothingham seated +herself and began to draw off her gloves. The bonnet and cloak she was +wearing, though handsome and in the mode, made her look older than at +Rolfe's last visit. She was now a middle-aged woman, with emphasis on +the qualifying term; in home dress she still asserted her sex, grace of +figure and freshness of complexion prevailing over years and sorrows. +At this moment, moreover, weariness, and perhaps worry, appeared in her +countenance. + +'Thank you so much for coming,' she said quietly. 'You must have been +surprised when you saw----' + +'I was, indeed.' + +'And my surprise was still greater, when, without any warning, Alma +walked into the room two days ago. But I was so glad, so very glad.' + +She breathed a little sigh, looking round. + +'Hasn't Alma given her friends any tea? I must ring--Thank you.--Oh, +the wretched, wretched day! I seem to notice the weather so much more +than I used to. Does it affect you at all?' + +Not till the tea-tray was brought in, and she had sipped from her cup, +did Mrs. Frothingham lay aside these commonplaces. With abrupt gravity, +and in a subdued voice, she at length inquired the result of Rolfe's +delicate mission. + +'I think,' he replied, 'that I made known your wish as clearly and +urgently as possible. I have seen Mrs. Abbott, and written to her +twice. It will be best, perhaps, if I ask you to read her final letter. +I have her permission to show it to you.' + +He drew the letter from its envelope, and with a nervous hand Mrs +Frothingham took it for perusal. Whilst she was thus occupied, Rolfe +averted his eyes; when he knew that she had read to the end, he looked +at her. She had again sighed, and Harvey could not help imagining it an +involuntary signal of relief. + +'I am very glad to have read this, Mr. Rolfe. If you had merely told me +that Mrs. Abbott refused, I should have felt nothing but pain. As it +is, I understand that she _could_ only refuse, and I am most grateful +for all she says about me. I regret more than ever that I don't know +her.' + +As she handed the letter back, it shook like a blown leaf. She was +pale, and spoke with effort. But in a few moments, when conversation +was resumed, her tone took a lightness and freedom which confirmed +Rolfe's impression that she had escaped from a great embarrassment; and +this surmise he inevitably connected with Alma's display of strange +ill-humour. + +Not another word passed on the subject. With frequent glances towards +the door, Mrs. Frothingham again talked commonplace. Harvey, eager to +get away, soon rose. + +'Oh, you are not going? Alma will be back in a moment.' + +And as her step-mother spoke, the young lady reappeared. + +'Why didn't you give your friends tea, dear?' + +'I forgot all about it. That comes of living alone. Dora has composed a +gavotte, Mamma. She was playing it when Mr. Rolfe came. It's capital! +Is Mr. Rolfe going?' + +Harvey murmured his peremptory resolve. Mrs. Frothingham, rising, said +that she was almost always at home in the afternoon; that it would +always give her so much pleasure---- + +'You remain in England?' asked Harvey, barely touching the hand which +Alma cavalierly offered. + +'I really don't know. Perhaps I ought to, just to look after Mamma.' + +Mrs. Frothingham uttered a little exclamation, and tried to laugh. On +the instant, Harvey withdrew. + +By the evening's post on the following day he was surprised to receive +a letter addressed in Alma's unmistakable hand. The contents did not +allay his wonder. + + +DEAR MR ROLFE, + +I am sure you will not mind if I use the privilege of a fairly long +acquaintance and speak plainly about something that I regard as +important. I wish to say that I am quite old enough, and feel quite +competent, to direct the course of my own life. It is very kind of you, +indeed, to take an interest in what I do and what I hope to do, and I +am sure Mamma will be fittingly grateful for any advice you may have +offered with regard to me. But I feel obliged to say quite distinctly +that I must manage my own affairs. Pray excuse this freedom, and +believe me, yours truly, + + +He gasped, and with wide eyes read the missive again and again. As soon +as his nerves were quieted, he sat down and replied thus:---- + + +DEAR MISS FROTHINGHAM, + +Your frankness can only be deemed a compliment. It is perhaps a +triviality on my part, but I feel prompted to say that I have at no +time discussed your position or prospects with Mrs. Frothingham, and +that I have neither offered advice on the subject nor have been +requested to do so. If this statement should appear to you at all +germane to the matter, I beg you will take it into consideration.--And +I am, yours truly, + +HARVEY RADCLIFFE ROLFE + + + + +CHAPTER 10 + + +This reply despatched, Harvey congratulated himself on being quits with +Miss Frothingham. Her letter, however amusing, was deliberate +impertinence; to have answered it in a serious tone would have been to +encourage ill-mannered conceit which merited nothing but a snub. + +But what had excited her anger? Had Mrs. Frothingham been guilty of +some indiscretion, or was it merely the result of hotheaded surmises +and suspicions on the girl's part? Plainly, Alma had returned to +England in no amiable mood; in all probability she resented her +step-mother's behaviour, now that it had been explained to her; there +had arisen 'unpleasantness' on the old, the eternal subject--money. +Ignoble enough; but was it a new thing for him to discern ignoble +possibilities in Alma's nature? + +Nevertheless, his thoughts were constantly occupied with the girl. Her +image haunted him; all his manhood was subdued and mocked by her +scornful witchery. From the infinitudes of reverie, her eyes drew near +and gazed upon him--eyes gleaming with mischief, keen with curiosity; a +look now supercilious, now softly submissive; all the varieties of +expression caught in susceptible moments, and stored by a too faithful +memory. Her hair, her lips, her neck, grew present to him, and lured +his fancy with a wanton seduction. In self-defence--pathetic stratagem +of intellectual man at issue with the flesh--he fell back upon the +idealism which ever strives to endow a fair woman with a beautiful +soul; he endeavoured to forget her body in contemplation of the +spiritual excellencies that might lurk behind it. To depreciate her was +simpler, and had generally been his wont; but subjugation had reached +another stage in him. He summoned all possible pleadings on the girl's +behalf: her talents, her youth, her grievous trials. Devotion to +classical music cannot but argue a certain loftiness of mind; it might, +in truth, be somehow akin to 'religion'. Remembering his own follies +and vices at the age of four-and-twenty, was it not reason, no less +than charity, to see in Alma the hope of future good? Nay, if it came +to that, did she not embody infinitely more virtue, in every sense of +the word, than he at the same age? + +One must be just to women, and, however paltry the causes, do honour to +the cleanliness of their life. Nothing had suggested to him that Alma +was unworthy of everyday respect. Even when ill-mannered, she did not +lose her sexual dignity. And after all she had undergone, there would +have been excuse enough for decline of character, to say nothing of a +lapse from the articles of good breeding. This letter of hers, what did +it signify but the revolt of a spirit of independence, irritated by all +manner of sufferings, great and small? Ought he not to have replied in +other terms? Was it worthy of him--man of the world, with passions, +combats, experience multiform, assimilated in his long, slow growth--to +set his sarcasm against a girl's unhappiness? + +He was vexed with himself. He had not behaved as a gentleman. And how +many a time, in how many situations, had he incurred this form of +self-reproach! + +When a week went by without anything more from Alma, Harvey ceased to +trouble. As the fates directed, so be it. He began to pack the books +which he would take with him into Wales. + +One day he found himself at Kensington High Street, waiting for a City +train. In idleness, he watched the people who alighted from carriages +on the opposite side of the platform, and among them he saw Alma. On +her way towards the stairs she was obliged to pass him; he kept his +position, and only looked into her face when she came quite near. She +bent her head with a half-smile, stopped, and spoke in a low voice, +without sign of embarrassment. + +'I was quite wrong. I found it out soon after I had written, and I have +wanted to beg your pardon.' + +'It is my part to do that,' Harvey replied. 'I ought not to have +answered as I did.' + +'Perhaps not--all things considered. I'm rather in a hurry. +Good-morning!' + +As a second thought, she offered her hand. Harvey watched her trip up +the stairs. + +Next morning he had a letter from her. 'Dear Mr. Rolfe,' she wrote, +'did you let Mamma know of my hasty and foolish behaviour? If not--and +I very much hope you didn't--please not to reply to this, but let us +see you on Wednesday afternoon, just in the ordinary way. If Mamma +_has_ been told, still don't trouble to write, and in that case I dare +say you will not care to come. If you are engaged this Wednesday, +perhaps you could come next.' And she signed herself his sincerely. + +He did not reply, and Wednesday saw him climbing once more to the +little flat; ashamed of being here, yet unable to see how he could have +avoided it, except by leaving London. For that escape he had no longer +much mind. Quite consciously, and with uneasiness which was now taking +a new form, he had yielded to Alma's fascination. However contemptible +and unaccountable, this was the state of things with him, and, as he +waited for the door to be opened, it made him feel more awkward, more +foolish, than for many a long year. + +Mrs. Frothingham and her step-daughter were sitting alone, the elder +lady occupied with fancy-work, at her feet a basket of many-coloured +silks, and the younger holding a book; nothing could have been quieter +or more home-like. No sooner had he entered than he overcame all +restraint, all misgiving; there was nothing here today but peace and +good feeling, gentle voices and quiet amiability. Whatever shadow had +arisen between the two ladies must have passed utterly away; they spoke +to each other with natural kindness, and each had a tranquil +countenance. + +Alma began at once to talk of their common friends, the Carnabys, +asking whether Rolfe knew that they were in Australia. + +'I knew they had decided to go,' he answered. 'But I haven't heard for +at least two months.' + +'Oh, then I can give you all the news; I had a letter yesterday. When +Mrs. Carnaby wrote, they had spent a fortnight at Melbourne, and were +going on to Brisbane. Mr. Carnaby is going to do something in +Queensland--something about mines. I'll read you that part.' + +The letter lay in the book she was holding. Sibyl wrote indefinitely, +but Harvey was able to gather that the mining engineer, Dando, had +persuaded Carnaby to take an active interest in his projects. +Discussion on speculative enterprises did not recommend itself to the +present company, and Rolfe could only express a hope that his friend +had at last found a pursuit in which he could interest himself. + +'But fancy Sibyl at such places!' exclaimed Alma, with amusement. 'How +curious I shall be to see her when she comes back! Before she left +England, I'm sure she hadn't the least idea in what part of Australia +Brisbane was, or Melbourne either. I didn't know myself; had to look at +a map. You'll think that a shameful confession, Mr. Rolfe.' + +'My own ideas of Australian geography are vague enough.' + +'Oh, but haven't you been there?' + +'Not to any of the new countries; I don't care about them. A defect, I +admit. The future of England is beyond seas. I would have children +taught all about the Colonies before bothering them with histories of +Greece and Rome. I wish I had gone out there myself as a boy, and grown +up a sheep-farmer.' + +Alma laughed. + +'That's one of the things you say just to puzzle people. It contradicts +all sorts of things I've heard you say at other times.--Do _you_ think, +Mamma, that Mr. Rolfe missed his vocation when he didn't become a +sheep-farmer?' + +Mrs. Frothingham gently shook her head. No trace of nervousness +appeared in her today; manipulating the coloured silks, she only now +and then put in a quiet word, but followed the talk with interest. + +'But I quite thought you had been to Australia,' Alma resumed. 'You +see, it's very theoretical, your admiration of the new countries. And I +believe you would rather die at once in England than go to live in any +such part of the world.' + +'Weakness of mind, that's all.' + +'Still, you admit it. That's something gained. You always smile at +other people's confessions, and keep your own mind mysterious.' + +'Mysterious? I always thought one of my faults was over-frankness.' + +'That only shows how little we know ourselves.' + +Harvey was reflecting on the incompleteness of his knowledge of Alma. +Intentionally or not, she appeared to him at this moment in a perfectly +new light; he could not have pictured her so simple of manner, so +direct, so placid. Trouble seemed to have given her a holiday, and at +the same time to have released her from self-consciousness. + +'But you have never told us,' she went on, 'about your wanderings in +France this summer. English people don't go much to that part, do they?' + +'No. I happened to read a book about it. It's the old fighting-ground +of French and English--interesting to any one pedantic enough to care +for such things.' + +'But not to people born to be sheep-farmers. And you had a serious +illness.--Did Mr. Rolfe tell you, Mamma dear, that he nearly died at +some miserable roadside inn?' + +Mrs. Frothingham looked startled, and declared she knew nothing of it. +Harvey, obliged to narrate, did so in the fewest possible words, and +dismissed the matter. + +'I suppose you have had many such experiences,' said Alma. 'And when do +you start on your next travels?' + +'I have nothing in view. I half thought of going for the winter to a +place in North Wales--Carnarvonshire, on the outer sea.' + +The ladies begged for more information, and he related how, on a ramble +with a friend last spring (it was Basil Morton), he had come upon this +still little town between the mountains and the shore, amid a country +shining with yellow gorse, hills clothed with larch, heathery moorland, +ferny lanes, and wild heights where the wind roars on crag or cairn. + +'No railway within seven miles. Just the place for a pedant to escape +to, and live there through the winter with his musty books.' + +'But it must be equally delightful for people who are not pedants!' +exclaimed Alma. + +'In spring or summer, no doubt, though even then the civilised person +would probably find it dull.' + +'That's your favourite affectation again. I'm sure it's nothing but +affectation when you speak scornfully of civilised people.' + +'Scornfully I hope I never do.' + +'Really, Mamma,' said Alma, with a laugh, 'Mr. Rolfe is in his very +mildest humour today. We mustn't expect any reproofs for our good. He +will tell us presently that we are patterns of all the virtues.' + +Mrs. Frothingham spoke in a graver strain. + +'But I'm sure it is possible to be too civilised--to want too many +comforts, and become a slave to them. Since I have been living here, Mr +Rolfe, you can't think how I have got to enjoy the simplicity of this +kind of life. Everything is so easy; things go so smoothly. Just one +servant, who can't make mistakes, because there's next to nothing to +do. No wonder people are taking to flats.' + +'And is that what you mean by over-civilisation?' Alma asked of Rolfe. + +'I didn't say anything about it. But I should think many people in +large and troublesome houses would agree with Mrs. Frothingham. It's +easy to imagine a time when such burdens won't be tolerated. Our +misfortune is, of course, that we are not civilised enough.' + +'Not enough to give up fashionable nonsense. I agree with that. We're +wretched slaves, most of us.' + +It was the first sentence Alma had spoken in a tone that Rolfe +recognised. For a moment her face lost its placid smile, and Harvey +hoped that she would say more to the same purpose; but she was silent. + +'I'm sure,' remarked Mrs. Frothingham, with feeling, 'that most +happiness is found in simple homes.' + +'Can we be simple by wishing it?' asked Alma. 'Don't you think we have +to be born to simplicity?' + +'I'm not sure that I know what you mean by the word,' said Harvey. + +'I'm not sure that I know myself. Mamma meant poverty, I think. But +there may be a simple life without poverty, I should say. I'm thinking +of disregard for other people's foolish opinions; living just as you +feel most at ease--not torturing yourself because it's the custom.' + +'That's just what requires courage,' Rolfe remarked. + +'Yes; I suppose it does. One knows people who live in misery just +because they daren't be comfortable; keeping up houses and things they +can't afford, when, if they only considered themselves, their income +would be quite enough for everything they really want. If you come to +think of it, that's too foolish for belief.' + +Harvey felt that the topic was growing dangerous. He said nothing, but +wished to have more of Alma's views in this direction. They seemed to +strike her freshly; perhaps she had never thought of the matter in this +way before. + +'That's what I meant,' she continued, 'when I said you must be born to +simplicity. I should think no one ever gave up fashionable extravagance +just because they saw it to be foolish. People haven't the strength of +mind. I dare say,' she added, with a bright look, 'anyone who _was_ +strong enough to do that kind of thing would be admired and envied.' + +'By whom?' Rolfe asked. + +'Oh, by their acquaintances who were still slaves.' + +'I don't know. Admiration and envy are not commonly excited by merely +reasonable behaviour.' + +'But this would be something more than merely reasonable. It would be +the beginning of a revolution.' + +'My dear,' remarked Mrs. Frothingham, smiling sadly, 'people would +never believe that it didn't mean loss of money.' + +'They might be made to believe it. It would depend entirely on the +persons, of course.' + +Alma seemed to weary of the speculation, and to throw it aside. Harvey +noticed a shadow on her face again, which this time did not pass +quickly. + +He was so comfortable in his chair, the ladies seemed so entirely at +leisure, such a noiseless calm brooded about them, unbroken by any new +arrival, that two hours went by insensibly, and with lingering +reluctance the visitor found it time to take his leave. On reviewing +the afternoon, Harvey concluded that it was probably as void of meaning +as of event. Alma, on friendly terms once more with her step-mother, +felt for the moment amiably disposed towards everyone, himself +included; this idle good humour and insignificant talk was meant, no +doubt, for an apology, all he had to expect. It implied, of course, +thorough indifference towards him as an individual. As a member of +their shrunken circle, he was worth retaining. Having convinced herself +of his innocence of undue pretensions, Alma would, as the children say, +be friends again, and everything should go smoothly. + +He lived through a week of the wretchedest indecision, and at the end +of it, when Wednesday afternoon came round, was again climbing the many +stairs to the Frothinghams' flat; even more nervous than last time, +much more ashamed of himself, and utterly doubtful as to his reception. +The maid admitted him without remark, and showed him into an empty +room. When he had waited for five minutes, staring at objects he did +not see, Alma entered. + +'Mamma went out to lunch,' she said, languidly shaking hands with him, +'and hasn't come back yet.' + +No greeting could have conveyed less encouragement. She seated herself +with a lifeless movement, looked at him, and smiled as if discharging a +duty. + +'I thought'--he blundered into speech--'that Wednesday was probably +your regular afternoon.' + +'There is nothing regular yet. We haven't arranged our life. We are +glad to see our friends whenever they come.--Pray sit down.' + +He did so, resolving to stay for a few minutes only. In the silence +that followed, their eyes met, and, as though it were too much trouble +to avert her look, Alma continued to regard him. She smiled again, and +with more meaning. + +'So you have quite forgiven me?' fell from her lips, just when Harvey +was about to speak. + +'As I told you at the station, I feel that there is more fault on my +side. You wrote under such a strange misconception, and I ought to have +patiently explained myself.' + +'Oh no! You were quite right in treating me sharply. I don't quite +remember what I said, but I know it must have been outrageous. After +that, I did what I ought to have done before, just had a talk with +Mamma.' + +'Then you took it for granted, without any evidence, that I came here +as a meddler or busybody?' + +His voice was perfectly good-humoured, and Alma answered in the same +tone. + +'I _thought_ there was evidence. Mamma had been talking about her +affairs, and mentioned that she had consulted you about something--Oh, +about Mrs. Abbott.' + +'Very logical, I must say,' remarked Rolfe, laughing. + +'I don't think logic is my strong point.' + +She sat far back in the easy chair, her head supported, her hands +resting upon the chair arms. The languor which she hardly made an +effort to overcome began to invade her companion, like an influence +from the air; he gazed at her, perceiving a new beauty in the +half-upturned face, a new seductiveness in the slim, abandoned body. A +dress of grey silk, trimmed with black, refined the ivory whiteness of +her flesh; its faint rustling when she moved affected Harvey with a +delicious thrill. + +'There's no reason, now,' she continued, 'why we shouldn't talk about +it--I mean, the things you discussed with Mamma. You imagine, I dare +say, that I selfishly objected to what she was doing. Nothing of the +kind. I didn't quite see why she had kept it from me, that was all. It +was as if she felt afraid of my greediness. But I'm not greedy; I don't +think I'm more selfish than ordinary people. And I think Mamma is doing +exactly what she ought; I'm very glad she felt about things in that +way.' + +Harvey nodded, and spoke in a subdued voice. + +'I was only consulted about one person, whom I happened to know.' + +'Yes--Mrs. Abbott.' + +Her eyes were again fixed upon him, and he read their curiosity. Just +as he was about to speak, the servant appeared with tea. Alma slowly +raised herself, and, whilst she plied the office of hostess, Harvey got +rid of the foolish hat and stick that encumbered him. He had now no +intention of hurrying away. + +As if by natural necessity, they talked of nothing in particular whilst +tea was sipped. Harvey still held his cup, when at the outer door +sounded a rat-tat-tat, causing him silently to execrate the intruder, +whoever it might be. Unheeding, and as if she had not heard, Alma +chatted of trifles. Harvey's ear detected movements without, but no one +entered; in a minute or two, he again breathed freely. + +'Mrs. Abbott----' + +Alma just dropped the name, as if beginning a remark, but lapsed into +silence. + +'Shall I tell you all about her?' said Rolfe. 'Her husband's death left +her in great difficulties; she had hardly anything. A friend of hers, a +Mrs. Langland, who lives at Gunnersbury, was very kind and helpful. +They talked things over, and Mrs. Abbott decided to take a house at +Gunnersbury, and teach children;--she was a teacher before her +marriage.' + +'No children of her own?' + +'No. One died. But unfortunately she has the care of two, whose +mother--a cousin of hers--is dead, and whose father has run away.' + +'Run away?' + +'Literally. Left the children behind in a lodging-house garret to +starve, or go to the workhouse, or anything else. A spirited man; +independent, you see; no foolish prejudices.' + +'And Mrs. Abbott has to support them?' + +'No one else could take them. They live with her.' + +'You didn't mention that to Mamma.' + +'No. I thought it needless.' + +The silence that followed was embarrassing to Harvey. He broke it by +abruptly changing the subject. + +'Have you practised long today?' + +'No,' was the absent reply. + +'I thought you looked rather tired, as if you had been working too +hard.' + +'Oh, I don't work too hard,' said Alma impatiently. + +'Forgive me. I remember that it is a forbidden subject.' + +'Not at all. You may ask _me_ anything you like about myself. I'm not +working particularly hard just now; thinking a good deal, though. +Suppose you let me have your thoughts on the same subject. No harm. But +I dare say I know them, without your telling me.' + +'I hardly think you do,' said Rolfe, regarding her steadily. 'At all +events'--his voice faltered a little--'I'm afraid you don't.' + +'Afraid? Oh'--she laughed--'don't be afraid. I have plenty of courage, +and quite enough obstinacy. It rather does me good when people show +they have no faith in me.' + +'You didn't understand,' murmured Harvey. + +'Then make me understand,' she exclaimed nervously, moving in the chair +as if about to stand up, but remaining seated and bent forward, her +eyes fixed upon him in a sort of good-humoured challenge. 'I believe I +know what you mean, all the time. You didn't discuss me with Mamma, as +I suspected, but you think about me just as she does.--No, let me go +on, then you shall confess I was right. You have no faith in my powers, +to begin with. It seems to you very unlikely that an everyday sort of +girl, whom you have met in society and know all about, should develop +into a great artist. No faith--that's the first thing. Then you are so +kind as to have fears for me--yes, it was your own word. You think that +you know the world, whilst I am ignorant of it, and that it's a sort of +duty to offer warnings.' + +Harvey's all but angry expression, as he listened and fidgeted, +suddenly stopped her. + +'Well! Can you deny that these things are in your mind?' + +'They are not in my mind at this moment, that's quite certain,' said +Harvey bluntly. + +'Then, what is?' + +'Something it isn't easy to say, when you insist on quarrelling with +me. Why do you use this tone? Do I strike you as a pedagogue, a +preacher--something of that sort?' + +His energy in part subdued her. She smiled uneasily. + +'No. I don't see you in that light.' + +'So much the better. I wanted to appear to you simply a man, and one +who has--perhaps--the misfortune to see in _you_ only a very beautiful +and a very desirable woman.' + +Alma sat motionless. Her smile had passed, vanishing in a swift gleam +of pleasure which left her countenance bright, though grave. In the +same moment there sounded again a rat-tat at the outer door. Through +his whirling senses, Harvey was aware of the threatened interruption, +and all but cursed aloud. That Alma had the same expectation appeared +in her moving so as to assume a more ordinary attitude; but she uttered +the word that had risen to her lips. + +'The misfortune, you call it?' + +Harvey followed her example in disposing his limbs more conventionally; +also in the tuning of his voice to something between jest and earnest. + +'I said _perhaps_ the misfortune.' + +'It makes a difference, certainly.' She smiled, her eyes turned to the +door. '_Perhaps_ is a great word; one of the most useful in the +language.--Don't you think so, Mamma?' + +Mrs. Frothingham had just entered. + + + + +CHAPTER 11 + + +The inconceivable had come to pass. By a word and a look Harvey had +made real what he was always telling himself could never be more than a +dream, and a dream of unutterable folly. Mrs. Frothingham's unconscious +intervention availed him nothing; he had spoken, and must speak again. +For a man of sensitive honour there could be no trilling in such a +matter as this with a girl in Alma Frothingham's position. And did he +not rejoice that wavering was no longer possible? + +This was love; but of what quality? He no longer cared, or dared, to +analyse it. Too late for all that. He had told Alma that he loved her, +and did not repent it; nay, hoped passionately to hear from her lips +the echoed syllable. It was merely the proof of madness. A shake of the +head might cure him; but from that way to sanity all his blood shrank. + +He must consider; he must be practical. If he meant to ask Alma to +marry him, and of course he did, an indispensable preliminary was to +make known the crude facts of his worldly position. + +Well, he could say, with entire honesty, that he had over nine hundred +pounds a year. This was omitting a disbursement of an annual fifty +pounds, of which he need not speak--the sum he had insisted on paying +Mrs. Abbott that she might be able to maintain Wager's children. With +all the difficulty in the world had he gained his point. Mrs. Abbott +did not wish the children to go into other hands; she made it a matter +of conscience to keep them by her, and to educate them, yet this seemed +barely possible with the combat for a livelihood before her. Mrs. +Abbott yielded, and their clasp of hands cemented a wholesome +friendship--frank, unsuspicious--rarest of relations between man and +woman. But all this there was certainly no need of disclosing. + +At midnight he was penning a letter. It must not be long; it must not +strike the lyrical note; yet assuredly it must not read like a +commercial overture. He had great difficulty in writing anything that +seemed tolerable. Yet done it must be, and done it was; and before +going to bed he had dropped his letter into the post. He durst not +leave it for reperusal in the morning light. + +Then came torture of expectancy. The whole man aching, sore, with +impatience; reason utterly fled, intellect bemused and baffled; a +healthy, competent citizen of nigh middle age set all at once in the +corner, crowned with a fool's cap, twiddling his thumbs in nervous +fury. Dolorous spectacle, and laughable withal. + +He waited four-and-twenty hours, then clutched at Alma's reply. 'Dear +Mr. Rolfe,--Will you come again next Wednesday?' That was all. Did it +amuse her to keep him in suspense? The invitation might imply a +fulfilment of his hopes, but Alma's capriciousness allowed no +certainty; a week's reflection was as likely to have one result as +another. For him it meant a week of solitude and vacancy. + +Or would have meant it, but for that sub-vigorous element in his +character, that saving strain of practical rationality, which had +brought him thus far in life without sheer overthrow. An hour after +receiving Alma's enigmatical note, he was oppressed by inertia; another +hour roused him to self-preservation, and supplied him with a project. +That night he took the steamer from Harwich to Antwerp, and for the +next four days wandered through the Netherlands, reviving his memories +of a journey, under very different circumstances, fifteen years ago. +The weather was bright and warm; on the whole he enjoyed himself; he +reached London again early on Wednesday morning, and in the afternoon, +with a touch of weather on his cheek, presented himself at Alma's door. + +She awaited him in the drawing-room, alone. This time, he felt sure, no +interruption was to be feared; he entered with confident step and a +cheery salutation. A glance showed him that his common-sense had served +him well; it was Alma who looked pale and thought-worn, who betrayed +timidity, and could not at once command herself. + +'What have you been doing?' she asked, remarking his appearance. + +'Rambling about a little,' he replied good-humouredly. + +'Where? You look as if you had been a voyage.' + +'So I have, a short one.' + +And he told her how his week had passed. + +'So that's how you would like to spend your life--always travelling?' + +'Oh no! I did it to kill time. You must remember that a week is +something like a year to a man who is waiting impatiently.' + +She dropped her eyes. + +'I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. But I never thought you very +impatient. You always seemed to take things philosophically.' + +'I generally try to.' + +There was a pause. Alma, leaning forward in her chair, kept her eyes +down, and did not raise them when she again spoke. + +'You have surprised and perplexed and worried me. I thought in a week's +time I should know what to say, but--Doesn't it strike you, Mr. Rolfe, +that we're in a strange position towards each other? You know very +little of me--very little indeed, I'm sure. And of you, when I come to +think of it, all I really know is that you hardly care at all for what +has always been my one great interest.' + +'That is putting it in a matter-of-fact way--or you think so. I see +things rather differently. In one sense, I care very much indeed for +everything that really makes a part of your life. And simply because I +care very much about you yourself. I don't know you; who knows any +other human being? But I have formed an idea of you, and an idea that +has great power over my thoughts, wishes, purposes--everything. It has +made me say what I thought I should never say to any woman--and makes +me feel glad that I have said it, and full of hope.' + +Alma drew in her breath and smiled faintly. Still she did not look at +him. + +'And of course I have formed an idea of you.' + +'Will you sketch the outline and let me correct it?' + +'You think I am pretty sure to be wrong?' she asked, raising her eyes +and regarding him for a moment with anxiety. + +'I should have said "complete" it. I hope I have never shown myself to +you in an altogether false light.' + +'That is the one thing I have felt sure about,' said Alma, slowly and +thoughtfully. 'You have always seemed the same. You don't change with +circumstances--as people generally do.' + +Harvey had a word on his lips, but checked it, and merely gazed at her +till her eyes again encountered his. Then Alma smiled more naturally. + +'There was something you didn't speak of in your letter. What kind of +life do you look forward to?' + +'I'm not sure that I understand. My practical aims--you mean?' + +'Yes,' she faltered, with embarrassment. + +'Why, I'm afraid I have none. I mentioned the facts of my position, and +I said that I couldn't hope for its improvement----' + +'No, no, no! You misunderstand me. I am not thinking about money. I +hate the word, and wish I might never hear it again!' She spoke with +impetuosity. 'I meant--how and where do you wish to live? What thoughts +had you about the future?' + +'None very definite, I confess. And chiefly because, if what I desired +came to pass, I thought of everything as depending upon you. I have no +place in the world. I have no relatives nearer than cousins. Of late +years I have been growing rather bookish, and rather fond of +quietness--but of course that resulted from circumstances. When a man +offers marriage, of course he usually says: My life is this and this; +will you enter into it, and share it with me? I don't wish to say +anything of the kind. My life may take all sorts of forms; when I ask +you to share it, I ask you to share liberty, not restraint.' + +'A gipsy life?' she asked, half playfully. + +'Is your inclination to that?' + +Alma shook her head. + +'No, I am tired of homelessness.--And,' she added as if on an impulse, +'I am tired of London.' + +'Then we agree. I, too, am tired of both.' + +Her manner altered; she straightened herself, and spoke with more +self-possession. + +'What about my art--my career?' + +'It is for me to ask that question,' replied Harvey, gazing steadfastly +at her. + +'You don't mean that it would all necessarily come to an end.' + +'Why? I mean what I say when I speak of sharing liberty. Heaven forbid +that I should put an end to any aim or hope of yours--to anything that +is part of yourself. I want you to be yourself. Many people nowadays +revolt against marriage because it generally means bondage, and they +have much to say for themselves. If I had been condemned to a wearisome +occupation and a very small income, I'm sure I should never have asked +anyone to marry me; I don't think it fair. It may seem to you that I +haven't much right to call myself an independent man as it is----' + +Alma broke in, impatiently. + +'Don't speak of money? You have enough--more than enough.' + +'So it seems to me. You are afraid this might prevent you from becoming +a professional musician?' + +'I know it would,' she answered with quiet decision. + +'I should never dream of putting obstacles in your way. Do understand +and believe me. I don't want to shape you to any model of my own; I +want you to be your true self, and live the life you are meant for.' + +'All the same, you would rather I did not become a professional +musician. Now, be honest with me! Be honest before everything. You +needn't answer, I know it well enough; and if I marry you, I give up my +music.' + +Rolfe scrutinised her face, observed the tremulous mouth, the nervous +eyelid. + +'Then,' he said, 'it will be better for you not to marry me.' + +And silence fell upon the room, a silence in which Harvey could hear a +deep-drawn breath and the rustle of silk. He was surprised by a voice +in quite a new tone, softly melodious. + +'You give me up very easily.' + +'Not more easily than you give up your music.' + +'There's a difference. Do you remember what we were saying, last +Wednesday, about simplicity of living?' + +'Last Wednesday? It seems a month ago. Yes, I remember.' + +'I have thought a good deal of that. I feel how vulgar the life is that +most people lead. They can't help it; they think it impossible to do +anything else. But I should like to break away from it altogether--to +live as I chose, and not care a bit what other people said.' + +Harvey had the same difficulty as before in attaching much significance +to these phrases. They were pleasant to hear, for they chimed with his +own thoughts, but he could not respond with great seriousness. + +'The wife of a man with my income won't have much choice, I fancy.' + +'How can you say that?' exclaimed Alma. 'You know that most people +would take a house in a good part of London, and live up to the last +penny--making everyone think that their income must be two or three +thousand pounds. I know all about that kind of thing, and it sickens +me. There's the choice between vulgar display with worry, and a simple, +refined life with perfect comfort. You fancied I should want a house in +London?' + +'I hardy thought anything about it.' + +'But it would ease your mind if I said that I would far rather live in +a cottage, as quietly and simply as possible?' + +'What does ease my mind--or rather, what makes me very happy, is that +you don't refuse to think of giving me your companionship.' + +Alma flushed a little. + +'I haven't promised. After all my thinking about it, it came to +this--that I couldn't make up my mind till I had talked over everything +with you. If I marry, I must know what my life is going to be. And it +puzzles me that you could dream of making anyone your wife before you +had asked her all sorts of questions.' + +In his great contentment, Harvey laughed. + +'Admirable, theoretically! But how is a man to begin asking questions? +How many would he ask before he got sent about his business?' + +'That's the very way of putting his chance to the test!' said Alma +brightly. 'If he _is_ sent about his business, how much better for him +than to marry on a misunderstanding.' + +'I agree with you perfectly. I never heard anyone talk better sense on +the subject.' + +Alma looked pleased, as she always did when receiving a compliment. + +'Will you believe, then, Mr. Rolfe, that I am quite in earnest in +hating show and pretences and extravagance, and wishing to live in just +the opposite way?' + +'I will believe it if you cease to address me by that formal name--a +show and a pretence, and just a little extravagant.' + +Her cheeks grew warm again + +'That reminds me,' she said; 'I didn't know you had a second name--till +I got that letter.' + +'I had almost forgotten it myself, till I answered a certain other +letter. I didn't know till then that _you_ had a second name. Your +"Florence" called out my "Radcliffe"--which sounds fiery, doesn't it? I +always felt that the name over-weighted me. I got it from my mother.' + +'And your first--Harvey?' + +'My first I got from a fine old doctor, about whom I'll tell you some +day--Alma.' + +'I named your name. I didn't address you by it.' + +'But you will?' + +'Let us talk seriously.--Could you live far away from London, in some +place that people know nothing about?' + +'With you, indeed I could, and be glad enough if I never saw London +again.' + +An exaltation possessed Alma; her eyes grew very bright, gazing as if +at a mental picture, and her hands trembled as she continued to speak.' + +'I don't mean that we are to go and be hermits in a wilderness. Our +friends must visit us--our real friends, no one else; just the people +we really care about, and those won't be many. If I give up a public +career--as of course I shall--there's no need to give up music. I can +go on with it in a better spirit, for pure love of it, without any wish +for making money and reputation. You don't think this a mere dream?' + +Harvey thought more than he was disposed to say. He marvelled at her +sudden enthusiasm for an ideal he had not imagined her capable of +pursuing. If he only now saw into the girl's true character, revealed +by the awakening of her emotions, how nobly was his ardour justified! +All but despising himself for loving her, he had instinctively chosen +the one woman whose heart and mind could inspire him to a life above +his own. 'I should think it a dream,' he answered, 'if I didn't hear it +from your lips.' + +'But it is so easy! We keep all the best things, and throw off only the +worthless--the things that waste time and hurt the mind. No crowded +rooms, no wearying artificial talk, no worry with a swarm of servants, +no dressing and fussing. The whole day to one's self, for work and +pleasure. A small house--just large enough for order and quietness, and +to keep a room for the friend who comes. How many people would like +such a life, but haven't the courage to live it!' + +'Where shall it be, Alma?' + +'I have given no promise. I only say this is the life that IJ should +like. Perhaps you would soon weary of it?' + +'I? Not easily, I think.' + +'There might be travel, too,' she went on fervently. 'We should be +rich, when other people, living in the ordinary vulgar way, would have +nothing to spare. No tours where the crowd goes; real travel in +out-of-the-way parts.' + +'You are describing just what I should choose for myself; but I +shouldn't have dared to ask it of you. + +'And why? I told you that you knew so little of me. We are only just +beginning to understand each other.' + +'What place have you in mind?' + +'None. That would have to be thought about Didn't you say you were +going to some beautiful spot in Wales?' + +Harvey reflected. + +'I wonder whether you would like that----' + +'We are only supposing, you know. But show me where it is. If you wait +a moment, I'll fetch a map.' + +She rose quickly. He had just time to reach the door and open it for +her; and as she rapidly passed him, eyes averted, the faintest and +sweetest of perfumes was wafted upon his face. There he stood till her +return, his pulses throbbing. + +'This is my old school atlas,' she said gaily; 'I always use it still.' + +She opened it upon the table and bent forward. + +'North Wales, you said? Show me----' + +He pointed with a finger that quivered. His cheek was not far from +hers; the faint perfume floated all about him; he could Imagine it the +natural fragrance of her hair, of her breath. + +'I see,' she murmured. 'That's the kind of place far off, but not too +far. And the railway station?' + +As he did not answer, she half turned towards him. + +'The station?--Yes.--Alma!---- + + + + +CHAPTER 12 + + +Mrs. Frothingham was overjoyed. In private talk with Harvey she sang +the praises of her step-daughter, whom, she declared, any man might be +proud to have won. For Alma herself had so much pride; the +characteristic, said Mrs. Frothingham, which had put dangers in her +path, and menaced her prospects of happiness. + +'There's no harm in saying, Mr. Rolfe, that I never dared to hope for +this. I thought perhaps that you--but I was afraid Alma wouldn't listen +to any one. Just of late, she seemed to feel her position so much more +than at first. It was my fault; I behaved so foolishly; but I'm sure +you'll both forgive me. For months I really wasn't myself. It made the +poor girl bitter against all of us. But how noble she is! How +high-minded! And how much, much happier she will be than if she had +struggled on alone--whatever she might have attained to.' + +It was clear to Harvey that the well-meaning lady did not quite +understand Alma's sudden enthusiasm for the 'simple life', that she had +but a confused apprehension of the ideal for which Alma panted. But the +suggestion of 'economy' received her entire approval. + +'I feel sure you couldn't do better than to go and live in the country +for a time. There are so many reasons why Alma will be happier there, +at first, than in London. I don't know whether that place in North +Wales would be quite--but I mustn't meddle with what doesn't concern +me. And you will be thoroughly independent; at any moment you can make +a change.' + +To a suggestion that she should run down into Carnarvonshire, and see +her proposed home before any practical step was taken, Alma replied +that she had complete faith in Harvey Rolfe's judgment. Harvey's only +doubt was as to the possibility of finding a house. He made the journey +himself, and after a few days' absence returned with no very hopeful +report; at present there was nothing to be had but a cottage, literally +a cotter's home, and this would not do. He brought photographs, and +Alma went into raptures over the lovely little bay, with its grassy +cliffs, its rivulet, its smooth sand, and the dark-peaked mountains +sweeping nobly to a sheer buttress above the waves. 'There must be a +house! There _shall_ be a house!' Of course, said Harvey, one could +build, and cheaply enough; but that meant a long delay. Regarding the +date of the marriage nothing was as yet decided, but Harvey had made up +his mind to be 'at home' for Christmas. When he ventured to hint at +this, Alma evaded the question. + +A correspondent would inform him if any house became tenantless. 'I +shall bribe someone to quit!' he cried. 'One might advertise that all +expenses would be paid, with one year's rent of a house elsewhere.' +Harvey was in excellent spirits, though time hung rather heavily on his +hands. + +On an appointed day the ladies paid him a visit at his rooms. Mrs +Handover, requested to prepare tea for a semi-ceremonious occasion, was +at once beset with misgivings, and the first sight of the strangers +plunged her into profound despondency. She consulted her indifferent +relative, Buncombe; had he any inkling of the possibility that Mr. +Rolfe was about to change his condition? Buncombe knew nothing and +cared nothing; his own domestic affairs were giving him more than usual +anxiety just now. 'I didn't think he was fool enough'--thus only he +replied to Mrs. Handover's anxious questions. + +Alma surveyed the book-shelves, and took down volumes with an air of +interest; she looked over a portfolio of photographs, inspected +mementoes of travel from Cyprus, Palestine, Bagdad. Mrs. Frothingham +noted to herself how dusty everything was. + +'That woman neglects him scandalously,' she said afterwards to Alma. 'I +wish I had to look after her when she is at work.' + +'I didn't notice any neglect. The tea wasn't very well made, perhaps.' + +'My dear child! the room is in a disgraceful state--never dusted, never +cleaned--oh dear!' + +Alma laughed. + +'I'm quite sure, Mamma, you are much happier now--in one way--than when +you never had to think of such things. You have a genius for domestic +operations. When I have a house of my own I shall be rather afraid of +you.' + +'Oh, of course you will have good servants, my dear.' + +'How often have I to tell you, Mamma, that we're not going to live in +that way at all! The simplest possible furniture, the simplest possible +meals--_everything_ subordinate to the higher aims and pleasures.' + +'But you must have servants, Alma! You can't sweep the rooms yourself, +and do the cooking?' + +'I'm thinking about it,' the girl answered gravely. 'Of course, I shall +not waste my time in coarse labour; but I feel sure we shall need only +one servant--a competent, trustworthy woman, after your own heart. It's +snobbish to be ashamed of housework; there are all sorts of things I +should like to do, and that every woman is better for doing.' + +'That is very true indeed, Alma. I can't say how I admire you for such +thoughts. But----' + +'The thing is to reduce such work to the strictly necessary. Think of +all the toil that is wasted in people's houses, for foolish display and +luxury. We sweep all that away at one stroke! Wait till you see. I'm +thinking it out, making my plans.' + +In the pleasant little drawing-room, by the fireside (for it was now +October and chilly), Harvey and Alma had long, long conversations. +Occasionally they said things that surprised each other and led to +explanations, debates, but harmony was never broken. Rolfe came away +ever more enslaved; more impressed by the girl's sweet reasonableness, +and exalted by her glowing idealism. Through amorous mists he still +endeavoured to discern the real Alma; he reflected ceaselessly upon her +character; yet, much as she often perplexed him, he never saw reason to +suspect her of disingenuousness. At times she might appear to excite +herself unduly, to fall into excess of zeal; it meant, no doubt, that +the imaginative fervour she had been wont to expend on music was turned +in a new quarter. Alma remained herself--impulsive, ardent, +enthusiastic, whether yearning for public triumphs, or eager to lead a +revolution in domestic life. Her health manifestly improved; languor +was unknown to her; her cheeks had a warmer hue, a delicate carnation, +subtly answering to her thoughts. + +She abhorred sentimentality. This was one of her first intimate +declarations, and Harvey bore it in mind. He might praise, glorify, +extol her to the uttermost, and be rewarded by her sweetest smiles; but +for the pretty follies of amatory transport she had no taste. Harvey +ran small risk of erring in this direction; he admired and reverenced +her maidenly aloofness; her dignity he found an unfailing charm, the +great support of his own self-respect. A caress was not at all times +forbidden, but he asserted the privilege with trembling diffidence. It +pleased her, when he entered the room, to be stately and rather distant +of manner, to greet him as though they were still on formal terms; this +troubled Harvey at first, but he came to understand and like it. In Mrs +Frothingham's presence, Alma avoided every sign of familiarity, and +talked only of indifferent things. + +Early in November there came news that a certain family in the little +Welsh town would be glad to vacate their dwelling if a tenant could at +once be found for it. The same day Harvey travelled northwards, and on +the morrow he despatched a telegram to Alma. He had taken the house, +and could have possession in a week or two. Speedily followed a letter +of description. The house was stone-built and substantial, but very +plain; it stood alone and unsheltered by the roadside, a quarter of a +mile from the town, looking seaward; it had garden ground and primitive +stabling. The rooms numbered nine, exclusive of kitchen; small, but not +diminutive. The people were very friendly (Harvey wrote), and gave him +all aid in investigating the place, with a view to repairs and so on; +by remaining for a few days he would be able to consult with a builder, +so as to have necessary work set in train as soon as the present +occupants were gone. + +Alma's engagement had been kept strictly secret. When Harvey returned +after a week of activity, he found her still reluctant to fix a day, or +even the month, for their wedding. He did not plead, but wrote her a +little letter, saying that the house could be ready by--at all +events--the second week in December; that he would then consult with +her about furniture, and would go down to superintend the final putting +in order. 'After that, it rests with you to say when you will enter +into possession. I promise not to speak of it again until, on coming +into the room, I see your atlas lying open on the table; that shall be +a sign unto me.' + +On his return to London he received a note from Mrs. Frothingham, +requesting him to be at home at a certain hour, as she wished to call +and speak privately with him. This gave him an uneasy night; he +imagined all manner of vexatious or distracting possibilities; but Mrs +Frothingham brought no ill news. + +'Don't be frightened,' she began, reading his anxious face. 'All's +well, and I am quite sure Alma will soon have something to say to you. +I have come on a matter of business--strictly business.' + +Harvey felt a new kind of uneasiness. + +'Let me speak in a plain way about plain things,' pursued the widow, +with that shadow on her face which always indicated that she was +thinking of the mournful past. 'I know that neither Alma nor you would +hear of her accepting money from me; I know I mustn't speak of it. All +the better that you have no need of money. But now that you are my +relative--will be so very soon--I want to tell you how my affairs +stand. Will you let me? Please do!' + +Impossible to refuse a hearing to the good little woman, who delighted +in confidential gossip, and for a long time had been anxious to pour +these details into Harvey's ear. So she unfolded everything. Her +capital at Bennet Frothingham's death amounted to more than sixteen +thousand pounds, excellently invested--no 'Britannia' stocks or shares! +Of this, during the past six months, she had given away nearly six +thousand to sufferers by the great catastrophe. Her adviser and +administrator in this affair was an old friend of her husband's, a City +man of honourable repute. He had taken great trouble to discover worthy +recipients of her bounty, and as yet had kept the source of it unknown. + +'I mustn't give very much more,' she said, looking at Harvey with a +pathetic deprecation of criticism. 'I want to keep an income of three +hundred pounds. I could live on less, much less; but I should like +still to have it in my power to do a little good now and then, and I +want to be able to leave something to my sister, or her children. The +truth is, Mr. Rolfe--no, I will call you Harvey, once for all--the +truth is, I couldn't live now without giving a little help here and +there to people poorer than myself. Don't think it foolish.' Her voice +quivered. 'I feel that it will be done in the name of my poor husband +as if he himself were doing it, and making amends for a wrong he never, +never intended. If I had given up everything--as some people say I +ought to have done--it wouldn't have seemed the same to me. I couldn't +earn my own living, and what right had I to become a burden to my +relatives? I hope I haven't done very wrong. Of course, I shall give up +the flat as soon as Alma is married. In taking it I really thought more +of her than of my own comfort. I shall live with my sister, and come up +to town just now and then, when it is necessary.' + +The listener was touched, and could only nod grave approval. + +'There's another thing. Alma thinks with me in everything--but she says +I ought to let it be known who has given that money. She says it would +make many people less bitter against her father's memory. Now, what is +your opinion? If she is right in that----' + +Harvey would offer no counsel, and Mrs. Frothingham did not press him. +She must think about it. The disclosure, if wise, could be made at any +time. + +'That's all I had to say, Harvey. Now tell me about the house, and then +go arid see Alma. I have business in the City.' + +He went, but only to be disappointed; Alma was not at home. To make +amends, she sent him a note that evening, asking him to call at twelve +the next day, and to stay to luncheon. When he entered the room, the +first object his eye fell upon was the old school atlas, lying open on +the table at the map of England and Wales. + +And the day appointed was the twentieth of December. + +The wedding was to be the simplest conceivable. No costume, no +bridesmaid or hulking groomsman, no invitations; no announcement to +anyone until the day had passed, save only to Dora Leach, who would be +summoned as if for some ordinary occasion of friendship, and then be +carried off to the church. + +'It will insure my smiling all through the ordeal,' said Alma to her +step-mother; 'Dora's face will be such a study!' + +'My dear,' began Mrs. Frothingham very earnestly, 'you are _quite_ +sure----' + +'More than sure, if that's possible. And Harvey throws up his hat at +being let off so easily. He dreaded the ceremony.' + +Which was very true, though Rolfe had not divulged it. + +His personal possessions were now to be made ready for removal. The +books represented nearly all that he could carry away from his old +rooms, but they were a solid addendum to the garnishing of home. For a +moment he thought of selling a few score of volumes. Would he ever +really want those monumental tomes--the six folios of Muratori, for +instance, which he liked to possess, but had never used? Thereby hung +the great, the unanswerable question: How was he going to spend his +life as a married man? Was it probable that he would become a serious +student, or even that he would study as much as heretofore? No +foreseeing; the future must shape itself, even as the past had done. +After all, why dismember his library for the sake of saving a few +shillings on carriage? If he did not use the books himself---- + +A thought flashed through him which made his brain, unsteady. If he did +not use the books himself, perhaps---- + +He tried to laugh, but for five minutes was remarkably sober. No, no; +of course he would keep his library intact. + +And now there was a duty to perform: he must write to his friends, make +known his marriage; the letters to be posted only on the day of fate. +Dear old Basil Morton--how he would stare! Morton should soon come down +into Wales, and there would be great quaffing and smoking and talking +into the small hours; a jolly anticipation! And Hugh Carnaby! Hugh +would throw up his great arms, clench his huge red fists, and roar with +mocking laughter. Good old boy! out there on the other side of the +world, perhaps throwing away his money, with the deft help of a +swindler. And the poor lad, Cecil Morphew! who assuredly would never +pay back that fifty pounds--to which he was heartily welcome. Morphew +had kept his promise to quit the garret in Chelsea, but what was since +become of him Harvey knew not; the project of their going together into +Wales had, of course, fallen through. + +Lastly, Mary Abbott--for so had Harvey come to name his friend's widow. +Mary Abbott! how would she receive this news? It would come upon her as +the strangest surprise; not the mere fact of his marrying, but that he +had chosen for a wife, out of the whole world, the daughter of Bennet +Frothingham. Would she be able to think kindly of him after this? Of +Mrs. Frothingham she could speak generously, seeming to have outlived +natural bitterness; but the name must always be unwelcome to her ears. +Alma would cease to bear that name, and perhaps, in days to come, Mary +Abbott might forget it. He could only hope so, and that the two women +might come together. On Alma's side, surely, no reluctance need be +feared; and Mary, after her ordeal, was giving proof of sense and +character which inspired a large trust. He would write to her in the +most open-hearted way; indeed, no other tone was possible, having +regard to the relations that had grown up between them. + +How the aspect of his little world was changing! A year ago, what +things more improbable than that he should win Alma Frothingham for a +wife, and become the cordial friend of Mary Abbott? + +When the revelation could be postponed no longer, he made known to Mrs +Handover that he was about to be married. It cost him an extraordinary +effort, for in a double sense he was shamed before the woman. Mrs +Handover, by virtue of her sex, instinctively triumphed over him. He +saw in her foolish eyes the eternal feminine victory; his head was +bowed before her slatternly womanhood. Then again, he shrank from +announcing to the poor creature that she could no longer draw upon him +for her livelihood. + +'I'm very sorry, Mr. Rolfe,' she began, in her most despondent voice. +'That is, of course, I'm very glad you're going to be married, and I'm +sure I wish you every happiness--I do indeed. But we are sorry to lose +you--indeed we are.' + +Of her sincerity herein there could be no sort of doubt. Harvey +coughed, and looked at the window--which had not been cleaned for some +months. + +'May I ask, without rudeness, whether it is the young lady who came----' + +'Yes, Mrs. Handover.' + +He was uncommonly glad that Alma's name had never been spoken. There, +indeed, would have been matter for gossip. + +'A very handsome young lady, Mr. Rolfe, and I'm sure I wish her all +happiness, as well as yourself.' She fidgeted. 'Of course, I don't know +what your plans may be, sir, but--perhaps there's no harm if I mention +it--if ever you should be in need of a housekeeper--you've known me a +long time, sir----' + +'Yes--yes--certainly.' Harvey perspired. 'Of course, I should bear you +in mind.' + +Thereupon he had to listen whilst Mrs. Handover discoursed at large +upon her dubious prospects. At the close of the Interview, he gave her +a cheque for ten pounds, concealed in an envelope. 'A little +present--of course, I shall be hearing of you--every good wish----' + +On the eve of his marriage day he stood in the dismantled rooms, at +once joyful and heavy at heart. His books were hidden in a score of +packing-cases, labelled, ready to be sent away. In spite of open +windows, the air was still charged with dust; since the packing began, +everyone concerned in it had choked and coughed incessantly; on the +bare floor, footsteps were impressed in a thick flocky deposit. These +rooms could have vied with any in London for supremacy of filthiness. +Yet here he had known hours of still contentment; here he had sat with +friends congenial, and heard the walls echo their hearty laughter; here +he had felt at home--here his youth had died. + +Where all else was doubtful, speculative, contingent, that one thing he +certainly knew; he was no longer a young man. The years had passed like +a shadow, unnoted, uncounted, and had brought him to this point of +pause, of change momentous, when he must needs look before and after. +In all likelihood much more than half his life was gone. His mother did +not see her thirtieth year; his father died at little over forty; his +grandparents were not long-lived; what chance had he of walking the +earth for more than half the term already behind him? Did the life of +every man speed by so mockingly? Yesterday a school-boy; +tomorrow--'Rolfe? you don't say so? Poor old fellow!' + +And he was going to be married. Incredible, laughter-moving, but a +fact. No more the result of deliberate purpose than any other change +that had come about in his life, than the flight of years and the +vanishment of youth. Fate so willed it, and here he stood. + +Someone climbed the stairs, breaking upon his reverie. It was Buncombe, +who smiled through a settled gloom. + +'All done? I shan't be much longer here myself. House too big for me.' + +'Ah! it is rather large.' + +'I'm thinking of changes.--You know something about my +affairs.--Yes--changes----' + +Rolfe had never seen the man so dismal before; he tried to inspirit +him, but with small result. + +'It's the kids that bother me,' said Buncombe. Then he dropped his +voice, and brought his head nearer. + +'You're going to get married.' His eyes glinted darkly. 'I'm--going to +get divorced.' + +And with a grim nod the man moved away. + + + + +Part the Second + + + + +CHAPTER 1 + + +A morning of April, more than two years after his marriage, found +Harvey Rolfe in good health and very tolerable spirits. As his wont +was, he came down at half-past eight, and strolled in the open air +before breakfast. There had been rain through the night; a grey mist +still clung about the topmost larches of Cam Bodvean, and the Eifel +summits were densely wrapped. But the sun and breeze of spring promised +to have their way; to drive and melt the clouds, to toss white wavelets +on a blue sea, to make the gorse shine in its glory, and all the hills +be glad. + +A gardener was at work in front of the house; Harvey talked with him +about certain flowers he wished to grow this year. In the small +stable-yard a lad was burnishing harness; for him also the master had a +friendly word, before passing on to look at the little mare amid her +clean straw. In his rough suit of tweed and shapeless garden hat, with +brown face and cheery eye, Rolfe moved hither and thither as though +native to such a life. His figure had filled out; he was more robust, +and looked, indeed, younger than on the day when he bade farewell to +Mrs. Handover and her abominations. + +At nine o'clock he entered the dining-room, where breakfast was ready, +though as yet no other person had come to table. The sun would not +touch this window for several hours yet, but a crackling fire made the +air pleasant, and brightened all within. Seats were placed for three. +An aroma of coffee invited to the meal, which was characterised by no +suggestion of asceticism. Nor did the equipment of the room differ +greatly from what is usual in middle-class houses. The clock on the +mantelpiece was flanked with bronzes; engravings and autotypes hung +about the walls; door and window had their appropriate curtaining; the +oak sideboard shone with requisite silver. Everything unpretentious; +but no essential of comfort, as commonly understood, seemed to be +lacking. + +In a minute or two appeared Mrs. Frothingham; alert, lightsome, much +improved in health since the first year of her widowhood. She had been +visiting here for a fortnight, and tomorrow would return to her home in +the south. Movement, variety, intimate gossip, supported her under the +affliction which still seemed to be working for her moral good. Her +bounty (or restitution) had long ago ceased to be anonymous, but she +did not unduly pride herself upon the sacrifice of wealth; she was glad +to have it known among her acquaintances, because, in certain quarters, +the fact released her from constraint, and restored her to friendly +intercourse. For her needs and her pleasures a very modest income +proved quite sufficient. To all appearances, she found genuine and +unfailing satisfaction in the exercise of benevolent sympathies. + +'Alma will not come down,' was her remark, as she entered. 'A little +headache--nothing. We are to send her some tea and dry toast.' + +'I thought she didn't seem quite herself last night,' said Harvey, as +he cut into a ham. + +Mrs. Frothingham made no remark, but smiled discreetly, taking a place +at the head of the table. + +'We shall have to go somewhere,' Harvey continued. 'It has been a long +winter. She begins to feel dull, I'm afraid.' + +'A little, perhaps. But she's quite well--it's nothing----' + +'Why won't she go on with her water-colours? She was beginning to do +really good things--then all at once gives it up.' + +'Oh, she must! I think those last sketches simply wonderful. Anyone +would suppose she had worked at it all her life, instead of just a few +months. How very clever she is!' + +'Alma can do anything,' said Harvey, with genial conviction. + +'Almost anything, I really think. Now _don't_ let her lose interest in +it, as she did in her music. You have only to show that you think her +drawings good, and speak about them. She depends rather upon +encouragement.' + +'I know. But it wasn't for lack of _my_ encouragement that she dropped +her violin.' + +'So unfortunate! Oh, she'll come back to it, I'm sure.' + +When Mrs. Frothingham paid her first visit to the newly-married couple, +it amused her to find a state of things differing considerably from her +anxious expectations. True, they had only one servant within doors, the +woman named Ruth, but she did not represent the whole establishment. +Having bought a horse and trap, and not feeling called upon to act as +groom, Harvey had engaged a man, who was serviceable in various +capacities; moreover, a lad made himself useful about the premises +during the day. Ruth was a tolerable cook, and not amiss as a +housemaid. Then, the furnishing of the house, though undeniably +'simple', left little to be desired; only such things were eschewed as +serve no rational purpose and are mostly in people's way. Alma, as +could at once be perceived, ran no risk of overexerting herself in +domestic duties; she moved about of mornings with feather-brush, and +occasionally plied an unskilful needle, but kitchenward she never +turned her steps. Imprudently, Mrs. Frothingham remarked that this +life, after all, much resembled that of other people; whereat Alma +betrayed a serious annoyance, and the well-meaning lady had to +apologise, to admit the absence of 'luxuries', the homeliness of their +diet, the unmistakable atmosphere of plain living and high thinking. + +She remained for nearly a month, greatly enjoying herself. Late in +autumn, Alma begged her to come again, and this time the visit lasted +longer; for in the first week of December the house received a new +inhabitant, whose arrival made much commotion. Alma did not give birth +to her son without grave peril. Day after day Harvey strode about the +wintry shore under a cloud of dread. However it had been with him a +year ago, he was now drawn to Alma by something other than the lures of +passion; the manifold faults he had discerned in her did not seriously +conflict with her peculiar and many-sided charm; and the birth of her +child inspired him with a new tenderness, an emotion different in kind +from any that he had yet conceived. That first wail of feeblest +humanity, faint-sounding through the silent night, made a revolution in +his thoughts, taught him on the moment more than he had learnt from all +his reading and cogitation. + +It seemed to be taken as a matter of course that Alma would not nurse +the baby; only to Harvey did this appear a subject for regret, and he +never ventured to speak of it. The little mortal was not vigorous; his +nourishment gave a great deal of trouble; but with the coming of spring +he took a firmer hold on life, and less persistently bewailed his lot. +The names given to him were Hugh Basil. When apprised of this, the +strong man out in Australia wrote a heart-warming letter, and sent with +it a little lump of Queensland gold, to be made into something, or kept +intact, as the parents saw fit. Basil Morton followed the old +tradition, and gave a silver tankard with name and date of the new +world-citizen engraved upon it. + +Upon her recovery, Harvey took his wife to Madeira, where they spent +three weeks. Alma's health needed nothing more than this voyage; she +returned full of vitality. During her absence Mrs. Frothingham +superintended the household, the baby being in charge of a competent +nurse. It occurred to Harvey that this separation from her child was +borne by Alma with singular philosophy; it did not affect in the least +her enjoyment of travel. But she reached home again in joyous +excitement, and for a few days kept the baby much in view. Mrs +Frothingham having departed, new visitors succeeded each other: Dora +and Gerda Leach, Basil Morton and his wife, one or two of Alma's +relatives. Little Hugh saw less and less of his mother, but he +continued to thrive; and Harvey understood by now that Alma must not be +expected to take much interest in the domestic side of things. It +simply was not her forte. + +She had ceased to play upon her violin, save for the entertainment and +admiration of friends. After her return from Madeira she made the +acquaintance of a lady skilled in water-colour drawing, and herewith +began a new enthusiasm. Her progress was remarkable, and corresponded +to an energy not less than that she had long ago put forth in music. In +the pursuit of landscape she defied weather and fatigue; she would pass +half the night abroad, studying moonlight, or rise at an unheard-of +hour to catch the hues of dawn. When this ardour began to fail, her +husband was vexed rather than surprised. He knew Alma's characteristic +weakness, and did not like to be so strongly reminded of it. For about +this time he was reading and musing much on questions of heredity. + +In a moment of confidence he had ventured to ask Mrs. Frothingham +whether she could tell him anything of Alma's mother. The question, +though often in his mind, could hardly have passed his lips, had not +Mrs. Frothingham led up to it by speaking of her own life before she +married: how she had enjoyed the cares of country housekeeping; how +little she had dreamt of ever being rich; how Bennet Frothingham, who +had known her in his early life, sought her out when he began to be +prosperous, therein showing the fine qualities of his nature, for she +had nothing in the world but gentle birth and a lady's education. Alma +was then a young girl of thirteen, and had been motherless for eight +years. Thus came Harvey's opportunity. Alma herself had already +imparted to him all she knew: that her mother was born in England, +emigrated early with her parents to Australia, returned to London as a +young woman, married, and died at twenty-seven. To this story Mrs. +Frothingham could add little, but the supplement proved interesting. +Bennet Frothingham spoke of his first marriage as a piece of folly; it +resulted in unhappiness, yet, the widow was assured, with no glaring +fault on either side. Alma's mother was handsome, and had some natural +gifts, especially a good voice, which she tried to use in public, but +without success. Her education scarcely went beyond reading and +writing. She died suddenly, after an evening at the theatre, where, as +usual, she had excited herself beyond measure. Mrs. Frothingham had seen +an old report of the inquest that was held, the cause of death being +given as cerebral haemorrhage. In these details Harvey Rolfe found new +matter for reflection. + +Their conversation at breakfast this morning was interrupted by the +arrival of letters; two of them particularly welcome, for they bore a +colonial postmark. Hugh Carnaby wrote to his friend from an +out-of-the-way place in Tasmania; Sibyl wrote independently to Alma +from Hobart. + +'Just as I expected,' said Harvey, when he had glanced over a few +lines. 'He talks of coming home:--"There seems no help for it. Sibyl is +much better in health since we left Queens land, but I see she would +never settle out here. She got to detest the people at Brisbane, and +doesn't like those at Hobart much better. I have left her there whilst +I'm doing a little roaming with a very decent fellow I have come +across, Mackintosh by name. He has been everywhere and done +everything--not long ago was in the service of the Indo-European +Telegraph Company at Tehran, and afterwards lived (this will interest +you) at Badgered, where he got a _date-boil_, which marks his face and +testifies to his veracity. He has been trying to start a timber +business here; says some of the hard woods would be just the thing for +street paving. But now his father's death is taking him back home, and +I shouldn't wonder if we travel together. One of his ideas is a bicycle +factory; he seems to know all about it, and says it'll be the most +money-making business in England for years to come. What do you think? +Does this offer a chance for _me_?"' + +Harvey interrupted himself with a laugh. Smelting of abandoned gold +ores, by the method of the ingenious Dando, had absorbed some of Hugh's +capital, with very little result, and his other schemes for +money-making were numerous. + +'"The fact is, I must get money somehow. Living has been expensive ever +since we left England, and it's madness to go on till one's resources +have practically run out. And Sibyl _must_ get home again; she's +wasting her life among these people. How does she write to your wife? I +rather wish I could spy at the letters. (Of course, I don't seriously +mean that.) She bears it very well, and, if possible, I have a higher +opinion of her than ever."' + +Again Harvey laughed. + +'Good old chap! What a pity he can't be cracking crowns somewhere!' + +'Oh! I'm sure I'd rather see him making bicycles.' + +''Tisn't his vocation. He ought to go somewhere and get up a little war +of his own--as he once told me he should like to. We can't do without +the fighting man.' + +'Will you bring Hughie up to it, then?' + +Harvey fixed his eyes on a point far off. + +'I fear he won't have the bone and muscle. But I should like him to +have the pluck. I'm afraid he mayn't, for I'm a vile coward myself.' + +'I should like a child never to hear or know of war,' said Mrs +Frothingham fervently. + +'And so should I,' Harvey answered, in a graver tone. + +When Mrs. Frothingham went upstairs with the letter for Alma, he broke +open another envelope. It was from Mary Abbott, who wrote to him twice +a year, when she acknowledged the receipt of his cheque. She sent the +usual careful report concerning Wager's children--the girl now seven +years old, and the boy nine. Albert Wager, she thought, was getting too +old for her; he ought to go to a boys' school. Neither he nor his +sister had as yet repaid the care given to them; never were children +more difficult to manage. Harvey read this between the lines; for Mary +Abbott never complained of the task she had undertaken. He rose and +left the room with a face of anxious thoughtfulness. + +The day was wont to pass in a pretty regular routine. From half-past +nine to half-past one Harvey sat alone in his study, not always +energetically studious, but on the whole making progress in his chosen +field of knowledge. He bought books freely, and still used the London +Library. Of late he had been occupying himself with the authorities on +education; working, often impatiently, through many a long-winded +volume. He would have liked to talk on this subject with Mary Abbott, +but had not yet found courage to speak of her paying them a visit. The +situation, difficult because of Alma's parentage, was made more awkward +by his reticence with Alma regarding the payment he made for those +luckless children. The longer he kept silence, the less easily could he +acquaint his wife with this matter--in itself so perfectly harmless. + +This morning he felt indisposed for study, and cared just as little to +go out, notwithstanding the magnificent sky. From his windows he looked +upon the larch-clad slopes of Cam Bodvean; their beauty only reminded +him of grander and lovelier scenes in far-off countries. From time to +time the wanderer thus awoke in him, and threw scorn upon the +pedantries of a book-lined room. He had, moreover, his hours of regret +for vanished conviviality; he wished to step out into a London street, +collect his boon-companions, and hold revel in the bygone way. These, +however, were still but fugitive moods. All in all, he regretted +nothing. Destiny seemed to have marked him for a bookish man; he grew +more methodical, more persistent, in his historical reading; this, +doubtless, was the appointed course for his latter years. It led to +nothing definite. His life would be fruitless---- + +Fruitless? There sounded from somewhere in the house a shrill little +cry, arresting his thought, and controverting it without a syllable. +Nay, fruitless his life could not be, if his child grew up. Only the +chosen few, the infinitesimal minority of mankind, leave spiritual +offspring, or set their single mark upon the earth; the multitude are +but parents of a new generation, live but to perpetuate the race. It is +the will of nature, the common lot. And if indeed it lay within his +power to shape a path for this new life, which he, nature's slave, had +called out of nothingness,--to obviate one error, to avert one +misery,--to ensure that, in however slight degree, his son's existence +should be better and happier than his own,--was not this a sufficing +purpose for the years that remained to him, a recompense adequate to +any effort, any sacrifice? + +As he sat thus in reverie, the door softly opened, and Alma looked in +upon him. + +'Do I interrupt you?' + +'I'm idling. How is your headache?' + +She answered with a careless gesture, and came forward, a letter in her +hand. + +'Sibyl says she will certainly be starting for home in a few weeks. +Perhaps they're on the way by now. You have the same news, I hear.' + +'Yes. They must come to us straight away,' replied Harvey, knocking the +ash out of his pipe 'Or suppose we go to meet them? If they come by the +Orient Line, they call at Naples. How would it be to go overland, and +make the voyage back with them?' + +Alma seemed to like the suggestion, and smiled, but only for a moment. +She had little colour this morning, and looked cold, as she drew up to +the fire, holding a white woollen wrap about her shoulders. A slow and +subtle modification of her features was tending to a mature beauty +which would make bolder claim than the charm that had characterised her +in maidenhood. It was still remote from beauty of a sensual type, but +the outlines, in becoming a little more rounded, more regular, gained +in common estimate what they lost to a more refined apprehension. Her +eyes appeared more deliberately conscious of their depth and gleam; her +lips, less responsive to the flying thought, grew to an habitual +expression--not of discontent, but something akin unto it; not of +self-will, but something that spoke a spirit neither tranquil nor +pliant. + +'Had you anything else?' she asked, absently. + +'A letter from Mrs. Abbott.' + +Alma smiled, with a shade of pleasantry not usual upon her countenance. +Harvey generally read her extracts from these letters. Their allusion +to money imposed the reserve; otherwise they would have passed into +Alma's hands. From his masculine point of view, Harvey thought the +matter indifferent; nothing in his wife's behaviour hitherto had led +him to suppose that she attached importance to it. + +'The usual report of progress?' + +'Yes. I fancy those two children are giving her a good deal of trouble. +She'll have to send the boy to a boarding school.' + +'But can she afford it?' + +'I don't know.' + +'I've never understood yet why you take so much interest in those +children.' + +Her eyes rested upon him with a peculiarly keen scrutiny, and Harvey, +resenting the embarrassment due to his own tactics, showed a slight +impatience. + +'Why, partly because I wish to help Mrs. Abbott with advice, if I can: +partly because I'm interested in the whole question of education.' + +'Yes, it's interesting, of course. She has holidays, I suppose?' + +'It's holiday time with her now.' + +'Then why don't you ask her to come and see us?' + +'I would at once,' Harvey replied, with hesitation, 'if I felt sure +that----' He broke off, and altered the turn of his sentence. 'I don't +know whether she can leave those children.' + +'You were going to make a different objection. Of course there's a +little awkwardness. But you said long ago that all that sort of thing +would wear away, and surely it ought to have done by now. If Mrs. +Abbott is as sensible as you think, I don't see how she can have any +unpleasant feeling towards me.' + +'I can't suppose that she has.' + +'Then now is the opportunity. Send an invitation.--Why shouldn't I +write it myself?' + +Alma had quite shaken off the appearance of lassitude; she drew herself +up, looked towards the writing-table, and showed characteristic +eagerness to carry out a project. Though doubtful of the result, Harvey +assented without any sign of reluctance, and forthwith she moved to the +desk. In a few minutes she had penned a letter, which was held out for +her husband's perusal. + +'Admirable!' he exclaimed. 'Couldn't be better. _Nihil quod tetigit non +ornavit_.' + +'And pray what does that mean?' asked Alma, her countenance a trifle +perturbed by the emotions which blended with her delight in praise. + +'That my wife is the most graceful of women, and imparts to all she +touches something of her own charm.' + +'All that?' + +'Latin, you must know, is the language of compression.' + +They parted with a laugh. As she left the study, Alma saw her little +son just going out; the nurse had placed him in his mail-cart, where he +sat smiling and cooing. Mrs. Frothingham, who delighted in the child, +had made ready for a walk in the same direction, and from the doorway +called to Alma to accompany them. + +'I may come after you, perhaps,' was the reply. 'Ta-ta, Hughie!' + +With a wave of her hand, Alma passed into the sitting-room, where she +stood at the window, watching till Mrs. Frothingham's sunshade had +disappeared. Then she moved about, like one in search of occupation; +taking up a book only to throw it down again, gazing vacantly at a +picture, or giving a touch to a bowl of flowers. Here, as in the +dining-room, only the absence of conventional superfluities called for +remark; each article of furniture was in simple taste; the result, an +impression of plain elegance. On a little corner table lay Alma's +colour-box, together with a drawing-board, a sketching-block, and the +portfolio which contained chosen examples of her work. Not far away, +locked in its case, lay her violin, the instrument she had been wont to +touch caressingly; today her eyes shunned it. + +She went out again into the little hall. The front door stood open; +sunshine flooded the garden; but Alma was not tempted to go forth. All +the walks and drives of the neighbourhood had become drearily familiar; +the meanest of London streets shone by contrast as a paradise in her +imagination. With a deep sigh of ennui, she turned and slowly ascended +the stairs. + +Above were six rooms; three of them the principal chambers (her own, +Harvey's, and the guest-room), then the day-nursery, the night nursery, +and the servant's bedroom. On her first coming, she had thought the +house needlessly spacious; now it often seemed to her oppressively +small, there being but one spare room for visitors. She entered her own +room. It could not be called disorderly, yet it lacked that scrupulous +perfection of arrangement, that dainty finish, which makes an +atmosphere for the privacy of a certain type of woman. Ruth had done +her part, preserving purity unimpeachable; the deficiency was due to +Alma alone. To be sure, she had neither dressing-room nor lady's-maid; +and something in Alma's constitution made it difficult for her to +dispense with such aids to the complete life. + +She stood before the mirror, and looked at herself, blankly, gloomily. +Her eyes fell a little, and took a new expression, that of anxious +scrutiny. Gazing still, she raised her arms, much as though she were +standing to be measured by a dressmaker; then she turned, so as to +obtain a view of her figure sideways. Her arms fell again, +apathetically, and she moved away. + +Somehow, the long morning passed. In the afternoon she drove with +Harvey and Mrs. Frothingham, conversing much as usual, giving no verbal +hint of her overwhelming ennui. No reference was made to Mrs. Abbott. +Harvey had himself written her a letter, supporting Alma's invitation +with all possible cordiality; but he gravely feared that she would not +come. + +At tea, according to custom, little Hugh was brought into the room, to +be fondled by his mother, who liked to see him when he was prettily +dressed, and to sit upon his father's knee. Hugh, aged sixteen months, +began to have a vocabulary of his own, and to claim a share in +conversation; he had a large head, well formed, and slight but shapely +limbs; the sweet air of sea and mountain gave a healthful, though very +delicate, colouring to his cheeks; his eyes were Alma's, dark and +gleaming, but with promise of a keener intelligence. Harvey liked to +gaze long at the little face, puzzled by its frequent gravity, +delighted by its flashes of mirth. Syllables of baby-talk set him +musing and philosophising. How fresh and young, yet how wondrously old! +Babble such as this fell from a child's lips thousands of years ago, in +the morning of the world; it sounded on through the ages, infinitely +reproduced; eternally a new beginning; the same music of earliest human +speech, the same ripple of innocent laughter, renewed from generation +to generation. But he, listening, had not the merry, fearless pride of +fathers in an earlier day. Upon him lay the burden of all time; he must +needs ponder anxiously on his child's heritage, use his weary knowledge +to cast the horoscope of this dawning life. + +'Why are you looking at him in that way?' exclaimed Alma. 'You'll +frighten him.' + +'How did I look?' + +'As if you saw something dreadful.' + +Harvey laughed, and ran his fingers through the soft curls, and bade +himself be of good heart. Had he not thrown scorn upon people who make +a 'fuss' about their children. Had he not despised and detested chatter +about babies? To his old self what a simpleton would he have seemed! + +On the morrow Mrs. Frothingham took her departure; leaving it, as +usual, uncertain when she would come again, but pleasantly assured that +it could not be very long. She thought Harvey the best of husbands; he +and Alma, the happiest of married folk. In secret, no doubt, she sadly +envied them. If her own lot had fallen in such tranquil places! + +Two more days, and Alma received a reply to her invitation. Yes, Mrs +Abbott would come, and be with them for a week; longer she could not. +Her letter was amiable and well-worded as Alma's own. Harvey felt a +great relief, and it pleased him not a little to see his wife's +unfeigned satisfaction. This was Monday; the visitor promised to arrive +on Tuesday evening. + +'Of course you'll drive over with me to meet her,' said Harvey. + +'I think not. I dislike making acquaintance at railway stations. If it +should rain, you'll have to have a covered carriage, and imagine us +three shut up together!' + +Alma laughed gaily at the idea. Harvey, though at a loss to interpret +her merriment, answered it with a smile, and said no more. Happily, the +weather was settled; the sun shone gallantly each morning; and on +Tuesday afternoon Harvey drove the seven miles, up hill and down, +between hedges of gorse and woods of larch, to the little market-town +where Mary Abbott would alight after her long journey. + + + + +CHAPTER 2 + + +Half an hour after sunset Alma heard the approach of wheels. She had +long been ready to receive her visitor, and when the horse stopped, she +stood by the open door of the sitting-room, commanding her nervousness, +resolute to make an impression of grace and dignity. It would have +eased her mind had she been able to form some idea of Mrs. Abbott's +personal appearance; Harvey had never dropped a hint on the subject, +and she could not bring herself to question him. The bell rang; Ruth +hastened to answer it; Harvey's voice sounded. + +'It turns chilly after the warm sunshine. I'm afraid we ought to have +had a covered carriage.' + +'Then I should have seen nothing,' was replied in softer tones. 'The +drive was most enjoyable.' + +There came into the lamplight a rather tall figure in plain, +serviceable travelling-costume. Alma discerned a face which gave her a +shock of surprise, so unlike was it to anything she had imagined; the +features regular and of intelligent expression, but so thin, pallid, +worn, that they seemed to belong to a woman of nearly forty, weighted +by years of extreme suffering. The demeanour which Alma had studiously +prepared underwent an immediate change; she stepped forward with an air +of frank kindliness, of cordial hospitality. + +'Wasn't your train late? How tired you must be--and how cold! In these +fine spring days we have been living as if it were midsummer, but I'm +sure you oughtn't to have had that long drive in the open trap so late. +Harvey thinks everybody as robust as himself----' + +But the guest was in very good spirits, though manifestly fatigued. She +spoke with pleasure of the beautiful wild country, glowing in sunset. A +little tired, yes; she had not travelled so far for a long time; but +the air had braced her wonderfully, and after a night's rest---- + +At dinner Alma behaved with the same friendliness, closely observing +her guest, and listening to all she said, as if anxious not to miss a +word. Mrs. Abbott conversed in a very low voice; her manner was marked +by a subdual which might partly be attributable to weariness, but +seemed in a measure the result of timidity under novel circumstances. +If she looked at either of her companions, her eyes were instantly +withdrawn. A smile never lingered on her features; it came and passed, +leaving the set expression of preoccupied gravity. She wore a dress of +black silk, close at the neck; and Alma perceived that it was by no +means new. + +An hour after the meal she begged permission to retire to her room. The +effort to talk had become impossible; she was at the end of her +strength, and could hold up no longer. + +When Alma came down again, she stood for a minute before the fire, +smiling and silent. Harvey had picked up a newspaper; he said nothing. + +'How very nice she is!' fell at length from Mrs. Rolfe's lips. + +'Astonishingly altered,' was her husband's murmured reply. + +'Indeed? In what way?' + +'Looks so wretchedly ill, for one thing.' + +'We must take her about. What do you think of doing tomorrow?' + +By feminine device of indirect question, Alma obtained some +understanding of the change that had come upon Mrs. Abbott during the +past three years. Harvey's disclosures did not violate the reticence +imposed upon him by that hour in which he had beheld a woman's +remorseful anguish; he spoke only of such things as were manifest to +everyone who had known Mary Abbott before her husband's death; of her +social pleasures, her intellectual ambitions, suddenly overwhelmed by a +great sorrow. + +'I suppose she ought to be doing much better things than teaching +children,' said Alma. + +'Better things?' repeated Harvey, musing. 'I don't know. It all depends +how you regard it.' + +'Is she very clever?' + +'Not appallingly,' he answered, with a laugh. 'It's very possible she +is doing just what she ought to be--neither more nor less. Her health +seems to be the weak point.' + +'Do you think she has enough to live upon?' + +Harvey knitted his brows and looked uneasy. + +'I hope so. Of course it must be a very small income; but I dare say +those friends of hers at Gunnersbury make life a little easier.' + +'I feel quite sorry for her,' said Alma, with cheerfulness. 'I hadn't +realised her position. We must make her stay as long as she can. Yes, +if it's fine again, we might drive to Tre'r Caeri. That would interest +her, no doubt. She likes history, doesn't she?--the same things that +you are fond of.' + +At breakfast Mrs. Abbott appeared with a much brighter countenance; +refreshed in body and mind, she entered gladly into the plans that had +been made for the day, talked with less restraint, and showed an +interest in all her surroundings. But her demeanour still had the air +of self-subdual which seemed at moments to become a diffidence +bordering on humility. This was emphasised by its contrast with the +bearing of her hostess. Alma had never shown herself to more brilliant +advantage; kind interpretation might have thought that she had set +herself to inspirit the guest in every possible way. Her face was +radiant with good humour and vivacity; she looked the incarnation of +joyous, healthy life. The flow of her spirited talk seemed to aim at +exhibiting the joys and privileges of existence in places such as this. +She represented herself as glorying in the mountain heights, and in +solitary tracts of shore. Here were no social burdens, or restrictions, +or extravagances; one lived naturally, simply, without regrets for +wasted time, and without fear of the morrow. To all this Mary Abbott +paid the tribute of her admiration, perhaps of her envy; and Alma grew +the more animated, the more she felt that she had impressed her hearer. + +Harvey wondered at this sudden revival of his wife's drooping energies. +But he did not consider the phenomenon too curiously; enough that Alma +was brilliant and delightful, that she played her part of hostess to +perfection, and communicated to their guest something of her own +vitality. + +They had an exhilarating drive through the mountains to Tre'r Caeri, a +British fastness on a stern bare height; crumbled dwellings amid their +great protecting walls, with cairn and cromlech and mystic circles; +where in old time the noise of battle clanged amid these grey hills, +now sleeping in sunlight. And from Tre'r Caeri down into the rocky +gloom of the seaward chasm, Nant Gwrtheyrn, with its mound upon the +desolate shore, called by legend the burial-place of Vortigern. Here +Mrs. Abbott spoke of the prehistoric monuments she had seen in +Brittany, causing Alma to glance at her with a sudden surprise. The +impulse was very significant. Thinking of her guest only as a +poverty-stricken teacher of children, Alma forgot for the moment that +this subdued woman had known happier days, when she too boasted of +liberty, and stored her mind in travel. After all, as soon appeared, +the travels had been of very modest extent; and Alma, with her +knowledge of many European countries, and her recent ocean voyage, +regained the confident superiority which kept her in such admirable +humour. + +Mary Abbott, reluctant to converse on things that regarded herself, +afforded Alma every opportunity of shining. She knew of Mrs. Rolfe's +skill as a musician, and this same evening uttered a hope that she +might hear her play. The violin came forth from its retirement. +Playing, it seemed at first, without much earnestness, as though it +were but a pastime, Alma presently chose one of her pageant pieces, and +showed of what she was capable. Lack of practice had told upon her +hand, but the hearers were uncritical, as she well knew. + +'That's magnificent,' said Harvey, with a mischievous smile. 'But do +condescend now to the primitive ear. Let us have something of less +severity.' + +Alma glanced at Mrs. Abbott, who had softly murmured her thanks; then +turned an eye upon her husband, saying wickedly, 'Home, Sweet Home?' + +'I've no doubt you could play it wonderfully--as you would "Three Blind +Mice".' + +Alma looked good-natured disdain, and chose next a Tarantelle of +Schubert. The exertion of playing brought warm colour into her face; it +heightened her beauty, and she was conscious of it; so that when she +chanced to find Mrs. Abbott's look fixed upon her, a boundless +gratification flashed from her own dark eyes, and spoke in the quiver +of her lips. + +Next evening, when again requested to play, she sat down to the piano. +On this instrument Alma had not the same confidence as with the violin; +but she could not refrain from exhibiting such skill as she possessed, +Mrs. Abbott having declared that her own piano-playing was elementary. +Meantime, the portfolio of water-colours had of course been produced +for exhibition. In this art, though she did not admit it, Mrs. Abbott +had formerly made some progress; she was able to form a judgment of +Alma's powers, and heard with genuine surprise in how short a time this +point had been attained. Alma again glowed with satisfaction. + +She found a new source of pride in her motherhood. Not having been +told, or having forgotten, that Mrs. Abbott had lost a child, she +playfully offered assurance that the guest should not be worried with +nursery talk. + +'Children are anything but a delight to you, I'm afraid; you must have +too much of them.' + +'They often give me trouble,' Mrs. Abbott replied. 'But I wish I had +one more to trouble me. My little girl would have been six years old by +now. + +Alma gave one of those looks which occasionally atoned for many less +amiable glances. + +'I'm so sorry--I didn't know----' + +Mrs. Abbott did not dwell on the subject. Her reserve was still +unbroken, though there never appeared the least coldness in her manner; +she talked with perfect freedom of everything that contained no +allusion to herself. The change was manifestly doing her good; even by +the second day she showed an increase of vigour, and no longer wore the +preoccupied, overstrained look. Becoming familiar with her face, Alma +thought it more attractive than at first, and decidedly younger. She +still had a great deal of curiosity to satisfy with regard to Mrs +Abbott; especially it seemed strange to her that Harvey and his friend +were so little inclined for conversation; they talked only of formal, +uninteresting things, and she wondered whether, after all, they really +had much in common. + +'Take Mrs. Abbott for a walk tomorrow morning,' she said in private; +'you must have so many things to talk about--by yourselves.' + +'I don't know that we have,' Harvey returned, looking at her with some +surprise. 'I want to hear a little more about those youngsters, that's +all.' + +Mrs. Abbott wished to climb Cam Bodvean the great hill, clad in tender +green of larch-woods, which overlooked the town. For the toil of this +ascent Alma had no mind; pleasantly excusing herself, she proposed at +breakfast that Harvey and Mrs. Abbott should go alone; they might +descend on the far side of the mountain, and there, at a certain point +known to her husband, she would meet them with the dogcart. Harvey +understood this to mean that the man would drive her; for Alma had not +yet added the art of driving to her various accomplishments; she was, +indeed, timid with the reins. He readily assented to the plan, which, +for some reason, appeared to amuse and exhilarate her. + +'Don't be in a hurry,' she said. 'There'll be a good view on a day like +this, and you can have a long rest at the top. If you meet me at +half-past one, we shall be back for lunch at two.' + +When they started, Alma came out to the garden gate, and dismissed them +with smiling benignity; one might have expected her to say 'Be good!' +as when children are trusted to take a walk without superintendence. On +re-entering, she ran quickly to an upper room, where from the window +she could observe them for a few minutes, as they went along in +conversation. Presently she bade her servant give directions for the +dogcart to be brought round at one o'clock. + +'Williams to drive, ma'am?' said Ruth, who had heard something of the +talk at breakfast. + +'No,' Alma replied with decision. 'I shall drive myself.' + +The pedestrians took their way along a winding road, between boulder +walls thick-set with the new leaves of pennywort; then crossed the one +long street of the town (better named a village), passing the fountain, +overbuilt with lichened stone, where women and children filled their +cans with sweet water, sparkling in the golden light. Rolfe now and +then received a respectful greeting. He had wished to speak Welsh, but +soon abandoned the endeavour. He liked to hear it, especially on the +lips of children at their play. An old, old language, symbol of the +vitality of a race; sounding on those young lips as in the time when +his own English, composite, hybrid, had not yet begun to shape itself. + +Beyond the street and a row of cottages, they began to climb; at first +a gentle ascent, on either hand high hedges of flowering blackthorn, +banks strewn with primroses and violets, and starred with the white +stitchwort; great leaves of foxglove giving promise for future days. +The air was bland, yet exquisitely fresh; scented from innumerable +sources in field and heath and wood. When the lane gave upon open +ground, they made a pause to look back. Beneath them lay the little +grey town, and beyond it the grassy cliffs, curving about a blue bay. +Near by rose the craggy slopes of a bare hill, and beyond it, a few +miles to the north, two lofty peaks, wreathed against the cloudless +heaven with rosy mist. + +'Sure it won't be too much for you?' said Harvey looking upwards to the +wooded height. + +'I feel equal to anything,' answered his companion brightly. 'This air +has given me new life.' + +There was a faint colour on her cheeks, and for the first time Harvey +caught an expression which reminded him of the face he had known years +ago, when Mrs. Abbott looked upon life much as Alma did now. + +They entered upon a rising heath, green with mosses where the moisture +of a hidden stream drew downwards, brown with dead bracken on dry +slopes. Just above was a great thicket of flowering gorse; a blaze of +colour, pure, aerial, as that of the sky which illumined it. Through +this they made their way, then dropped into a green nook of pasture, +among sheep that raised their heads distrustfully, and loud-bleating +lambs, each running to its mother. + +'If you can scale this wall, it will save us a quarter of an hour.' + +'If you can, I can,' was the laughing reply. + +Protruding boulders made it an easy clamber. They were then at the base +of Cam Bodvean, and before them rose steep mountain glades. Mrs. Abbott +gazed upwards with unspoken delight. + +'There are no paths,' said Harvey. 'It's honest woodland. Some day it +will be laid out with roads and iron benches, with finger-posts, "To +the summit".' + +'You think so?' + +'Why, of course. It's the destiny of every beautiful spot in Britain. +There'll be a pier down yonder, and a switchback railway, and leagues +of lodging-houses, and brass bands.' + +'Let us hope we shall be dead.' + +'Yes--but those who come after us? What sort of a world will it be for +Hugh? I often think I should be wrong if I taught him to see life as I +do. Isn't it only preparing misery for him? I ought to make him delight +in piers, and nigger minstrels, and switchbacks. A man should belong to +his time.' + +'But a man helps to make his time,' replied Mary Abbott. + +'True. You are hopeful, are you?' + +'I try very hard to be. What use am I, if I don't put a few thoughts +into children's heads which will help to make their lives a little +better?' + +Harvey nodded. + +Their feet sank in the mossy ruin of immemorial summers. Overhead, the +larch-boughs dangled green tresses, or a grove of beech shook sunlight +through branches decked with translucent gold. Now and then they came +out into open spaces, where trees rent from the soil, dead amid +spring's leafage, told of a great winter storm; new grass grew thickly +about the shattered trunks, and in the hollows whence the roots had +been torn. One moment they stood in shadow; the next, moved upward into +a great splash of sunshine, thrown upon moss that still glistened with +the dews of the night, and on splints of crag painted green and gold +with lichen. Sun or shadow; the sweet fir-scents breathed upon their +faces, mingled with many a waft of perfume from little woodland plants. + +More than once Mrs. Abbott had to pause. Midway she was tempted by a +singular resting-place. It was a larch tree, perhaps thirty feet high; +at the beginning of its growth, the stem had by some natural means been +so diverted as to grow horizontally for a yard or more at a couple of +feet above the ground; it had then made a curve downwards, and finally, +by way of a perfect loop across itself, had shot again in the true +direction, growing at last, with straight and noble trunk, like its +undistorted neighbours. Much wondering at so strange a deformity, Mrs +Abbott seated herself on the level portion, and Harvey, as he stood +before her, told a fancy that had come to him when for the first time +he chanced to climb this way. Might not the tree represent some human +life? A weak, dubious, all but hopeless beginning; a check; a return +upon itself; a laboured circling; last a healthful maturity, upright, +triumphing. He spoke with his eyes on the ground. Raising them at the +end, he was astonished to see that his companion had flushed deeply; +and only then it occurred to him that this parable might be applied by +the hearer to herself. + +'To make a confession,' he added at once, 'it forcibly reminded me of +my own life--except that I can't pretend to be "triumphing".' + +His laugh did not cover the embarrassment with which he discovered +that, if anything, he had made matters worse. Here was an instance of +his incorrigible want of tact; much better to have offered no +application of the fable at all, and to have turned the talk. He had +told a simple truth, but with the result of appearing to glorify +himself, and possibly at his friend's expense. Vexed beyond measure, he +crushed his heel into the soft ground. + +'That is a very striking thought,' said Mary Abbott, her look still +downcast. 'I shall never forget it.' + +And she rose to move onward. They climbed in silence, the flank of the +mountain growing steeper. + +'I should have brought you my old alpenstock,' jested Harvey. 'Go +slowly; we have plenty of time.' + +'I like to exert myself. I feel so well, and it does me good!' + +He ventured to look at her again. All her confusion had passed away; +she had the light of enjoyment in her eyes, and returned his look with +a frankness hitherto lacking. + +'You must stay a second week. Alma won't let you go.' + +'Go, I must. The two children can't be left longer at Mrs. +Langland's--it would be presuming upon her kindness.' + +'I want to talk about them, but one hasn't much breath here. When we +get to the top----' + +Last of all came a slippery scramble on broken stones, to where a +shapeless cairn rose above tree-tops, bare to the dazzling sky. As they +issued from the shelter of the wood, a breeze buffeted about them, but +only for a moment; then the air grew still, and nothing was audible but +a soft whispering among the boughs below. The larches circling this +stony height could not grow to their full stature; beaten, riven, +stunted, by fierce blasts from mountain or from wave, their trunks were +laden, and their branches thickly matted, with lichen so long and hoary +that it gave them an aspect of age incalculable. Harvey always looked +upon them with reverence, if not with awe. + +In the sunny stillness their eyes wandered far and wide, around a vast +horizon. On two sides lay the sea; to the west, bounded only where it +met the blue sky above (though yonder line of cloud might perchance be +the hills of Wicklow); eastward, enfolded by the shores of a great bay, +with mountains on the far side, faintly visible through silvery vapour. +Northward rose a noble peak, dark, stern, beautiful in the swift fall +of curving rampart to the waves that broke at its foot; loftier by the +proximity of two summits, sharp-soaring like itself, but unable to vie +with it. Alone among the nearer mountains, this crest was veiled; +smitten by sea-gusts, it caught and held them, and churned them into +sunny cloudlets, which floated away in long fleecy rank, far athwart +the clear depths of sky. Farther inland, where the haze of the warm +morning hung and wavered, loomed at moments some grander form, to be +imagined rather than descried; a glimpse of heights which, as the day +wore on, would slowly reveal themselves and bask in the broad glow +under crowning Snowdon. + +'We have time! We can stay here!' said Mrs. Abbott, moved with a +profound delight. + +'We have an hour at least. The sun is too hot; you must sit on the +shadowed side of the cairn.' + +The great silence had nothing of that awesomeness which broods in the +mountain calm of wilder solitudes. Upon their ear fell the long low +hushing of the wood, broken suddenly from time to time by a fitful +wind, which flapped with hollow note around the great heap of stones, +whirled as if in sport, and was gone. Below, in leafy hollows, sounded +the cry of a jay, the laugh of a woodpecker; from far heath and meadow +trembled the bleat of lambs. Nowhere could be discovered a human form; +but man's dwellings, and the results of his labour, painted the wide +landscape in every direction. On mountain sides, and across the +undulating lowland, wall or hedge mapped his conquests of nature, +little plots won by the toil of successive generations for pasture or +for tillage, won from the reluctant wilderness, which loves its fern +and gorse, its mosses and heather. Near and far were scattered the +little white cottages, each a gleaming speck, lonely, humble; set by +the side of some long-winding, unfrequented road, or high on the green +upland, trackless save for the feet of those who dwelt there. + +From talk of the scenery they passed, by no agreeable transition, to +the subject which as yet they had not found an opportunity of +discussing. It was necessary to arrive at some new arrangement +regarding Wager's children; for the boy, Albert, would soon be nine +years old, and, as Mrs. Abbott confessed, he had given her a great deal +of trouble. Both the children were intractable, hated lessons, and +played alarming pranks; Master Albert's latest feat might have cost him +his life, for he struck furiously through a pane of glass at a child +mocking him from the other side, and was all but fainting from loss of +blood when Mrs. Abbott came to his help. Plainly this youngster must be +sent to a boarding-school. Minnie, his sister, would be more easily +managed after he had gone. + +'He'll grow up a fighter,' said Harvey. 'We can't do without fighters. +I'll make inquiry at once about a school for him, and in a year or two +we'll take counsel with his teachers. Perhaps he might go into the +navy.' + +'The cost of it all,' fell from his companion in a nervous undertone. + +'We had that out long ago. Don't think about it.' + +'Of course, you will send only half the money when Albert leaves me,' +said Mrs. Abbott earnestly. 'I shall be in no difficulty. I have had +letters from several people, asking me to take their little children to +live with me. Albert's place will be filled at once. I can't take more +into the house; there's no room. With them, and my kindergarten, and +the lessons I give in the evening, I can live very well.' + +Harvey mused. Wishing to feel himself in complete sympathy with his +friend, he knew that something of the old criticism still tempered his +liking. Mary Abbott had fine qualities, but lacked the simplicity, the +directness, which would have made her courage wholly admirable. He +suspected that she continually mourned over what seemed to her a waste +of life. Proud of her 'culture', remembering her distinction as a +teacher of grown-up girls, she had undertaken as a penitence the care +of little children, and persevered in it with obstinacy rather than +with inspired purpose. Mary Abbott, doubtless, had always regarded life +as a conflict; she had always fought for her own hand. When such a +nature falls into genuine remorse, asceticism will inevitably follow; +with it comes the danger of more or less conscious embitterment. Harvey +had a conviction of his friend's sincerity, and believed her in every +way a better woman than in the days before her great sorrow; but he +could not yet assure himself that she had found her true vocation. + +They spoke of the people who were so anxious to be relieved of their +children. + +'One lady wrote to me that she would pay almost anything if I would +take her little boy and keep him all the year round; she has only a +small house, and the child utterly upsets her life. Of course, I +understand her; I should have sympathised with her once.' + +'It's intelligible enough,' replied Harvey, with a laugh. 'Presently +there will be huge establishments for the young children of +middle-class people. Naturally, children are a nuisance; especially so +if you live in a whirlpool.' + +'Yes, I know it too well, the whirlpool way of life,' said Mrs. Abbott, +her eyes on the far mountains. 'I know how easily one is drawn into it. +It isn't only idle people.' + +'Of course not. There's the whirlpool of the furiously busy. Round and +round they go; brains humming till they melt or explode. Of course, +they can't bother with children.' + +'One loses all sense of responsibility.' + +'Rather, they have never had it, and it has no chance of developing. +You know, it isn't a matter of course for people to see that they are +under an enormous obligation to the children they bring into the world; +except in a parent here and there, that comes only with very favourable +circumstances. When there's no leisure, no meditation, no peace and +quietness,--when, instead of conversing, people just nod or shout to +each other as they spin round and round the gulf,--men and women +practically return to the state of savages in all that concerns their +offspring. The brats have come into existence, and must make the best +of it. Servants, governesses, schoolmasters--anybody but the +parents--may give thought to children. Well, it's a matter for the +individual. I shouldn't feel comfortable myself.' + +'It's a matter for the world, too,' said Mary. + +Harvey nodded. As he sat at the foot of the piled stones, his hand +touched a sprig of last year's heather; the stem was hung with dry, +rustling, colourless bells, which had clung there all through the cold, +stormy months, telling of beauty that was past, and of beauty that was +to come. He broke it off, and showed it to his companion. Until the +time for moving, they talked of simpler things, and Mary Abbott +recovered her spirits. + + + + +CHAPTER 3 + + +Turning regretfully from the place of rest, with its lulling sounds and +noble prospects, they began to descend the other side of the mountain, +which was more rugged than that by which they had come up. Harvey timed +the walk so well, that they reached the point of the road where Alma +would meet them, at a few minutes before the time agreed upon. No one +was in sight. The road in its inland direction could be scanned for a +quarter of a mile; the other way it curved rapidly, and was soon hidden +by gorse-bushes. + +'I hear nothing,' said Rolfe, when they had stood silent for a little. +'A mistake is impossible; the man has driven to meet us here before. +Shall we walk on?' + +They proceeded slowly, stopping from time to time. Harvey was puzzled +by this unpunctuality; it would soon be a quarter to two. He began to +feel hungry, and his companion looked tired. Of a sudden they heard the +sound of a vehicle approaching behind them. + +'It can't be Alma. She wouldn't have gone farther than----' + +But the horse appeared round the curve of the road, and behind it was a +dogcart, and in the dogcart sat Alma, alone. At sight of them she +pulled up abruptly, so abruptly that the horse reared a little. Harvey +walked forward. + +'You've been driving yourself?' + +'Of course. Why not?' replied Alma in a strangely high key. + +'How have we missed you?' + +As he put this question he became aware of something very unusual in +his wife's appearance. Alma was pallid and shaking; her small felt hat +had got out of position, and her hair was disordered, giving her a +wild, rakish aspect. He saw, too, that the horse dripped with sweat; +that it glared, panted, trembled, and could not for a moment stand +still. + +'What on earth have you been doing? She's run away with you!' + +'No, no!' cried Alma, laughing, as she looked at Mrs. Abbott, who had +just come up. 'She was rather fresh, and I gave her a good run, that's +all. I'm sorry I missed you at the place----' + +'Why didn't Williams drive?' asked Harvey in a voice turning to anger. + +'Williams? Why should Williams drive?' Alma returned, her eyes +flashing. 'I'm only a few minutes late; I don't see anything to make a +fuss about!' + +This temper was as strange in Alma as the personal appearance she +presented. Harvey said no more, but, after quickly examining the horse, +helped Mrs. Abbott to a seat at the back of the vehicle; he then jumped +up to his wife's side, and without a word took the reins from her hand. +Alma made no remark as she surrendered them. + +'Put your hat straight,' he said to her in a low voice. + +'My hat? What's the matter with it The wind, I suppose. Did you enjoy +it, Mrs. Abbott?' + +She turned, in speaking, so as to have her back towards Harvey, and +kept this position all the way, talking with her guest as if nothing +had happened. Rolfe, his face grimly set, uttered only a word or two. +He had to drive very slowly and with all caution, for the animal shied +every other minute, and he felt heartily glad when they all alighted. +Williams, who ran out from the stable, stood in astonishment at sight +of the horse's condition. + +'Rather fresh this morning,' said Harvey, as the ladies went in. 'Mrs +Rolfe had a little trouble with her.' + +This mild explanation by no means satisfied the coachman, though he +pretended to acquiesce. Seeing him give a look at the horse's knees, +Harvey did the same; nothing was wrong there. Williams pointed to marks +on one of the wheels; the cart had evidently grazed against a wall. +Alma must have lost control of the horse, and have been carried a +considerable distance before, somehow, it was stopped. Without doubt, +she had had a very narrow escape. Her anger seemed to be the result of +nerves upset and mortified vanity; she wished to show Mrs. Abbott that +she could drive--the explanation of the whole matter. Harvey was vexed +at such a piece of childishness; irritated, too, by the outbreak of +temper with which Alma had replied to his very natural alarm. Of +course, he would say nothing more; it would be interesting to await the +outcome of his wife's mature reflection on her folly. + +As he stepped into the house, something like a cry for help sounded +from above stairs. He shouted, 'What's that?' and in the same moment +Mary Abbott called to him that Mrs. Rolfe had fainted. On rushing up, +he found Mary with difficulty supporting Alma's unconscious form. + +'I saw she could hardly get upstairs,' said Mrs. Abbott. 'Just here on +the landing she gave a moan and fell back. I was luckily close by her.' + +They carried her into her room, and gave what help they could whilst +the doctor was being summoned. In a few minutes Alma regained +consciousness, and declared herself quite well again; but when she +tried to rise, strength failed her; she began to moan in physical +distress. Harvey went downstairs, whilst Mrs. Abbott and Ruth tended +the sufferer. + +Their ordinary medical man was far away among the hills; his assistant +had to be searched for, and came only after the lapse of two hours, by +which time Rolfe had worked himself into a fever. Whilst Mrs. Abbott, +faint with agitation and weariness, took a hurried meal, he went to the +bedside, and tried to learn whether Alma was suffering merely from +shock, or had sustained an actual injury; but she still nursed her +grievance against him, and would say very little. Why did not the +doctor come? She wished to see the doctor; no one else was of any use. + +'Go down and have lunch with Mrs. Abbott properly. Do go, please; I +hate all this fuss, and it's quite unnecessary. Let me be alone till +the doctor comes.' + +Before the arrival of Dr Evans's assistant she again fainted, and upon +that followed an attack of hysteria. When at length the medical man had +seen her, Harvey received an adequate, but far from reassuring, +explanation of the state of things. At nightfall Dr Evans came in +person, and was with the patient for a long time. He spoke less gravely +of the case, offered a lucid diagnosis, and thought that the services +of an ordinary nurse for a few days would meet every necessity. +Williams was sent with a hired vehicle to the market town, seven miles +away, and late at night returned with the woman recommended. Alma +meanwhile had lain quietly, and the household at length went to rest +without renewal of alarms. + +Twice before dawn Harvey left his room and stepped silently to Alma's +door. The first time, he heard low voices; the second, there was no +sound. When, about eight o'clock, he went down and out into the garden, +he was surprised to meet Mrs. Abbott. She had already seen the nurse +this morning, and reported that all was going well. Rolfe talked +cheerfully again, and would not listen to his guest's timid suggestion +that she should take leave today. Not a bit of it; she was to go down +to the seashore and enjoy the sunshine, and worry herself just as +little as possible. At breakfast-time came a message from Alma to the +same effect. Mrs. Abbott was on no account to cut short her visit, and +Harvey was to do his duty as host. She herself, said Mrs. Rolfe, would +be as well as ever in a day or two. + +For all that, when the appointed day for the guest's departure came, +Alma still lay blanched and feeble, not likely to leave her bed for +another week. She was, however, in a remarkably cheerful frame of mind. +Having to start on her journey as early as half-past eight, Mrs. Abbott +bade good-bye to her hostess the evening before, and nothing could have +been kinder or more amiable than Alma's behaviour. + +'Don't bear a grudge against me for spoiling your holiday,' she said, +holding her guest's hand and smiling brightly. 'If I say all is for the +best, perhaps you'll understand me, and perhaps you won't; it sounds +pious at all events, doesn't it? We must see each other again, you +know--here or somewhere else. I'm quite sure we can be friends. Of +course, Harvey will go with you in the morning.' + +Mrs. Abbott begged he would do nothing of the kind, but Alma was +imperative. + +'Of course he will! If it rains, a covered carriage will be here in +time. And write to me--mind you write to me; not only to say you've got +safe home, but in future. You promise?' + +In the morning it did rain, and heavily, so Harvey and his friend drove +to the station shut up together, with scarce a glimpse of anything +beyond the boulder walls and gorse hedges and dripping larch-trees. +They spoke a good deal of Alma. As soon as she was well again, said +Rolfe, he must take her for a thorough change. In truth, he was +beginning, he said, to doubt whether she could live in this +out-of-the-world place much longer. She liked it--oh yes, she liked +it--but he feared the solitude was telling upon her nerves. Mrs. Abbott +admitted that there might be something in this. + +'Should you return to London?' she asked. + +Whereupon Harvey stared before him, and looked troubled, and could only +answer that he did not know. + +When, two days after, the promised letter came from Mrs. Abbott, Harvey +took it up to the invalid's room, and sat by her whilst she read it. + +'She writes so nicely,' said Alma, who never in her life had showed +such sweetness of disposition as during this convalescence. 'Read it +for yourself, Harvey. Isn't it a nice letter? I feel so sorry we +haven't known each other before. But we're going to be friends now.' + +'I'm sure I'm very glad.' + +'Nothing from Mamma? I almost think I could write to her to-day. Of +course, she'll fall into a dreadful state of mind, and want to know why +she wasn't sent for, and lament over--everything. But it's no use her +coming here now. When we go away we must manage to see her.' + +'Yes. Have you thought where you would like to go?' + +'Not yet. There's plenty of time.' + +Not a word had passed between them with reference to the perilous +drive. Alma spoke as if her illness were merely natural, due to nothing +in particular; but her husband fancied that she wished to atone, by +sweet and affectionate behaviour, for that unwonted ill-usage of him. +He saw, too, beyond doubt, that the illness seemed to her a blessing; +its result, which some women would have wept over, brought joy into her +eyes. This, in so far as it was unnatural, caused him some disturbance; +on the other hand, he was quite unable to take a regretful view of what +had happened, and why should he charge upon Alma as a moral fault that +which he easily condoned in himself? + +A few days more and the convalescent was allowed to leave her room. As +if to welcome her, there arrived that morning a letter from Melbourne, +with news that Sibyl and her husband would sail for England in a +fortnight's time after the date of writing, by the Orient Line steamer +_Lusitania_. + +'You know what you suggested?' cried Alma delightedly. 'Shall we go?' + +'What--to Naples? We should have to be off immediately. If they come by +the next ship after the one that brought this letter, they are now only +a fortnight from the end of the voyage. That means--allowing for their +nine days from Naples to London--that we should have to be at Naples in +four or five days from now.' + +'Well? That's easily managed, isn't it?' + +'Not by anyone in your state of health,' replied Harvey gently. + +'I am perfectly well! I could travel night and day. Why not? One eats +and sleeps as usual. Besides, are you quite sure They may be longer +than you think. Telegraph to the London office and ask when the +_Lusitania_ will reach Naples.' + +'If you like. But, for one thing, it's quite certain you oughtn't to +travel in less than a week; and then--what about Hughie?' + +Alma's face darkened with vexation. + +'It doesn't matter,' she said coldly. 'I had counted on it; but, of +course, that's nothing. There's the baby to be considered first.' + +Harvey had never been so near the point of answering his wife in rough, +masculine fashion. This illness of hers had unsettled his happy frame +of mind, perturbing him with anxious thoughts, and making confusion of +the quiet, reasonable prospect that lay before him only a week or two +ago. He, too, could much have enjoyed the run to Naples and the voyage +back, and disappointment taxed his patience. Irritated against Alma, +and ashamed of himself for not being better tempered, he turned and +left the room. A few minutes afterwards he walked to the post-office, +where he addressed a telegram of inquiry to the Orient Line people in +London. It was useless, of course; but he might as well satisfy Alma. + +The reply telegram was delivered to him as he sauntered about in the +garden. It merely confirmed his calculation; there might possibly be a +clear five days before the _Lusitania_ touched at Naples--most likely +not more than four. He went into the sitting-room, but Alma was not +there; he looked into the study, and found it vacant. As Ruth happened +to pass, he bade her take the telegram to Mrs. Rolfe upstairs. + +He had no mind for reading or for any other occupation. He shut his +door, and began to smoke. In the whiffs curling from his pipe he +imagined the smoke of the great steamer as she drove northward from +Indian seas; he heard the throb of the engines, saw the white wake. +Naples; the Mediterranean; Gibraltar frowning towards the purple +mountains of Morocco; the tumbling Bay; the green shores of Devon;--his +pulses throbbed as he went voyaging in memory. And he might start this +very hour, but for the child, who could not be left alone to servants. +With something like a laugh, he thought of the people who implored Mary +Abbott to relieve them of their burdensome youngsters. And at that +moment Alma opened the door. + +Her face, thinned a little by illness, had quite recovered its amiable +humour. + +'Of course you are quite right, Harvey. We can't rush across Europe at +a moment's notice.' + +He rose up, the lover's light in his eyes again, and drew her to him, +and held her in a laughing embrace. + +'What has been wrong between us? It's a new thing for you and me to be +scowling and snarling.' + +'I hope I neither scowled nor snarled, dear boy, though I'm not sure +that _you_ didn't. No doubt, Mrs. Abbott went away thinking we lead +rather a cat and dog life.' + +'Hang it, no! How could she have any such thoughts?' + +'Oh, the drive home that day.' + +'Why, whose fault was that? I should have been all right, except that I +couldn't understand why you had run the chance of killing yourself.' + +'I don't think I should have cared very much that morning,' said Alma +idly. 'I was more miserable than you can imagine.' + +'Why?' + +'Oh, I don't know--foolishness. But you never gave me a word of praise, +and I'm sure I deserved it. Why, she galloped with me like mad for +nearly two miles, and I never lost hold of the reins, and I pulled her +up by myself and got her round, and drove back to meet you as if +nothing had happened. I told Mrs. Abbott all about it, and she was +astonished at my pluck.' + +'Must have been. So am I.' + +'I doubt it. I doubt whether you ever think much of anything I do.' + +'That's rather unkind, because you know it isn't true.' + +'I always thought very much the same, you know.' + +'Rubbish! But come, what are we going to do? Naples seems out of the +question; but there's no reason why we shouldn't go to meet them in +London.' + +'You would much rather wait here, and let them come,' said Alma. 'I +don't care particularly about going away. So long as we keep on good +terms with each other--that's the chief thing.' + +'There has never been a dream of anything else. We are on good terms as +a matter of course. It's part of the order of the universe.' + +'I'm very sorry, dear, that I threatened the universe with catastrophe; +but I won't do it again--indeed I won't. I will watch your face, and be +on my guard. And really, you know, under ordinary circumstances, I am +good-tempered enough.' + +'What's all this about?' cried Harvey. For she seemed to be in earnest, +and spoke with a soft humility, such as might have become the least +original of wives. 'Watch my face, and be on your guard? Since when +have I desired you to be a simpleton?' + +'I'm quite serious. It isn't foolish at all. I want to please you; +that's all I mean, dear.' + +He gazed at her, wondering, inclined to laugh, yet withheld from it by +an uneasy feeling. + +'This kind of talk means defective circulation, lost appetite, and so +on,' was his half-joking answer. 'The way to please me is to get some +colour into your cheeks again, and snub me for my ignorance of music, +and be your own arrogant self. But listen. You're quite mistaken in +thinking I want to stay here till Hugh and his wife come. It won't do. +You're getting far too sweet and docile, and everything detestable. I +had no idea of marrying an angel; it's too bad if you turn seraphic +upon my hands. I wonder, now, whether, by way of pleasing me, you would +answer a plain question?' + +'I'll try.' + +'Have you been wanting to get away from this place--I mean, to live +somewhere else?' + +'I? What can have made you think so?' + +'That isn't trying to answer a question, you know.' + +Alma, after looking keenly at him, had turned her face to the window. +She kept silence, and wore a look of calm reflectiveness. + +'Have you been bored and wearied by this life?' Harvey asked in his +most good-natured tone. + +'I don't think I have ever for a moment shown a sign of it,' replied +Alma, with grave conviction. + +'So much the worse, if it meant that you concealed your thoughts.' + +'I shall always be content, Harvey, so long as I see you are living the +kind of life that suits you.' + +He uttered a shout of humorous, yet half-genuine, exasperation. + +'Do you want me to swear it's a long time since I lost the habit, but +it might strike you as manly, and perhaps I had better practise again. +What has it to do with _you_, the kind of life that suits _me_? Don't +you remember my talking about that before we were married? I've had a +suspicion that you were getting rather into that state of mind. You +dropped your music, and partly, I've no doubt, because you didn't find +enough intelligent sympathy in me. You went in for painting, and you've +dropped that----' + +'It was winter, you see,' Alma interrupted. + +'Yes, but that wasn't the only reason. It meant general failure of +energy--the kind of thing I've known myself, only too well.' + +'What--here?' asked Alma, with some alacrity. + +'I meant now and again, all through my life. No; here I've gone on +right enough, with a tolerably even mind; and for that very reason I +haven't noticed any signs of the other thing in you--till just now, +when you lost your head. Why haven't you been frank with me?' + +'You take it for granted that I had anything to be frank about,' Alma +remarked. + +'Yes--and you don't contradict me.' + +'Then what were you going to say, Harvey?' + +She bent towards him, with that air of sweet reasonableness which +showed her features at their best: eye tranquil and intelligent, lips +ingenuously smiling; a countenance she wore not thrice in a +twelvemonth, but by Harvey well remembered amid all changes, and held +to express the true being of the woman he loved. + +'Why, I was going to say, dear,' he replied tenderly, 'that no good can +come of sacrificing your instincts. You have not to ask yourself +whether I am lazily comfortable--for that's what it amounts to--but +what you are making of your life. Remember, for one thing, that I am +considerably older----' + +'Please!' She checked him with an extended hand. 'I don't want to +remember anything of the kind.' + +'There's no harm in it, I hope.' He laughed a little. 'The difference +isn't distressing, but just enough to be taken into account. At forty, +or near it, a man who is happily married gets used to his slippers and +his pipe--especially if comfort, and all the rest of it, have come +after half a lifetime of homelessness. I might often say to myself that +I was wasting time, rusting, and so on; but the next day I should fall +back into the easy-chair again, and hate the thought of changes. But +you, with thirty still far ahead, slippers and pipe have no particular +attraction for you.' + +He saw a thought in her eyes, and paused. + +'Hughie will soon be able to talk,' fell from Alma, her look no longer +that of ingenuous sweetness, but of virtue just a trifle +self-conscious. And her husband, though he read this meaning in the +change, was yet pleased by the words that accompanied it. + +'Yes; and then there will be more for you to do, you were going to say. +But that won't occupy you entirely, and it doesn't bind you to any +particular spot.' + +'Perhaps not.' + +She had become almost demure. Harvey took his eyes away. + +'It comes to this--you're not to subordinate your life to mine. That's +the old idea, and it still works well with some people. Yet I don't +know; perhaps it doesn't, really; one knows little enough about +people's lives. At all events, it won't work in our case, and remember +that we never thought it would. We talked it all over, with no humbug +on either side--rather an unusual sort of talk, when one comes to think +of it. I liked you for the common-sense you showed, and I remember +patting myself on the back for a rational bit of behaviour at a time +when I felt rather crazy.' + +Alma laughed in her gayest key. + +'You were delicious. I didn't quite know what to make of you. And +perhaps that was the very reason----' + +'Reason for what?' asked Harvey, when she broke off and looked not +quite so pale as a moment before. + +'I forget what I was going to say. But please go on. It's very +interesting--as your talk always is.' + +'I've said about all. You're not to be dutiful and commonplace; that's +the matter in a nutshell.' + +'I don't think you can accuse me of ever being commonplace.' + +'Perhaps not,' said Harvey. + +'And as for dutiful, our duty is to be consistent, don't you think?' + +'Yes--if by consistency you mean the steady resolve to make the most of +yourself. That's what you had in mind when you came here. As soon as +you begin to grow limp, it's time to ask what is the matter. I don't +offer any advice; you know yourself better than I can know you. It's +for you to tell me what goes on in your mind. What's the use of our +living together if you keep your most serious thoughts to yourself?' + +Harvey Rolfe glowed with a sense of his own generous wisdom. He had +never felt so keen a self-approval. Indeed, that emotion seldom came to +solace him; for the most part he was the severest critic of his own +doings and sayings. But for once it appeared to him that he uttered +golden words, the ripe fruit of experience and reflection. That +personal unrest had anything to do with the counsel he offered to his +wife, he did not for the moment even suspect. Alma had touched him with +her unfamiliar note of simple womanhood, and all at once there was +revealed to him a peril of selfishness, from which he strongly +recoiled. He seemed to be much older, and Alma much more youthful, than +he was wont to perceive. Very gently and sweetly she had put him in +mind of this fact; it behoved him to consider it well, and act upon the +outcome of such reflection. Heavens! was he in danger of becoming the +typical husband--the man who, as he had put it, thinks first of his +pipe and slippers? From the outside, no man would more quickly or more +contemptuously have noted the common-sense moral of this present +situation. Being immediately concerned, he could see nothing in his +attitude but a wise and noble disinterestedness. And thus, at a moment +when he wittingly held the future in his hands, he prided himself on +leaving to Alma an entire responsibility--making her, in the ordinary +phrase, mistress of her own fate, and waiting upon her decisions. + +'I will think a little longer,' said Alma, sighing contentedly, 'and +then we'll talk about it again. It's quite true I was getting a little +run down, and perhaps--but we'll talk about it in a day or two.' + +'Could we decide anything for the present? Would you care to go and +meet the steamer at Plymouth?' + +'And take Hughie? Suppose I wrote very nicely to Mamma, and asked if we +might leave Hughie with her, in Hampshire, for a few days? I dare say +she would be delighted, and the other people too. The nurse could be +with him, I dare say. We could call there on our way. And Ruth would +look after the house very well.' + +'Write and ask.' + +'Then you and I'--Alma began to talk joyously--'might ramble about +Devonshire till the ship comes. Let me see--if we travelled on Monday, +that would give us several days, wouldn't it? And the Carnabys might +either land at Plymouth, or we go on with them in the ship to London. +That's a very good plan. But why lose time by writing? Send a telegram +to Mamma--"Could we leave Hughie and nurse with you for a day or two?"' + +Harvey again turned his steps to the post-office, and this message was +despatched. A few hours elapsed before the reply came, but it was +favourable. + +'Then we'll leave on Monday!' exclaimed Alma, whose convalescence was +visibly proceeding. 'Just send another telegram--a word or two, that +they may be ready.' + +'Might as well have mentioned the day in the other,' said Harvey, +though glad to have something more to do. + +'Of course; how thoughtless!' + +And they laughed, and were in the best of tempers. + +On the morrow, Sunday, they walked together as they had used to do in +the first spring after their marriage; along the grassy cliffs, then +down to the nook where the sand is full of tiny shells, and round the +little headland into the next bay, where the quaint old fishing-village +stands upon the edge of the tide. And Alma was again in love, and held +her husband's hand, and said the sweetest things in the most wonderful +voice. She over-tired herself a little, so that, when they ascended the +cliff again, Harvey had to support her; and in the sunny solitude she +thanked him with her lips--in two ways. + +It was a second honeymoon. + + + + +CHAPTER 4 + + +Mrs. Frothingham's sister, who lived near Basingstoke, gave a warm +welcome to little Hugh Rolfe; and Mrs. Frothingham, who had all but +forgotten that the child was not really her grandson, took charge of +him with pride and joy. He stayed a week; he stayed a fortnight;--he +stayed two months. + +For when the Carnabys--who landed at Plymouth and rested there for a +couple of days--made known their intention of straightway taking a flat +in town, it seemed to Alma that the very best thing for her health +would be to spend a week or two in London, and see her old friends, and +go to a few concerts. The time was favourable, for June had only just +set in. Harvey, nothing loath, took his wife to a quiet hotel in the +Portman Square region, whither also went their friends from abroad; his +project being to look for furnished rooms, where child and nurse could +join them. But Mrs. Frothingham thought it a pity of pities to take +little Hugh into the town, when all was so pleasantly arranged for him +down in Hampshire; and, as Alma evidently inclined to the same view, +the uninviting thought of 'apartments' was laid aside. They might as +well remain at the hotel, said Harvey. Alma, with a pretty show of +economical hesitation, approved the plan, saying that she would be +quite ready to go home again when Sibyl had established herself in a +flat. This event came to pass in about three weeks; the Carnabys found +a flat which suited them very well at Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, +and thither, with the least possible delay, transferred a portion of +their furniture, which had lain in warehouse. Thereupon, sweetly +reasonable, Mrs. Rolfe made known that it was time to fetch her baby +and return to Carnarvonshire. She felt incalculably better; the change +had been most refreshing; now for renewed enjoyment of her dear home! + +But Harvey wore his wisest countenance; no owl could have surpassed it +for sage gravity. + +'You are very much better, and don't you think you would be better +still after another week or two? The concerts are in full swing; it +seems a pity--now you are here----' + +Alma looked gracefully reluctant. Were not the hotel expenses rather +heavy? + +'Pooh! You must remember that at home we live on half our income, or +less. If that's all that troubles you----' + +'You are very kind, Harvey!' + +'Why, as for that, I'm enjoying myself. And I like to see you in such +capital spirits.' + +So, with a happy sigh, Alma gave up the packing of her trunk, and wrote +to Mrs. Frothingham that if baby _really_ was not a trouble, they might +stay for another fortnight. 'Harvey is in such capital spirits, and +does so enjoy himself, that I don't think he ought to go home whilst +all the life of the season is in full swing. Of course, I could leave +him here, but--if you will credit it--he seems really to wish to have +me with him. If I tried to say how thoroughly good and kind he is, I +should make you laugh. It amuses me to see him turned into a sort of +bachelor again. This is no contradiction; I mean that here, among his +men friends, he shows a new side of himself, seems younger (to tell the +truth), and has a kind of gaiety quite different from his good humour +at home. You can't think how he enjoys a dinner at the club, for +instance, quite in a boyish way; and then he comes back with all sorts +of stories and bits of character and I don't know what; we forget the +time, and sit talking till I daren't tell you when. But I am doing the +same thing now, for it is half-past twelve (noon), and I have promised +to lunch with Sibyl at half-past one. Her flat is just finished, and +looks very pretty indeed. A thousand kisses to my little darling! Try +and make him understand that _mum-mum_ has not gone for ever.' + +She dressed with care (her wardrobe had undergone a complete renewal), +and drove off in a hansom to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions. It was to +be a luncheon of intimacy, for Sibyl had not yet gathered her +acquaintances. When Alma entered, Mrs. Carnaby was sitting just as in +the days before her great migration, perfectly at ease, admirably +self-possessed, her beauty arrayed with all the chastity of effect +which distinguished her among idle and pleasure-loving women. She had +found a new way of doing her hair, a manner so young, so virginal, that +Alma could not but gaze with wonder and admiration. + +'You do look sweet today!' + +'Do I? I'm glad you think so.--I want your opinion. Would you have the +piano there, or _there_?' + +This matter was discussed, and then they obeyed the tuneful gong that +summoned them to the dining-room. Alma surveyed everything, and felt a +secret envy. Here was no demonstration of the simple life; things +beautiful and luxurious filled all available space, and indeed +over-filled it, for Sibyl had tried to use as much as possible of the +furniture formerly displayed in Hamilton Terrace, with such alterations +and novelties as were imposed by the fashion of today. She offered her +guest a most dainty little meal; a luncheon such as Alma could not +possibly have devised, in spite of all her reminiscences. + +'Civilisation is a great thing,' Sibyl remarked. 'It's good to have +been in savagery, just to appreciate one's privileges.' + +'But you liked Honolulu?' + +'Honolulu--yes. I was thinking of Queensland. There's no barbarism at +Honolulu, if you keep out of sight of the Americans and Europeans. Yes, +I enjoyed myself there. I think I could go back and live out my life at +Waikiki.' + +'It astonished me that you didn't make an effort to go with Hugh to +that great volcano. I have read about it since, and I'm sure I should +have faced anything.' + +'Kilauea,' murmured Sibyl, with a dreamy air, as she raised the +wine-glass to her lips. 'I was lazy, no doubt. The climate, you know; +and then I don't care much about bubbling lava. It was much nicer to +watch the gold-fish at Waikiki.--Where is your husband today?' + +'Of all things in the world, gone to Lord's! He says he never saw a +cricket match in his life, and it struck him this morning that it +really was a defect in his education. Of course, he was thinking of +Hughie. He wants Hughie to be a cricketer and horseman and everything +that's robust.' + +'Just like Hugh,' replied Sibyl, laughing. 'I should feel the same if I +had a boy. I like open-air men--though I shouldn't care always to live +among them.' + +'Hugh at Coventry still?' Alma inquired. + +Her hostess gave a nod, with a look intimating that she would say more +when the servant left them free to talk. She added---- + +'Do you know Mrs. Strangeways?' + +'I seem to remember a Mr. Strangeways,' replied Alma, 'but I can't +think how or where.' + +'Yes, he's a man who goes about a good deal. His wife was the widow of +that artist who promised so well, and got into a scrape, and died +miserably--Edward--no, Egbert Dover. Don't you know that big landscape +that hangs in Mrs. Holt's boudoir?--that was one of his. He hid himself +away, and died in a garret or a workhouse--something cheerful. I met +Mrs. Strangeways at Brisbane; she and her husband were globe-trotting. +She might look in this afternoon. I don't know whether you would care +for her; she's rather--rapid, you know. But she remembers hearing you +play somewhere--spoke of you with great admiration.' + +Alma's eyes shone. + +'Oh, I should be glad to meet her! Are you going to let me stay with +you all the afternoon, then?' + +'If you have nothing better to do. I suppose I shall be losing you +presently. I'm very sorry. I wish you lived in London.' + +'On this one account,' replied Alma, 'I wish I did. But I've got so out +of it. Don't you think I carry a rustic atmosphere about with me?' + +Sibyl laughed, in the tone her friend wished to hear. Alma would have +been profoundly mortified if Mrs. Carnaby had seemed ever so little to +agree with her. + +For all that, they were not quite so well attuned to each other as when +the young married woman, indifferent seemingly to social distinction, +patronised the ambitious girl, and, by the mere bestowal of confidence, +subtly flattered her. In those days Alma did not feel it as patronage, +for Sibyl's social position was perhaps superior to her own, and in +things of the intellect (apart from artistic endowment) she sincerely +looked up to her friend. Together they trod ground above the heads of +ordinary women in their world. But changes had been at work. Alma now +felt herself, to say the least, on equal terms with Mrs. Carnaby. +Economically, she was secure; whereas Sibyl, notwithstanding the show +she made, drew daily nearer to a grave crisis, and might before long +find herself in a very unpleasant situation. Intellectually, Alma saw +herself in a less modest light than before marriage; the daily +companionship of such a man as her husband had been to her as a second +education; she had quite overtaken Sibyl, if not gone a little beyond +her. The deference she still showed was no longer genuine, and this +kind of affectation, hard to support and readily perceived, is very +perilous to friendship. Conscious of thoughts she must not utter, Alma +naturally attributed to her friend the same sort of reticence. She +feared that Sibyl must often have in mind the loss she had suffered +three years ago, and would contrast her own precarious circumstances +with the comfort of Bennet Frothingham's daughter. Moreover, Mrs. +Carnaby was not in all respects her own self; she had lost something on +her travels; was it a shade of personal delicacy, of mental refinement? +She seemed more inclined to self-assertion, to aim somewhat at worldly +success, to be less careful about the friends she made. Alma felt this +difference, though not clear as to its nature, and insensibly it helped +to draw them apart. + +'Yes, Hugh is at Coventry,' said Sibyl, when the servant had withdrawn. +'He'll go backwards and forwards, you know. I don't think he'll have +very much to do practically with the business; but just at first he +likes to see what's going on.' + +'I hope it will prosper.' + +'Oh, no doubt it will. It was a very good idea.' + +Sibyl spoke as though she had never contemplated the possibilities +which were in Alma's mind. Her husband, as Alma knew from Rolfe, was in +anything but a sanguine mood; he saw his position in all its gravity, +and could hardly rest for fear that this latest enterprise should not +succeed. Sibyl, however, enjoyed her lunch with complete tranquillity. +She had the air of being responsible for nothing. + +'I'm not at all sorry we went away for a time. Travelling suits Hugh; +it has done him a great deal of good. I believe he would have liked to +stay in Tasmania; but he saw it wouldn't do for me, and the good fellow +could think of nothing else but my comfort. I have a great admiration +for Hugh,' she added, with a smile, not exactly of superiority or +condescension, but of approval distinct from tenderness. 'Of course, I +always had, and it has increased since I've travelled with him. He +shows to far more advantage on a ship than in a drawing-room. On this +last voyage we had some very bad weather, and then he was at his best. +I admired him immensely!' + +'I can quite imagine how he would be,' said Alma. + +'And how glad I was when I heard you had married his best friend! It +had crossed my mind more than once. Perhaps you don't remember--you +didn't notice it at the time--but I ventured a discreet hint before we +parted. You couldn't have done a more sensible thing, Alma.' + +Though quite willing to believe this, Alma, for some reason, did not +care to hear it thus asserted. The manner of the remark, for all its +friendliness, reminded her that marriage had signified her defeat, the +end of high promises, brave aspirations. + +'I couldn't tell you how it happened,' she said, with a little +awkwardness. 'And I dare say you would say the same about your own +marriage.' + +'Of course So would every woman. One never does know how it happens' + +And Sibyl laughed with quiet merriment which had a touch of cynicism. +Alma had not yet spoken of the impulse which carried her away to the +little house in Carnarvonshire, to the life of noble simplicity and +calm retirement, and she had no disposition now to touch on the matter. +Even in her early letters to Sybil not much was said of it, for she +felt that her friend might have a difficulty in sympathising with such +enthusiasm. She would have liked to make Sibyl understand that her +rustication was quite voluntary; but the subject embarrassed her, and +she preferred to keep silence. + +'I didn't hear very much about your time in Germany,' Mrs. Carnaby +resumed. 'Nothing much to tell, I suppose.' + +'Very little.' + +'Any--any adventures?' + +'Oh no!' + +Alma felt herself grow warm, less at the thought of the adventures +which really had befallen her than from vexation at the feeling of +insignificance. She understood very well what Sibyl meant by her +smiling question, and it would almost have been a relief to tell +certain stories, in proof that she had not utterly fallen out of sight +and mind on her self-banishment from society. There was no reason, +indeed, why she should not make fun of Felix Dymes and his proposal; +but the episode seemed idle in comparison with another, on which she +had never ceased to reflect. Perhaps a certain glory attached to that +second incident; Sibyl might be impressed alike with the character of +the temptation and with her friend's nobility in scorning it. But the +opportunity had gone by. + +On rising from table, Sibyl remarked that she wished to make one or two +purchases; would Alma accompany her to the shop? They went forth, and +drove as far as Regent Street. Mrs. Carnaby's requirements were one or +two expensive trifles, which she chose with leisurely gratification of +her taste. It surprised Alma to see this extravagance; one would have +thought the purchaser had never known restricted means, and dreamt of +no such thing; she bought what she happened to desire, as a matter of +course. And this was no ostentation for Alma's benefit. Evidently Sibyl +had indulged herself with the same freedom throughout her travels; for +she had brought back a museum of beautiful and curious things, which +must have cost a good deal. Perhaps for the first time in her life Alma +experienced a sense of indignation at the waste of money. She was +envious withal, which possibly helped to explain the other impulse. + +They returned in an hour's time. Sibyl then withdrew for a few minutes, +and reappeared in an exquisite tea-gown, which made her friend's frock, +though new and handsome, look something less than suitable to the +occasion. Alma, glancing about the room, spoke as if in pursuance of a +train of thought. + +'People _do_ make a lot of money out of bicycles, I think?' + +'I have heard so,' answered her hostess indifferently. 'Will you play +me something? The piano has been tuned; I should like to know if you +think it all right.' + +'I have quite given up playing the piano.' + +'Indeed? And the violin too?' + +'No, no; the violin is my instrument. Whose is that little +water-colour, Sibyl? I tried for just that effect of sun through mist +not long ago.' + +'Oh yes, to be sure, you have gone in for water-colours; you told me in +a letter. I must see some of your things. Of course, I shall +becoming----' + +The door opened, and a small page, very smartly equipped, to Alma; she +had not as yet seen this functionary; but Mrs. announced Mrs. Herbert +Strangeways. The page was a surprise Strangeways drew her attention. A +lady of perhaps thirty-five, with keen, thin face, and an artificial +bloom on her hollow cheeks; rather overdressed, yet not to the point of +vulgarity; of figure very well proportioned, slim and lissom. Her voice +was a trifle hard, but pleasant; her manner cordial in excess. + +'So here you are, _chez vous_. Charming! Charming! The prettiest room I +have seen for a long time. Mrs. Rolfe? Oh, Mrs. Rolfe, the name put me +out for a moment; but I remember you perfectly, perfectly. It was at +the Wigrams'; you played the violin wonderfully!' + +Alma did not much care to be reminded of this. Mr. Wigram, one of her +father's co-directors, was lying at this moment in durance vile, and +his wife lived somewhere or other on charity. But Mrs. Strangeways +uttered the name without misgiving, and behaved as though nothing +conceivable could have afforded her more delight than to meet Alma +again. It was her habit to speak in superlatives, and to wear a +countenance of corresponding ecstasy. Any casual remark from either of +the ladies she received with a sort of rapture; her nerves seemed to be +in a perpetual thrill. If she referred to herself, it was always with +depreciation, and not at all the kind of depreciation which invites +compliment, but a tremulous self-belittlement, such as might be natural +in a person who had done something to be ashamed of, and held her place +in society only on sufferance. + +'You still play, of course?' she said to Mrs. Rolfe presently. 'I so +hope I may have the pleasure of hearing you again. I wonder whether I +could persuade you to come next Wednesday? We have a little house in +Porchester Terrace. Of course, I don't mean to ask you to play; I +shouldn't venture to. Just a few friends in the evening--if you didn't +think it tiresome? I'll send you a card.' + +There entered a tall young man of consumptive features, accompanied by +a stout, florid woman, older than himself; and upon this couple +followed half-a-dozen miscellaneous callers, some of whom Alma knew. +These old acquaintances met her with a curiosity they hardly troubled +to disguise; she herself was reserved, and took no part in the general +chatter. Mrs. Strangeways withdrew into a corner, as if wishing to +escape observation. When Mrs. Rolfe took a chair by her side, she +beamed with gratitude, and their gossip grew quite intimate. Alma could +not understand why Sibyl had stigmatised this woman as 'rapid'--that is +to say, 'fast'; she gabbled, indeed, at a great rate, but revealed no +startling habits of life or thought, and seemed to have rather an +inclination for childish forms of amusement. Before they parted, Alma +gave a promise that she would go to Mrs. Strangeways 'at home' next +Wednesday. + +'And your husband, if he would care to come. I should be so delighted +to know him. But perhaps he doesn't care about that kind of thing. I +hate to bore anyone--don't you? But then, of course, you're never in +danger of doing it. So very, _very_ glad to have met you! And so +exceedingly kind of you to promise!--so _very_ kind!' + +As Sibyl also was going to Porchester Terrace, they arranged to +chaperon each other and to start from Mrs. Rolfe's hotel. + +'It's no use making Harvey uncomfortable,' said Alma. 'He would go if I +asked him but sorely against the grain. He always detested 'at +homes'--except when he came to admire _me_! And he likes to see me +going about independently.' + +'Does he?' said Sibyl, with an inquiring look. + +'Yes--seriously. We do our best not to encumber each other. Don't you +think it's the best way?' + +'No doubt whatever.' + +Mrs. Carnaby smiled, and the smile grew to a laugh; but she would not +explain what she meant by it. + +On the Wednesday evening, they reached Mrs. Strangeways' house at ten +o'clock. Carriages and cabs made a queue up to the door, and figures +succeeded each other rapidly on the red cloth laid down across the +pavement. Alma was nervous. More than three years had passed since the +fatal evening when, all unconsciously, she said goodbye to social +splendours; from then till now she had taken part in no festivity. The +fact that her name was no longer Frothingham gave her some +encouragement; but she must expect to be recognised, perhaps to be +stared at. Well, and would it be so very disagreeable? An hour before, +the mirror had persuaded her that she need not shrink from people's +eyes; her dress defied criticism, and she had not to learn how to bear +herself with dignity. Sibyl was unusually lavish of compliments, and in +a matter such as this Sibyl's judgment had weight. As soon as she found +herself on the stairs, amid perfumes and brilliances, she breathed +freely; it was the old familiar atmosphere; her heart leaped with a +sudden joy, as in a paradise regained. + +Already the guests were very numerous, and they continued to arrive. +The drawing-rooms filled; a crowd of men smoked in the 'library' and +the billiard-room; women swarmed in passages and staircase. After +welcoming Mrs. Rolfe with the ardour of a bosom friend and the +prostration of a devotee, the hostess turned to the next comer with +scarcely less fervency. And Alma passed on, content for the present to +be lost amid thronging strangers. + +'Who are all these people?' she asked of Sibyl, who had moved along by +her side. + +'Nobodies, most of them, I should imagine. There's no need to stay very +long, you know. That's Mr. Strangeways, the little man with a red face +talking to that mountain of a woman in green. Mercy, what a dress! He's +coming this way; I'll introduce him to you.' + +The host had a jovial carriage and a bluff way of speaking, both +obviously affected. His eyes wandered as he talked, and never met +anyone else's with a steady look. Alma thought him offensively +familiar, but he did not inflict himself upon her for long. + +When the hostess began to go hither and thither, she pounced eagerly on +Mrs. Rolfe, and soon made her the centre of a group. Alma began to +taste the old delight of homage, though she perceived that her new +acquaintances were not of the world in which she had formerly shone. +About midnight, when she was a little tired of the crush, and thought +of going, there fell upon her ear a voice which startled and aroused +her like an unexpected grasp. On the instant she saw an open place in +Munich; the next, a lake and mountains. + +'I wasn't in town then. I got out of sorts, and ran away to a little +place I have on the Lake of Garda.' + +The speaker was immediately behind her. She all but turned her head, +and grew hot in the effort to command herself. Amid the emotions +naturally excited in her she was impressed by a quality in the voice, a +refinement of utterance, which at once distinguished it from that of +the men with whom she had been talking. It belonged to a higher social +grade, if it did not express a superiority of nature. For some moments +she listened, catching now and then a word; then other voices +intervened. At length, turning where she stood, she let her eyes range, +expressionless, over the faces near by. That which she sought was not +discoverable, but at the same moment the hostess came up to her. + +Mrs. Rolfe, do you know Mr. Cyrus Redgrave?' + +'Mr. Redgrave----?' + +The confused, hesitating repetition of the name was taken by Mrs +Strangeways for a reply in the negative. + +'A charming man, and a great friend of mine--oh, a very old friend. Let +me bring him.' + +She rustled away, and Mrs. Rolfe sank back on to the _causeuse_ from +which she had newly risen. Quickly the hostess returned, and, in the +track she made through crowded clusters of people who stood talking, +there followed a gentleman of easy carriage, with handsome features and +thin hair. He was looking for Alma, and as soon as his eyes perceived +her, they fell. Of what Mrs. Strangeways said, Alma heard not a +syllable; she bowed mechanically, clutching her fan as though in peril +of a fall and this the only thing within reach; she knew that Redgrave +bent solemnly, silently; and then, with sudden relief, she saw the +hostess retire. + +'I beg your pardon.' The voice was addressing her in a respectful +undertone. 'I had no choice. I did not feel justified in saying I knew +you.' + +'You were quite right,' she replied coldly, her fingers now relaxed +upon the fan. 'Mrs. Strangeways is a little impulsive; she gave me no +opportunity of preventing the introduction.' + +'Will you let me say, Mrs. Rolfe, that I am glad to have been presented +to you as a stranger? I should be happy indeed if our acquaintance +might begin anew.' + +It was polite in terms, but sounded to Alma very like the coolest +impertinence. She bent her head, ever so little. The second seat of the +_causeuse_ being unoccupied, Redgrave hereupon took possession of it. +No sooner had he done so than Alma rose, let a smile of indifference +just fall upon him, and lost herself amid the buzzing assembly. + +Ten minutes later, Redgrave and Mrs. Carnaby were lounging in these +same seats, conversing with perfect mutual intelligence. They had not +met for three years, but the interval signified very little in their +lives, and they resumed conversation practically at the point where it +had broken off in Mrs. Frothingham's drawing-room. A tactful question +assured the man of the world that Mrs. Carnaby knew nothing of certain +passages at Munich and Bregenz. + +'I'm afraid,' he added, 'Mrs. Rolfe has become a little reserved. +Natural, no doubt.' + +'She lives in a wild part of Wales,' Sibyl answered, smiling +tolerantly. 'And her husband detests society.' + +'Indeed? Odd choice for her to have made, don't you think?--And so your +Odyssey is over? We shall have some chance of seeing you again.' + +'But your own Odyssey is perpetually going on. Are you ever in town +except for a few weeks of the season?' + +'Oh, I go about very little now; I'm settling down.--You never met my +sister, I think? She has a house at Wimbledon with a good-sized +garden--sort of little park, in fact,--and I have persuaded her to let +me build myself a bungalow among the trees.' + +'Splendid idea!' + +'Not bad, I think. One is free there; a member of the family whenever +one likes; domesticated; all that's respectable; and only a few steps +away, the bachelor snuggery, with all that's----. No, no! I was _not_ +going to complete the antithesis, though by your smiling you seem to +say so.' + +'The suggestion was irresistible,' said Sibyl, with the composure, the +air of security, which always covered her excursions on to slippery +ground. + +'When the weather is good, I ask a few of my friends to come and sit +there in the shade. They may or may not be my sister's friends also; +that doesn't matter. I have a separate entrance from the road.--But I +wish you knew Mrs. Fenimore. She lived a year or two at Stuttgart, for +her children to learn German. Her husband's in India. She tried it, but +couldn't stand the climate.' + +'And you really live in the bungalow?' inquired Mrs. Carnaby, +disregarding this information about Redgrave's sister. + +'Yes, it's my headquarters in England. Let me send you a card, will +you, when I have my next afternoon? It might amuse you, and I assure +you it _is_ perfectly respectable.' + +'How could I doubt it, if you invite me?' + +Alma drove home by herself in a hansom. She liked this disregard of +conventionalities; all the more because Harvey, who, of course, had sat +up for her, seemed a trifle anxious. Her spirits were exuberant; she +gave a merry, mocking account of the evening, but it included no +mention of Cyrus Redgrave. + +At the end of June her friends the Leaches moved from their old house +in Elgin Road to a new one out at Kingsbury-Neasden, and when the +removal was completed Alma went there to make a call, taking her +husband. Harvey had never been beyond Swiss Cottage on this extension +of the Metropolitan Railway; he looked with interest at the new +districts springing up towards Harrow, and talked of them with Mrs. +Leach. A day or two after, he travelled by himself to a greater +distance on the same line, making a survey of the country from Harrow +to Aylesbury. At his next meeting with Hugh Carnaby, which took place +about the middle of July, he threw out a suggestion that for anyone who +wished to live practically in London and yet away from its frenzy, the +uplands towards Buckinghamshire were convenient ground. + +'I wish you were thinking of it yourself,' replied Hugh. 'Your wife is +about the only woman Sibyl cares to see much of, and the only woman I +know that she'll get any good from.' + +The strong man did not look very cheerfully on the world just now, and +it was evident that he felt some sort of trouble with regard to his +wife. For her sake solely he had returned to England, where he was less +than ever at his ease. He wished Sibyl to live in her own way, grudged +her nothing, admired and cherished her with undiminished fervour; but +in Oxford and Cambridge Mansions it cost him a great effort to pretend +to be at home. The years of wandering had put him hopelessly out of +touch with what Sibyl called society. Little as he understood about +manufactures, or cared for the details of commerce, he preferred to +stay down at Coventry with his partner Mackintosh, living roughly, +smoking his pipe and drinking his whisky in the company of men who had +at least a savour of sturdy manhood. His days of sport were gone by; he +was risking the solid remnant of his capital; and if it vanished--But +of that possibility he would not speak, even with Harvey Rolfe. As he +meditated, his teeth were set, his eyes darkened. And it appeared to +Harvey that the good fellow drank a little more whisky than was +needful, even in these warm days. + +'I want to see the little chap, my namesake,' he said. 'Why don't you +have him up here? Doesn't your wife feel she wants him?' + +'Alma will think more of him in a year or two,' Harvey replied. + +'Yes. I've noticed that women--one sort of women--don't care much about +babies nowadays. I dare say they're right. The fewer children people +have, the better. It's bad to see the poor little squalling brats in +the filth and smoke down yonder, and worse still in this damned London. +Great God! when there's so much of the world clean and sweet, here we +pack and swelter together, a million to the square mile! What eternal +fools we are!' + +Harvey growled his heartiest agreement. None the less, a day or two +after, he was holding a conversation with Alma which encouraged her +secret weariness of the clean and sweet places of the earth. They had +come home from a Richter concert, and Alma uttered a regret that she +had not her violin here. A certain _cadenza_ introduced by a certain +player into a certain violin solo did not please her; why, she could +extemporise a _cadenza_ far more in keeping with the spirit of the +piece. After listening, with small attention to the matter, but much to +the ardent speech and face of enthusiasm, Harvey made a quiet remark. + +'I want you to decide very soon what we are going to do.' + +'Going to do?' + +'About the future--where we are to live.' + +Alma strummed lightly with her finger-tips upon the table, and smiled, +but did not look up. + +'Do you really think of making any change?' + +'I leave it entirely to you. You remember our last talk before we came +away. You have simply to ask yourself what your needs are. Be honest +with yourself and with me. Don't sacrifice life to a whim, one way or +the other. You have had plenty of time to think; you have known several +ways of life; you're old enough to understand yourself. Just make up +your mind, and act.' + +'But it's ridiculous, Harvey, to speak as if I had only myself to +consider.' + +'I don't want you to do so. But supposing that were your position, now, +after all your experience, where would you choose to live?' + +He constrained her to answer, and at length she spoke, with a girlish +diffidence which seemed to him very charming. + +'I like the concerts--and I like to be near my musical friends--and I +don't think it's at all necessary to give up one's rational way of +living just because one is in London instead of far away.' + +'Precisely. That means we ought to come back.' + +'Not if you do it unwillingly.' + +'I'll be frank in my turn. For Hughie's sake, I don't think we ought to +live in the town; but it's easy enough to find healthy places just +outside.' + +'I shouldn't wish to be actually in the town,' said Alma, her voice +tremulous with pleasure. 'You know where the Leaches are living?' + +'Yes. Or just a little farther away, on the higher ground. Very well, +let us regard _that_ as settled.' + +'But you, dear--could you live there?' + +'Well enough. It's all the same to me if I have my books, and a field +to walk in--and if you don't want me to see too many women.' + +Alma laughed gaily, and had done with semblance of hesitation. + +They began to search for a house, and in a week's time had found one, +newly built, which seemed to answer their requirements. It was at +Pinner, not many minutes by rail from Alma's friends at +Kingsbury-Neasden, and only about half an hour from Baker Street--'so +convenient for the concerts'. A new house might be damp, but the summer +months were hastening to dry it, and they would not enter into +residence before the end of autumn. 'We must go and enjoy our heather,' +said Alma brightly. The rent was twice what Harvey had been paying; +there was no stabling, but Alma agreed that they ought not to keep a +horse, for naturally there would be 'other expenses'. + +Other expenses, to be sure. But Harvey signed the three years' lease +without misgiving. A large surplus lay in hand after the 'simple life' +in Carnarvonshire, and his position was not that of men who have +extravagant wives. + + + + +CHAPTER 5 + + +The Leach family gave it to be understood by their friends that they +had moved out of town because of Mrs. Leach's health. Other +explanations were suspected; for the new establishment seemed to be on +a more modest footing than that in Elgin Road, and the odd arrangement +whereby Mr. Leach came home only on Saturday could not be without +significance. Mrs. Leach, it was true, suffered from some obscure +affection of the nerves, which throughout the whole of her married life +had disabled her from paying any continuous regard to domestic affairs; +this debility had now reached such a point that the unfortunate lady +could do nothing but collapse in chairs and loll on sofas. As her two +daughters, though not debilitated, had never dreamt of undertaking +household management, all such matters were left to a cook-housekeeper, +changed every few months, generally after a quarrel, wherein Mrs. Leach +put forth, for an invalid, very surprising energy. Mr. Leach, a +solicitor, had no function in life but to toil without pause for the +support of his family in genteel leisure; he was a mild man, dreading +discord, and subservient to his wife. For many years he had made an +income of about L2000, every penny of which, excepting a small +insurance premium, had been absorbed by expenses of the house. At the +age of fifty, prematurely worn by excessive labour, he was alarmed to +find his income steadily diminishing, with no corresponding +diminution--but rather the opposite--in the demands made upon him by +wife and daughters. In a moment of courage, prompted by desperation, he +obtained the consent of Dora and Gerda to this unwelcome change of +abode. It caused so much unpleasantness between himself and Mrs. Leach, +that he was glad to fit up a sleeping-room at his office and go home +only once a week; whereby he saved time, and had the opportunity of +starving himself as well as of working himself to death. + +Dora and Gerda, having grown up in such domestic circumstances, +accepted them with equanimity. When their father spoke nervously of +retrenchment, saying that he grew old and must save money to provide +for their future, they made no objection, but were as far as ever from +perceiving the sordid tragedy of his lot. Dora lived for her music; +Gerda sang a little, but was stronger on the social side, delighting in +festivities and open-air amusements. They were amiable and intelligent +girls, and would have been amazed had anyone charged them with +selfishness; no less if it had been suggested to them that they +personally might rectify the domestic disorder of which at times they +were moved to complain. They had no beauty, and knew it; neither had +received an offer of marriage, and they looked for nothing of the kind. +That their dresses cost a great deal, was taken as a matter of course; +also that they should go abroad when other people did, and have the +best places at concert or theatre, and be expansively 'at home'. With +all sincerity they said of themselves that they lived a quiet life. How +could it be quieter?--unless one followed the example of Alma Rolfe; +but Alma was quite an exceptional person--to be admired and liked, not +to be imitated. + +Yet even Alma, it seemed, had got tired of her extraordinary freak. She +was back again within the circle of civilisation; or, as she put it in +her original, amusing way, 'on the outer edge of the whirlpool'. She +had a very nice little house, beautifully furnished; everyone knew +Alma's excellent taste. She came frequently to Kingsbury-Neasden, and +ran up to town at least as often as they (Dora and Gerda) did. Like +them she found it an annoyance to have to rush to the station before +midnight; but, being married, she could allow herself more freedom of +movement than was permissible to single young women, and having once +missed the last train, she simply went to a hotel where she was known, +and quietly returned to Pinner next morning. That Mrs. Rolfe had such +complete liberty and leisure seemed to them no subject for remark; +being without cares, she enjoyed life; a matter of course. And she was +so very clever. No wonder Mr. Rolfe (charming man) always had +admiration in his eyes when he looked at her. Some husbands (miserable +churls) can see nothing in their wives, and never think of encouraging +what talent they may have. But when Alma grew a little dissatisfied +with her violin (a 'Vuillaume', which poor Mr. Bennet Frothingham had +given her in the days gone by), Mr. Rolfe did not hesitate to spend +fifty pounds on an instrument more to her liking; and the dear girl +played on it divinely. + +There was no shadow of envy in Dora Leach. 'I don't play quite badly,' +she said to Alma. 'Goodness knows, I oughtn't to, after all the lessons +I've had and the pains I've given. But with you it's different, dear. +You know very well that, if you liked, you could become a professional, +and make a name. + +'I _might_ have done,' Alma admitted; 'but marriage put an end to that. +You have too much sense to think I mean that I repent it.' + +'I don't see why marriage should put an end to it,' urged Dora. 'I'm +quite sure your husband would be very proud if you came out and had a +great success.' + +'But if I came out and made a fiasco?' + +'You wouldn't.' + +That was in the summer of 1890, when the Rolfes had been living at +Pinner for eight months. The new violin (new to her, old and mellow in +itself) had inspired Alma to joyous exertions. Again she took lessons +from Herr Wilenski, who was sparing of compliment, but, by the mere +fact of receiving her at all, showed his good opinion. And many other +people encouraged her in a fine conceit of herself. Mrs. Strangeways +called her 'an unrecognised genius', and worshipped at her feet. To be +sure, one did not pay much attention to Mrs. Strangeways, but it is +sweet to hear such phrases, and twice already, though against her +better judgment, Alma had consented to play at that lady's house. + +On both these occasions Cyrus Redgrave was present. Choosing his +moment, he approached her, looked in her face with a certain timidity +to which Alma was not insensible, and spoke as an ordinary +acquaintance. There was no helping it; the man had been formally +introduced, and, as he suggested, they had begun to know each other +afresh. Alma liked to remember how severely she had treated him at that +first encounter; perhaps that was enough for dignity. Mr. Redgrave +would hardly forget himself again. For the rest, she could not pretend, +within herself, to dislike him; and if he paid homage to her beauty, to +her social charm, to her musical gifts (all of which things Alma +recognised and tabulated), it might be only just to let him make amends +for something known to both of them. The insult Alma was far from +forgiving. But when she had talked twice with Redgrave distantly, as a +stranger to all his affairs--it began to steal upon her mind that there +would be a sweetly subtle satisfaction in allowing the man to imagine +that her coldness was not quite what it seemed; that so, perchance, he +might be drawn on and become enslaved. She had never been able to +congratulate herself on a conquest of Cyrus Redgrave. The memory of +Bregenz could still, at moments, bring the blood to her face; for it +was a memory of cool, calculating outrage, not of passion that had +broken bounds. To subdue the man in good earnest would be another +thing, and a peculiarly delicious morsel of revenge. Was it possible? +Not long ago she would have scoffed at the thought, deeming Redgrave +incapable of love in any shape. But her mind was changing in an +atmosphere of pleasure and flattery, and under the influence of talk +such as she heard in this house and one or two others like it. + +To her husband, she represented Mrs. Strangeways as a very pleasant +woman with a passion for all the arts; formerly wife of a painter, and +now married to a wealthy man who shared her tastes. This satisfied +Harvey; but Alma had not deceived herself, and could not be quite +comfortable with Mrs. Strangeways. She no longer puzzled over the flow +of guests to the house in Porchester Terrace, having discovered not +only that most of these were people, as Sibyl said, of no account, who +had few houses open to them, but that several would not be admitted to +any circle of scrupulous respectability. The fact was that Mrs. +Strangeways largely entertained the _demi-monde_, to use in its true +sense a term persistently misapplied. Not impossibly she thought the +daughter of Bennet Frothingham might, from one point of view, be +included among such persons; on the other hand, her warmth proved that +she regarded Mrs. Rolfe as a social acquisition, if indeed she was not +genuinely attracted to her. What circumstances had led, or forced, Mrs. +Strangeways into this peculiar position, Alma could not discover; it +might be simply one result of an unfortunate marriage, for undoubtedly +there was something sinister in the husband, a coarseness varnished +with sham geniality, which made Alma dislike to be near him. In the +woman herself she found little that was objectionable; her foolish +effusiveness, and her artificial complexion, seemed to indicate merely +a weak character; at times her talk was interesting, and she knew many +people of a class superior to that represented in her drawing-room. But +for the illumination she had received, Alma would have felt surprised +at meeting Cyrus Redgrave in these assemblies; formerly she had thought +of him as belonging to a sphere somewhat above her own, a +quasi-aristocratic world, in which Sibyl Carnaby, the daughter of Mrs. +Ascott Larkfield, also moved by right of birth and breeding. Sibyl, +however, was not above accepting Mrs. Strangeways' invitations, though +she continued to speak of her slightingly; and Redgrave had known the +lady for a long time--even, it appeared, before her first marriage. + +In a year's time Alma had made and renewed a large number of +acquaintances. She spoke of herself as living 'in the country', and +still professed a dislike of mere gaiety, a resolve to maintain her +simple, serious mode of existence. At half-an-hour's journey from town, +she was protected against the time-wasting intrusion of five-o'clock +babblers; a luncheon or two in the season, and a modest dinner at long +intervals, would discharge her social liabilities; and she had the +precious advantage of being able to use London for all legitimate +purposes, without danger of being drawn into the vortex of its idle +temptations. Once more she was working earnestly at her music--much, it +seemed, to Harvey's satisfaction. He wanted her to go on also with +water-colours, but she pointed out to him that one art was all she had +time for. + +'It's all very well for mere amateurs to take up half-a-dozen things. I +aim at more than that. You would like me, wouldn't you, to become +really _something_ as a violinist?' + +Harvey assented. + +'And you understand,' she pursued, regarding him with her bright smile, +'that the life of an artist can't be quite like that of other women?' + +'Of course, I understand it. You know I don't wish to put the least +restraint upon you.' + +'My one fear was, that you might think I went about rather too +much--didn't pay enough attention to home----' + +'We manage pretty well, I think. You needn't have any such fear.' + +'Of course, when Hughie gets older--when I can really begin to teach +him----' + +The child was now approaching the close of his third year, and, in +Harvey's opinion, needed more than the attention of an ordinary +nursemaid. They had recently engaged a nursery-governess, her name +Pauline Smith; a girl of fair education and gentle breeding, who lived +as a member of the family. It appeared to Rolfe that Hughie was quite +old enough to benefit by his mother's guidance and companionship; but +he had left himself no ground for objection to Alma's ordering of her +life. The Welsh servant, Ruth, still remained with them, acting to a +great extent as housekeeper, and having under her a maid and a boy. +Ruth, a trustworthy woman, was so well paid that they had not to fear +her desertion. Regularity and comfort prevailed to a much greater +extent than might have been looked for under the circumstances. +Expenditure had of course greatly increased, and now touched the limit +of Harvey's ordinary income; but this was a matter which did not +immediately concern Mrs. Rolfe. For domestic and private purposes she +had a bank-account of her own; an arrangement made on their removal to +Pinner, when Harvey one morning handed her a pass-book and a +cheque-book, remarking that she would find to her credit a couple of +hundred pounds. Alma pretended to think this unnecessary, but her +countenance betrayed pleasure. When he thought the fund must be nearly +exhausted, he made a new payment to the account, without saying +anything; and Alma preserved an equally discreet silence. + +One of her new acquaintances was Mrs. Rayner Mann, a lady who desired +to be known as the patroness of young people aiming at success on the +stage or as musicians. Many stories were told of Mrs. Mann's generosity +to struggling artists, and her house at Putney swarmed with the +strangest mingling of people, some undoubtedly in society others no +less decidedly out of it. Here Alma encountered Felix Dymes, whose +reputation and prosperity had much advanced since their meeting at +Munich. The comic opera of which he then spoke had been brought out at +a provincial theatre with considerable success, and was shortly to be +produced in London; his latest songs, 'The Light of Home', and 'Where +the Willow Dips', had caught the ear of the multitude. Alma ridiculed +these compositions, mocking at the sentimentalism of the words, and +declaring that the airs were mere popular tinkle; but people not +inferior to her in judgment liked the music, which certainly had a +sweetness and pathos not easy to resist. The wonder was how such a man +as Felix Dymes could give birth to such tender melody. The vivacity of +his greeting when of a sudden he recognised Alma, contrasted markedly +with Cyrus Redgrave's ill-concealed embarrassment in the like +situation. Dymes had an easy conscience, and in the chat that followed +he went so far as to joke about his ill-luck some four years ago. + +'You didn't think much of me. But I'm going ahead, you know. You have +to admit I'm going ahead.' + +Prosperity was manifest in his look and voice. He had made no advance +in refinement, and evidently thought himself above the necessity of +affecting suave manners; his features seemed to grow even coarser; his +self-assertion was persistent to the point of grotesque conceit. + +'Is your husband musical?' he asked. + +'Not particularly.' + +'Well, there's something to be said for that. One doesn't always want +to be talking shop.--I can't help looking at you; you've altered in a +queer sort of way. You were awfully fetching, you know, in those days.' + +'You were awfully impertinent,' replied Alma, with a laugh. 'And I +don't see that you've altered at all in that respect.' + +'Do you play still?' + +'A good deal better than I used to.' + +'Really? If it's true, why don't you come out? I always believed in +you--I did really. There's no better proof of it than what I said at +Munich; you were the only girl that could have brought me to that, you +know; it was quite against my principles. Have you heard of Ada +Wellington?--a girl I'm going to bring out next spring--a pianist; and +she'll make a hit. I should like you to know her.' + +'How do you mean you are going to bring her out?' + +'Do all the business for her, you know; run the show. Not as a +speculation; I don't want to make anything out of it, more than +expenses. I know her 'people; they're very badly off, and I shall be +glad if I can do them a good turn. There's nothing between us; just +friends, that's all. If ever you come out, put the business into my +hands, will you?' + +'I won't promise,' replied Alma, 'until I see how you succeed with Miss +Wellington.' + +'Shall it be an understanding? If I float Ada, you'll let me have a try +with you?' + +'We'll talk of it, Mr. Dymes, when you have learnt the elements of good +manners.' + +She nodded in a friendly way, and left him. + +Their next meeting was at a music-shop, where Dymes came in whilst Alma +was making purchases. The composer, clad in a heavy fur overcoat, +entered humming a tune loudly, by way of self-advertisement; he was at +home here, for the proprietors of the business published his songs. On +perceiving Alma, he dropped his blustering air, bowed with exaggerated +politeness, and professed himself overjoyed. + +'I looked in just to try over a thing I've got in my head. Do come and +listen to it--will you? It would be so kind of you to give me your +opinion.' + +He pointed to a room at the back, visible between plush curtains. Alma, +wishing to refuse, murmured that she had very little time; but Dymes +prevailed, and she followed him. They passed into the pleasant warmth +of a blazing fire. The musician flung off his coat, and at once sat +down at the grand piano, open for the convenience of such favoured +persons as himself; whilst Alma seated herself in an easy-chair, which +she had pushed forward so as to allow of her being seen from the shop. +After some preliminary jingling, Dymes played an air which the listener +could not but like; a dainty, tripping melody, fit for a fairy song, +with strange little echoes as of laughter, and a half-feigned sadness +in the close. With hands suspended, Dymes turned to see the effect he +had produced. + +'Is that your own?' Alma asked. + +'I'm under that impression. Rather good, I think--don't you?' + +'Very pretty.' + +She hardly believed his assurance, so strong was the contrast between +that lightsome lyric and the coarse vanity of the man himself. He +played it again, and she liked it still better, uttering a more decided +word of praise. + +'Dicky must write me patter for that!' Dymes exclaimed, when he saw +that she smiled with pleasure. 'You don't know Dicky Wellington? A +cousin of Ada's. By-the-bye, her concert will be at the end of +May--Prince's Hall, most likely. You shall have a ticket.' + +'Very kind of you.' + +'You know that Mrs. Rayner Mann is giving a charity concert next week?' + +'I have been asked to take part in it,' said Alma quietly. + +'I'm awfully glad of that!' shouted Dymes. 'So I shall hear you again. +The fact is, you know, I don't think of you as an amateur. I can't +stand amateurs, except one or two. I've got it into my head that you've +been one of us, and retired. Queer thing, isn't it?' + +Alma enjoyed the flattery. Comfortable in her chair, she showed no +disposition to move. Dymes asked her what she thought of playing, and +she told him, Hauser's 'Rhapsodie Hongroise'. + +'I'm always being bored by amateurs,' he resumed. 'A silly woman who +belongs to a Symphony Society asked me yesterday to go and hear her +play in the C minor! I begged to be told what harm I had ever done her, +and she said I was very rude. But I always am to people of that sort; I +can't help it. Another of them asked me to tell her of a _nice_ piece +for the piano--a really nice piece. At once I suggested Chopin's A flat +major Polonaise. Do you know it?' + +'Of course I do. Could you play it yourself?' + +'I? Of course not. You don't imagine that because one is a successful +composer he must be a brilliant virtuoso. I hardly ever touch a musical +instrument. Wagner was a very poor player, and Berlioz simply couldn't +play at all. I'm a musical dreamer. Do you know that I literally dreamt +"The Light of Home"? Now, that's a proof of genius.' + +Alma laughed. + +'But it is! Do you know how most songs get made nowadays? There's +Sykes' "Come when the Dawn"--you remember it? I happen to know all +about that. A fellow about town somehow got hold of an idea for a +melody; he didn't know a note, but he whistled it to Sykes, and Sykes +dotted it down. Now, Sykes knows no more of harmony than a broomstick, +so he got another man to harmonise it, and then a fourth fellow wrote +an orchestral accompaniment. That's the kind of thing--division of +labour in art.' + +'You're quite sure you do everything for yourself?' said Alma +mischievously, rising at length. + +'I forgive you, because you're really one of us--you are, you know. You +haven't the look of an amateur. Now, when you've gone out, I'll ask +Sammy, behind the counter there, who he thinks you are, and I'll give +Mrs. Rayner Mann a guinea for her charity if he doesn't take you for a +professional musician.' + +'You will be good enough, Mr. Dymes,' said Alma severely, 'not to speak +of me at all to anyone behind a counter.' + +'It was only a joke. Of course, I shouldn't have done anything of the +kind. Goodbye; shall see you at Putney.' + +For all that, no sooner was Mrs. Rolfe gone than Dymes did talk of her +with the salesman, and in a way peculiar to his species, managing, with +leers and half-phrases, to suggest not only that the lady was a +performer of distinction, but that, like women in general, she had +found his genius and his person fatally attractive. Dymes had the +little weaknesses of the artistic temperament. + +As usual, Mrs. Rayner Mann's concert was well attended, and Alma's +violin solo, though an audience more critical than she had yet faced +made her very nervous to begin with, received much applause. Felix +Dymes, not being able to get a seat at her side, stood behind her, and +whispered his admiration. + +'You've gone ahead tremendously. That isn't amateur playing. All the +others are not fit to be heard in the same day. Really, you know, you +ought to think of coming out.' + +Many other persons were only less complimentary, and one, Mrs +Strangeways, was even more so; she exhausted herself in terms of +glowing eulogy. At the end of the concert this lady drew Alma apart. + +'Dear Mrs. Rolfe, I wonder whether I could ask you to do me a kindness? +Are you in any hurry to get home?' + +It was six o'clock, on an evening of January. Delighted with her +success, Alma felt very much like a young man whose exuberant spirits +urge him to 'make a night of it'. She declared that she was in no hurry +at all, and would be only too glad to do Mrs. Strangeways any kindness +in her power. + +'It will sound rather odd to you,' pursued the lady in a low voice, +'but I would rather trust you than anyone else. You know that Mr. +Redgrave and I are very old friends--such old friends that we are +really almost like brother and sister.' + +Alma nodded. + +'You've heard us speak of his bungalow at Wimbledon. Just now he is in +Paris, and he happens to want a portrait, a photograph, out of an album +in the bungalow. Naturally he would have asked his sister to look for +it and send it, but Mrs. Fenimore is also away from home; so he has +written to me, and begged me to do him the kindness. I know exactly +where the photo is to be looked for, and all I have to do is to drive +over to Wimbledon, and a servant will be waiting to admit me. Now, you +will think it childish, but I really don't like to go alone. Though Mr +Redgrave and I are such great friends, of course I have only been to +the bungalow when he had people there--and--of course it's very foolish +at my age--but I'm sure you understand me----' + +'You mean you would like me to go with you?' said Alma, with uncertain +voice. + +'Dare I ask it, dear Mrs. Rolfe? There will be _no_ one but the +servant, who is told to expect a friend of her master's. I am _very_ +foolish, but one cannot be too careful, you know, and with _you_ I +shall feel everything so simple and natural and straightforward. I'm +sure you understand me.' + +'Certainly,' faltered Alma. 'Yes--I will go----' + +'Oh, how sweet of you, dear! Need I say that I should never breathe a +word to Mr. Redgrave? He will think I went alone--as of course I very +well might----' + +'But--if the servant should mention to him----?' + +'My dear, keep your fall down. And then it is perfectly certain he will +never ask a question. He thinks it such a trivial matter----' + +Alma did not entertain the least doubt of her friend's veracity, and +the desire to have a companion on such an expedition seemed to her +natural enough; yet she felt so uneasy at the thought of what she had +consented to do, that even whilst descending the stairs she all but +stopped and begged to be excused. The thought of stealing into +Redgrave's bachelor home, even with Mrs. Strangeways, startled and +offended her self-respect; it seemed an immodesty. She had never been +invited to the bungalow; though Mrs. Carnaby had received and accepted +such an invitation for an afternoon in the summer, when Mrs. +Strangeways did the honours. Redgrave was now scrupulously respectful; +he would not presume so far on their revived acquaintance as to ask her +to Wimbledon. For this very reason--and for others--she had a curiosity +about the bungalow. Its exotic name affected her imagination; as did +the knowledge that Cyrus Redgrave, whom she knew so particularly well, +had built it for his retreat, his privacy. Curiosity and fear of +offending Mrs. Strangeways overcame her serious reluctance. On entering +the carriage she blushed hotly. It was the first time in her life that +she had acted with deliberate disregard of grave moral compunction, and +conscience revenged itself by lowering her in her own eyes. + +Mrs. Strangeways talked all the way, but not once of Redgrave; her +theme was the excellence of Alma's playing, which, she declared, had +moved everyone with wonder and delight. + +'Several people took it for granted that you were a professional +violinist. I heard one man saying, "How is it I don't know her name?" +Of course, your playing in an amateur is altogether exceptional. Did it +ever occur to you to come forward professionally?' + +'I thought of it once, before my marriage.' + +'Ah! you really did? I'm not at all surprised. Would Mr. Rolfe look +with disapproval----?' + +'I hardly know,' replied Alma, who was not mistress of herself, and +paid little attention to what she was saying. 'I dare say he wouldn't +mind much, one way or another.' + +'Indeed?' + +The intimate significance of this word warned Alma that she had spoken +too carelessly. She hastened to add that, of course, in such a matter, +her husband's wish would be final, and that she had never thought of +seeking his opinion on the subject. + +'If ever you _should_ take that step, my dear, it will mean a great +triumph for you--oh! a great triumph! And there is room just now for a +lady violinist--don't you think? One has to take into account other +things besides mastery of the instrument; with the public naturally, a +beautiful face and a perfect figure----' + +This was too much even for Alma's greediness of flattery; she +interrupted the smooth, warm adulation with impatient protest and told +herself--though she did not quite know the reason--that after that day +she would see less of Mrs. Strangeways. + +The carriage stopped. Glancing to either side, Alma saw that they were +in a country road, its darkness broken at this spot by the rays of two +gas-lamps which flanked a gateway. The footman had alighted; the gate +was thrown open; the carriage passed through on to a gravel drive. Her +nerves strung almost beyond endurance, and even now seeking courage to +refuse to enter the house, Alma felt the vehicle turn on a sharp curve, +and stop. + +'We shall not be more than a minute,' said Mrs. Strangeways, just above +her breath, as though she spoke with effort. + +Involuntarily, Alma laid a hand on her arm + +'I will--wait for you here--please----' + +'But, dear, your promise! Oh, you wouldn't fail me?' + +The carriage door had opened; the footman stood beside it. Scarce +knowing what she did, Alma stepped out after her companion, and in the +same moment found a glow of light poured suddenly about her; it came +from the entrance-hall of a house, where a female servant had presented +herself. A house of unusual construction, with pillars and a veranda; +nothing more was observable by her dazzled and confused senses. Mrs +Strangeways said something to the servant; they entered, crossed a +floor of smooth tiles, under electric light ruby-coloured by glass +shades, and were led into a room illumined only by a fire until the +servant turned on a soft radiance like that in the hall. + +Mrs. Strangeways glanced about her as if surprised. + +'You are riot expecting Mr. Redgrave?' she said quickly. + +'No, madam. We always have fires against the damp.' + +Thereupon the woman withdrew, closing the door, and Mrs. Strangeways, +who was very pale save for her rouge spots, said in a low tone of great +relief---- + +'I began to fear there might be some mistake. Put up your veil for a +moment, dear, and glance at the pictures. Every one has cost a small +fortune. Oh, he is immensely rich--and knows so well what to buy!' + + + + +CHAPTER 6 + + +Alma's agitation did not permit her to examine details. The interior of +Redgrave's house was very much what she had imagined; its atmosphere of +luxurious refinement, its colour, perfume, warmth, at once allured and +alarmed her. She wished to indulge her senses, and linger till she had +seen everything; she wished to turn at once and escape. Mrs. +Strangeways, meanwhile, seemed to be looking for the album of which she +had spoken, moving hither and thither, with a frequent pause as of one +who listens, or a glance towards the door. + +'You won't be long?' said Alma, turning abruptly to her. + +'It's my silly nervousness, dear. I thought I remembered perfectly +where the album lay. How foolish of me! I quite tremble--anyone would +think we were burglars.' + +She laughed, and stood looking about the room. + +'Is that it?' asked Alma, pointing to a volume on a table near her. + +'Yes!--no--I'm not sure.' + +An album it was; Mrs. Strangeways unclasped it, and turned over a few +pages with quivering hand. + +'No, I thought not. It's a smaller one. Oh, what a good photo of Mrs +Carnaby! Have you seen this one?' + +Alma stepped forward to look, strangely startled by the name of her +friend; it was as though Sibyl herself had suddenly entered the room +and found her here. The photograph she already knew; but its eyes +seemed to regard her with the very look of life, and at once she drew +back. + +'Do find the right one, Mrs. Strangeways,' she spoke imploringly. 'It +must be--What bell was that?' + +An electric bell had rung within the house; it still trembled in her +ears, and she turned sick with fright. Mrs. Strangeways, flushing red, +stammered a reassurance. + +'There--here is the right one--in a minute----' + +The door opened. As she saw it move, a dreadful certainty of what was +about to happen checked Alma's breath, and a sound like a sob escaped +her; then she was looking straight into the eyes of Cyrus Redgrave. He, +wearing an ulster and with a travelling-cap in his hand, seemed not to +recognise her, but turned his look upon her companion, and spoke with +mirthful friendliness. + +'What! I have caught you, Mrs. Strangeways? Police! Oh, I am so sorry I +didn't send you a wire. I thought you would come tomorrow, or the day +after. How very kind of you to take this trouble immediately. I had to +run over at a moment's notice.--Mrs. Rolfe! Forgive me; for the moment +I didn't know you, coming out of the darkness. So glad to see you.' + +He had shaken hands with both of them, behaving as though Mrs. Rolfe's +presence were the most natural thing in the world. But Alma's strength +failed her; she trembled towards the nearest chair, and sank upon it. +Mrs. Strangeways, who had watched her with anxiety, took a step to her +side, speaking hurriedly. + +'Mr. Redgrave, I took the liberty to use your house as if it were my +own. Mrs. Rolfe has over-tired, over-excited herself. She has been +playing this afternoon at a concert at Mrs. Rayner Mann's. We were to +drive back together, and came this way that I might call here--for the +photo. But Mrs. Rolfe became faint--after her exertions----' + +Redgrave surpassed himself in graceful courtesy. How could Mrs +Strangeways dream of offering excuses? Why had she not called for +tea--or anything? He would give orders at once, and the ladies would +permit him to get rid of his travelling attire, whilst they rested. He +was turning to leave the room when Alma rose and commanded her voice. + +'I am perfectly well again--thank you so much, Mr. Redgrave--indeed I +mustn't stay----' + +With admirable suavity Redgrave overcame her desire to be gone. +Pleading, he passed playfully from English into French, of which he had +a perfect command; then, in his own language, declared that French +alone permitted one to make a request without importunity, yet with +adequate fervour. Alma again seated herself. As she did so, her host +and Mrs. Strangeways exchanged a swift glance of mutual intelligence. + +'How can I hope you will forgive me?' the lady murmured at Alma's ear +as soon as they were alone. + +'It's very annoying, and there's nothing more to be said,' was the cold +reply. + +'But it isn't of the least importance--do believe me. We are such old +friends. And no one can ever know--though it wouldn't matter if all the +world did.' + +'I dare say not. But, please, let our stay be as short as possible.' + +'We will go, dear, as soon as ever we have had a cup of tea. I am _so_ +sorry; it was all my foolishness.' + +The tea was brought, and Mrs. Strangeways, her nervousness having quite +passed away, began to talk as if she were in her own drawing-room. +Alma, too, had recovered control of herself, held the teacup in an all +but steady hand, and examined the room at her leisure. After ten +minutes' absence, Redgrave rejoined them, now in ordinary dress; his +face warm from rapid ablution, and his thin hair delicately disposed. +He began talking in a bright, chatty vein. So Mrs. Rolfe had been +playing at a concert; how he regretted not having been there! What had +she played? Then, leaning forward with an air of kindness that verged +on tenderness---- + +'I am sure it must be very exhausting to the nerves; you have so +undeniably the glow, the fervour, of a true artist; it is inspiring to +watch you as you play, no less than to hear you. You do feel better +now?' + +Alma replied with civility, but did not meet his look. She refused +another cup of tea, and glanced so meaningly at her friend that in a +few moments Mrs. Strangeways rose. + +'You won't leave me yet to my solitude?' exclaimed Redgrave. With a +sigh he yielded to the inevitable, inquired gently once more whether +Mrs. Rolfe felt quite restored, and again overwhelmed Mrs. Strangeways +with thanks. Still the ladies had to wait a few minutes for their +carriage, which, at Redgrave's direction, had made a long detour in the +adjacent roads; and during this delay, as if the prospect of release +inspirited her, Alma spoke a few words in a more natural tone. Redgrave +had asked what public concerts she usually attended. + +'None regularly,' was her reply. 'I should often go on Saturdays to the +Crystal Palace, if it were not so far for me. I want to get there, if +possible, on Saturday week, to hear Sterndale Bennett's new concerto.' + +'Ah, I should like to hear that!' said Redgrave. 'We may perhaps see +each other.' + +This time she did not refuse to encounter his look, and the smile with +which she answered it was so peculiarly expressive of a self-confident +disdain that he could scarcely take his eyes from her. Cyrus Redgrave +knew as well as most men the signals of challenge on a woman's +features; at a recent meeting he had detected something of the sort in +Alma's behaviour to him, and at this moment her spirit could not be +mistaken. Quite needlessly she had told him where he might find her, if +he chose. This was a great step. To be defied so daringly meant to him +no small encouragement. + +'It's fortunate,' said Alma, as the carriage bore her away, 'that we +had this adventure with a _gentleman_.' + +The remark sounded surprising to Mrs. Strangeways. + +'I'm so glad you have quite got over your annoyance, dear,' she replied. + +'It was as bad for you as for me, under the circumstances. But I'm sure +Mr. Redgrave won't give it another thought.' + +And Alma chatted very pleasantly all the way back to town, where she +dined with Mrs. Strangeways. At eleven o'clock she reached home. Her +husband, who was recovering from a sore throat, sat pipeless and in no +very cheerful mood by the library fire; but the sight of Alma's radiant +countenance had its wonted effect upon him; he stretched his arms, as +if to rouse himself from a long fit of reverie, and welcomed her in a +voice that was a little husky. + +'Well, how did it go?' + +'Not badly, I think. And how have you been getting on, poor old boy?' + +'So so; swearing a little because I couldn't smoke. But Hughie has a +cold tonight; caught mine, I dare say, confound it! Miss Smith took +counsel with me about it, and we doctored him a little.' + +'Poor dear little man! I wish I had been back in time to see him. But +there was no getting away--had to stay to dinner----' + +Alma had not the habit of telling falsehoods to her husband, but she +did it remarkably well--even better, perhaps, than when she deceived +her German friend, Fraulein Steinfeld, in the matter of Cyrus +Redgrave's proposal; the years had matured her, endowing her with +superior self-possession, and a finish of style in dealing with these +little difficulties. She was unwilling to say that she had dined in +Porchester Terrace, for Harvey entertained something of a prejudice +against that household. His remoteness nowadays from the world in which +Alma amused herself made it quite safe to venture on a trifling +misstatement. + +'I have a note from Carnaby,' said Rolfe. 'He wants to see me in town +tomorrow. Says he has good news--"devilish good news", to be accurate. +I wonder what it is.' + +'The lawsuit won, perhaps.' + +'Afraid not; that'll take a few more years. Odd thing, I have another +letter--from Cecil Morphew, and he, too, says that he has something +hopeful to tell me about.' + +Alma clapped her hands, an unusual expression of joy for her. 'We are +cheering up all round!' she exclaimed. 'Now, if only _you_ could light +on something fortunate.' + +He gave her a quick look. + +'What do you mean by that?' + +'Only that you haven't seemed in very good spirits lately.' + +'Much as usual, I think.--Many people at Putney?' + +'About a hundred and twenty. Compliments showered on me; I do so wish +you could have heard them. Somebody told me that some man asked her how +it was he didn't know my name--he took me for a professional violinist.' + +'Well, no doubt you are as good as many of them.' + +'You really think that?' said Alma, pulling her chair a little nearer +to the fire and looking eagerly at him. + +'Why shouldn't you be? You have the same opportunities, and make all +possible use of them.' + +Alma was silent for a few ticks of the clock. Once, and a second time, +she stole a glance at Harvey's face; then grasping with each hand the +arms of her chair, and seeming to string herself for an effort, she +spoke in a half-jesting tone. + +'What should you say if I proposed to come out--to _be_ a professional?' + +Harvey's eyes turned slowly upon her; he read her face with curiosity, +and did not smile. + +'Do you mean you have thought of it?' + +'To tell you the truth, it is so often put into my head by other +people. I am constantly being asked why I'm content to remain an +amateur.' + +'By professional musicians?' + +'All sorts of people.' + +'It reminds me of something. You know I don't interfere; I don't +pretend to have you in surveillance, and don't wish to begin it. But +are you quite sure that you are making friends in the best class that +is open to you?' + +Alma's smile died away. For a moment she recovered the face of years +gone by; a look which put Harvey in mind of Mrs. Frothingham's little +drawing-room at Swiss Cottage, where more than once Alma had gazed at +him with a lofty coldness which concealed resentment. That expression +could still make him shrink a little and feel uncomfortable. But it +quickly faded, giving place to a look of perfectly amiable protest. + +'My dear Harvey, what has caused you to doubt it?' + +'I merely asked the question. Perhaps it occurred to me that you were +not exactly in your place among people who talk to you in that way.' + +'You must allow for my exaggeration,' said Alma softly. 'One or two +have said it--just people who know most about music. And there's a +_way_ of putting things.' + +'Was Mrs. Carnaby there today?' + +'No.' + +'You don't see her very often now?' + +'Perhaps not _quite_ so often. I suppose the reason is that I am more +drawn to the people who care about music. Sibyl really isn't +musical--though, of course, I like her as much as ever. Then--the truth +is, she seems to have grown rather extravagant, and I simply don't +understand how she can keep up such a life--if it's true that her +husband is only losing money. Last time I was with her I couldn't help +thinking that she ought to--to deny herself rather more. It's habit, I +suppose.' + +Harvey nodded--twice, thrice; and kept a grave countenance. + +'And you don't care to see much of Mrs. Abbott?' he rather let fall +than spoke. + +'Well, you know, dear, I don't mean to be at all disagreeable, but we +have so little in common. Isn't it so? I am sure Mrs. Abbott isn't +anxious for my society.' + +Again Rolfe sat silent, and again Alma stole glances at him. + +'Shall I tell you something I have in mind?' he said at length, with +deliberation. 'Hughie, you know, is three years old. Pauline does very +well with him, but it is time that he had companions--other children. +In half a year or so he might go to a kindergarten, and'--he made an +instant's pause--'I know only of one which would be really good for +him. I think he will have to go to Mrs. Abbott.' + +Their eyes met, and the speaker's were steadily fixed. + +'But the distance?' objected Alma. + +'Yes. If we want to do that, we must go to Gunnersbury.' + +Alma's look fell. She tapped with her foot and meditated, slightly +frowning. But, before Harvey spoke again, the muscles of her face +relaxed, and she turned to him with a smile, as though some reflection +had brought relief. + +'You wouldn't mind the bother of moving?' + +'What is that compared with Hughie's advantage? And if one lives in +London, it's in the nature of things to change houses once a year or +so.' + +'But we don't live in London!' returned Alma, with a laugh. + +'Much the same thing. At Gunnersbury you would be nearer to everything, +you know.' + +'Then you would send away Pauline?' + +Harvey made a restless movement, and gave a husky cough. + +'Well, I don't know. You see, Hughie would be with Mrs. Abbott only a +few hours each day. Who is to look after the little man at other times? +I suppose I can't very well undertake it myself--though I'm glad to see +as much of him as possible; and I won't let him be with a servant. +So----' + +Alma was gazing at the fire, and seemed to give only a divided +attention to what her husband said. Her eyes grew wide; their vision, +certainly, was of nothing that disturbed or disheartened her. + +'You have given me two things to think about, Harvey. Will you reflect +on the _one_ that I suggested?' + +'Then you meant it seriously?' + +'I meant that I should like to have your serious opinion about it. Only +we won't talk now. I am very tired, and you, I'm sure, oughtn't to sit +late with your bad throat. I promise to consider _both_ the things you +mentioned.' + +She held her hands to him charmingly, and kissed his cheek as she said +goodnight. + +Harvey lingered for another hour, and--of all people in the +world--somehow found himself thinking of Buncombe. Buncombe, his +landlord in the big dirty house by Royal Oak. What had become of +Buncombe? It would be amusing, some day to look at the old house and +see if Buncombe still lived there. + + + + +CHAPTER 7 + + +They never talked about money. Alma took it for granted that Harvey +would not allow their expenditure to outrun his income, and therewith +kept her mind at rest. Rolfe had not thought it necessary to mention +that he derived about three hundred pounds from debenture stock which +was redeemable, and that the date of redemption fell early in this +present year, 1891. He himself had all along scarcely regarded the +matter. When the stock became his, 1891 seemed very remote; and on +settling in North Wales he felt financially so secure that the question +of reinvestment might well be left for consideration till it was +pressed upon him. + +As now it was. He could no longer disregard percentages; he wanted +every penny that his capital would yield. Before marriage he would have +paid little heed to the fact that his canal shares (an investment which +he had looked upon as part of the eternal order of things) showed an +inclination to lose slightly in value; now it troubled him day and +night. As for the debenture stock, he might, if he chose, 'convert' it +without withdrawal, but that meant a lower dividend, which was hardly +to be thought of. Whither should he turn for a security at once sound +and remunerative? He began to read the money article in his daily +paper, which hitherto he had passed over as if it did not exist, or +turned from with contemptuous impatience. He picked up financial +newspapers at railway bookstalls, and in private struggled to +comprehend their jargon, taking care that they never fell under his +wife's eyes. At the Metropolitan Club--of which he had resumed +membership, after thinking that he would never again enter clubland--he +talked with men who were at home in City matters, and indirectly tried +to get hints from them. He felt like one who meddles with something +forbidden--who pries, shamefaced, into the secrets of an odious vice. +To study the money-market gave him a headache. He had to go for a +country walk, to bathe and change his clothes, before he was at ease +again. + +Two only of his intimates had any practical acquaintance with methods +of speculation, and their experiences hitherto were not such as to +suggest his seeking advice from them. Hugh Carnaby might or might not +reap profit from his cycle factory; as yet it had given him nothing but +worry and wavering hopes. Cecil Morphew had somehow got into better +circumstances, had repaid the loan of fifty pounds, and professed to +know much more about speculation than in the days when he made money +only to lose it again; but it was to be feared that Cecil associated +with people of shady character, and might at any moment come to grief +in a more or less squalid way. He confessed that there was a mystery in +his life--something he preferred not to speak of even with an old +friend. + +Oddly enough, Carnaby and Morphew wrote both at the same time, wishing +to see him, and saying that they had cheering news to impart. Amid his +perplexities, which were not concerned with money alone, Harvey +welcomed this opportunity of forgetting himself for a few hours. He +agreed to lunch with Hugh at a restaurant (Carnaby would have nothing +to do with clubs), and bade Morphew to dinner at the Metropolitan. + +It was a day of drizzle and slush, but Harvey had got over his sore +throat, and in ordinary health defied the elements. Unlike himself, +Carnaby came a little late for his appointment, and pleaded business +with a 'blackguard' in the City. Rheums and bronchial disorders were to +him unknown; he had never possessed an umbrella, and only on days like +this donned a light overcoat to guard himself against what he called +'the sooty spittle' of a London sky. Yet he was not the man of four or +five years ago. He had the same appearance of muscularity, the same red +neck and mighty fists; but beneath his eyes hung baggy flesh that gave +him a bilious aspect, his cheeks were a little sunken, and the tone of +his complexion had lost its healthy clearness. In temper, too, he had +suffered; perhaps in manners. He used oaths too freely; intermingled +his good bluff English--the English of a country gentleman--with recent +slang; tended to the devil-may-care rather than to the unconsciously +breezy and bold. + +'Let us find a corner,' he said, clutching his friend by the shoulder, +'out of the damned crowd.' + +'Lawsuit finished?' asked Harvey, when they had found a place and +ordered their meal. + +Hugh answered with a deep rolling curse. + +When he returned to England, in the summer of 1889, he entered at once +into partnership with the man Mackintosh, taking over an established +business at Coventry, with which his partner already had some +connection. Not a week passed before they found themselves at law with +regard to a bicycle brake--a patent they had begun by purchasing, only +to find their right in it immediately contested. The case came on in +November; it occupied nine days, and was adjourned. Not until July of +the following year, 1890, was judgment delivered; it went for +Mackintosh & Co, the plaintiffs, whose claim the judge held to be +proved. But this by no means terminated the litigation. The defendants, +who had all along persisted in manufacturing and selling this patent +brake, now obtained stay of injunction until the beginning of the +Michaelmas term, with the understanding that, if notice of appeal were +given before then, the injunction would be stayed until the appeal was +settled. And notice _was_ given, and the appeal would doubtless be +heard some day or other; but meanwhile the year 1891 had come round, +and Mackintosh & Co. saw their rivals manufacturing and selling as +gaily as ever. Hugh Carnaby grew red in the face as he spoke of them; +his clenched fist lay on the tablecloth, and it was pretty clear how he +longed to expedite the course of justice. + +Still, he had good news to communicate, and he began by asking whether +Harvey saw much of Redgrave. + +'Redgrave?' echoed the other in surprise. 'Why, I hardly know him.' + +'But your wife knows him very well.' + +'Yes; I dare say she does.' + +Carnaby did not observe his friend's countenance; he was eating with +great appetite. 'Redgrave isn't at all a bad fellow. I didn't know him +much till lately. Used to see him at B. F.'s, you know, and one or two +other places where I went with Sibyl. Thought him rather a snob. But I +was quite mistaken. He's a very nice fellow when you get near to him.' + +Harvey's surprise was increased. For his own part, he still thought of +Redgrave with the old prejudice, though he had no definite charge to +bring against the man. He would have supposed him the last person +either to seek or to obtain favour with Hugh Carnaby. + +'Sibyl has known him for a long time,' Hugh continued. 'Tells me he did +all sorts of kindnesses for her mother at Ascott Larkfield's death; +fixed up her affairs--they were in a devil of a state, I believe. Last +autumn we met him in Scotland; he was with his sister and her +family--Mrs. Fenimore. Her husband's in India, and he seems to look +after her in a way that does him credit. In fact, I saw a new side of +the fellow. We got quite chummy, and I happened to speak about +Mackintosh & Co. Well, now, what do you think? Two days ago, at +Coventry, I got a note from him: he was coming through, and would like +to see me; would I lunch with him at a hotel? I did, and he surprised +me by beginning to talk about business. The fact was, he had some money +lying loose, wanted to place it somewhere, and had faith in cycles. Why +shouldn't he make an offer to a friend? Would Mackintosh & Co. care to +admit a new partner? Or--anyhow--could we make use of a few thousand +pounds?' + +Rolfe had ceased to eat, and was listening intently. The story sounded +very strange to him; it did not fit at all with his conception of Cyrus +Redgrave. + +'I suppose a few thousands would come very handy?' he remarked. + +'Well, old man, to tell you the truth,--I can do it now,--for me it +means a jump out of a particularly black hole. You must understand that +we're not doing downright badly; we pay our way, but that was about +all. I, individually, shouldn't have paid my way for many months +longer. God! how I clutched at it! You don't know what it is, Rolfe, to +see your damned account at the bank slithering away, and not a cent to +pay in. I've thought of all sorts of things--just stopping short of +burglary, and I shouldn't have stopped at that long.' + +'You mean that this new capital will give such a push to the +business----' + +'Of course! It was just what we wanted. We couldn't advertise--couldn't +buy a new patent--couldn't move at all. Now we shall make things hum.' + +'Does Redgrave become a partner, then?' + +'A sleeping partner. But Redgrave is wide enough awake. Mackintosh says +he never met a keener man of business. You wouldn't have thought it, +would you? I should fancy he manages all his own property, and does it +devilish well, too. Of course, he has all sorts of ways of helping us +on. He's got ideas of his own, too, about the machines; I shouldn't +wonder if he hits on something valuable. I never half understood him +before. He doesn't shoot much, but knows enough about it to make +pleasant talk. And he has travelled a good deal. Then, of course, he +goes in for art, music--all that sort of thing. There's really no +humbug about him. He's neither prig nor cad, though I used to think him +a little of both.' + +Harvey reflected; revived his mental image of the capitalist, and still +found it very unlike the picture suggested by Hugh. + +'Who _is_ Redgrave?' he asked. 'How did he get his money?' + +'I know nothing about that. I don't think he's a university man. He +hinted once that he was educated abroad. Seems to know plenty of good +people. Mrs. Fenimore, his sister, lives at Wimbledon. Sibyl and I were +over there not long ago, dining; one or two titled people, a parson, +and so on; devilish respectable, but dull--the kind of company that +makes me want to stand up and yell. Redgrave has built himself what he +calls a bungalow, somewhere near the house; but I didn't see it.' + +'You're a good deal at Coventry?' asked Rolfe. + +'Off and on. Just been down for ten days. If it were possible, I should +go steadily at the business. I used to think I couldn't fit into work +of that sort, but a man never knows what he can do till he tries. I +can't stand doing nothing; that floors me. I smoke too much, and drink +too much, and get quarrelsome, and wish I was on the other side of the +world. But it's out of the question to live down yonder; I couldn't ask +Sibyl to do it.' + +'Do you leave her quite alone, then?' + +Carnaby made an uneasy movement. + +'She has been visiting here and there for the last month; now her +mother wants her to go to Ventnor. Much better she shouldn't; they hate +each other--can't be together a day without quarrelling. Pretty plain +on which side the fault lies. I shouldn't think there are many women +better tempered than Sibyl. All the time we've been married, and all +we've gone through, I have never once seen an unpleasant look on her +face--to _me_, that is. It's something to be able to say that. Mrs. +Larkfield is simply intolerable. She's always either whining or in a +fury. Can't talk of anything but the loss of her money.' + +'That reminds me,' interposed Harvey. 'Do you know that there seems to +be a chance of getting something out of the great wreck?' + +'What? Who says so?' + +'Mrs. Frothingham. The creditors come first, of course. Was your wife +creditor or shareholder?' + +'Why, both.' + +'Then she may hear something before long. I don't pretend to understand +the beastly affair, but Mrs. Frothingham wrote to us about it the day +before yesterday, with hints of eighteenpence in the pound, which she +seemed to think very glorious.' + +Carnaby growled in disgust. + +'Eighteenpence be damned! Well, perhaps it'll buy her a hat. I tell +you, Rolfe, when I compare Sibyl with her mother, I almost feel she's +too good for the world. Suppose she had turned out _that_ sort of +woman! What would have been the end of it? Murder, most likely. But she +bore the loss of all her money just as she did the loss of her +jewellery and things when our house was burgled--never turned a hair. +There's a girl to be proud of, I tell you!' + +He insisted upon it so vehemently that one might have imagined him in +conflict with secret doubts as to his wife's perfection. + +'It's a very strange thing,' said Rolfe, looking at his wine, 'that +those thieves got clean away--not a single thing they stole ever +tracked. There can't be many such cases.' + +'I have a theory about that.' Hugh half-closed his eyes, looking at +once shrewd and fierce. 'The woman herself--the housekeeper--is at this +moment going about in society, somewhere. She was no Whitechapel thief. +There's a gang organised among the people we live with. If I go out to +dine, as likely as not I sit next to a burglar or a forger, or anything +you like. The police never get on the scent, and it's the same in many +another robbery. Some day, perhaps, there'll be an astounding +disclosure, a blazing hell of a scandal--a dozen men and women marched +from Belgravia and Mayfair to Newgate. I'm sure of it! What else can +you expect of such a civilisation as ours? Well, I should know that +woman again, and if ever I find myself taking her down to dinner----' + +Harvey exploded in laughter. + +'I tell you I'm quite serious,' said the other angrily. 'I _know_ +that's the explanation of it! There are plenty of good and honest +people still, but they can't help getting mixed up among the vilest lot +on the face of the earth. That's why I don't like my wife to make new +acquaintances. _She_ won't get any harm, but I hate to think of the +people she perhaps meets. Mackintosh was telling me of a woman in +London who keeps up a big house and entertains all sorts of people--and +her husband knows where the money comes from. He wouldn't mention her +name, because, by Jove, he had himself contributed to the expenses of +the establishment! It was three or four years ago, when he had his +money and ran through it. For all I know, Sibyl may go there--I can't +tell her about such things, and she wouldn't believe me if I did. She's +an idealist--sees everything through poetry and philosophy. I should be +a brute if I soiled her mind. And, I say, old man, why don't your wife +and she see more of each other? Is it just the distance?' + +'I'm afraid that has something to do with it,' Harvey replied, trying +to speak naturally. + +'I'm sorry. They're both of them too good for ordinary society. I wish +to God we could all four of us go out to a place I know in Tasmania, +and live honest, clean, rational lives! Can't be managed. Your wife has +her music; Sibyl has her books and so on----' + +'By-the-bye, you know Mrs. Strangeways?' + +'I know _of_ her.' + +'And not much good?' + +'No particular harm. Sibyl saw a little of her, but I don't think they +meet now. Your wife know her?' 'She has met her here and there: you and +I are alike in that. We can't stand the drawing-room, so our wives have +to go about by themselves. The days are past when a man watched over +his wife's coming and going as a matter of course. We should only make +fools of ourselves if we tried it on. It's the new world, my boy; we +live in it, and must make the best of it.' + +Hugh Carnaby drank more wine than is usually taken at luncheon. It +excited him to boisterous condemnation of things in general. He +complained of the idleness that was forced upon him, except when he +could get down to Coventry. + +'I hang about for whole days doing literally nothing. What _should_ I +do? I'm not the man for books; I can't get much sport nowadays; I don't +care for billiards. I want to have an axe in my hand!' + +Gesticulating carelessly, he swept a wine-glass off the table. + +'There--damn it! shows we've sat long enough. Come and talk to Sibyl, +and let her give you a cup of tea. You never see her--never; yet she +thinks better of you than of any other man we know. Come, let's get out +of this beastly air. The place reeks of onions.' + +They went to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, where Rolfe spent the time +until he had to leave for his appointment with Cecil Morphew. Sibyl was +very kind, but gently reproachful. Why had Alma forsaken her? Why did +Harvey himself never drop in? + +'I'm often quite lonely, Mr. Rolfe, and as one result of it I'm getting +learned. Look at these books. Won't you give me a word of admiration?' + +There was a volume of Crowe and Cavalcaselle, one of Symonds's +'Renaissance', Benvenuto's 'Memoirs' in the original. + +'I can't help clinging to the old world,' she said sweetly. 'Hugh +forgives me, like a good boy; and you, I know, not only forgive, but +sympathise.' + +Of course, not a word passed with reference to Hugh Carnaby's business; +Redgrave's name was not mentioned. Sibyl, one felt, would decline to +recognise, in her own drawing-room, the gross necessities of life. Had +bankruptcy been impending, she would have ignored it with the same +perfection of repose. An inscrutable woman, who could look and smile at +one without conveying the faintest suggestion of her actual thoughts. + +On his way to the club, Harvey puzzled over what seemed to him +Redgrave's singular behaviour. Why should a man in that position +volunteer pecuniary aid to an obscure and struggling firm? Could it be +genuine friendship for Hugh Carnaby? That sounded most improbable. +Perhaps Redgrave, like the majority of people in his world, appeared +much wealthier than he really was, and saw in Mackintosh's business a +reasonable hope of profit. In that case, and if the concern began to +flourish, might not an older friend of Carnaby's find lucrative +employment for his capital? + +He had always thought with uttermost contempt of the man who allows +himself to be gripped, worried, dragged down, by artificial +necessities. Was he himself to become a victim of this social disease? +Was he, resistless, to be drawn into the muddy whirlpool, to spin round +and round among gibbering phantoms, abandoning himself with a grin of +inane conceit, or clutching in desperation at futile hopes? He +remembered his tranquil life between the mountains and the sea; his +earlier freedom, wandering in the sunlight of silent lands. Surely +there needed but a little common-sense, a little decision, to save +himself from this rushing current. One word to Alma--would it not +suffice? But of all things he dreaded to incur the charge of meanness, +of selfishness. That had ever been his weak point: in youth, well-nigh +a cause of ruin; in later life, impelling him to numberless +insincerities and follies. + +However, the danger as yet only threatened. He was solvent; he had +still a reserve. It behoved him merely to avoid the risks of +speculation, and to check, in natural, unobtrusive ways, that tendency +to extravagance of living which was nowadays universal. Could he not +depend upon himself for this moderate manliness? + +Cecil Morphew, though differing in all other respects from Hugh +Carnaby, showed a face which, like Hugh's, was growing prematurely old; +a fatigued complexion, sunken eyes; an expression mingled of discontent +and eagerness, now furtive, now sanguine, yet losing the worse traits +in a still youthful smile as he came forward to meet his friend. Year +after year he clung to the old amorous hope, but he no longer spoke of +it with the same impulsive frankness; he did not shun the +subject--brought it, indeed, voluntarily forward, but with a shamefaced +hesitance. His declaration in a letter, not long ago, that he was +unworthy of any good woman's love, pointed to something which had had +its share in the obvious smirching of his character; something common +enough, no doubt; easily divined by Harvey Rolfe, though he could not +learn how far the man's future was compromised. Today Morphew began +with talk of a hopeful tenor. He had got hold of a little money; he had +conceived a project for making more. When the progress of their eating +and drinking cleared the way for confidential disclosures, Morphew +began to hint at his scheme. + +'You've heard me speak of Denbow?' This was a man who had given him +lessons in photography; a dealer in photographic apparatus, with a shop +in Westminster Bridge Road. 'He's a very decent fellow, but it's all up +with him. His wife drinks, and he has lost money in betting, and now he +wants to clear out--to sell his business and get away. He came to me to +apologise for spoiling some negatives--he does a little printing for me +now and then and told me what he meant to do. Did I know of anyone +likely to take his shop?' + +Harvey laughed. + +'You're in with a queer lot of people, it seems to me.' + +'Oh, Denbow is all but a gentleman, I assure you. He was educated at +Charterhouse, but made a fool of himself, I believe, in the common way. +But about his business. I've seen a good deal of it, going in and out, +and talking with them, and I know as much about photography as most +amateurs--you'll admit that, Rolfe?' + +It was true that he had attained more than ordinary skill with the +camera. Indeed, but for this resource, happily discovered in the days +of his hopelessness, he would probably have sunk out of sight before +now. + +'Denbow's salesman is a thoroughly honest and capable fellow--Hobcraft, +his name. He's been at the shop three or four years, and would be only +too glad to carry on the business, but he can't raise money, and Denbow +must have cash down. Now the fact is, I want to buy that business +myself.' + +'I see. What does the man ask for it?' + +Morphew fidgeted a little. + +'Well, just at present there isn't much stock--nothing like what there +ought to be. Denbow has been coming down the hill; he's stopped himself +only just in time. When I first knew him he was doing reasonably well. +It's a good position for that kind of shop. Swarms of men, you know, go +backwards and forwards along the Westminster Bridge Road, and just the +kind of men, lots of them, that take up photography--the better kind of +clerk, and the man of business who lives in the south suburbs. And +photography is going ahead so. I have all sorts of ideas. One might +push the printing branch of the business--and have dark rooms for +amateurs--and hit on a new hand-camera--and perhaps even start a paper, +call it _Camera Notes_, or something of that kind. Don't smile and look +sceptical----' + +'Not at all. It seems to me the best suggestion I've heard from you +yet.' + +'Think so? I'm awfully glad of that. You know, Rolfe, a fellow like +myself--decent family, public school, and that kind of thing--naturally +fights shy of shopkeeping. But I've got to the point that I don't care +what I do, if only it'll bring me a steady income in an honest way. I +ought to be able to make several hundreds a year, even at starting, out +of that business.' + +'Have you spoken of it in the usual quarter?' + +'No, I haven't.' Cecil's countenance fell. 'I should if I made a +successful start. But I've talked of so many things, I'm ashamed. And +she mightn't quite understand; perhaps she would think I was going +down--down----' + +'How is her father?' + +'Neither better nor worse. That man will take another ten years over +his dying--see if he doesn't. Well, we've got used to it. We're neither +of us young any longer; we've lost the best part of our lives. And all +for what? Because we hadn't money enough to take a house three times +bigger than we needed! Two lives wasted because we couldn't feed fifty +other people for whom we didn't care a damn! Doesn't it come to that?' + +'No doubt. What does Denbow ask?' + +'For the stock, two hundred pounds; shop-fittings, fifty; business as +it stands, say three hundred. The rent is ninety-five. Floor above the +shop let to a family, who pay twenty-four shillings a week--a +substantial set-off against the rent; but I should like to get rid of +the people, and use the whole house for business purposes. There's +three years of Denbow's lease to run, but this, he says, the landlord +would be willing to convert into a seven years' lease to a new tenant. +Then one must allow something for repairs and so on at the fresh start. +Well, with purchase of a little new stock, say another hundred and +fifty pounds. Roughly speaking, I ought to have about five hundred +pounds to settle the affair.' + +'And you have the money?' + +'Not quite; I've got--well, I may say three hundred. I'm not speaking +of my own private income; of course, that goes on as usual, and isn't a +penny too much for--for ordinary expenses..' He fidgeted again. 'Would +you care to know how I made this bit of capital?' + +'If you care to tell me.' + +'Yes, I will, just to show you what one is driven to do. Two years ago +I was ill--congestion of the lungs--felt sure I should die. You were in +Wales then. I sent for Tripcony, to get him to make my will--he used to +be a solicitor, you know, before he started the bucket-shop. When I +pulled through, Trip came one day and said he had a job for me. You'll +be careful, by-the-bye, not to mention this. The job was to get the +City editor of a certain newspaper (a man I know very well) to print a +damaging rumour about a certain company. You'll wonder how I could +manage this. Well, simply because the son of the chairman of that +company was a sort of friend of mine, and the City editor knew it. If I +could get the paragraph inserted, Tripcony would--not pay me anything, +but give me a tip to buy certain stock which he guaranteed would be +rising. Well, I undertook the job, and I succeeded, and Trip was as +good as his word. I bought as much as I dared--through Trip, mind you, +and he wouldn't let me of the cover, which I thought suspicious, though +it was only habit of business. I bought at 75, and on settling day the +quotation was par. I wanted to go at it again, but Trip shook his head. +Well, I netted nearly five hundred. The most caddish affair I ever was +in; but I wanted money. Stop, that's only half the story. Just at that +time I met a man who wanted to start a proprietary club. He had the +lease of a house near Golden Square, but not quite money enough to +furnish it properly and set the club going. Well, I joined him, and put +in four hundred pounds; and for a year and a half we didn't do badly. +Then there was a smash; the police raided the place one night, and my +partner went before the magistrates. I trembled in my shoes, but my +name was never mentioned. It only ended in a fifty-pound fine, and of +course I went halves. Then we sold the club for two hundred, furniture +and all, and I found myself with--what I have now, not quite three +hundred.' + +'My boy, you've been going it,' remarked Rolfe, with a clouded brow. + +'That's what I tell you. I want to get out of all that kind of thing. +Now, how am I to get two or three hundred honestly? I think Denbow +would take less than he says for cash down. But the stock, I guarantee, +is worth two hundred.' + +'You have the first offer?' + +'Till day after tomorrow--Monday.' + +'Tomorrow's Sunday--that's awkward. Never mind. If I come over in the +morning, will you take me to the place, and let me look over it with +you, and see both Denbow and the shopman?' + +'Of course I will!' said Morphew delightedly. 'It's all aboveboard. +There's a devilish good business to be made; it depends only on the +man. Why, Denbow has made as much as two hundred in a year out of +printing for amateurs alone. It's his own fault that he didn't keep it +up. I swear, Rolfe, that with capital and hard work and acuteness, that +place can be made _the_ establishment of the kind south of the Thames. +Why, there's no reason why one shouldn't net a thousand a year in a +very short time.' + +'Is Denbow willing to exhibit his books?' + +'Of course he is. I've seen them. It isn't speculative, you know; +honest, straightforward business.' + +'What part do you propose to take in it yourself?' + +'Why, Denbow's part--without the betting. I shall go in for the +business for all I'm worth; work day and night. And look here, Rolfe. +It isn't as if I had no security to offer. You see, I have my private +income; that gives me a pull over the ordinary man of business just +starting. Suppose I borrow three--four--five hundred pounds; why, I can +afford to make over stock or receipts--anything in that way--to the +lender. Four per cent, that's what I offer, if it's a simple loan.' + +'You would keep the man--what's his name?' + +'Hobcraft. Decidedly. Couldn't do without him. He has been having +thirty-five shillings a week.' + +Harvey rose, and led the way to the smoking-room. His companion had +become a new man; the glow of excitement gave him a healthier look, and +he talked more like the Cecil Morphew of earlier days, whom Rolfe had +found and befriended at the hotel in Brussels. + +'There's nothing to be ashamed of in a business of this kind. If only +her father was dead, I'm sure _she_ wouldn't mind it.--Ah, Rolfe, if +only she and I, both of us, had had a little more courage! Do you know +what I think? It's the weak people that do most harm in the world. They +suffer, of course, but they make others suffer as well. If I were like +_you_--ah, if I were like _you_!' Harvey laughed. + + + + +CHAPTER 8 + + +To Alma, on his return, he gave a full account of all he had heard and +done. The story of Hugh Carnaby's good fortune interested her greatly. +She elicited every detail of which Harvey had been informed; asked +shrewd questions; and yet had the air of listening only for her +amusement. + +'Should you have thought Redgrave likely to do such a thing?' Rolfe +inquired. + +'Oh, I don't know him at all well. He has been a friend of Sibyl's for +a long time--so, of course----' + +Her voice dropped, but in a moment she was questioning again. + +'You say that Mr. Redgrave went to see him at Coventry?' + +'Yes. Redgrave must have heard he was there, from Sibyl, I suppose.' + +'And that was two days ago?' + +'So Carnaby said--Why?' + +'Somebody--oh, I think it was Mrs. Rayner Mann, yesterday--said Mr +Redgrave was in Paris.' + +Cecil Morphew's affairs had much less interest for her; but when Harvey +said that he was going to town again tomorrow, to look at the shop in +Westminster Bridge Road, she regarded him with an odd smile. + +'You surely won't get mixed up in things of that kind?' + +'It might be profitable,' he answered very quietly; 'and--one doesn't +care to lose any chance of that kind--just now----' + +He would not meet her eyes; but Alma searched his face for the meaning +of these words, so evidently weighted. + +'Are you at all uneasy, Harvey?' + +'Not a bit--not a bit,' answered the weak man in him. 'I only meant +that, if we are going to remove----' + +They sat for more than five minutes in silence. Alma's brain was +working very rapidly, as her features showed. When he entered, she +looked rather sleepy; now she was thrilling with vivid consciousness; +one would have thought her absorbed in the solution of some exciting +problem. Her next words came unexpectedly. + +'Harvey, if you mean what you say about letting me follow my own +instincts, I think I shall decide to try my fortune--to give a public +recital.' + +He glanced at her, but did not answer. + +'We made a sort of bargain--didn't we?' she went on, quickly, +nervously, with an endeavour to strike the playful note. 'Hughie shall +go to Mrs. Abbott's, and I will attend to what you said about the +choice of acquaintances.' + +'But surely neither of those things can be a subject of bargaining +between us? Isn't your interest in both at least equal to my own?' + +'Yes--I know--of course. It was only a joking way of putting it.' + +'Tell me plainly'--he looked at her now--'have you the slightest +objection, on any ground, to Hughie's being taught by Mrs. Abbott? If +so, do let us clear it up.' + +'Dear, I have not a shadow of objection,' replied Alma, straightening +herself a little, and answering his gaze with excessive frankness. 'How +could I have? You think Mrs. Abbott will teach him much better than I +could, and in that you are quite right. I have no talent for teaching. +I haven't much patience--except in music. It's better every way, that +he should go to Mrs. Abbott. I feel perfect confidence in her, and I +shouldn't be able to in a mere stranger.' + +Harvey gave a slow nod, and appeared to have something more of +importance to say; but he only asked how the child's cold had been +tonight. Alma replied that it was neither better nor worse; she spoke +absently. + +'On whose encouragement do you principally rely?' was Rolfe's next +question. + +'On that of twenty people!' + +'I said "principally".' + +'Herr Wilenski has often praised me; and he doesn't throw his praise +away. And you yourself, Harvey, didn't you say last might that I was +undoubtedly as good as most professionals?' + +'I don't think I used quite those words; and, to tell you the truth, it +had never entered my head that you would take them for encouragement to +such a step as this.' + +Alma bent towards him, smiling. + +'I understand. You don't think me good enough. Now the truth, the +truth!' and she held up a finger--which she could not succeed in +keeping steady. + +'Yes, you shall have the truth. It's too serious a matter for making +pretences. My own judgment is worthless, utterly; it should neither +offend nor encourage you. But it's very plain to me that you shouldn't +dream of coming before the public unless Wilenski, and perhaps some one +else of equal or better standing, actually urges you to it. Now, has he +done anything like that?' + +She reddened, and hardly tried to conceal her vexation. + +'This only means, Harvey, that you don't want me to come out.' + +'Come now, be more reasonable. It does not _only_ mean that; in fact, I +can say honestly it doesn't mean that at all. If Wilenski tells you +plainly that you ought to become a professional violinist, there's no +one will wish you luck half so heartily as I. But if it's only the +encouragement of "twenty people"--that means nothing. I'm speaking +simply as the best friend you have. Don't run the risk of a horrible +disappointment. I know you wouldn't find that easy to bear--it would be +bad for you, in every way. + +Impelled by annoyance--for the project seemed to him delusive, and his +sense of dignity rose against it--Harvey had begun with unwonted +decision, but he was soon uncomfortably self-conscious and +self-critical; he spoke with effort, vainly struggling against that +peculiar force of Alma's personality which had long ago subdued him. +When he looked at her, saw her distant smile, her pose of the head as +in one who mildly rebukes presumption, he was overcome with a feeling +of solemn ineptitude. Quite unaware that his last sentence was to Alma +the most impressive--the only impressive--part of his counsel, suddenly +he broke off, and found relief in unexpected laughter. + +'There now, I've done my duty--I've discharged the pedagogue. Get rid +of your tragic mask. Be yourself; do as you wish. When the time comes, +just tell me what you have decided.' + +So, once more, did he oust common-sense with what he imagined a riper +wisdom. One must not take things funereally. Face to face with a woman +in the prime of her beauty, he heard a voice warning him against the +pedantic spirit of middle age, against formalism and fogeyishness. + +'Now I know you again,' said Alma, softening, but still reserved; for +she did not forget that he had thrown doubt upon her claims as an +artist--an incident which would not lose its importance as she pondered +it at leisure. + +Harvey sat late. On going upstairs, instead of straightway entering his +own room, he passed it with soft step and paused by another door, that +of the chamber in which Hughie slept under the care of Miss Smith. The +child had coughed in the night during this last week. But at present +all was quiet, and with comfortable reassurance the father went to rest. + +Alma had matters to occupy her more important than a child's passing +ailment. As she slowly unrobed herself by the fire, combed out her +warm, fragrant, many-rippled tresses, or held mute dialogue with her +eyes in the glass, from a ravel of uneasy thoughts there detached +itself, first and foremost, the discovery that Redgrave had not been in +Paris when Mrs. Strangeways said he was. What was the meaning of this +contradiction? Thereto hung the singular coincidence of Redgrave's +return home exactly at the time when she and Mrs. Strangeways happened +to be there. She had thought of it as a coincidence and nothing more; +but if Redgrave had deceived Mrs. Strangeways as to his movements, the +unlooked-for arrival took a suspicious significance. There remained a +dark possibility: that Mrs. Strangeways knew what was about to happen. +Yet this seemed inconceivable. + +Was it inconceivable? Why should a woman of that age, and of so much +experience, feel nervous about going alone to her friend's house on +such a simple mission? It appeared odd at the time, and was more +difficult to understand the more she thought of it. And one heard such +strange stories--in society of a certain kind--so many whispered hints +of things that would not bear to be talked about. + +Redgrave had not been in Paris, but at Coventry. There again was a +puzzling circumstance. Harvey himself declared his surprise at hearing +that Redgrave had entered into partnership with Hugh Carnaby. Had Sibyl +anything to do with this? Could she have hinted to her friend the +millionaire that her husband's financial position was anything but +satisfactory, and had Redgrave, out of pure friendship--of course, out +of pure friendship--hastened to their succour? + +This perplexity was almost as disturbing as that which preceded it. +Knowing the man of money as she did, Alma found it disagreeable to +connect his name thus closely with Sibyl's. Disagreeable in a +complicated sense; for she had begun to think of Cyrus Redgrave as +intimately associated with her own ambitions, secret and avowed. He was +to aid her in winning fame as a violinist; and, to this end, all +possible use (within certain limits) was to be made of the power she +had over him. Alma viewed the position without the least attempt at +disguising its true nature. She was playing with fire; knew it; enjoyed +the excitement of it; trusted herself with the completest confidence to +come out of the game unscorched. But she felt assured that other women, +in similar circumstances, had engaged in much the same encounter with +Cyrus Redgrave; and could it be imagined that Sibyl Carnaby was one of +them--Sibyl, the woman of culture, of high principle, the critic of +society--Sibyl, to whom she had so long paid homage, as to one of the +chosen of her sex? That Redgrave might approach Sibyl with lawless +thought, she could well believe, and such a possibility excited her +indignation; that Sibyl would meet him on his own terms, she could not +for a moment have credited, but for a traitor-voice that spoke in her +for the first time, the voice of jealousy. + +Where and how often did they meet? To ask this question was to touch +another motive of discontent. Ever since the return to London life, +Alma had felt dissatisfied with her social position. She was the wife +of a gentleman of independent means; in theory, all circles should be +open to her. Practically, she found herself very much restricted in the +choice of acquaintances. Harvey had hinted that she should be careful +where she went, and whom she knew; that she recognised the justice of +this warning served merely to irritate her against its necessity. Why, +then, did not her husband exert himself to obtain better society for +her? Plainly, he would never take a step in that direction; he had his +two or three friends, and found them sufficient; he would have liked to +see her very intimate with Mrs. Abbott--perhaps helping to teach babies +on the kindergarten system! Left to her own resources, she could do +little beyond refusing connections that were manifestly undesirable. +Sibyl, she knew, associated with people of much higher standing, only +out of curiosity taking a peep at the world to which her friend was +restricted. There had always been a slight disparity in this respect +between them, and in former days Alma had accepted it without +murmuring; but why did Sibyl, just when she could have been socially +helpful, show a disposition to hold aloof? 'Of course, you care nothing +for people of that kind,' Mrs. Carnaby had said, after casually +mentioning some 'good' family at whose country house she had been +visiting. It was intended, perhaps, as a compliment, with allusion to +Alma's theories of the 'simple life'; but, in face of the very plain +fact that such theories were utterly abandoned, it sounded to Alma a +humiliating irony. + +Could it be that Sibyl feared inquiries, shrank from having it known +that she was on intimate terms with the daughter of the late Bennet +Frothingham--a name still too often mentioned in newspapers and +elsewhere? The shadow of this possibility had ere now flitted over +Alma's mind; she was in the mood to establish it as a certainty, and to +indulge the resentment that naturally ensued. For on more than one +occasion of late, at Mrs. Rayner Mann's or in some such house, she had +fancied that one person and another had eyed her in a way that was not +quite flattering, and that remarks were privately exchanged about her. +Perhaps Harvey himself saw in the fact of her parentage a social +obstacle, which made him disinclined to extend their circle of common +acquaintances. Was that what he meant by his grave air this evening? +Was he annoyed at the thought of a publicity which would reveal her +maiden name? + +These currents of troubled feeling streamed together and bore her +turbidly onwards whither her desires pointed. In one way, and one way +only, could she hope to become triumphantly conspicuous, to raise +herself quite above petty social prejudices, to defeat ill-wishers and +put to shame faint-hearted friends. She had never been able to endure +the thought of mediocrity. One chance there was; she must grasp it +energetically and without delay. And she must make use of all +subsidiary means to her great conquest--save only the last dishonour. + +That on her own merit she might rise to the first rank of musicians, +Alma did not doubt. Her difficulty lay in the thought that it might +require a long time, a wearisome struggle, to gain the universal +recognition which alone would satisfy her. Therefore must Cyrus +Redgrave be brought to the exertion of all his influence, which she +imagined would assist her greatly. Therefore, too, must Felix Dymes be +retained as her warm friend, probably (his own suggestion) as her man +of business. + +It was January. Her 'recital' must take place in the coming season, in +May or June. She would sketch a programme at once--tomorrow +morning--and then work, work, work terrifically! + +Saved by the fervour of this determination from brooding over mysteries +and jealousies, Alma lay down with a contented sigh, and was soon +asleep, thanks to the health she still enjoyed. Her excitability was of +the imagination rather than of the blood, and the cool, lymphatic flow, +characteristically feminine, which mingled with the sanguine humour, +traceable perhaps to a paternal source, spared her many an hour of +wakefulness, as it guarded her against much graver peril. + +On Sunday morning she generally went to church--not because of any +spiritual impulse, but out of habit. In Wales, Harvey often accompanied +her; at Pinner he ceased to do so; but neither then nor now had any +talk on the subject passed between them. Alma took it for granted that +her husband was very 'broad' in matters of faith. She gathered from her +reading that every man of education nowadays dispensed with dogmas, +and, for her own part, it was merely an accident that she had not +sought to attract attention by pronounced freethinking. Sibyl Carnaby +went to church as a matter of course, and never spoke for or against +orthodoxy. Had Sibyl been more 'advanced' in this direction, +undoubtedly Alma would long ago have followed her example. Both of +them, in girlhood, had passed through a great deal of direct religious +teaching--and both would have shrunk amazed if called upon to make the +slightest sacrifice in the name of their presumed creed. + +This morning, however, Alma remained at home, and one of the first +things she did was to write to Sibyl, asking when it would be +convenient for her friend to give her half-an-hour's private talk. Then +she wrote to Felix Dymes, addressing the letter to the care of his +publishers. At midday, as Harvey had gone to town on his business with +Cecil Morphew, she decided to run over to Kingsbury-Neasden and ask her +friends for lunch, in return for which she would make known to them her +startling project. It was a wretched day; Hughie must not go out, and +Pauline--good creature--would amuse him in one way and another all the +afternoon. + +As it chanced, her surprise visit could not have been worse timed, for +Mrs. Leach was in a state of collapse after a violent quarrel, the day +before, with her cook-housekeeper, who quitted the house at a moment's +notice. Luncheon, in the admissible sense of the word, there was none +to be had. Mr. Leach, finding the house intolerable when he arrived on +Saturday afternoon, had gone back to his bachelor quarters, and the +girls, when Alma presented herself, were just sitting down alone to +what the housemaid chose to give them. But such an old friend could not +be turned away because of domestic mishap. + +Not until they had despatched the unsatisfactory meal, and were cosy in +the drawing-room, did Alma reveal her great purpose. Dora Leach +happened to have a slight acquaintance with a professional pianist who +had recently come before the public, and Alma began by inquiring +whether her friend could obtain information as to the expenses of the +first 'recital' given by that lady. + +'I'm afraid I don't know her quite well enough,' replied Miss Leach. +'What's it for? Are you thinking----? Really? You _really_ are?' + +The sisters became joyously excited. Splendid idea! They had feared it +was impossible. Oh, she might count with certainty upon a brilliant +success! They began to talk about the programme. And what professionals +would she engage to take part in the concert? When Alma mentioned that +the illustrious Felix Dymes had offered to undertake the management of +her business, interest rose to the highest point. Felix Dymes would of +course be a tower of strength. Though tempted to speak of the support +she might expect from another great man, Alma refrained; her reason +being that she meant to ask Dora to accompany her to the Crystal Palace +next Saturday. If, as was almost certain, Redgrave met them there, it +would be unpleasant to let Dora surmise that the meeting was not by +chance. + +They chattered for two or three hours, and, among other things, made +merry over a girl of their acquaintance (struggling with flagrant +poverty), who aimed at a professional career. + +'It really would be kindness,' said Dora, 'to tell her she hasn't the +least chance; but one can't do that. She was here the other day playing +to us--oh, for _such_ a time! She said her bow would have to be +rehaired, and when I looked at it, I saw it was all greasy and black +near the frog, from her dirty fingers; it only wanted washing. I just +managed to edge in a hint about soap and water. But she's very touchy; +one has to be so careful with her.' + +'It's dreadfully awkward, you know,' put in Gerda, 'to talk to people +who are so _poor_--isn't it? It came out one day that she had been +peeling potatoes for their dinner! It makes one so uncomfortable--she +really need not have mentioned it.' + +The public halls were discussed. Which would Alma select? Then again +the programme. Would she play the Adagio?--meaning, of course, that in +Spohr's Concerto 9. No, _no_; not the Adagio--not on any account the +Adagio! Something of Bach's?--yes; perhaps the Chaconne. And Brahms? +There was the Sonata in A for violin and piano. A stiff piece, but one +must not be too popular--Heaven forbid that one should catch at cheap +applause! How about a trio? What was that thing of Dvorak's, at St +James's Hall not long ago? Yes, the trio in B flat--piano, violin, and +'cello. At least a score of pieces were jotted down, some from memory, +some picked out of old programmes, of which Dora produced a great +portfolio. Interruption came at length--a servant entering to say that +Mrs. Leach felt so ill, she wished the doctor to be summoned. + +'Oh, bother Mamma and her illnesses!' exclaimed the vivacious Gerda +when the intruder was waved off. 'It's all nonsense, you know. She will +quarrel with servants and get herself into a state. It'll have to be a +boarding-house; I see it coming nearer every day.' + +Having made an appointment with Dora for next Saturday, Alma took +leave, and went home in excellent spirits. Everything seemed to plan +itself; the time had come, the moment of destiny. Doubtless she had +been wise in waiting thus long. Had she come forward only a year or so +after her father's tragedy, people might have said she was making +profit of a vulgar sensation; it would have seemed in bad taste; +necessity would have appeared to urge her. Now, such remarks were +impossible. Mrs. Harvey Rolfe sounded much better than Miss Alma +Frothingham. By-the-bye, was it to be 'Mrs.', or ought she to call +herself 'Madame'? People did use the Madame, even with an English name. +Madame Rolfe? Madame Harvey Rolfe? That made her laugh; it had a touch +of the ridiculous; it suggested millinery rather than music. Better to +reject such silly affectations and use her proper name boldly. + +It was to be expected, of course, that people in general would soon +discover her maiden name. Whispers would go round; facts might even get +into the newspapers. Well? She herself had done nothing to be ashamed +of, and if curiosity helped her to success, why, so much the better. In +all likelihood it _would_ help her; but she did not dwell upon this +adventitious encouragement. A more legitimate source of hope revealed +itself in Mrs. Strangeways' allusion to her personal advantages. She +was not ill-looking; on that point there needed no flatterer's +assurance. Her looks, if anything, had improved, and possibly she owed +something to her experiment in 'simplicity', to the air of mountain and +of sea. Felix Dymes, Cyrus Redgrave, not to speak of certain other +people--no matter. For all that, she must pay grave attention to the +subject of dress. Her recital would doubtless be given in the +afternoon, according to custom; so that it was not a case of _grande +tenue_; but her attire must be nothing short of perfection in its kind. +Could she speak about it with Sibyl? Perhaps--yet perhaps not. She was +very anxious to see Sibyl, and felt that a great deal depended upon +their coming interview. + +This took place on Tuesday; for Sibyl replied at once to the note, and +begged her to come without delay. 'Tuesday at twelve. I do little in +these gloomy days but read--am becoming quite a bookworm. Why have you +been silent so long? I was on the very point of writing to you, for I +wish to see you particularly.' + +And, when the servant opened her door, Sibyl was discovered in the +attitude of a severe student, bending over a table on which lay many +volumes. She would not have been herself had there appeared any neglect +or unbecomingness in her costume, but she wore the least pretentious of +morning gowns, close at throat and wrist, which aided her look of +mental concentration and alertness. She rose with alacrity, and the +visitor, using her utmost keenness in scrutiny of countenance, found +that her own eyes, not Sibyl's, were the first to fall. + +'Yes--working as if I had an examination to pass. It's the best thing +in weather such as this--keeps one in health, I believe. You, of +course, have your music, which answers the same purpose. I'm going in +for the Renaissance; always wished to make a thorough study of it. Hugh +is appalled; he never imagined I had so much energy. He says I shall be +writing a book next--and why not?' + +'Of course you could,' replied Alma. 'You're clever enough for +anything.' + +Her suspicions evaporated in this cosy cloister. She wondered how she +could have conceived such a thought of Sibyl, who, dressed so simply, +had a girlish air, a beauty as of maidenhood. Exhilarated by her +ambitious hopes, she turned in heart to the old friendship, felt her +admiration revive, and spoke it freely. + +'I know I'm not stupid,' said Sibyl, leaning back as if a little weary; +'and there's the pity of it, that I've never made more use of my +brains. Of course, those years abroad were lost, though I suppose I got +to know a little more of the world. And since we came back I have had +no peace of mind. Did you guess that? Perhaps your husband knew about +things from Hugh?' + +'I was afraid you might be getting rather anxious; but as you never +said anything yourself----' + +'I never should have done--I hate talking about money. And you know +that things are looking better?' + +Sibyl's confident smile drew one of like meaning from Alma. + +'Your husband had good news, I know, when Harvey met him on Saturday.' + +'It sounds good,' said Sibyl, 'and I take it for granted it will be as +good as it sounds. If that's complicated, well, so is business, and I +don't profess to understand the details. I can only say that Hugh seems +to be a good deal shrewder and more practical than I thought him. He is +always making friends with what I consider the wrong kind of people; +now at last he has got hold of just the right man, and it very much +puzzles me how he did it. I have known Mr. Redgrave--you've heard it's +Mr. Redgrave?--I've known him for several years now, and, between +ourselves, I never expected to benefit by the acquaintance.' + +Her laugh was so significant that Alma had much ado to keep a steady +face. + +'I know--things are said about him,' she murmured. + +'Things _are_ said about him, as you discreetly put it, my dear Alma.' +The voice still rippled with laughter. 'I should imagine Hugh has heard +them, but I suppose a man of the world thinks nothing of such trifles. +And after all'--she grew serious--'I would rather trust Hugh's judgment +than general gossip. Hugh thinks him a "very good fellow". They were +together a little in Scotland last autumn, you know, and--it's very +wrong to make fun of it, and I shouldn't repeat the story to anyone but +you--Mr. Redgrave confided to him that he was a blighted being, the +victim of an unhappy love in early life. Can you quite picture it?' + +'It has an odd sound,' replied Alma, struggling with rather tense +nerves. 'Do you believe the story?' + +'I can't see why in the world such a man should invent it. It seems he +wanted to marry someone who preferred someone else; and since then he +has----' + +Sibyl rippled off again. + +'He has--what?' + +'Been blighted, my dear! Of course, people have different ways of +showing blight. Mr. Redgrave, it is rumoured, hides his head in a +hermitage, somewhere in the north of Italy, by one of the lakes. No +doubt he lives on olives and macaroni, and broods over what _might_ +have been. Did you ever hear of that hermitage?' + +Alma's colour heightened ever so little, and she kept her eyes on the +questioner with involuntary fixedness. The last shadow of doubt +regarding Sibyl having disappeared (no woman with an uneasy conscience, +she said to herself, could talk in this way), she had now to guard +herself against the betrayal of suspicious sensibilities. Sibyl, of +course, meant nothing personal by these jesting allusions--how could +she? But it was with a hard voice that Alma declared her ignorance of +Mr. Redgrave's habits, at home, or in retreat by Italian lakes. + +'It doesn't concern us,' agreed her friend. 'He has chosen to put his +money into Hugh's business, and, from one point of view, that's a +virtuous action. Hugh says he didn't suggest anything of the kind, but +I fancy the idea must have been led up to at some time or other. The +poor fellow has been horridly worried, and perhaps he let fall a word +or two he doesn't care to confess. However it came about, I'm immensely +glad, both for his sake and my own. My mind is enormously relieved--and +that's how I come to be working at the Renaissance.' + +Alma took the first opportunity of giving the conversation a turn. It +was not so easy as she had anticipated to make her announcement; for, +to her own mind, Cyrus Redgrave and the great ambition were at every +moment suggestive of each other, and Sibyl, in this peculiar mood, +might throw out disturbing remarks or ask unwelcome questions. Only one +recent occurrence called for concealment. Happily, Sibyl no longer met +Mrs. Strangeways (whose character had taken such a doubtful hue), and +Redgrave himself could assuredly be trusted for discretion, whatever +his real part in that perplexing scene at he bungalow. + +'I feel the same want as you do,' said Alma, after a little +transitional talk, 'of something to keep me busy. Of course, it must be +music; but music at home, and at other people's homes, isn't enough. +You know my old revolt against the bonds of the amateur. I'm going to +break out--or try to. What would you give for my chances?' + +'My dear, I am no capitalist,' replied her friend, with animation. 'For +such a bargain as that you must go among the great speculators. Hugh's +experience seems to point to Mr. Redgrave.' + +'Sibyl, please be serious.' + +'So I am. I should like to have the purchase of your chances for a +trifle of a few thousand pounds.' + +Alma's flush of discomposure (more traitorous than she imagined) +transformed itself under a gratified smile. + +'You really think that I might do something worth the trouble?--I don't +mean money-making--though, of course, no one despises money--but a real +artistic success?' + +Sibyl made no half-hearted reply. She seemed in thorough agreement with +those other friends of Alma's who had received the project +enthusiastically. A dozen tickets, at least a dozen, she would at once +answer for. But, as though an unwelcome word must needs mingle with her +pleasantest talk today, she went on to speak of Alma's husband; what +did he think of the idea? + +'He looks on, that's all,' Alma replied playfully. 'If I succeed, he +will be pleased; if I don't, he will have plenty of consolation to +offer. Harvey and I respect each other's independence--the great secret +of marriage, don't you think? We ask each other's advice, and take it +or not, as we choose. I fancy he doesn't quite like the thought of my +playing for money. But if it were _necessary_ he would like it still +less. He finds consolation in the thought that I'm just amusing myself.' + +'I wish you would both come over and dine with us quietly,' said Sibyl, +after reflecting, with a smile. 'It would do us all good. I don't see +many people nowadays, and I'm getting rather tired of ordinary society; +after all, it's great waste of time. I think Hugh is more inclined to +settle down and be quiet among his friends. What day would suit you?' + +Alma, engrossed in other thoughts, named a day at random. Part of her +scheme was still undisclosed: she had a special reason for wishing +Sibyl to know of her relations with Felix Dymes, yet feared that she +might not hit exactly the right tone in speaking of him. + +'Of course, I must have a man of business--and who do you think has +offered his services?' + +Sibyl was not particularly impressed by the mention of Dymes's name; +she had only a slight personal acquaintance with him, and cared little +for his reputation as a composer. + +'I had a note from him this morning,' Alma continued. 'He asks me to +see him today at the Apollo--the theatre, you know. They're going to +produce his comic opera, "Blue Roses"--of course, you've heard of it. I +shall feel rather nervous about going there--but it'll be a new +experience. Or do you think it would be more discreet if I got him to +come to Pinner?' + +'I didn't think artists cared about those small proprieties,' answered +Sibyl, laughing. + +'No--of course, that's the right way to regard it. Let me show you his +letter.' She took it from her little seal-skin bag. 'A trifle impudent, +don't you think? Mr. Dymes has a great opinion of himself, and +absolutely no manners.' + +'Well--if you can keep him in hand----' + +They exchanged glances, and laughed together. + +'No fear of that,' said Alma 'And he's just the kind of man to be very +useful. His music--ah well! But he has popularity, and a great many +people take him at his own estimate. Impudence does go a long way.' + +Sibyl nodded, and smiled vaguely. + +Dymes had suggested a meeting at three o'clock, and to this Alma had +already given her assent by telegraph. She lunched with Mrs. +Carnaby,--who talked a great deal about the Renaissance,--left +immediately after, to visit a few shops, and drove up to the Apollo +Theatre at the appointed time. Her name sufficed; at once she was +respectfully conducted to a small electric-lighted room, furnished only +with a table and chairs, and hung about with portraits of theatrical +people, where Dymes sat by the fire smoking a cigarette. The +illustrious man apologised for receiving her here, instead of in the +manager's room, which he had hoped to make use of. + +'Littlestone is in there, wrangling about something with Sophy Challis, +and they're likely to slang each other for an hour or two. Make +yourself comfortable. It's rather hot; take off those furry things.' + +'Thank you,' replied Alma, concealing her nervousness with malapert +vivacity, 'I shall be quite comfortable in my own way. It _is_ rather +hot, and your smoke is rather thick, so I shall leave the door a little +open.' + +Dymes showed his annoyance, but could offer no objection. + +'We're getting into shape for this day week. Littlestone calls the +opera "Blue Noses"--it has been so confoundedly cold at rehearsals.' + +Alma was seized by the ludicrous suggestion, and laughed without +restraint; her companion joined in, his loud neigh drowning her more +melodious merriment. This put them on natural terms of comradeship, and +then followed a long, animated talk. Dymes was of opinion that the +hiring of a hall and the fees of supplementary musicians might be +defrayed out of the sale of tickets; but there remained the item of +advertisement, and on this subject he had large ideas. He wanted 'to do +the thing properly'; otherwise he wouldn't do it at all. But Alma was +to take no thought for the cost; let it all be left to him. + +'You want to succeed? All right; let your fiddling be up to the mark, +and I answer for the public. It's all between you and me; you needn't +say who is doing the job for you. Ada Wellington comes off on May the +10th; I shall put you down for a fortnight later. That gives you nearly +four months to prepare. Don't overdo it; keep right in health; take +plenty of exercise. You look very well now; keep it up, and you'll +_knock 'em_. I only wish it was the stage instead of the platform--but +no use talking about that, I suppose?' + +'No use whatever,' Alma replied, flushing with various emotions. + +In the course of his free talk, it happened that he addressed her as +'Alma'. She did not check him; but when the name again fell from his +lips, she said quietly, with a straight look---- + +'I think not. The proper name, if you please.' + +Dymes took the rebuke good-humouredly. When their conversation was +over, he wished her to go with him to a restaurant for tea; but Alma +insisted on catching a certain train at Baker Street, and Dymes had to +be satisfied with the promise of another interview shortly. + + + + +CHAPTER 9 + + +A visit was due from Mrs. Frothingham, who had not been seen at Pinner +for more than six months. She would have come at New Year, but an +attack of influenza upset her plans. Now she wrote to announce her +arrival on Saturday. + +'I wish it had been Monday,' said Alma; 'I have to go to the Crystal +Palace.' + +'Is it imperative?' asked her husband. + +'Yes; there's something new of Sterndale Bennett's, and I've asked +Dora.' + +It seemed to Harvey that this arrangement might have been put aside +without great inconvenience, but, as usual, he made no comment. As he +would be in town on Saturday, he promised to meet their visitor at +Waterloo. Alma, he thought, had never shown much gratitude for her +step-mother's constant kindness; during the past half-year she had now +and then complained of the trouble of answering Mrs. Frothingham's +letters, and the news of illness at Basingstoke drew from her only a +few words of conventional sympathy. To Hughie, who frequently received +presents from 'Grandmamma', she rarely spoke of the affectionate giver. +A remark of hers recently on some piece of news from Mrs. Frothingham +bore an obvious suggestion. + +'I wonder,' she said, 'if a single person has been really benefited by +all the money Mamma has given away? Isn't it likely she has done much +more harm than good?' + +There was truth in his surmise that Alma sometimes thought with +jealousy of Mrs. Frothingham's having had control of a fortune, whilst +she, the only child of him who made the money, possessed nothing of her +own. The same trend of feeling appeared in a word or two of Alma's, +when a daily paper, in speaking of a paltry dividend offered at last to +the creditors in one branch of Bennet Frothingham's speculations, used +a particularly bitter phrase. + +'I should have felt that once; now----' + +In these days Alma suffered from a revival of the indignation which had +so perturbed her in the time just before her marriage. If now she had +possessed even a little money, it would have made her independent in a +sense far more tangible than that of the friendly understanding with +her husband. She strongly disliked the thought of making Harvey +responsible for the expenses of her 'recital'. Had it been possible to +procure a small sum by any honest means, she would eagerly have turned +to it; but no method seemed discoverable. On her journey homeward after +the interview with Felix Dymes, her mind was full of the money +question. What did Dymes mean by bidding her take no thought for +expenses? Could it have occurred to his outrageous vanity that she +might be persuaded to become his debtor, with implied obligation of +gratitude? + +Not with impunity could her thought accustom itself to stray in regions +forbidden, how firm soever her resolve to hold bodily aloof. Alma's +imagination was beginning to show the inevitable taint. With Cyrus +Redgrave she had passed from disdainful resentment, through phases of +tolerance, to an interested flirtation, perilous on every side. In +Felix Dymes she easily, perhaps not unwillingly, detected a motive like +to Redgrave's, and already, for her own purposes, she was permitting +him to regard her as a woman not too sensitive, not too scrupulous. +These tactics might not be pleasant or strictly honourable, but she +fancied they were forced upon her. Alma had begun to compassionate +herself--a dangerous situation. Her battle had to be fought alone; she +was going forth to conquer the world by her mere talents, and can a +woman disregard the auxiliary weapons of beauty? If Dymes chose to +speculate in hopes ludicrously phantasmal, was that her affair? She +smiled at the picture of two men, her devoted servants, exerting +themselves to the utmost for her advantage, yet without a syllable of +express encouragement, and foredoomed to a disappointment which would +be perfectly plain to them could they but use their common-sense. + +Throughout this week Harvey did not behave quite as usual to her; or so +Alma thought. He had not the customary jocoseness when they met at the +close of day; he asked no questions about how she had spent her time; +his manner was preoccupied. One evening she challenged him. + +'You are worrying about what you think my foolishness.' + +'Foolishness? Of what folly are you guilty?' + +'My ambition, then.' + +'Oh no!' He laughed as if the thought genuinely amused him. 'Why should +I worry about it? Don't work too hard, that's all. No, I was thinking +of a squalid little ambition of my own. I have an idea Morphew may make +something of that business; and I want him to, for the fellow's own +good. It's wonderful how near he has been to going to the devil, once +for all. I fancy I've got him now by the coat-tail; I may hold him.' + +'You can't call that a squalid ambition,' said Alma, wishing to be +amiable. + +'Not that side of it--no. But I've decided to put a little money into +the business--nothing that matters, but it may just as well be made +safe, if a little trouble will do it. I was wondering how it would be +if I worked a little down yonder--kept Morphew in sight. Distance is +the chief objection.' + +'But you think of moving to Gunnersbury?' + +'Yes, I do. I'm thinking of it seriously. Will you go over with me one +day next week! Better be Saturday--Mrs. Abbott will be free.' + +It was unfortunate that Alma had not been able to establish an intimacy +with Mary Abbott. They saw each other very rarely, and, as Harvey +perceived, made no progress in friendship. This did not surprise him; +they were too unlike in temper, intellect, and circumstances. Whether +to these obstacles should be added another more serious, Harvey could +not quite assure himself. He had suspected that Alma entertained a +slight jealousy--natural, perhaps, though utterly without substantial +cause. He even reckoned with this when proposing to put the child under +Mrs. Abbott's care, thinking that, in revolt against such an +alternative, Alma might be impelled to take the duty upon herself. That +nothing of the kind had resulted, seemed to prove that, whatever +feeling might occasionally have arisen in Alma, she did not regard his +friend with any approach to hostility. For his own part, he had always +felt that the memory of Bennet Frothingham must needs forbid Mrs. +Abbott to think with unrestrained kindliness of Alma, and, but for Alma +herself, he would scarce have ventured to bring them together. That +they were at least on amiable terms must be held as much as could be +hoped for. With regard to Mary's efficiency as a teacher, his opinion +had grown more favourable since he had seen her in her own home. Time +and experience were moulding her, he thought, to a task undertaken +first of all in a spirit of self-discipline. She appeared to be +successful in winning the confidence of parents, and she no longer +complained of inability to make herself liked by her little pupils. +Best of all, she was undoubtedly devoting herself to the work with all +the powers of her mind, making it the sole and sufficient purpose of +her life. Harvey felt no misgiving; he spoke his true thought when he +said that he would rather trust Hughie to Mrs. Abbott than to any other +teacher. It was with surprise, therefore, and some annoyance, that he +received Alma's reply to his proposal for their going over to +Gunnersbury next week. + +'Are you quite sure,' she said, rather coldly, 'that Mrs. Abbott will +teach better than Pauline?' + +'It isn't only that. Hughie must have companions. I thought we had +agreed about it.' + +'Have you inquired who his companions will be?' + +'Oh--the ordinary children of ordinary people,' he replied, with some +impatience. 'I don't know that babies are likely to corrupt each other. +But, of course, you will ask Mrs. Abbott all about that kind of +thing--or anything else you wish.' + +Alma shook her head, laughing carelessly. + +'No, no. That is all in _your_ hands. You have discussed it with her, +haven't you?' + +'I haven't so much as mentioned it. But, of course, I am quite willing +to relieve you of all trouble in the matter.' + +His tone seemed to startle Alma, for she looked up at him quickly, and +spoke in a more serious voice. + +'I don't think we quite understand each other about Hughie. Why should +you be so anxious? He seems to me to be doing very well. Remember, he's +only a little more than three years old--quite a baby, as you say. I +don't think he would feel the want of companions for another year at +least.' + +Harvey met her look, and replied quietly. + +'It isn't that I'm anxious about him. I have to plan for his education, +that's all.' + +'You're beginning rather early. Fathers don't generally look after +their children so young.' + +'Unfortunately, they don't,' said Harvey, with a laugh. 'Mothers do, +here and there.' + +'But surely you don't mean that I am neglectful, Harvey?' + +'Not at all. Teaching isn't your metier, Alma.' + +'I have always confessed that. But, then, the time for teaching Hughie +has hardly come. What can Pauline do but just see that he doesn't get +into mischief?' + +'That's the very reason why he would be better for two or three hours a +day with some one who knows _how_ to teach a child of his age. It isn't +as unimportant as you think. Pauline does very well, but Mrs. Abbott +will do better.' + +Vexed at his own cowardliness--for he could not utter the words that +leaped to his tongue--Harvey fell into a perverse insistence on Mrs +Abbott's merits. He had meant to confine himself within the safe excuse +that the child needed companionship. Forbidden the natural relief of a +wholesome, hearty outburst of anger--which would have done good in many +ways--his nerves drove him into smothered petulance, with the result +that Alma misread him, and saw in his words a significance quite apart +from their plain meaning. + +'I have not the least intention of interfering, Harvey,' she said, with +her distant smile. 'For the next few months I shall be very busy +indeed. Only one thing I would ask--you don't think of leaving this +house before midsummer?' + +'No.' + +'Because I shall probably give my recital in May, and it would be +rather inconvenient----' + +'Everything shall be arranged to suit you.' + +'Not at all, not at all!' she exclaimed cheerfully. 'I don't ask so +much as that; it would be unreasonable. We are neither of us to stand +in the other's way--isn't that the agreement? Tell me your plans, and +you shall know mine, and I'm sure everything will be managed very well.' + +So the conversation ended, satisfactorily to neither. Harvey, aware of +having spoken indiscreetly, felt that he was still more to blame for +allowing his wife a freedom of which she threatened to make absurd use; +and Alma, her feelings both as wife and mother sensibly perturbed, +resented the imputation which seemed to have been thrown upon her +conduct. This resentment was of course none the less enduring because +conscience took her husband's side. She remembered her appointment +tomorrow (practically an appointment) with Cyrus Redgrave at the +Crystal Palace; would not that be more difficult to confess than +anything she could reasonably suppose to have happened between Harvey +and Mary Abbott? Yet more than ever she hoped to meet Redgrave, to hold +him by a new link of illusory temptation, that he might exert himself +to the utmost in promoting her success. For among the impulses which +urged her forward, her reasons for desiring a public triumph, was one +which Harvey perhaps never for a moment imagined--a desire to shine +gloriously in the eyes of her husband. Harvey would never do her +justice until constrained by the voice of the world. Year after year he +held her in less esteem; he had as good as said that he did not think +her capable of taking a place among professional violinists. Disguise +it how he might, he secretly wished her to become a mere domestic +creature, to abandon hopes that were nothing better than a proof of +vanity. This went to Alma's heart, and rankled there. He should see! He +should confess his error, in all its injurious and humiliating extent! +At whatever cost--at all _but_ any cost--the day of her triumph should +come about! Foreseeing it, she had less difficulty in keeping calm when +the excellencies of Mrs. Abbott were vaunted before her, when Harvey +simply ignored all that in herself compensated the domestic +shortcoming. Of course, she was not a model of the home-keeping +virtues; who expected an artist to be that? But Harvey denied this +claim; and of all the motives contributing to her aspiration, none had +such unfailing force as the vehement resolve to prove him wrong. + +Next morning the weather was so bad that Harvey asked whether she had +not better give up her expedition to the Crystal Palace. Alma smiled +and shook her head. + +'You think I go only for amusement. It's so difficult to make you +understand that these things are serious.' + +'Congestion of the lungs is serious. I don't think Mrs. Frothingham +will face it. There'll probably be a telegram from her.' + +But by midday the fierce wind and driving sleet had abated, though the +outlook remained cheerless enough. After an early lunch, Alma set +forth. Dora Leach joined her in the train, and thus they travelled, +through sooty gloom, under or above ground, from the extreme north to +the farthest south of London; alighting at length with such a ringing +of the ears, such an impression of roar and crash and shriek, as made +the strangest prelude to a feast of music ever devised in the world's +history. Their seats having been taken in advance, they entered a few +moments before the concert began, and found themselves amid a scanty +audience; on either side of them were vacant places. Alma did not dare +to glance round about. If Redgrave were here, and looked for her, he +would have no difficulty in discovering where she sat; probably, too, +he could manage to take possession of the chair at her side. And this +was exactly what happened, though not until the first piece had been +performed. + +'I congratulate you on your zeal,' spoke the voice which always put her +in mind of sunny mountains and a blue lake. + +'Inviting a compliment in return,' said Alma, with a sudden +illumination of her features. 'Are you one of the regular attendants?' + +'Don't you remember?' His voice dropped so low that he hardly seemed to +address her. 'I promised myself the pleasure----' + +Alma pretended not to hear. She turned to her companion, spoke a word, +and renewed the very slight acquaintance which had existed a few years +ago between Redgrave and Miss Leach. Then the sound of an instrument +imposed silence. + +It was not the first time that Alma affected to be absorbed in music +when not consciously hearing it at all. Today the circumstances made +such distraction pardonable; but often enough she had sat thus, with +countenance composed or ecstatic, only seeming to listen, even when a +master played. For Alma had no profound love of the art. Nothing more +natural than her laying it completely aside when, at home in Wales, she +missed her sufficient audience. To her, music was not an end in itself. +Like numberless girls, she had, to begin with, a certain mechanical +aptitude, which encouraged her through the earlier stages, until vanity +stepped in and urged her to considerable attainments. Her father's +genuine delight in music of the higher kind served as an encouragement +whenever her own energies began to fail; and when at length, with +advancing social prospects, the thought took hold of her that, by means +of her violin, she might maintain a place of distinction above ordinary +handsome girls and heiresses, it sufficed to overcome her indolence and +lack of the true temper. She founded her Quartet Society, and queened +it over amateurs, some of whom were much better endowed than herself. +Having set her pride on winning praise as a musician, of course she +took pains, even working very hard from time to time. She had +first-rate teachers, and was clever enough to profit by their lessons. +With it all, she cared as little for music as ever; to some extent it +had lost even that power over her sensibilities which is felt by the +average hearer. Alma had an emotional nature, but her emotions +responded to almost any kind of excitement sooner than to the musical. +So much had she pretended and posed, so much had she struggled with +mere manual difficulties, so much lofty cant and sounding hollowness +had she talked, that the name of her art was grown a weariness, a +disgust. Conscious of this, she was irritated whenever Harvey begged +her to play simple things; for indeed, if she must hear music at all, +it was just those simple melodies she would herself have preferred. And +among the self-styled musical people with whom she associated, were +few, if any, in whom conceit did not sound the leading motive. She knew +but one true musician, Herr Wilenski. That the virtuoso took no trouble +to bring her in touch with his own chosen circle, was a significant +fact which quite escaped Alma's notice. + +Between the pieces Redgrave chatted in a vein of seductive familiarity, +saying nothing that Dora Leach might not have heard, but frequently +softening his voice, as though to convey intimate meanings. His manner +had the charm of variety; he was never on two occasions alike; today he +seemed to relax in a luxurious mood, due in part to the influence of +sound, and in part, as his eyes declared, to the sensuous pleasure of +sitting by Alma's side. + +'What an excellent fellow Carnaby is!' he remarked unexpectedly. 'I +have been seeing a good deal of him lately--as you know, I think?' + +'So I have heard.' + +'I like him all the better because I am rather sorry for him.' + +'Why?' + +'Don't you feel that he is very much out of place? He doesn't belong to +our world at all. He ought to be founding a new civilisation in some +wild country. I can sympathise with him; I have something of the same +spirit.' + +'I never observed it,' said Alma, allowing her glance to skim his +features. + +'Perhaps because you yourself represent civilisation in its subtlest +phase, and when I am with you I naturally think only of that. I don't +say I should have thriven as a backwoodsman; but I admire the type in +Carnaby. That's one of _our_ privileges, don't you think? We live in +imagination quite as much as in everyday existence. You, I am sure, are +in sympathy with infinite forms of life--and,' he added, just above his +breath, 'you could realise so many of them.' + +'I shall be content with one,' replied Alma. + +'And that----?' + +She nodded towards the concert platform, where, at the same moment, a +violinist stepped forward. Redgrave gazed inquiringly at her, but she +kept silence until the next interval. Then, in reply to his direct +question, she told him, with matter-of-fact brevity, what her purpose +was. He showed neither surprise nor excessive pleasure, but bent his +head with a grave approving smile. + +'So you feel that the time has come. Of course I knew that it would. +Are any details arranged?--or perhaps I mustn't ask?' + +'I wanted to talk it over with you,' she answered graciously. + +After the concert they had tea together. Redgrave was very attentive to +Miss Leach, whom his talk amused and flattered. Alma's enterprise was +discussed with pleasant freedom, and Redgrave learnt that she had +decided to employ Mr. Felix Dymes as her agent. The trio set forth at +length on their homeward journey in a mood of delightful animation, and +travelled together as far as Victoria. + +'I haven't said that you can rely on me for all possible assistance,' +Redgrave remarked, as he walked along the roaring platform by Alma's +side. 'That is a matter of course. We shall meet again before long?' + +'No doubt.' + +'In Porchester Terrace perhaps?' + +'Perhaps.' + +Alma met his eyes, and took away with her the consciousness of having +dared greatly. But the end was a great one. + +In spite of the bad weather, Mrs. Frothingham had travelled up from +Basingstoke. Alma found her in the drawing-room, and saw at a glance +that there had been conversation on certain subjects between her and +Harvey; but not until the next day did Mrs. Frothingham speak of what +she had heard, and make her private comments for Alma's benefit. + +'I thought Harvey was joking, dear. Have you reflected how many reasons +there are why you _shouldn't_----?' + +The pathetic gaze of appeal produced no effect. + +'Did Harvey ask you to talk about it, Mamma?' + +'No. He takes it in the kindest way. But, Alma, you surely see that it +pains him?' + +'Pains him? That shows you don't understand us, dear Mamma. We could +neither of us possibly do anything that would pain the other. We are in +perfect harmony, yet absolutely independent. It has all been talked +over and settled. You must have misunderstood Harvey altogether.' + +From this position Alma could not be moved, and Mrs. Frothingham, too +discreet to incur the risk of interference, spoke no more of the matter +as it concerned man and wife. But another objection she urged with +almost tearful earnestness. Did Alma forget that her appearance in +public would give occasion to most disagreeable forms of gossip? And +even if she disregarded the scandal of a few years ago, would not many +of her acquaintances say and believe that necessity had driven her into +a professional career? + +'They may say what they like, and think what they like,' was Alma's +lofty reply. 'If artists had always considered such trivial +difficulties, where should we have been? Suppose gossip does its +worst--it's all over in a few months; then I stand by my own merit. +Dear Mamma, _don't_ be old fashioned! You look so young and so +charming--indeed you do--that I can't bear to hear you talk in that +early Victorian way. Art is art, and all these other things have +nothing whatever to do with it. There, it's all over. Be good, and +amuse yourself whilst you are with us. I assure you we are the most +reasonable and the happiest people living.' + +Mrs. Frothingham smiled at the compliment to herself; then sighed, and +held her peace. + + + + +CHAPTER 10 + + +So day by day Alma's violin sounded, and day after day Harvey heard it +with a growing impatience. As is commonly the case with people of +untrained ear, he had never much cared for this instrument; he +preferred the piano. Not long ago he would have thought it impossible +that he could ever come to dislike music, which throughout his life had +been to him a solace and an inspiration; but now he began to shrink +from the sound of it. As Alma practised in the morning, he was driven +at length to alter his habits, and to leave home after breakfast. +Having no other business, he went to Westminster Bridge Road, met Cecil +Morphew at the shop, watched the progress of alterations that seemed +advisable, picked up a little knowledge of photography, talked over +prices, advertisements, and numerous commercial matters of which he had +hitherto been contentedly ignorant. Before long, his loan to Morphew +was converted into an investment; he became a partner in the concern, +which, retaining the name of the old proprietor, they carried on as Den +bow & Co. + +The redemption of his debentures kept him still occupied with a furtive +study of the money-market. He did not dare to face risk on a large +scale; the mere thought of a great reduction of income made him tremble +and perspire. So in the end he adopted the simple and straightforward +expedient of seeking an interview with his banker, by whom he was +genially counselled to purchase such-and-such stock, a sound security, +but less productive than that he had previously held. An unfortunate +necessity, seeing that his expenses increased and were likely to do so. +But he tried to hope that Westminster Bridge Road would eventually +reimburse him. With good luck, it might do more. + +His days of quietude were over. He, too, was being drawn into the +whirlpool. No more dreaming among his books; no more waking to the +ordinary duties and cares of a reasonable life. As a natural +consequence of the feeling of unsettlement, of instability, he had +recourse more often than he wished to the old convivial habits, +gathering about him once again, at club or restaurant, the kind of +society in which he always felt at ease--good, careless, jovial, and +often impecunious fellows, who, as in days gone by, sometimes made a +demand upon his purse which he could not resist, though he had now such +cause for rigid economy. Was it that he grew old?--he could no longer +take his wine with disregard of consequence. The slightest excess, and +too surely he paid for it on the morrow, not merely with a passing +headache, but with a whole day's miserable discomfort. Oh, degeneracy +of stomach and of brain! Of will, too; for he was sure to repeat the +foolish experience before a week had passed. + +It was not till Mrs. Frothingham had left them after a fortnight's +visit that he reminded Alma of her promise to go with him to +Gunnersbury. + +'Did I promise?' she said. 'I thought we agreed that you should settle +all that yourself.' + +'I had rather you came with me to see Mrs. Abbott. Shall it be +Saturday?' + +'Can't,' replied Alma, with a shake of the head and a smile. 'I have to +see Mr. Dymes.' + +'Dymes? Who is he?' + +'My agent.' + +'Oh! very well; then I'll go alone.' + +He would not permit himself any further inquiry. Alma had never spoken +to him of Dymes, her 'agent'. Harvey pictured an ill-shaven man in a +small office, and turned from the thought with disgust. Too late to +interpose, to ask questions; anything of that kind would but make him +seem small, ridiculous, fussy. He had chosen his course, and must +pursue it. + +Not that Alma behaved in such a way as to suggest estrangement; +anything but so. Her manner was always amiable, frequently +affectionate. When they spent an evening together--it did not often +happen--she talked delightfully; avoiding, as did Harvey himself, the +subjects on which they were not likely to agree. Her gaze had all the +old directness, her smile was sweet as ever, and her laugh as +melodious. If ever he felt uneasy during her long absences in town, one +of these evenings sufficed to reassure him. Alma was Alma still, and +could he but have reconciled himself to the thought of her playing in +public, she would have been yet the wife he chose, frankly self-willed, +gallantly independent. + +Until a certain day at the end of March, when something happened of +which Harvey had no suspicion, but which affected Alma in a way he soon +perceived. + +That morning he had left home early, and would not return till late. +Alma practised as usual, had luncheon alone, and was thinking of going +out, when the post delivered two letters--one for herself from Dymes, +the other for her husband. A glance showed her that Harvey's +correspondent was Mrs. Abbott, and never till today had one of Mrs +Abbott's letters come into her hand. She regarded it with curiosity, +and the longer she looked the stronger her curiosity became. Harvey +would of course tell her what his friend wrote about--as he always did; +but the epistle itself she would not be asked to read. And did she, as +a matter of fact, always know when Harvey heard from Mrs. Abbott? A +foolish question, probably; for if the correspondence were meant to be +secret, it would be addressed to Harvey at his club, not to the house. +All the same, a desire of years concentrated itself in this moment. +Alma wished vehemently to read one of Mary Abbott's letters with her +own eyes. + +She turned the envelope. It was of very stout paper, and did not look +quite securely gummed. Would not a touch of the finger--almost----? +Why, there, just as she thought; a mere touch, and the envelope came +open. 'Now, if I ever wrote a dangerous word,' mused Alma--'which I +don't, and never shall--this would be a lesson to me.' + +Well, it was open, and, naturally enough, the letter came forth. What +harm? There could be nothing in it that Harvey would wish to hide from +her. So, with hands that trembled, and cheeks that felt warm, she began +to read. + +The letter was Mrs. Abbott's acknowledgment of the quarterly cheque she +received from Rolfe. Alma was surprised at the mention of money in the +first line, and read eagerly on. As Mary Abbott and her friend had seen +each other so recently, there was no need of a full report concerning +Minnie Wager (her brother had long since gone to a boarding-school), +but the wording allowed it to be understood that Harvey paid for the +child, and, what was more, that he held himself responsible for her +future. What could this mean? Alma pondered it in astonishment; +gratified by the discovery, but disturbed beyond measure by its +mysterious suggestiveness. The letter contained little more, merely +saying, towards the end, how very glad the writer would be to give her +utmost care to little Hugh when presently he came into her hands. Last +of all--'Please remember me kindly to Mrs. Rolfe.' + +At this point of her life Alma had become habitually suspicious of any +relation between man and woman which might suggest, however remotely, +dubious possibilities. Innocence appeared to her the exception, +lawlessness the rule, where man and woman were restrained by no obvious +barriers. It was the natural result of her experience, of her +companionship, of the thoughts she deliberately fostered. Having read +the letter twice, having mused upon it, she leaped to a conclusion +which seemed to explain completely the peculiar intimacy subsisting +between Harvey and Mary Abbott. These two children, known as Albert and +Minnie Wager, were Harvey's offspring, the result of some _liaison_ +before his marriage; and Mrs. Abbott, taking charge of them for +payment, had connived at the story of their origin, of their pitiful +desertion. What could be clearer? + +She did not go further in luminous conjectures. Even with her present +mind, Alma could not conceive of Mary Abbott as a wanton, of Harvey +Rolfe as a shameless intriguer; but it stung her keenly to think that +for years there had been this secret between them. Probably the matter +was known to Mrs. Abbott's husband, and so, at his death, it had +somehow become possible for Harvey to suggest this arrangement, whereby +he helped the widow in her misfortunes, and provided conscientiously +for his own illegitimate children. Harvey was so very conscientious +about children! + +Did they resemble him? She had seen the little girl, but only once, and +without attention. She would take an early opportunity of going over to +Gunnersbury, to observe. But no such evidence was necessary; the facts +stared one in the face. + +That Harvey should have kept this secret from her was intelligible +enough; most men, no doubt, would have done the same. But it seemed to +Alma only another proof of her husband's inability to appreciate her. +He had no faith in her as artist; he had no faith in her as woman. Had +she not felt this even from the very beginning of their intimate +acquaintance? Perhaps the first thing that awakened her interest in +Harvey Rolfe was the perception that he did not, like other men, admire +her unreservedly, that he regarded her with something of criticism. She +could attract him; she could play upon his senses; yet he remained +critical. This, together with certain characteristics which +distinguished him from the ordinary drawing-room man, suggestions of +force and individuality, drew her into singular relations with him long +before she dreamt that he would become her husband. And his attitude +towards her was unchanged, spite of passionate love-making, spite of +the tenderness and familiarity of marriage; still he viewed her with +eyes of tolerance, rather than of whole-hearted admiration. He +compared, contrasted her with Mary Abbott, for whose intellect and +character he had a sincere respect. Doubtless he fancied that, if this +secret became known to her, she would sulk or storm, after the manner +of ordinary wives. What made him so blind to her great qualities? Was +it that he had never truly loved her? Had it been owing to mere chance, +mere drift of circumstances, that he offered her marriage, instead of +throwing out a proposal such as that of Cyrus Redgrave at Bregenz? + +Though but darkly, confusedly, intermittently conscious of the feeling, +Alma was at heart dissatisfied with the liberty, the independence, +which her husband seemed so willing to allow her. This, again, helped +to confirm the impression that Harvey held her in small esteem. He did +not think it worth while to oppose her; she might go her frivolous way, +and he would watch with careless amusement. At moments, it was true, he +appeared on the point of ill-humour; once or twice she had thought +(perhaps had hoped) that he could lay down the law in masculine +fashion; but no--he laughed, and it was over. When, at the time of her +misery in Wales--her dim jealousy of Mrs. Abbott, and revolt against +the prospect of a second motherhood--she had subdued herself before +him, spoken and behaved like an everyday dutiful wife, Harvey would +have none of it. He wished--was that the reason?--to be left alone, not +to be worried with her dependence upon him. That no doubt of her +fidelity ever seemed to enter his mind, was capable of anything but a +complimentary interpretation; he simply took it for granted that she +would be faithful--in other words, that she had not spirit or +originality enough to defy conventional laws. To himself, perhaps, he +reserved a much larger liberty. How could she tell where, in what +company, his evenings were spent? More than once he had been away from +home all night--missed the last train, he said. Well, it was nothing to +her; but his incuriousness as to her own movements began to affect her +sensibly, now that she imagined so close a community of thoughts and +interests between Harvey and Mary Abbott. + +Before his return tonight other letters had arrived for him, and all +lay together, as usual, upon his desk. Alma, trying to wear her +customary face, waited for him to mention that he had heard from +Gunnersbury, but Harvey said nothing. He talked, instead, of a letter +from Basil Morton, who wanted him to go to Greystone in the spring, +with wife and child. + +'You mustn't count on me,' said Alma. + +'But after your concert--recital--whatever you call it; it would be a +good rest.' + +'Oh, I shall be busier than ever. Mr. Dymes hopes to arrange for me at +several of the large towns.' + +Harvey smiled, and Alma observed him with irritation she could scarcely +repress. Of course, his smile meant a civil scepticism. + +'By-the-bye,' he asked, 'is Dymes the comic opera man?' + +'Yes. I rather wondered, Harvey, whether you would awake to that fact. +He will be one of our greatest composers.' + +She went on with enthusiasm, purposely exaggerating Dymes's merits, and +professing a warm personal regard for him. In the end, Harvey's eye was +upon her, still smiling, but curiously observant. + +'Why hasn't he been here? Doesn't he think it odd that you never ask +him?' + +'Oh, you know that I don't care to ask people. They are aware'--she +laughed--'that my husband is not musical.' + +Harvey's countenance changed. + +'Do you mean that you tell them so?' + +'Not in any disagreeable way, of course. It's so natural, now, for +married people to have each their own world.' + +'So it is,' he acquiesced. + +Alma would have gone to Gunnersbury the very next day, but she feared +to excite some suspicion in her husband's mind. He little imagined her +capable of opening his letters, and to be detected in such a squalid +misdemeanour would have overwhelmed her with shame. In a day or two she +would be going to Mrs. Rayner Mann's, to meet a certain musical critic +'of great influence', and by leaving home early she could contrive to +make a call upon Mrs. Abbott before lunching at Putney. This she did. +She saw little Minnie Wager, scrutinised the child's features, and had +no difficulty whatever in discerning Harvey's eyes, Harvey's mouth. Why +should she have troubled herself to come? It was very hard to control +her indignation. If Mrs. Abbott thought her rather strange, rather +abrupt, what did it matter? + +At Mrs. Rayner Mann's she passed into a soothing and delicious +atmosphere. The influential critic proved to be a very young man, +five-and-twenty at most; he stammered with nervousness when first +addressing the stranger, but soon gave her to understand, more or less +humorously, that his weekly article was 'quite' the most important +thing in latter-day musical criticism, and that he panted for the +opportunity of hearing a new violinist of real promise. But Alma had +not brought her violin; lest she should make herself cheap, she never +played now at people's houses. The critic had to be satisfied with +hearing her talk and gazing upon her beauty. Alma was become a very +fluent talker, and her voice had the quality which fixes attention. At +luncheon, whilst half-a-dozen persons lent willing ear, she compared +Sarasate's playing of Beethoven's Concerto with that of Joachim, and +declared that Sarasate's _cadenza_ in the first movement, though +marvellous for technical skill, was not at all in the spirit of the +work. The influential writer applauded, drawing her on to fresh +displays of learning, taste, eloquence. She had a great deal to say +about somebody's 'technique of the left hand', of somebody else's +'tonal effects', of a certain pianist's 'warmth of touch'. It was a +truly musical gathering; each person at table had some exquisite phrase +to contribute. The hostess, who played no instrument, but doted upon +all, was of opinion that an executant should 'aim at mirroring his own +nature in his interpretation of a tone-poem'; whereupon another lady +threw out remarks on 'subjective interpretation', confessing her +preference for a method purely 'objective'. The influential critic +began to talk about Liszt, with whom he declared that he had been on +intimate terms; he grew fervent over the master's rhapsodies, with +their 'clanging rhythm and dithyrambic fury'. + +'I don't know when I enjoyed myself so much,' said Alma gaily, as the +great young man pressed her hand at parting and avowed himself her +devoted admirer. + +'My dear Mrs. Rolfe,' said the hostess privately, 'you were simply +brilliant! We are all looking forward so eagerly!' + +And as soon as Alma was gone, the amiable lady talked about her to the +one remaining guest. + +'_Isn't_ she delightful! I do so hope she will be a success. I'm afraid +so much depends upon it. Of course, you know that she is the daughter +of Bennet Frothingham? Didn't you know? Yes, and left without a +farthing. I suppose it was natural she should catch at an offer of +marriage, poor girl, but it seems to have been _most_ ill-advised. One +never sees her husband, and I'm afraid he is anything but kind to her. +He _may_ have calculated on her chances as a musician. I am told they +have little or nothing to depend upon. Do drum up your friends--will +you? It is to be at Prince's Hall, on May the 16th--I think. I feel, +don't you know, personally responsible; she would never have come out +but for my persuasion, and I'm so anxious for a success!' + +The day drew near for Ada Wellington's debut. Alma met this young lady, +but they did not take to each other; Miss Wellington was a trifle +'loud', and, unless Alma mistook, felt fiercely jealous of any one +admired by Felix Dymes. As she could not entertain at their own house +(somewhere not far south of the Thames), Mrs. Wellington borrowed +Dymes's flat for an afternoon, and there, supported by the +distinguished composer, received a strange medley of people who +interested themselves in her daughter's venture. Alma laughed at the +arrangement, and asked Dymes if he expected her congratulations. + +'Don't make fun of them,' said Felix. 'Of course, they're not _your_ +sort, Alma. But I've known them all my life, and old Wellington did me +more than one good turn when I was a youngster. Ada won't make much of +it, but she'll squeeze in among the provincial pros after this send +off.' + +'You really are capable of generosity?' asked Alma. + +'I swear there's nothing between us. There's only one woman living that +I have eyes for--and I'm afraid she doesn't care a rap about me; at all +events, she treats me rather badly.' + +This dialogue took place in a drawing-room the evening before Miss +Wellington's day. Alma had declined to meet her agent a second time at +the Apollo Theatre; they saw each other, by arrangement, at this and +that house of common friends, and corresponded freely by post, Dymes's +letters always being couched in irreproachable phrase. Whenever the +thing was possible, he undisguisedly made love, and Alma bore with it +for the sake of his services. He had obtained promises from four +musicians of repute to take part in Alma's concert, and declared that +the terms they asked were lower than usual, owing to their regard for +him. The expenses of the recital, without allowing for advertisements, +would amount to seventy or eighty pounds; and Dymes guaranteed that the +hall should produce at least that. Alma, ashamed to appear uneasy about +such paltry sums, always talked as though outlay mattered nothing. + +'Don't stint on advertisements,' she said. + +'No fear! Leave that to me,' answered Felix, with a smile of infinite +meaning. + +Ada Wellington could not afford to risk much money, and Alma thought +her announcements in the papers worth nothing at all. However, the +pianist was fairly successful; a tolerable audience was scraped +together (at Steinway Hall), and press notices of a complimentary +flavour, though brief, appeared in several quarters. With keen anxiety +Alma followed every detail. She said to herself that if _her_ +appearance in public made no more noise than this, she would be ready +to die of mortification. There remained a fortnight before the ordeal; +had they not better begin to advertise at once? Thus she wrote to +Dymes, who replied by sending her three newspapers, in each of which a +paragraph of musical gossip informed the world that Mrs. Harvey Rolfe +was about to give her first public violin recital at Prince's Hall. +Mrs. Rolfe, added the journalists in varying phrase, was already well +known to the best musical circles as an amateur violinist, and great +interest attached to her appearance in public, a step on which she had +decided only after much persuasion of friends and admirers. Already +there was considerable demand for tickets, and the audience would most +certainly be both large and distinguished. Alma laughed with delight. + +The same day, by a later post, she received a copy of a 'society' +journal, addressed in a hand unknown to her. Guided by a red pencil +mark, she became aware of no less than a quarter of a column devoted to +herself. From this she might learn (if she did not already know it) +that Mrs. Harvey Rolfe was a lady of the utmost personal and social +charm; that her beauty was not easily described without the use of +terms that would sound extravagant; that as a violinist she had stood +for a year or two _facile princeps_ amid lady amateurs; that she had +till of late lived in romantic seclusion 'amid the noblest scenery of +North Wales', for the sole purpose of devoting herself to music; and +that only with the greatest reluctance had she consented to make known +to the public a talent--nay, a genius--which assuredly was 'meant for +mankind'. She was the favourite pupil of that admirable virtuoso, Herr +Wilenski. At Prince's Hall, on the sixteenth of May, all lovers of +music would have, &c, &c. + +This batch of newspapers Alma laid before dinner on Harvey's desk, and +about an hour after the meal she entered the library. Her husband, +smoking and meditating, looked up constrainedly. + +'I have read them,' he remarked, in a dry tone. + +Alma's coldness during the last few weeks he had explained to himself +as the result of his failure to take interest in her proceedings. He +knew that this behaviour on his part was quite illogical; Alma acted +with full permission, and he had no right whatever to 'turn grumpy' +just because he disliked what she was doing. Only today he had rebuked +himself, and meant to make an effort to restore goodwill between them; +but these newspaper paragraphs disgusted him. He could not speak as he +wished. + +'This is your agent's doing, I suppose?' + +'Of course. That is his business.' + +'Well, I won't say anything about it. If _you_ are satisfied, I have no +right to complain.' + +'Indeed, I don't think you have,' replied Alma, putting severe +restraint upon herself to speak calmly. Thereupon she left the room. + +Harvey rose to follow her. He took a step forward--stood +still--returned to his chair. And they did not see each other again +that night. + +In the morning came a letter from Dymes. He wrote that a certain +newspaper wished for an 'interview' with Mrs. Rolfe, to be published +next week. Should the interviewer call upon her, and, if so, when? +Moreover, an illustrated paper wanted her portrait with the least +possible delay. Were her new photographs ready? If so, would she send +him a dozen? Better still if he could see her today, for he had +important things to speak of. Might he look for her at Mrs. +Littlestone's at about four o'clock? + +At breakfast Alma was chatty, but she directed her talk almost +exclusively to Pauline Smith and to little Hugh, who now had his place +at table--a merry, sunny-haired little fellow, dressed in a sailor +suit. Harvey also talked a good deal--he, too, with Pauline and the +child. When Alma rose he followed her, and asked her to come into the +library for a moment. + +'I'm a curmudgeon,' he began, facing her with nervous abruptness. +'Forgive me for that foolery last night, will you?' + +'Of course,' Alma replied distantly. + +'No, but in the same spirit, Alma. I'm an ass! I know that if you do +this thing at all, you must do it in the usual way. I wish you success +heartily, and I'll read with pleasure every scrap of print that praises +you.' + +'I'm hurrying to town, Harvey. I have to go to the photographer, and +see Mr. Dymes, and all sorts of things.' + +'The photographer? I hope they'll be tolerable; I know they won't do +you justice. Will you sit to a painter if I arrange it? Unfortunately, +I can't afford Millais, you know; but I want a good picture of you.' + +'We'll talk about it,' she replied, smiling more pleasantly than of +late. 'But I really haven't time now.' + +'And you forgive me my idiotics?' + +She nodded and was gone. + +In the afternoon she met Dymes at Mrs. Littlestone's, a house of much +society, for the most part theatrical. When they had moved aside for +private talk, he began by asking a brusque question. + +'Who got that notice for you into the _West End_?' + +'Why, didn't you?' + +'Know nothing about it. Come, who was it?' + +'I have no idea. I took it for granted----' + +'Look here, Alma, I think I'm not doing badly for you, and the least +you can do is to be straight with me.' + +Alma raised her head with a quick, circuitous glance, then fixed her +eyes on the man's heated face, and spoke in an undertone: 'Please, +behave yourself, or I shall have to go away. + +'Then you won't tell me? Very well. I chuck up the job. You can run the +show yourself.' + +Alma had never looked for delicacy in Felix Dymes, and his motives had +from the first been legible to her, but this revelation of brutality +went beyond anything for which she was prepared. As she saw the man +move away, a feeling of helplessness and of dread overcame her anger. +She could not do without him. The only other man active on her behalf +was Cyrus Redgrave, and to seek Redgrave's help at such a juncture, +with the explanation that must necessarily be given, would mean +abandonment of her last scruple. Of course, the paragraph in the _West +End_ originated with him; since Dymes knew nothing about it, it could +have no other source. Slowly, but very completely, the man of wealth +and social influence had drawn his nets about her; at each meeting with +him she felt more perilously compromised; her airs of command served +merely to disguise defeat in the contest she had recklessly challenged. +Thrown upon herself, she feared Redgrave, shrank from the thought of +seeing him. Not that he had touched her heart or beguiled her senses; +she hated him for his success in the calculated scheme to which she had +consciously yielded step by step; but she was brought to the point of +regarding him as inseparable from her ambitious hopes. Till quite +recently her thought had been that, after using him to secure a +successful debut, she could wave him off, perhaps tell him in plain +words, with a smile of scorn, that they were quits. She now distrusted +her power to stand alone. To the hostility of such a man as +Dymes--certain, save at intolerable cost--she must be able to oppose a +higher influence. Between Dymes and Redgrave there was no hesitating on +whatever score. This advertisement in the fashionable and authoritative +weekly paper surpassed Dymes's scope; his savage jealousy was +sufficient proof of that. All she could do for the moment was to +temporise with her ignobler master, and the humiliation of such a +necessity seemed to poison her blood. + +She rose, talked a little of she knew not what with she knew not whom, +and moved towards the hostess, by whom her enemy was sitting. A glance +sufficed. As soon as she had taken leave, Dymes followed her. He came +up to her side at a few yards from the house, and they walked together, +without speaking, until Alma turned into the first quiet street. + +'I give you my word,' she began, 'that I know nothing whatever about +that paper.' + +'I believe you, and I'm sorry I made a row,' Dymes replied. 'There's no +harm done. I dare say I shall be hearing more about it.' + +'I have some photographs here,' said Alma, touching her sealskin bag. +'Will you take them?' + +'Thanks. But there's a whole lot of things to be arranged. We can't +talk here. Let's go to my rooms.' + +He spoke as though nothing were more natural. Alma, the blood throbbing +at her temples, saw him beckon a crawling hansom. + +'I can't come--now. I have a dreadful headache.' + +'You only want to be quiet. Come along.' + +The hansom had pulled up. Alma, ashamed to resist under the eyes of the +driver, stepped in, and her companion placed himself at her side. As +soon as they drove away he caught her hand and held it tightly. + +'I can't go to your rooms,' said Alma, after a useless resistance. 'My +head is terrible. Tell me whatever you have to say, and then take me to +Baker Street Station. I'll see you again in a day or two.' + +She did not feign the headache. It had been coming on since she left +home, and was now so severe that her eyes closed under the torture of +the daylight. + +'A little rest and you'll be all right,' said Dymes. + +Five minutes more would bring them to their destination. Alma pulled +away her hand violently. + +'If you don't stop him, I shall.' + +'You mean it? As you please. You know what I----' + +Alma raised herself, drew the cabman's attention, and bade him drive to +Baker Street. There was a short silence, Dymes glaring and muttering +inarticulately. + +'Of course, if you really have a bad headache,' he growled at length. + +'Indeed I have--and you treat me very unkindly.' + +'Hang it, Alma, don't speak like that! As if I _could_ be unkind to +you!' + +He secured her hand again, and she did not resist. Then they talked of +business, settled one or two matters, appointed another meeting. As +they drew near to the station, Alma spoke impulsively, with a +bewildered look. + +'I shouldn't wonder if I give it up, after all.' + +'Rot!' was her companion's amazed exclamation. + +'I might. I won't answer for it. And it would be your fault.' + +Stricken with alarm, Dymes poured forth assurances of his good +behaviour. He followed her down to the platform, and for a quarter of +an hour she had to listen, in torment of mind and body, to +remonstrances, flatteries, amorous blandishments, accompanied by the +hiss of steam and the roar of trains. + +On reaching home she could do nothing but lie down in the dark. Her +head ached intolerably; and hour after hour, as often happens when the +brain is over-wearied, a strain of music hummed incessantly on her ear, +till inability to dismiss it made her cry in half-frenzied wretchedness. + +With sleep she recovered; but through the next day, dull and idle, her +thoughts kept such a gloomy colour that she well-nigh brought herself +to the resolve with which she had threatened Felix Dymes. But for the +anticipation of Harvey's triumph, she might perhaps have done so. + + + + +CHAPTER 11 + + +For several days she had not touched the violin. There was no time for +it. Correspondence, engagements, intrigues, whirled her through the +waking hours and agitated her repose. The newspaper paragraphs resulted +in a shower of letters, inquiring, congratulating, offering good +wishes, and all had to be courteously answered, lest the writers should +take offence. Invitations to luncheon, to dinner, to midnight 'at +homes', came thick and fast. If all this resulted from a few +preliminary 'puffs' what, Alma asked herself, would be the consequence +of an actual success? How did the really popular musicians contrive to +get an hour a day for the serious study of their art? Her severe +headache had left behind it some nervous disorder, not to be shaken off +by any effort--a new distress, peculiarly irritating to one who had +always enjoyed good health. When she wrote, her hand was unsteady, and +sometimes her eyes dazzled. This would be alarming if it went on much +longer; the day approached, the great day, the day of fate, and what +hope was there for a violinist who could not steady her hand? + +The 'interviewer' called, and chatted for half an hour, and took his +leave with a flourish of compliments. The musicians engaged to play +with her at Prince's Hall's came down to try over pieces, a trio, a +duet; so that at last she was obliged to take up her instrument--with +results that did not reassure her. She explained that she was not +feeling quite herself; it was nothing; it would pass in a day or two. +Sibyl Carnaby had asked her and Harvey to dine next week, to meet +several people; Mrs. Rayner Mann had arranged a dinner for another +evening; and now Mrs. Strangeways, whom she had not seen for some weeks, +sent an urgent request that she would call in Porchester Terrace as +soon as possible, to speak of something 'very important'. + +This summons Alma durst not disregard. Between Mrs. Strangeways and +Cyrus Redgrave subsisted an intimacy which caused her frequent +uneasiness. It would not have surprised her to discover that this +officious friend knew of all her recent meetings with Redgrave--at the +Crystal Palace and elsewhere; and, but for her innocence, she would +have felt herself at the woman's mercy. That she had not transgressed, +and was in no danger of transgressing, enabled her to move with head +erect among the things unspeakable which always seemed to her to be +lurking in the shadowed corners of Mrs. Strangeways' house. The day was +coming when she might hope to terminate so undesirable an acquaintance, +but for the present she must show a friendly face. + +She made this call at three o'clock, and was received in that +over-scented, over-heated boudoir, which by its atmosphere invariably +turned her thoughts to evil. The hostess rose languidly, with a pallid, +hollow-eyed look of illness. + +'Only my neuralgic something or other,' she said, in reply to a +sympathetic inquiry. 'It's the price one pays for civilisation. I've +had two terrible days and nights, but it's over for the present. But +for that I should have written to you before. Why, _you_ don't look +quite so well as usual. Be careful--do be careful!' + +'I mean to be, if people will let me.' + +'You have eight days, haven't you? Yes, just eight days. You ought to +keep as quiet as possible. We are all doing our best; but, after all, +success depends greatly upon yourself, you know.' + +The voice, as always, seemed to fondle her, but Alma's ear detected the +usual insincerity. Mrs. Strangeways spoke in much the same way to +numbers of people, yet not quite so caressingly. Some interest she +undoubtedly had to serve by this consistent display of affection, and +with all but certainty Alma divined it. She shrank from the woman; it +cost her an unceasing effort not to betray dislike, or even hostility. + +'Of course, you saw last week's _West End_?' pursued the hostess, +smiling. 'You know whose doing that was?' + +'I only guessed that it _might_ be Mr. Redgrave's kindness.' + +'I have the same suspicion. He was here the other day--we talked about +you. You haven't seen him since then?' + +'No.' + +'He hinted to me--just a little anxiety. I hardly know whether I ought +to speak of it.' + +Alma looked an interrogation as unconcerned as she could make it, but +did not open her lips. + +'It was with reference to--your man of business. It seems he has heard +something--I really don't know what--not quite favourable to Mr. Dymes. +I shall not offend you, dear?' + +'I don't take offence, Mrs. Strangeways,' Alma answered, with a slight +laugh to cover her uneasiness. 'It's so old-fashioned.' + +The hostess uttered a thin trill of merriment. + +'One is always safe with people who have humour, dear. It _does_ make +life easier, doesn't it? Oh, the terrible persons who take everything +with tragic airs! Well, there's not a bit of harm in it. Between +ourselves, it struck me that our friend was just a little inclined to +be--yes, you understand.' + +'I'm afraid I don't.' + +'I hate the word--well, just a trifle jealous.' + +Alma leaned back in her chair, glanced about her, and said nothing. + +'Of course, he would never allow _you_ to suspect anything of the kind. +It will make no difference. You can count upon his utmost efforts. But +when one thinks how very much he has it in his power to do----. That +bit of writing in the _West End_, you know--only the highest influence +can command that kind of thing. The _West End_ can't be bought, I +assure you. And one has to think of the future. A good beginning is +much, but how many musicians are able to follow it up? My dear Alma, +let me implore you not to imagine that you will be able to dispense +with this kind of help.' + +'Do you mean that Mr. Redgrave is likely to withdraw it?' + +'Impossible for me to say, dear. I am only telling you how his +conversation struck me. He appeared to think--to be apprehensive that +you might in future look to Mr. Dymes rather than to him. Of course, I +could say nothing--I would not venture a syllable.' + +'Of course not,' Alma murmured mechanically, her eyes wandering. + +'Are you likely, I wonder, to see him in the next few days?' + +'I hardly know--I think not.' + +'Then let me--will you?--let me contrive a _chance_ meeting here.' + +Loathing herself, and burning with hatred of the woman, in whose hands +she felt powerless, Alma gave an assenting nod. + +'I am sure it will be a measure of prudence, dear. I thought possibly +you might be seeing him at Mrs. Carnaby's. He is there sometimes, I +believe?' + +Alma looked at the speaker, detecting some special significance in her +inquiry. She replied that Redgrave of course called upon Mrs. +Carnaby--but not often, she thought. + +'No?' threw out Mrs. Strangeways. 'I fancied he was there a good deal; +I don't quite know why.' + +'Have you met him there?' + +'No. It's quite a long time since I called--one has so many people to +see.' + +Alma knew that Sibyl was now holding aloof from Mrs. Strangeways, and +it seemed not improbable that this had excited some ill-feeling in the +latter. But her own uneasiness regarding Sibyl's relations with +Redgrave, uneasiness never quite subdued; made her quick to note, and +eager to explore, any seeming suspicion on that subject in another's +mind. Mrs. Strangeways was a lover of scandal, a dangerous woman, +unworthy of confidence in any matter whatsoever. Common prudence, to +say nothing of loyalty to a friend, bade Alma keep silence; but the +subtly-interrogating smile was fixed upon her; hints continued to fall +upon her ear, and an evil fascination at length compelled her to speak. + +'You know,' she said, as if mentioning an unimportant piece of news, +'that Mr. Redgrave has joined Mr. Carnaby in business?' + +The listener's face exhibited a surprise of which there was no +mistaking the sincerity. Her very features seemed to undergo a change +as the smile vanished from them; they became on the instant hard and +old, lined with sudden wrinkles, the muscles tense, every line +expressive of fierce vigilance. + +'In business?--what business?' + +'Oh, I thought you would have heard of it. Perhaps Mr. Redgrave doesn't +care to have it known.' + +'My dear, I am discretion itself.' + +Everything was told, down to the last detail of which Alma had any +knowledge. As she listened and questioned, Mrs. Strangeways resumed her +smiling manner, but could not regain the perfect self-command with +which she had hitherto gossiped. That she attached great importance to +this news was evident, and the fact of its being news to her brought +fresh trouble into Alma's thoughts. + +'How very interesting!' exclaimed Mrs. Strangeways at length. 'Another +instance of Mr. Redgrave's kindness to his friends. Of course, it was +done purely out of kindness, and that is why he doesn't speak of it. +Quite amusing, isn't it, to think of him as partner in a business of +that kind. I wonder whether----' + +She broke off with a musing air. + +'What were you wondering?' asked Alma, whose agitation increased every +moment, though the seeming tendency of her companion's words was to +allay every doubt. + +'Oh, only whether it was _Mr_ Carnaby who first made known his +difficulties.' + +'I am told so.' + +'By Mrs. Carnaby? Yes, no doubt it was so. I don't think Mrs. Carnaby +could quite have--I mean she is a little reserved, don't you think? She +would hardly have spoken about it to--to a comparative stranger.' + +'But Mr. Redgrave can't be called a stranger,' said Alma. 'They have +been friends for a long time. Surely you know that.' + +'Friends in _that_ sense? The word has such different meanings. You and +Mr. Redgrave are friends, but I don't think you would care to tell him +if your husband were in difficulties of that kind--would you?' + +'But Sibyl--Mrs. Carnaby didn't tell him,' replied Alma, with nervous +vehemence. + +'No, no; we take that for granted. I don't think Mr. Carnaby is--the +kind of man----' + +'What kind of man?' + +'I hardly know him; we have met, that's all. But I should fancy he +wouldn't care to know that his wife talked about such things to Mr +Redgrave or any one else. There _are_ men'--her voice sank, and the +persistent smile became little better than an ugly grin--'there _are_ +men who don't mind it. One hears stories I shouldn't like to repeat to +you, or even to hint at. But those are very different people from the +Carnabys. Then, I suppose,' she added, with abrupt turn, 'Mr. Carnaby +is very often away from home?' + +Trying to reply, Alma found her voice obstructed. + +'I think so.' + +'How very kind of Mr. Redgrave, wasn't it! Has he spoken about it to +_you_?' + +'Of course not.' + +'Naturally, he wouldn't.--Oh, don't go yet, dear. Why, we have had no +tea; it isn't four o'clock. Must you really go? Of course, you are +overwhelmed with engagements. But do--do take care of your health. And +remember our little scheme. If Mr. Redgrave could look in--say, the day +after tomorrow? You shall hear from me in time. I feel--I really +feel--that it wouldn't be wise to let him think--you understand me.' + +With scarce a word of leave-taking, Alma hastened away. The air of this +room was stifling her, and the low cooing voice had grown more +intolerable than a clanging uproar. From Porchester Terrace she walked +into Bayswater Road, her eyes on the pavement. It was a sunny +afternoon, but there had been showers, and now again large spots of +rain began to fall. As she was opening her umbrella, a cabman's voice +appealed to her, and fixed her purpose. She bade him drive her to +Oxford and Cambridge Mansions. + +Sibyl was not at home. The maid-servant could not say when she might +return; she had been absent since yesterday morning. Unable to restrain +herself, Alma inquired whether Mr. Carnaby was in town. He was not; he +had been away for several days. + +On the morrow a letter from Sibyl came to Pinner. She was grieved to +hear that Alma had called during her absence. Was it anything of +importance, or would it keep till she and Harvey came to dine on +Saturday? 'I have been down to Weymouth--not to enjoy myself, but to +see my mother. She _says_ she is very ill, and thinks it monstrous that +I don't feel inclined to devote myself to the care of her. Her illness, +I am sure, is nothing but discontent and bad temper, just because she +feels herself dropping out of society. She must get used to it. In any +case, we could never endure each other; and how can I be expected to +make any sacrifice for a mother who never gave me an hour of motherly +care from the day of my birth? But you know all about this, and don't +want to hear of it again just when you are so busy. If there is +anything in the world I can do for you, let me know at once.' + +But for her conversation with Mrs. Strangeways, it would not have +occurred to Alma to doubt the truth of what Sibyl wrote; as it was, she +tortured herself with dark surmises. Jealousy without love, a passion +scarcely intelligible to the ordinary man, is in woman common enough, +and more often productive of disaster than the jealousy which +originates in nobler feeling. To suspect that she was the plaything of +Sibyl's subtlety, and that Redgrave smiled at her simplicity in never +having discovered an obvious rival, fired her blood to the fever point. +She could no longer balance probabilities; all the considerations which +hitherto declared for Sibyl's innocence lost their weight. Her +overexcited mind, her impaired health, were readily receptive of such +poison as distilled from the lips of Mrs. Strangeways. What she now +desired was proof. Only let evidence be afforded her, cost what it +might! After that, she saw her way. + +No! Hugh Carnaby was assuredly not one of the men who wink at their +wives' dishonour, nor one of the men who go slinking for a remedy to +courts of law--or she mistook him strangely. + +At receipt of the expected note from Porchester Terrace--it said +merely, 'Pray be here, if possible, at three tomorrow afternoon'--she +quivered with anticipation of seeing Redgrave. How it was to come +about, she did not ask, but Redgrave should not part from her before +she had obtained light upon his relations with Sibyl. She believed +herself irresistible if she chose to put forth all her power. With two +men, dangerous both of them, she had played the game of her own +interests, played it safely, and for a long time; she made them her +instruments, mocking at their hopes, holding them at arm's-length, in +spite of all their craft and their vehemence. Only a very clever woman +could do this. In giddiness of self-admiration, she felt everything to +be possible. Boldness was necessary--far more boldness than she had yet +dared to use. The rivalry of such a woman as Sibyl could not be +despised; it threatened her ambitions. But in the struggle now to be +decided she had a supreme advantage; for Sibyl, having gained her +object, assuredly had paid its price. Hence her pretended absorption in +study, hence the revival of her friendliness; what were these things +but blinds to mislead the only woman whose observation she had much +reason to fear? + +How astonishing it now seemed to her that she could have accepted such +shallow explanations of Redgrave's partnership with Hugh Carnaby! Why, +Harvey himself, least suspicious of men, was perplexed, and avowed his +inability to understand it. As for Mrs. Strangeways--a woman of the +world, if there was one--the fact had but to be mentioned to her, and +on the moment she saw its meaning. No wonder the matter had been kept +so quiet. But for the honesty of the duped husband no one at all would +have heard of it. + +Arriving at the house a little before her time, she found her hostess a +prey to vexation. + +'My dear, he can't come. It's most annoying. Only an hour ago I had a +telegram--look----' + +The despatch was from Coventry: 'Don't expect me. Detained on business. +Redgrave.' It rustled in Alma's hand, and she had much ado to keep +herself from tears of angry chagrin. + +'He had promised to be here,' went on Mrs. Strangeways. 'I thought +nothing would have kept him away.' + +'Do you mean,' asked Alma bluntly, 'that he knew I was coming?' + +'I had said that I half expected you. Don't be vexed, dear. I did so +wish you to meet.' + +'If he's at Coventry,' Alma continued, 'it must be on _that_ business.' + +'It seems likely. Do sit down. You still look anything but yourself. +Pray, pray remember that you have only a day or two----' + +'Don't worry me, please,' said Alma, with a contemptuous gesture. + +She had thrown off reserve, caring only, now the first step was taken, +to make all possible use of this woman whom she detested. Her voice +showed the change that had been wrought in her; she addressed her +hostess almost as though speaking to an inferior. + +'What do you think it means, his keeping away?' + +'Business, possibly. More likely--the other thing I spoke of.' + +In this reply Mrs. Strangeways modified her tone, discarding +mellifluous tenderness, yet not going quite so far as Alma in neglect +of appearances. She was an older woman, and had learnt the +injudiciousness of impulsive behaviour. + +'Speak plainly--it saves time. You think he won't care to meet me at +all again?' + +'I don't say that. I should be very sorry indeed to think it. But--to +speak as plainly as you wish, dear--I know that someone must have said +unpleasant things to him about your--your friendship with Mr. Dymes.' + +'Are you hinting at anyone in particular?' Alma asked, salving her +self-respect with a poor affectation of haughtiness. + +'Ask yourself, my dear, who is at all likely to give him such +information.' + +'Information?' Alma's eyes flashed. 'That's a strange word to use. Do +you imagine there is any information of that kind to be given?' + +'I spoke carelessly,' answered the other, smiling. 'Do sit down, dear +Mrs. Rolfe. I'm sure you will overtax your strength before Tuesday. I +meant nothing whatever, I assure you.' + +Reluctantly Alma became seated, and the conversation was prolonged. +Without disguise they debated the probability that Redgrave was being +estranged from Alma by Sibyl Carnaby; of course, taking for granted +Sibyl's guilt, and presuming that she feared rivalry. From time to time +Alma threw out scornful assertion of her own security; she was bold to +the point of cynicism, and recklessly revealed herself. The other +listened attentively, still smiling, but without constraint upon her +features; at moments she appeared to feel something of admiration. + +'There are several things in your favour,' she remarked deliberately, +when Alma had declared a resolve to triumph at all hazards. 'Above +all--but one need not mention it.' + +'What? I don't understand.' + +'Oh, I'm sure you do! You alluded to it the other day. Some women have +such tiresome husbands.' + +The look which accompanied this struck Alma cold. She sat motionless, +staring at the speaker. + +'What do you mean? You think that my husband----?' + +'I meant only to encourage you, my dear.' + +'You think that my husband has less sense of honour than Mr. Carnaby?' + +Mrs. Strangeways looked wonderingly at her. + +'How strange you are! Could I have dreamt of saying anything so +ill-mannered?' + +'You implied it!' exclaimed Alma, her voice thrilling on the note of +indignation. 'How dare you so insult me! Is it possible that you have +such thoughts?' + +Overcome by what seemed to her the humour of the situation, Mrs +Strangeways frankly laughed. + +'I beg your pardon a thousand times, my dear Mrs. Rolfe! I have +misunderstood, I am afraid. You _are_ quite serious? Yes, yes, there +has been a misunderstanding. Pray forgive me.' + +Alma rose from her chair. 'There _has_ been a misunderstanding. If you +knew my husband--if you had once met him--such a thought could never +have entered your mind. You compare him to his disadvantage with Mr +Carnaby? What right have you to do that? I believe in Mr. Carnaby's +honesty, and do you know why?--because he is my husband's friend. But +for _that_, I should suspect him.' + +'My dear,' replied Mrs. Strangeways, 'you are wonderful. I prophesy +great things for you. I never in my life met so interesting a woman.' + +'You may be as sarcastic as you please,' Alma retorted, in a low, +passionate voice. 'I suppose you believe in no one?' + +'I have said, dear, that I believe in _you_; and I shall think it the +greatest misfortune if I lose your friendship for a mere indiscretion. +Indeed, I was only trying to understand you completely.' + +'You do--now.' + +They did not part in hostility. Mrs. Strangeways had the best of +reasons for averting this issue, at any cost to her own feelings, which +for the moment had all but escaped control. Though the complications of +Alma's character puzzled her exceedingly, she knew how to smooth over +the trouble which had so unexpectedly arisen. Flattery was the secret +of her influence with Mrs. Rolfe, and it still availed her. With +ostentation of frankness, she pointed a contrast between Alma and her +presumed rival. Mrs. Carnaby was the corrupt, unscrupulous woman, who +shrank from nothing to gratify a base selfishness. Alma was the artist, +pursuing a legitimate ambition, using, as she had a perfect right to +do, all her natural resources, but pure in soul. + +'Yes, I understand you at last, and I admire you more than ever. You +will go far, my dear. You have great gifts, and, more than that, you +have principle. It is character that tells in the long run. And depend +upon me. I shall soon have news for you. Keep quiet; prepare yourself +for next Tuesday. As for all _that_--leave it to me.' + +Scarcely had Alma left the house, when she suddenly stood still, as +though she had forgotten something. Indeed she had. In the flush of +loyal resentment which repelled an imputation upon her husband's +honour, she had entirely lost sight of her secret grievance against +Harvey. Suddenly revived, the memory helped her to beat down that +assaulting shame which took advantage of reaction in mind and blood. +Harvey was not honest with her. Go as far as she might, short of the +unpardonable, there still remained to her a moral superiority over the +man she defended. And yet--she was glad to have defended him; it gave +her a sense of magnanimity. More than that, the glow of an honest +thought was strangely pleasant. + +She had sundry people to see and pieces of business to transact. What a +nuisance that she lived so far from the centre of things! It was this +perpetual travelling that had disordered her health, and made +everything twice as troublesome as it need be. Today, again, she had a +headache, and the scene with Mrs. Strangeways had made it worse. + +In Regent Street she met Dymes. She was not afraid of him now, for she +had learnt how to make him keep his distance; and after the great day, +if he continued to trouble her, he might be speedily sent to the +right-about. He made an inspiriting report: already a considerable +number of tickets had been sold--enough, he said, or all but enough, to +clear expenses. + +'What, advertising and all?' asked Alma. + +'Oh, leave that to me. Advertising is a work of art. If you like just +to come round to my rooms, I'll----' + +'Haven't time today. See you at the Hall on Monday.' + +A batch of weekly newspapers which arrived next morning, Saturday, +proved to her that Dymes was sufficiently active. There were more +paragraphs; there were two reproductions of her portrait; and as for +advertisements, she tried, with some anxiety, to conjecture the cost of +these liberal slices of page, with their eye-attracting type. Naturally +the same question would occur to her husband, but Harvey kept his word; +whatever he thought, he said nothing. And Alma found it easier to be +good-humoured with him than at any time since she had read Mary +Abbott's letter; perhaps yesterday's event accounted for it. + +They dined at the Carnabys', the first time for months that they had +dined from home together. Harvey would have shirked the occasion, had +it been possible. With great relief, he found that the guests were all +absolute strangers to him, and that they represented society in its +better sense, with no suggestion of the 'half-world'--no Mrs +Strangeways or Mrs. Rayner Mann. Alma, equally conscious of the fact, +viewed it as a calculated insult. Sibyl had brought her here to +humiliate her. She entered the doors with jealous hatred boiling in her +heart, and fixed her eyes on Sibyl with such fire of malicious scrutiny +that the answer was a gaze of marked astonishment. But they had no +opportunity for private talk. Sibyl, as hostess, bore herself with that +perfect manner which no effort and no favour of circumstance would ever +enable Mrs. Rolfe to imitate. Envying every speech and every movement, +knowing that her own absent behaviour and forced talk must produce an +unpleasant impression upon the well-bred strangers, she longed to +expose the things unspeakable that lay beneath this surface of social +brilliancy. What was more, she would do it when time was ripe. Only +this consciousness of power to crush her enemy enabled her to bear up +through the evening. + +At the dinner-table she chanced to encounter Sibyl's look. She smiled. +There was disquiet in that glance--furtive inquiry and apprehension. + +No music. Alma would have doubted whether any of these people were +aware of her claim to distinction, had not a lady who talked with her +after dinner hinted, rather than announced, an intention of being +present at Prince's Hall next Tuesday. None of the fuss and adulation +to which she was grown accustomed; no underbred compliments; no +ambiguous glances from men. It angered her to observe that Harvey did +not seem at all wearied; that he conversed more naturally than usual in +a mixed company, especially with the hostess. One whisper--and how +would Harvey look upon his friend's wife? But the moment had not come. + +She left as early as possible, parting from Sibyl as she had met her, +with eyes that scarce dissembled their malignity. + +When Hugh and his wife were left together, Sibyl abstained from remark +on Alma; it was Carnaby who introduced the subject. 'Don't you think +Mrs. Rolfe looked seedy?' + +'Work and excitement,' was the quiet answer. 'I think it more than +likely she will break down.' + +'It's a confounded pity. Why, she has grown old all at once. She's +losing her good looks. Did you notice that her eyes were a little +bloodshot?' + +'Yes, I noticed it. I didn't like her look at all.' + +Hugh, as his custom was, paced the floor. Nowadays he could not keep +still, and he had contracted an odd habit of swinging his right arm, +with fist clenched, as though relieving his muscles after some unusual +constraint. + +'By Jove, Sibyl, when I compare her with you!--I feel sorry for Rolfe; +can't help it. Why didn't you stop this silly business before it went +so far?' + +'That's a characteristic question, dear boy,' Sibyl replied merrily. +'There are more things in life--particularly woman's life--than your +philosophy ever dreamt of. Alma has quite outgrown me, and I begin to +suspect that she won't honour me with her acquaintance much longer.' + +'Why?' + +'For one thing, we belong to different worlds, don't you see; and the +difference, in future, will be rather considerable.' + +'Well, I'm sorry. Rolfe isn't half the man he was. Why on earth didn't +_he_ stop it? He hates it, anyone can see. Why, if I were in his +place----' + +Sibyl interrupted with her mellow laughter. + +'You wouldn't be a bit wiser. It's the fate of men--except those who +have the courage to beat their wives. You know you came back to England +at my heels when you didn't want to. Now, a little energy, a little +practice with the horsewhip----' + +Carnaby made pretence of laughing. But he turned away his face; the +jest had too serious an application. Yes, yes, if he had disregarded +Sibyl's wishes, and stayed on the other side of the world! It seemed to +him strange that she could speak of the subject so lightly; he must +have been more successful than he thought in concealing his true state +of mind. + +'Rolfe tells me he has got a house at Gunnersbury.' + +'Yes; he mentioned it to me. Why Gunnersbury? There must be some reason +they don't tell us.' + +'Ask his wife,' said Hugh, impatiently. 'No doubt the choice is hers.' + +'No doubt. But I don't think,' added Sibyl musingly, 'I shall ask Alma +that or anything else. I don't think I care much for Alma in her new +development. For a time I shall try leaving her alone.' + +'Well, I'm sorry for poor old Rolfe,' repeated Hugh. + + + + +CHAPTER 12 + + +On Monday morning Hugh Carnaby received a letter from Mrs. Ascott +Larkfield. It was years since Sibyl's mother had written to him, and +the present missive, scrawled in an unsteady hand, gave him some +concern. Mrs. Larkfield wrote that she was very ill, so ill that she +had abandoned hope of recovery. She asked him whether, as her +son-in-law, he thought it right that she should be abandoned to the +care of strangers. It was the natural result, no doubt, of her +impoverished condition; such was the world; had she still been wealthy, +her latter days would not have been condemned to solitude. But let him +remember that she still had in her disposal an income of about six +hundred pounds, which, under ordinary circumstances, would have passed +to Sibyl; by a will on the point of being executed, this money would +benefit a charitable institution. To him this might be a matter of +indifference; she merely mentioned the fact to save Sibyl a possible +disappointment. + +Hugh and his wife, when both had read the letter, exchanged uneasy +glances. + +'It isn't the money,' said Carnaby. 'Hang the money! But--after all, +Sibyl, she's your mother.' + +'And what does _that_ mean?' Sibyl returned coldly. 'Shall I feel the +least bit of sorrow if she dies? Am I to play the hypocrite just +because this woman brought me into the world? We have always hated each +other, and whose fault? When I was a child, she left me to +dirty-minded, thieving servants; they were my teachers, and it's +wonderful enough that--that nothing worse came of it. When I grew up, +she left me to do as I pleased--anything so that I gave her no trouble. +Do you wish me to go and pretend----' + +'I tell you what--I'll run down to Weymouth myself, shall I? Perhaps I +might arrange something--for her comfort, I mean.' + +Sibyl carelessly assented. Having business in town, Hugh could not +start till afternoon, but he would reach Weymouth by half-past six, and +might manage to be back again in time for Mrs. Rolfe's concert tomorrow. + +'I shouldn't put myself to any inconvenience on that account,' said +Sibyl, smiling. + +'Out of regard for Rolfe, that's all.' + +He left home at eleven, transacted his business, and at half-past one +turned in for lunch at a Strand restaurant before proceeding to +Waterloo. As he entered, he saw Mrs. Rolfe, alone at one of the tables; +she was drawing on her gloves, about to leave. They met with friendly +greeting, though Hugh, from the look with which Mrs. Rolfe recognised +him, had a conviction that his growing dislike of her was fully +reciprocated. In the brief talk before Alma withdrew, he told her that +he was going down into the country. + +'To Coventry?' she asked, turning her eyes upon him. + +'No; to Weymouth. Mrs. Larkfield is no better, I'm afraid, and--Sibyl +wants me to see her.' + +'Then you won't be back----' + +'For tomorrow?--oh yes, I shall certainly be back in time, unless +anything very serious prevents me. There's a good train from Weymouth +at 10.10--gets in about half-past two. I shall easily get to Prince's +Hall by three.' + +Alma again regarded him, and seemed on the point of saying something, +but she turned her head, rose, and rather hastily took leave. Hugh +remarked to himself that she looked even worse by daylight than in the +evening; decidedly, she was making herself ill--perhaps, he added, the +best thing that could happen. + +For his luncheon he had small appetite. The journey before him was a +nuisance, and the meeting at the end of it more disagreeable than +anything he had ever undertaken. What a simple matter life would be, +but for women! That Sibyl should detest her mother was perhaps natural +enough, all things considered; but he heartily wished they were on +better terms. He felt that Sibyl must have suffered in character, to +some extent, by this abnormal antipathy. He did not blame her; her +self-defence this morning proved that she had ground for judging her +mother sternly; and perhaps, as she declared, only by her own strength +and goodness had she been saved from the worst results of parental +neglect. Hugh did not often meditate upon such things, but just now he +felt impatience and disgust with women who would not care properly for +their children. Poor old Rolfe's wife, for instance, what business had +she to be running at large about London, giving concerts, making +herself ill and ugly, whilst her little son was left to a governess and +servants! He had half a mind to write a letter to old Rolfe. But no; +that kind of thing was too dangerous, even between the nearest friends. +Men must not quarrel; women did more than enough of that. Sibyl and +Alma had as good as fallen out; the less they saw of each other the +better. And now he had to face a woman, perhaps dying, who would +doubtless rail by the hour at her own daughter. + +O heaven! for a breath of air on sea or mountain or prairie! Could he +stand this life much longer? + +Driving to Waterloo, he thought of Mrs. Larkfield's bequest to the +charitable institution. Six hundred pounds might be a paltry income, +but one could make use of it. A year ago, to be sure, he would have +felt more troubled by the loss; at present he had reason to look +forward hopefully, so far as money could represent hope. The cycle +business was moving; as likely as not, it would ultimately enrich him. +There was news, too, from that fellow Dando in Queensland, who declared +that his smelting process, gradually improved, had begun to yield +results, and talked of starting a new company. Hugh's business of the +morning had been in this connection: by inquiry in the City he had +learnt that Dando's report might be relied upon, and that capital which +had seemingly vanished would certainly yield a small dividend this +year. He was thankful that he could face Mrs. Larkfield without the +shame of interested motives. Let her do what she liked with her money; +he went to see the woman merely out of humane feeling, sense of duty; +and assuredly no fortune-hunter had ever imposed upon himself a more +distasteful office. + +On alighting at the station, he found that the only coin, other than +gold, which he had in his pocket was a shilling. In accordance with +usage, he would have given the cabman an extra sixpence, had he +possessed it. When the man saw a tender of his legal fare, he, also in +accordance with usage, broadened his mouth, tossed the coin on his +palm, and pointedly refrained from thanks. At another time Hugh might +have disregarded this professional suavity, but a little thing +exasperated his present mood. + +'Well?' he exclaimed, in a voice that drew the attention of everyone +near. 'Is it your fare or not? Learn better manners, vicious brute!' + +Before the driver could recover breath to shout a primitive insult, +Hugh walked into the station. Here, whilst his wrath was still hot, a +man tearing at full speed to catch a train on another platform bumped +violently against him. He clenched his fist, and, but for the gasped +apology, might have lost himself in blind rage. As it was, he inwardly +cursed railway stations, cursed England, cursed civilisation. His +muscles were quivering; sweat had started to his forehead. A specialist +in nervous pathology would have judged Hugh Carnaby a dangerous person +on this Monday afternoon. + +He took his ticket, and, having some minutes to wait, moved towards the +bookstall. By his side, as he scanned the papers, stood a lady who had +just made a purchase; the salesman seemed to have handed her +insufficient change, for she said to him, in a clear, business-like +voice, 'It was half-a-crown that I gave you.' + +At the sound of these words, Hugh turned sharply and looked at the +speaker. She was a woman of thirty-five, solidly built, well dressed +without display of fashion; the upper part of her face was hidden by a +grey veil, through which her eyes shone. Intent on recovering her +money, she did not notice that the man beside her was looking and +listening with the utmost keenness; nor, on turning away at length, was +she aware that Hugh followed. He pursued her, at a yard's distance, +down the platform, and into the covered passage which leads to another +part of the station. Here, perhaps because the footstep behind her +sounded distinctly, she gave a backward glance, and her veiled eyes met +Carnaby's. At once he stepped to her side. 'I don't think I can be +mistaken,' were his low, cautiously-spoken words, whilst he gazed into +her face with stern fixedness. 'You remember me, Mrs. Maskell, no +doubt.' + +'I do not, sir. You certainly _are_ mistaken.' + +She replied in a voice which so admirably counterfeited a French accent +that Hugh could not but smile, even whilst setting his teeth in anger +at her impudence. + +'Oh! that settles it. As you have two tongues, you naturally have two +names--probably more. I happened to be standing by you at the bookstall +a moment ago. It's a great bore; I was just starting on a journey; but +I must trouble you to come with me to the nearest police station. You +have too much sense to make any fuss about it.' + +The woman glanced this way and that. Two or three people were hurrying +through the passage, but they perceived nothing unusual. + +'You have a choice,' said Carnaby, 'between my companionship and that +of the policeman. Make up your mind.' + +'I don't think you will go so far as that, Mr. Carnaby,' said the +other, with self-possession and in her natural voice. + +'Why not?' + +'Because I can tell you something that will interest you very +much--something that nobody else can.' + +'What do you mean?' he asked roughly. + +'It refers to your wife; that's all I need say just now.' + +'You are lying.' + +'As you please. Let us go.' + +She moved on with unhurried step, and turned towards the nearest +cab-rank. Pausing within sight of the vehicles, she looked again at her +companion. + +'Would you rather have a little quiet talk with me in a four-wheeler, +or drive straight to----?' + +Hugh's brain was in commotion. The hint of secrets concerning his wife +had not its full effect in the moment of utterance; it sounded the +common artifice of a criminal. But Mrs. Maskell's cool audacity gave +significance to her words; the two minutes' walk had made Hugh as much +afraid of her as she could be of him. He stared at her, beset with +horrible doubts. + +'Won't it be a pity to miss your train?' she said, with a friendly +smile. 'I can give you my address.' + +'No doubt you can. Look here--it was a toss-up whether I should let you +go or not, until you said _that_. If you had begged off, ten to one I +should have thought I might as well save myself trouble. But after that +cursed lie----' + +'That's the second time you've used the word, Mr. Carnaby. I'm not +accustomed to it, and I shouldn't have thought you would speak in that +way to a lady.' + +He was aghast at her assurance, which, for some reason, made him only +the more inclined to listen to her. He beckoned a cab. + +'Where shall we drive to?' + +'Say Clapham Junction.' + +They entered the four-wheeler, and, as soon as it began to move out of +the station, Mrs. Maskell leaned back. Her claim to be considered a +lady suffered no contradiction from her look, her movements, or her +speech; throughout the strange dialogue she had behaved with remarkable +self-command, and made use of the aptest phrases without a sign of +effort. In the years which had elapsed since she filled the position of +housekeeper to Mrs. Carnaby, she seemed to have gained in the externals +of refinement; though even at that time her manners were noticeably +good. + +'Raise your veil, please,' said Hugh, when he had pulled up the second +window. + +She obliged him, and showed a face of hard yet regular outline, which +would have been almost handsome but for its high cheek-bones and coarse +lips. + +'And you have been going about all this time, openly?' + +'With discretion. I am not perfect, unfortunately. Rather than lose +sixpence at the bookstall, I forgot myself. That's a woman's weakness; +we don't easily get over it.' + +'What put it into your head to speak of my wife?' + +'I had to gain time, had I not?' + +In a sudden burst of wrath, Hugh banged the window open; but, before he +could call to the cabman, a voice sounded in his ear, a clear quick +whisper, the lips that spoke all but touching him. + +'Do you know that your wife is Mr. Redgrave's mistress?' + +He fell back. There was no blood in his face; his eyes stared hideously. + +'Say that again, and I'll crush the life out of you!' + +'You look like it, but you won't. My information is too valuable.' + +'It's the vilest lie ever spoken by whore and thief.' + +'You are not polite, Mr. Carnaby.' + +She still controlled herself, but in fear, as quick glances showed. And +her fear was not unreasonable; the man glared murder. + +'Stop that, and tell me what you have to say.' + +Mrs. Maskell raised the window again. + +'You have compelled me, you see. It's a pity. I don't want to make +trouble.' + +'What do you know of Redgrave?' + +'I keep house for him at Wimbledon.' + +'You?' + +'Yes. I have done so for about a year.' + +'And does he know who you are?' + +'Well--perhaps not quite. He engaged me on the Continent. A friend of +his (and of mine) recommended me, and he had reason to think I should +be trustworthy. Don't misunderstand me. I am housekeeper--_rien de +plus_. It's a position of confidence. Mr. Redgrave--but you know him.' + +The listener's face was tumid and discoloured, his eyes bloodshot. With +fearful intensity he watched every movement of Mrs. Maskell's features. + +'How do you know I know him?' + +'You've been at his place. I've seen you, though you didn't see me; and +before I saw you I heard your voice. One remembers voices, you know.' + +'Go on. What else have you seen or heard?' + +'Mrs. Carnaby has been there too.' + +'I know that!' Hugh shouted rather than spoke. 'She was there with Mrs +Fenimore--Redgrave's sister--and several other people.' + +'Yes; last summer. I caught sight of her as she was sitting in the +veranda, and it amused me to think how little she suspected who was +looking at her. But she has been there since.' + +'When?' + +Mrs. Maskell consulted her memory, and indicated a day in the past +winter. She could not at this moment recall the exact date, but had a +note of it. Mrs. Carnaby came at a late hour of the evening, and left +very early the next day. + +'How are you going to make this lie seem probable?' asked Hugh, a +change of voice betraying the dread with which he awaited her answer; +for the time of which she spoke was exactly that when Redgrave had +offered himself as a partner in the firm of Mackintosh & Co. 'Do you +want me to believe that she came and went so that every one could see +her?' + +'Oh no. I was new to the place then, and full of curiosity. I have my +own ways of getting to know what I wish to know. Remember, once more, +that it's very easy to recognise a voice. I told you that I was in a +position of confidence. Whenever Mr. Redgrave wishes for quietness, he +has only to mention it; our servants are well disciplined. I, of +course, am never seen by visitors, whoever they may be, and whenever +they come; but it happens occasionally that I see _them_, even when Mr. +Redgrave doesn't think it. Still, he is sometime very careful indeed, +and so he was on that particular evening. You remember that his rooms +have French windows--a convenient arrangement. The front door may be +locked and bolted, but people come and go for all that.' + +'That's the bungalow, is it?' muttered Carnaby. 'And how often do you +pretend you have heard _her_ voice?' + +'Only that once.' + +It was worse than if she had answered 'Several times.' Hugh looked long +at her, and she bore his gaze with indifference. + +'You don't pretend that you _saw_ her?' + +'No, I didn't see her.' + +'Then, if you are not deliberately lying, you have made a mistake.' + +Mrs. Maskell smiled and shook her head. + +'What _words_ did you hear?' + +'Oh--talk. Nothing very particular.' + +'I want to know what it was.' + +'Well, as far as I could make out, Mrs. Carnaby was going to get a +bicycle, and wanted to know what was the best. Not much harm in that,' +she added, with a silent laugh. + +Hugh sat with his hands on his knees, bending forward. He said nothing +for a minute or two, and at length looked to the window. + +'You were going back to Wimbledon?' + +'Yes. I have only been in town for an hour or two.' + +'Is Redgrave there?' + +'No; he's away.' + +'Very well; I am going with you. You will find out for me on what date +that happened.' + +'Certainly. But what is the understanding between us?' + +Hugh saw too well that any threat would be idle. Whether this woman had +told the truth or not, her position in Redgrave's house, and the fact +of Redgrave's connection with the firm of Mackintosh--of which she +evidently was not aware--put it in her power to strike a fatal blow at +Sibyl. He still assured himself that she was lying--how doubt it and +maintain his sanity?--but the lie had a terrible support in +circumstances. Who could hear this story without admitting the +plausibility of its details? A man such as Redgrave, wealthy and a +bachelor; a woman such as Sibyl, beautiful, fond of luxurious living; +her husband in an embarrassed position--how was it that he, a man of +the world, had never seen things in this light? Doubtless his anxiety +had blinded him; that, and his absolute faith in Sibyl, and Redgrave's +frank friendliness. Even if he obtained (as he would) complete evidence +of Sibyl's honesty, Mrs. Maskell could still dare him to take a step +against her. How many people were at her mercy? He might be sure that +she would long ago have stood in the dock but for her ability to make +scandalous and ruinous revelations. Did Redgrave know that he had a +high-class criminal in his employment? Possibly he knew it well enough. +There was no end to the appalling suggestiveness of this discovery. +Hugh remembered what he had said in talk with Harvey Rolfe about the +rottenness of society. Never had he felt himself so much a coward as in +face of this woman, whose shameless smile covered secrets and infamies +innumerable. + +The cabman was bidden drive on to Wimbledon, and, with long pauses, the +dialogue continued for an hour. Hugh interrogated and cross-examined +his companion on every matter of which she could be induced to speak, +yet he learned very little in detail concerning either her own life or +Redgrave's; Mrs. Maskell was not to be driven to any disclosure beyond +what was essential to her own purpose. By dint of skilful effrontery +she had gained the upper hand, and no longer felt the least fear of him. + +'If I believed you,' said Carnaby, at a certain point of their +conversation, 'I should have you arrested straight away. It wouldn't +matter to me how the thing came out; it would be public property before +long.' + +'Where would you find your witnesses?' she asked. 'Leave me alone, and +I can be of use to you as no one else can. Behave shabbily, and you +only make yourself look foolish, bringing a charge against your wife +that you'll never be able to prove. You would get no evidence from me. +Whether you want it kept quiet or want to bring it into court, you +depend upon my goodwill.' + +They reached the end of the road in which was the approach to +Redgrave's house. + +'You had better wait here,' said the woman. 'I shall be ten minutes or +a quarter of an hour. You needn't feel uneasy; I haven't the least +intention of running away. Our interests are mutual, and if you do your +part you can trust me to do mine.' + +She stopped the cab, alighted, told the driver to wait, and walked +quickly down the by-road. Hugh, drawn back into a corner, sat with head +drooping; for a quarter of an hour he hardly stirred. Twenty minutes, +thirty minutes, passed, but Mrs. Maskell did not show herself. At +length, finding it impossible to sit still any longer, he sprang out, +and paced backwards and forwards. Vastly to his relief, the woman at +length appeared. + +'He is there,' she said. 'I couldn't get away before.' + +'Is he alone?' + +'Yes. Don't do anything foolish.' Carnaby had looked as if he would +move towards the house. 'The slightest imprudence, and you'll only harm +yourself.' + +'Tell me that date.' + +She named it. + +'I can't stay longer, and I advise you to get away. If you want to +write to me, you can do so without fear; my letters are quite safe. +Address to Mrs. Lant. And remember----!' + +With a last significant look she turned and left him. Hugh, mentally +repeating the date he had learnt, walked back to the cab, and told the +man to drive him to the nearest railway station, whichever it was. + +When he reached home, some four hours had elapsed since his encounter +with Mrs. Maskell (or Mrs. Lant) at Waterloo; it seemed to him a whole +day. He had forgotten all about his purposed journey to Weymouth. One +sole desire had possession of him to stand face to face with Sibyl, and +to _see_ her innocence, rather than hear it, as soon as he had brought +his tongue to repeat that foul calumny. He would then know how to deal +with the creature who thought to escape him by slandering his wife. + +He let himself in with his latchkey, and entered the drawing-room; it +was vacant. He looked into other rooms; no one was there. He rang, and +a servant came. + +'Has Mrs. Carnaby been out long?' + +She had left, was the reply, at half-past two. Whilst she sat at +luncheon a telegram arrived for her, and, soon after, she prepared to +go out, saying that she would not return tonight. + +Not return tonight? Hugh scarcely restrained an exclamation, and had +much ado to utter his next words. + +'Did she mention where she was going?' + +'No, sir. I took the dressing-bag down to the cab, and the cabman was +told to drive to the post-office.' + +'Very well. That will do.' + +'Shall you dine at home, sir?' + +'Dine? No.' + +Sibyl gone away for the night? Where could she have gone to? He began +to look about for the telegram she had received; it might be lying +somewhere, and possibly would explain her departure. In the waste-paper +basket he found the torn envelope lying at the top; but the despatch +itself was not to be discovered. + +Gone for the night? and just when he was supposed to have left town? +The cabman told to drive to the post-office? This might be for the +purpose of despatching a reply. Yet no; the reply would have been +written at once and sent by the messenger in the usual way. +Unless--unless Sibyl, for some reason, preferred to send the message +more privately? Or again, she might not care to let the servant know +whither the cab was really to convey her. + +Sheer madness, all this. Had not Sibyl fifty legitimate ways of +spending a night from home? Yet there was the fact that she had never +before done so unexpectedly. Never before----? + +He looked at his watch; half-past six. He rang the bell again. + +'Has any one called since Mrs. Carnaby left home?' + +'Yes, sir; there have been three calls. Mrs. Rolfe----' + +'Mrs. Rolfe?' + +'Yes, sir. She seemed very disappointed. I told her Mrs. Carnaby would +not be back tonight.' + +'And the others?' + +Two persons of no account. Hugh dismissed them, and the servant, with a +wave of the hand. + +He felt a faintness such as accompanies extreme hunger, but had no +inclination for food. The whisky bottle was a natural resource; a +tumbler of right Scotch restored his circulation, and in a few minutes +gave him a raging appetite. He could not eat here; but eat he must, and +that quickly. Seizing his hat, he ran down the stairs, hailed a hansom, +and drove to the nearest restaurant he could think of. + +After eating without knowledge of the viands, and drinking a bottle of +claret in like unconsciousness, he smoked for half an hour, his eyes +vacantly set, his limbs lax and heavy, as though in the torpor of +difficult digestion. When the cigar was finished, he roused himself, +looked at the time, and asked for a railway guide. There was a train to +Wimbledon at ten minutes past eight; he might possibly catch it. +Starting into sudden activity, he hastily left the restaurant, and +reached Waterloo Station with not a moment to spare. + +At Wimbledon he took a cab, and was driven up the hill. Under a clouded +sky, dusk had already changed to darkness; the evening was warm and +still. Impatient with what he thought the slow progress of the vehicle, +Hugh sat with his body bent forward, straining as did the horse, on +which his eyes were fixed, and perspiring in the imaginary effort. The +address he had given was Mrs. Fenimore's; but when he drew near he +signalled to the driver: 'Stop at the gate. Don't drive up.' + +From the entrance to Mrs. Fenimore's round to the by-road which was the +direct approach to Redgrave's bungalow would be a walk of some ten +minutes. Hugh had his reasons for not taking this direction. Having +dismissed his cab, he entered by the lodge-gate, and walked up the +drive, moving quickly, and with a lighter step than was natural to him. +When he came within view of the house, he turned aside, and made his +way over the grass, in the deep shadow of leafy lime-trees, until the +illumined windows were again hidden from him. He had seen no one, and +heard no sound. A path which skirted the gardens would bring him in a +few minutes to Redgrave's abode; this he found and followed. + +The bungalow was built in a corner of the park where previously had +stood a gardener's cottage; round about it grew a few old trees, and on +two sides spread a shrubbery, sheltering the newly-made lawn and +flower-beds. Here it was very dark; Hugh advanced cautiously, stopping +now and then to listen. He reached a point where the front of the house +became visible. A light shone at the door, but there was no movement, +and Hugh could hear only his own hard breathing. + +He kept behind the laurels, and made a half-circuit of the house. On +passing to the farther side, he would come within view of those windows +which opened so conveniently, as Mrs. Maskell had said--the windows of +Redgrave's sitting-room, drawing-room, study, or whatever he called it. +To this end it was necessary to quit the cover of the shrubs and cross +a lawn. As he stepped on to the mown grass, his ear caught a sound, the +sound of talking in a subdued tone; it came, he thought, from that side +of the building which he could not yet see. A few quick silent steps, +and this conjecture became a certainty: someone was talking within a +few yards of him, just round the obstructing corner, and he felt sure +the voice was Redgrave's. It paused; another voice made reply, but in +so low a murmur that its accents were not to be recognised. That it was +the voice of a woman the listener had no doubt. Spurred by a choking +anguish, he moved forward. He saw two figures standing in a dim light +from the window-door--a man and a woman; the man bareheaded, his +companion in outdoor clothing. At the same moment he himself was +perceived. He heard a hurried 'Go in!' and at once the woman +disappeared. + +Face to face with Redgrave, he looked at the window; but the curtain +which dulled the light from within concealed everything. + +'Who was that?' + +'Why--Carnaby? What the deuce----?' + +'Who was _that_?' + +'Who?--what do you mean?' + +Carnaby took a step; Redgrave laid an arresting hand upon him. There +needed but this touch. In frenzied wrath, yet with the precision of +trained muscle, Hugh struck out; and Redgrave went down before +him--thudding upon the door of the veranda like one who falls dead. + + + + +CHAPTER 13 + + +He forced the window; he rushed into the room, and there before him, +pallid, trembling, agonising, stood Alma Rolfe. + +'You?' + +She panted incoherent phrases. She was here to speak with Mr. Redgrave +on business--about her concert tomorrow. She had not entered the house +until this moment. She had met Mr. Redgrave in the garden---- + +'What is that to me?' broke in Hugh, staring wildly, his fist still +clenched. 'I am not your husband.' + +'Mr. Carnaby, you _will_ believe me? I came for a minute or two--to +speak about----' + +'It's nothing to me, Mrs. Rolfe,' he again interrupted her, in a +hoarse, faint voice. 'What have I done?' He looked to the window, +whence came no sound. 'Have I gone mad? By God, I almost fear it!' + +'You believe me, Mr. Carnaby?' She moved to him and seized his hand. +'You know me too well--you know I couldn't--say you believe me! Say one +kind, friendly word!' + +She looked distracted. Clinging to his hand, she burst into tears. But +Hugh hardly noticed her; he kept turning towards the window, with eyes +of unutterable misery. + +'Wait here; I'll come back.' + +He stepped out from the window, and saw that Redgrave lay just where he +had fallen--straight, still, his face turned upwards. Hugh stooped, and +moved him into the light; the face was deathly--placid, but for its +wide eyes, which seemed to look at his enemy. No blood upon the lips; +no sign of violence. + +'Where did I hit him? He fell with his head against something, I +suppose.' + +From the parted lips there issued no perceptible breath. A fear, which +was more than half astonishment, took hold upon Carnaby. He looked +up--for the light was all at once obstructed--and saw Alma gazing at +him. + +'What is it?' she asked in a terrified whisper. 'Why is he lying there?' + +'I struck him--he is unconscious.' + +'Struck him?' + +He drew her into the room again. + +'Mrs. Rolfe, I shall most likely have to send for help. You mustn't be +seen here. It's nothing to me why you came--yes, yes, I believe +you--but you must go at once.' + +'You won't speak of it?' + +Her appeal was that of a child, helpless in calamity. Again she caught +his hand, as if clinging for protection. Hugh replied in thick, hurried +tones. + +'I have enough trouble of my own. This is no place for you. For your +own sake, if not for your husband's, keep away from here. I came +because someone was telling foul lies--the kind of lies that drive a +man mad. Whatever happens--whatever you hear--don't imagine that _she_ +is to blame. You understand me?' + +'No word shall ever pass my lips!' + +'Go at once. Get home as soon as you can.' + +Alma turned to go. Outside, she cast one glance at the dark, silent, +unmoving form, then bowed her head, and hastened away into the darkness. + +Again Hugh knelt by Redgrave's side, raised his head, listened for the +beating of his heart, tried to feel his breath. He then dragged him +into the room, and placed him upon a divan; he loosened the fastenings +about his neck; the head drooped, and there was not a sign of life. +Next he looked for a bell; the electric button caught his eye, and he +pressed it. To prevent any one from coming in, he took his stand close +by the door. In a moment there was a knock, the door opened, and he +showed his face to the surprised maid-servant. + +'Is Mrs. Lant in the house?' + +'Yes, sir.' + +'Mr. Redgrave wants her at once; he is ill.' + +The servant vanished. Keeping his place at the door, and looking out +into the hall, Hugh, for full two minutes, heard no movement; then he +was startled by a low voice immediately behind him. + +'What are you doing here?' + +The housekeeper, who had entered from the garden, and approached in +perfect silence, stood gazing at him; not unconcerned, but with full +command of herself. + +'Look!' he replied, pointing to the figure on the divan. 'Is he only +insensible--or dead?' + +She stepped across the room, and made a brief examination by the +methods Carnaby himself had used. + +'I never saw any one look more like dead,' was her quiet remark. 'What +have you been up to? A little quiet murder?' + +'I met him outside. We quarrelled, and I knocked him down.' + +'And why are you here at all?' asked the woman, with fierce eyes, +though her voice kept its ordinary level. + +'Because of you and your talk--curse you! Can't you do something? Get +some brandy; and send someone for a doctor.' + +'Are you going to be found here?' she inquired meaningly. + +Hugh drew a deep breath, and stared at the silent figure. For an +instant his face showed irresolution; then it changed, and he said +harshly--'Yes, I am. Do as I told you. Get the spirits, and send +someone--sharp!' + +'Mr. Carnaby, you're a great blundering thickhead--if you care for my +opinion of you. You deserve all you've got and all you'll get.' + +Hugh again breathed deeply. The woman's abuse was nothing to him. + +'Are you going to do anything!' he said. 'Or shall I ring for someone +else?' + +She left the room, and speedily returned with a decanter of brandy. All +their exertions proved useless; the head hung aside, the eyes stared. +In a few minutes Carnaby asked whether a doctor had been sent for. + +'Yes. When I hear him at the door I shall go away. You came here +against my advice, and you've made a pretty job of it. Well, you'll +always get work at a slaughter-house.' + +Her laugh was harder to bear than the words it followed. Hugh, with a +terrible look, waved her away from him. + +'Go--or I don't know what I may do next. Take yourself out of my +sight!--out!' + +She gave way before him, backing to the door; there she laughed again, +waved her hand in a contemptuous farewell, and withdrew. + +For half an hour Carnaby stood by the divan, or paced the room. Once or +twice he imagined a movement of Redgrave's features, and bent to regard +them closely; but in truth there was no slightest change. Within doors +and without prevailed unbroken silence; not a step, not a rustle. The +room seemed to grow intolerably hot. Wiping the sweat from his +forehead, Hugh went to the window and opened it a few inches; a scent +of vegetation and of fresh earth came to him with the cool air. He +noticed that rain had begun to fall, large drops pattering softly on +leaves and grass and the roof of the veranda. Then sounded the rolling +of carriage wheels, nearer and nearer. It was the doctor's carriage, no +doubt. + +Uncertainty soon came to an end. Cyrus Redgrave was beyond help: he +must have breathed his last--so said the doctor--at the moment when he +fell. Not as a result of the fall; the blow of Carnaby's fist had +killed him. There is one stroke which, if delivered with sufficient +accuracy and sufficient force, will slay more surely than any other: it +is the stroke which catches an uplifted chin just at the right angle to +drive the head back and shatter the spinal cord. This had plainly +happened. The man's neck was broken, and he died on the spot. + +Carnaby and the doctor stood regarding each other. They spoke in +subdued voices. + +'It was not a fight, you say?' + +'One blow from me, that was all. He said something that maddened me.' + +'Shall you report yourself?' + +'Yes. Here is my card.' + +'A sad business, Mr. Carnaby, Can I be of any use to you?' + +'You can--though I hesitate to ask it. Mrs. Fenimore should be told at +once. I can't do that myself.' + +'I know Mrs. Fenimore very well. I will see her--if she is at home.' + +On this errand the doctor set forth. As soon as he was gone, Hugh rang +the bell; the same domestic as before answered it, and again he asked +for Mrs. Lant. He waited five minutes; the servant came back, saying +that Mrs. Lant was not in the house. This did not greatly surprise him, +but he insisted on a repetition of the search. Mrs. Lant could not be +found. Evidently her disappearance was a mystery to this young woman, +who seemed ingenuous to the point of simple-mindedness. + +'You are not to go into that room,' said Hugh. (They were talking in +the hall.) 'The doctor will return presently.' + +And therewith he left the house. But not the grounds; for in rain and +darkness he stood watching from a place of concealment, watching at the +same time Redgrave's curtained window and the front entrance. His +patience was not overtaxed. There sounded an approaching vehicle; it +came up the drive and stopped at the front door, where at once alighted +the doctor and a lady. Hugh's espial was at an end. As the two stepped +into the house he walked quickly away. + +Yes, he would 'report himself', but not until he had seen Sibyl. To +that end he must go home and wait there. The people at Wimbledon, who +doubtless would communicate with the police, might cause him to be +arrested before his wife's return. He feared this much more than what +was to follow. Worse than anything that could befall him would be to +lose the opportunity of speaking in private with Sibyl before she knew +what had happened. + +In the early hours of the morning he lay down upon his bed and had +snatches of troubled sleep. Knowing that he was wrong in the particular +surmise which led him to Redgrave's house, Sibyl's absence no longer +disturbed him with suspicions; a few hours would banish from his mind +the last doubt of her, if any really remained. He had played the +madman, bringing ruin upon himself and misery incalculable upon his +wife, just because that thieving woman lied to him. She, of course, had +made her speedy escape; and was it not as well? For, if the whole story +became known, what hope was there that Sibyl would come out of it with +untarnished fame? Merely for malice' sake, the woman would repeat and +magnify her calumnies. If she successfully concealed herself, it might +be possible to avoid a mention of Sibyl's name. He imagined various +devices for this purpose, his brain plotting even when he slept. + +To Alma Rolfe he gave scarcely a thought. If the worst were true of +her, Rolfe had only to thank his own absurdity, which allowed such a +conceited simpleton to do as she chose. The case looked black against +her. Well, she had had her lesson, and in _that_ quarter could come to +no more harm. What sort of an appearance was she likely to make at +Prince's Hall today?--feather-headed fool! + +Before five o'clock the sunlight streamed into his bedroom. Sparrows +twittered about the window, and somewhere close by, perhaps in a +neighbour's flat, a caged throstle piped as though it were in the +fields. Then began the street noises, and Hugh could lie still no +longer. Remembering that at any moment his freedom might come to an +end, he applied himself to arranging certain important matters. The +housemaid came upon him with surprise; he bade her get breakfast, and, +when the meal was ready, partook of it with moderate appetite. + +The postman brought letters; nothing of interest for him, and for Sibyl +only an envelope which, as one could feel, contained a mere card of +invitation. But soon after nine o'clock there arrived a telegram. It +was from Sibyl herself, and--from Weymouth. + +'Why are you not here? She died yesterday. If this reaches you, reply +at once.' + +He flung the scrap of paper aside and laughed. Of all natural +explanations, this, of course, had never occurred to him. Yesterday's +telegram told of Mrs. Larkfield's serious condition, and Sibyl had +started at once for Weymouth, expecting to meet him there. One word of +hers to the servant and he would simply have followed her. But Sibyl +saw no necessity for that word. She was always reserved with domestics. + +By the messenger, he despatched a reply. He would be at Weymouth as +soon as possible. + +He incurred the risk of appearing to run away; but that mattered +little. Sibyl could hardly return before her mother's burial, and by +going yonder to see her he escaped the worse danger, probably the +certainty, of arrest before any possible meeting with her in London. +Dreading this more than ever, he made ready in a few minutes; the +telegraph boy had hardly left the building before Hugh followed. A +glance at the timetables had shown him that, if he travelled by the +Great-Western, he could reach Weymouth at five minutes past four; +whereas the first train he could catch at Waterloo would not bring him +to his destination until half an hour later; on the other hand, he +could get away from London by the South-Western forty minutes sooner +than by the other line, and this decided him. Yesterday, Waterloo had +been merely the more convenient station on account of his business in +town; today he chose it because he had to evade arrest on a charge of +homicide. So comforted was he by the news from Sibyl, that he could +reflect on this joke of destiny, and grimly smile at it. + +At the end of his journey he betook himself to an hotel, and +immediately sent a message to Sibyl. Before her arrival he had +swallowed meat and drink. He waited for her in a private room, which +looked seaward. The sight of the blue Channel, the smell of salt +breezes, made his heart ache. He was standing at the window, watching a +steamer that had just left port, when Sibyl entered; he turned and +looked at her in silence. + +'What are these mysterious movements?' she asked, coming forward with a +smile. 'Why did you alter your mind yesterday?' + +'I wasn't well.' + +He could say nothing more, yet. Sibyl's face was so tranquil, and she +seemed so glad to rejoin him, that his tongue refused to utter any +alarming word; and the more he searched her countenance, the more +detestable did it seem that he should insult her by the semblance of a +doubt. + +'Not well? Indeed, you look dreadfully out of sorts. How long had I +been gone when you got home again?' + +'An hour or two. But tell me first about your mother. She died before +you came?' + +'Very soon after they sent the telegram.' + +Gravely, but with no affectation of distress, she related the +circumstances; making known, finally, that Mrs. Larkfield had died +intestate. + +'You are quite sure of that?' asked Hugh, with an eagerness which +surprised her. + +'Quite. Almost with her last breath she talked about it, and said that +she _must_ make her will. And she had spoken of it several times +lately. The people there knew all about her affairs. She kept putting +it off--and as likely as not she wished the money to be mine, after +all. I am sure she must have felt that she owed me something.' + +Carnaby experienced a profound relief. Sibyl was now provided for, +whatever turn his affairs might take. She had seated herself by the +window, and, with her gloved hands crossed upon her lap, was gazing +absently towards the sea. How great must be _her_ relief! thought Hugh. +And still he looked at her smooth, pure features; at her placid eyes, +in which, after all, he seemed to detect a little natural sadness; and +the accusation in his mind assumed so grotesque an incredibility that +he asked himself how he should dare to hint at it. + +'Sibyl----' + +'Isn't there something you haven't told me?' she said, regarding him +with anxiety, when he had just uttered her name and then averted his +look. 'I never saw you look so ill.' + +'Yes, dear, there is something.' + +It was not often he spoke so gently. Sibyl waited, one of her hands +clasping the other, and her lips close set. + +'I was at Wimbledon last night--at Redgrave's.' + +He paused again, for the last word choked him. Unless it were a tremor +of the eyelids, no movement betrayed itself in Sibyl's features; yet +their expression had grown cold, and seemed upon the verge of a +disdainful wonder. The pupils of her eyes insensibly dilated, as though +to challenge scrutiny and defy it. + +'What of that?' she said, when his silence urged her to speak. + +'Something happened between us. We quarrelled.' + +Her lips suddenly parted, and he heard her quick breath; but the look +that followed was of mere astonishment, and in a moment, before she +spoke, it softened in a smile. + +'This is your dreadful news? You quarrelled--and he is going to +withdraw from the business. Oh, my dear boy, how ridiculous you are! I +thought all sorts of horrible things. Were you afraid I should make an +outcry? And you have worried yourself into illness about _this_? Oh, +foolish fellow!' + +Before she ceased, her voice was broken with laughter--a laugh of +extravagant gaiety, of mocking mirth, that brought the blood to her +face and shook her from head to foot. Only when she saw that her +husband's gloom underwent no change did this merriment cease. Then, +with abrupt gravity, which was almost annoyance, her eyes shining with +moisture and her cheeks flushed, she asked him---- + +'Isn't that it?' + +'Worse than that,' Hugh answered. + +But he spoke more freely, for he no longer felt obliged to watch her +countenance. His duty now was to soften the outrage involved in +repeating Mrs. Maskell's fiction by making plain his absolute faith in +her, and to contrive his story so as to omit all mention of a third +person's presence at the fatal interview. + +'Then do tell me and have done!' exclaimed Sibyl, almost petulantly. + +'We quarrelled--and I struck him--and the blow was fatal.' + +'Fatal?--you mean he was killed?' + +The blood vanished from her face, leaving pale horror. + +'A terrible accident--a blow that happened to--I couldn't believe it +till the doctor came and said he was dead.' + +'But tell me more. What led to it? How could you strike Mr. Redgrave?' + +Sibyl had all at once subdued her voice to an excessive calmness. Her +hands were trembling; she folded them again upon her lap. Every line of +her face, every muscle of her body, declared the constraint in which +she held herself. This, said Hugh inwardly, was no more than he had +expected; disaster made noble proof of Sibyl's strength. + +'I'll tell you from the beginning.' + +He recounted faithfully the incidents at Waterloo Station, and the +beginning of Mrs. Maskell's narrative in the cab. At the disclosure of +her relations with Redgrave, he was interrupted by a short, hard laugh. + +'I couldn't help it, Hugh. That woman!--why, you have always said you +were sure to meet her somewhere. Housekeeper at Mr. Redgrave's! We know +what the end of that would be!' + +Sibyl talked rapidly, in an excited chatter--the kind of utterance +never heard upon her lips. + +'It was strange,' Hugh continued. 'Seems to have been mere chance. Then +she began to say that she had learnt some of Redgrave's secrets--about +people who came and went mysteriously. And then--Sibyl, I can't speak +the words. It was the foulest slander that she could have invented. She +meant to drive me mad, and she succeeded--curse her!' + +Drops of anguish stood upon his forehead. He sprang up and crossed the +room. Turning again, he saw his wife gazing at him, as if in utmost +perplexity. + +'Hugh, I don't in the least understand you. What _was_ the slander? +Perhaps I am stupid--but----' + +He came near, but could not look her in the eyes. + +'My dearest'--his voice shook--'it was an infamous lie about +_you_--that _you_ had been there----' + +'Why, of course I have! You know that I have.' + +'She meant more than that. She said you had been there secretly--at +night----' + +Hugh Carnaby--the man who had lived as high-blooded men do live, who +had laughed by the camp-fire or in the club smoking-room at many a +Rabelaisian story and capped it with another, who hated mock modesty, +was all for honest openness between man and woman--stood in guilty +embarrassment before his own wife's face of innocence. It would have +been a sheer impossibility for him to ask her where and how she spent a +certain evening last winter; Sibyl, now as ever, was his ideal of +chaste womanhood. He scorned himself for what he had yet to tell. + +Sibyl was gazing at him, steadily, inquiringly. + +'She made you believe this?' fell upon the silence, in her softest, +clearest tones. + +'No! She couldn't make me _believe_ it. But the artful devil had such a +way of talking----' + +'I understand. You didn't know whether to believe or not. Just tell me, +please, what proof she offered you.' + +Hugh hung his head. + +'She had heard you talking--in the house--on a certain----' + +He looked up timidly, and met a flash of derisive scorn. + +'She heard me talking? Hugh, I really don't see much art in this. You +seem to have been wrought upon rather easily. It never occurred to you, +I suppose, to ask for a precise date?' + +He mentioned the day, and Sibyl, turning her head a little, appeared to +reflect. + +'It's unfortunate; I remember nothing whatever of that date. I'm +afraid, Hugh, that I couldn't possibly prove an alibi.' + +Her smiling sarcasm made the man wince. His broad shoulders shrank +together; he stood in an awkward, swaying posture. + +'Dear, I told her she lied!' + +'That was very courageous. But what came next? You had the happy idea +of going to Wimbledon to make personal inquiries?' + +'Try to put yourself in my place, Sibyl,' he pleaded. 'Remember all the +circumstances. Can't you see the danger of such a lie as that? I went +home, hoping to find you there. But you had gone, and nobody knew +where--you wouldn't be back that night. A telegram had called you away, +I was told. When I asked where you told the cabman to drive you to--the +post-office.' + +'Oh, it looked very black!--yes, yes, I quite understand. The facts are +so commonplace that I'm really ashamed to mention them. At +luncheon-time came an urgent telegram from Weymouth. I sent no reply +then, because I thought I knew that you were on your way. But when I +was ready to start, it occurred to me that I should save you trouble by +wiring that I should join you as soon as possible--so I drove to the +post-office before going to Paddington.--Well, you rushed off to +Wimbledon?' + +'Not till later, and because I was suffering damnably. If I +hadn't--been what would it have meant? When a man thinks as much of his +wife as I do of you----' + +'He has a right to imagine anything of her,' she interrupted in a +changed tone, gently reproachful, softening to tenderness. A +Singularity of Sibyl's demeanour was that she seemed utterly forgetful +of the dire position in which her husband stood. One would have thought +that she had no concern beyond the refutation of an idle charge, which +angered her indeed, but afforded scope for irony, possibly for play of +wit. For the moment, Hugh himself had almost forgotten the worst; but +he was bidden to proceed, and again his heart sank. + +'I went there in the evening. Redgrave happened to be outside--in that +veranda of his. I saw him as I came near in the dark, and I fancied +that--that he had been talking to someone in the room--through the +folding windows. I went up to him quickly, and as soon as he saw me he +pulled the window to. After that--I only remember that I was raving +mad. He seemed to want to stop me, and I struck at him--and that was +the end.' + +Sibyl shuddered. + +'You went into the room?' + +'Yes. No one was there.' + +Both kept silence. Sibyl had become very grave, and was thinking +intently. Then, with a few brief questions, vigilant, precise, she +learnt all that had taken place between Hugh and Mrs. Maskell, between +Hugh and the doctor; heard of the woman's disappearance, and of Mrs +Fenimore's arrival on the scene. + +'What shall you do now?' + +'Go back and give myself up. What else _can_ I do?' + +'And tell everything--as you have told it to me?' + +Hugh met her eyes and moved his arms in a gesture of misery. + +'No! I will think of something. He is dead, and can't contradict; and +the woman will hide--trust her. Your name shan't come into it at all. I +owe you that, Sibyl. I'll find some cause for a quarrel with him. Your +name shan't be spoken.' + +She listened, her eyes down, her forehead lined in thought. + +'I know what!' Hugh exclaimed, with gloomy resolve. 'That woman--of +course, there'll be a mystery, and she'll be searched for. Why'--he +blustered against his shame--'why shouldn't she be the cause of it? +Yes, that would do.' + +His hoarse laugh caused a tremor in Sibyl; she rose and stepped close +to him, and laid a hand upon his shoulder. + +'So far you have advised yourself. Will you let me advise you now, +dear?' + +'Wouldn't that seem likely?' + +'I think not. And if it _did_--what is the result? You will be dealt +with much more severely. Don't you see that?' + +'What's that to me? What do I care so long as you are out of the vile +business? You will have no difficulties. Your mother's money; and then +Mackintosh----' + +'And is that all?' asked Sibyl, with a look which seemed to wonder +profoundly. 'Am I to think only of my own safety?' + +'It's all my cursed fault--just because I'm a fierce, strong brute, who +ought to be anywhere but among civilised people. I've killed the man +who meant me nothing but kindness. Am I going to drag _your_ name into +the mud--to set people grinning and winking----' + +'Be quiet, Hugh, and listen. I have a much clearer head than yours, +poor boy. There's only one way of facing this scandal, and that is to +tell everything. For one thing, I shall not let you shield that +woman--we shall catch her yet. I shall not let you disgrace yourself by +inventing squalid stories. Don't you see, too, that the disgrace would +be shared by--by the dead man? Would that be right? And another +thing--if shame comes upon you, do you think I have no part in it? We +have to face it out with the truth.' + +'You don't know what that means,' he answered, with a groan. 'You don't +know the world.' + +Sibyl did not smile, but her lips seemed only to check themselves when +the smile was half born. + +'I know enough of it, Hugh, to despise it; and I know you much better +than you know yourself. You are not one of the men who can tell lies +and make them seem the truth. I don't think my name will suffer. I +shall stand by you from first to last. The real true story can't +possibly be improved upon. That woman had every motive for deceiving +you, and her disappearance is all against her. You have to confess your +hot-headedness--that can't be helped. You tell everything--even down to +the mistake about the telegram. I shall go with you to the +police-station; I shall be at the inquest; I shall be at the court. +It's the only chance.' + +'Good God! how can I let you do this?' + +'You had rather, then, that I seemed to hide away? You had rather set +people thinking that there is coldness between us? We must go up +tonight. Look out the trains, quick.' + +'But your mother, Sibyl----' + +'She is dead; she cares nothing. I have to think of my husband.' + +Hugh caught her and crushed her in his arms. + +'My darling, worse than killing a man who never harmed me was to think +wrong of you!' + +Her face had grown very pale. She closed her eyes, smiled faintly as +she leaned her head against him, and of a sudden burst into tears. + + + + +CHAPTER 14 + + +'It shows one's ignorance of such matters,' said Harvey Rolfe, with +something of causticity in his humour, when Alma came home after +midnight. 'I should have thought that, by way of preparing for +tomorrow, you would have quietly rested today.' + +He looked round at her. Alma had entered the study as usual, and was +taking off her gloves; but the effort of supporting herself seemed too +great, she trembled towards the nearest chair, and affected to laugh at +her feebleness as she sank down. + +'Rest will come _after_,' she said, in such a voice as sounds from a +parched and quivering throat. + +'I'll take good care of that,' Harvey remarked. 'To look at you is +almost enough to make me play the brutal husband, and say that I'll be +hanged if you go out tomorrow at all.' + +She laughed--a ghostly merriment. + +'Where have you been?' + +'Oh, at several places. I met Mr. Carnaby at lunch,' she added quickly. +'He told me he was going somewhere--I forget--oh, to Weymouth, to see +Mrs. Larkfield.' + +Harvey was watching her, and paid little attention to the news. + +'Do you know, it wouldn't much surprise me if you couldn't get up +tomorrow morning, let alone play at a concert. Well, I won't keep you +talking. Go to bed.' + +'Yes.' + +She rose, but instead of turning to the door, moved towards where +Harvey was sitting. + +'Don't be angry with me,' she murmured in a shamefaced way. 'It wasn't +very wise--I've over-excited myself but I shall be all right tomorrow; +and afterwards I'll behave more sensibly--I promise----' + +He nodded; but Alma bent over him, and touched his forehead with her +lips. + +'You're in a fever, I suppose you know?' + +'I shall be all right tomorrow. Goodnight, dear.' + +In town, this morning, she had called at a chemist's, and purchased a +little bottle of something in repute for fashionable disorder of the +nerves. Before lying down she took the prescribed dose, though with +small hope that it would help her to a blessed unconsciousness. Another +thing she did which had not occurred to her for many a night: she knelt +by the bedside, and half thought, half whispered through tearless sobs, +a petition not learnt from any book, a strange half-heathen blending of +prayer for moral strength, and entreaty for success in a worldly +desire. Her mind shook perilously in its balance. It was well for Alma +that the fashionable prescription did not fail her. In the moment of +despair, when she had turned and turned again upon her pillow, haunted +by a vision in the darkness, tortured by the never-ending echo of a +dreadful voice, there fell upon her a sudden quiet; her brain was +soothed by a lulling air from dreamland; her limbs relaxed, and forgot +their aching weariness; she sighed and slept. + +'I am much better this morning,' she said at breakfast. 'Not a trace of +fever--no headache.' + +'And a face the colour of the table-cloth,' added Harvey. + +There was a letter from Mrs. Frothingham, conveying good wishes not +very fervently expressed. She had decided not to come up for the +concert, feeling that the excitement would be too much for her; but +Alma suspected another reason. + +She had not asked her husband whether he meant to have a seat in +Prince's Hall this afternoon; she still waited for him to speak about +it. After breakfast he asked her when she would start for town. At +noon, she replied. Every arrangement had been completed; it would be +enough if she reached the Hall half an hour before the time of the +recital, and after a light luncheon at a neighbouring restaurant. + +'Then we may as well go together,' said her husband. + +'You mean to come, then?' she asked dreamily. + +'I shall go in at the last moment--a seat at the back.' + +Anything but inclined for conversation, Alma acquiesced. For the next +hour or two she kept in solitude, occasionally touching her violin, but +always recurring to an absent mood, a troubled reverie. She could not +fix her thoughts upon the trial that was before her. In a vague way she +feared it; but another fear, at times amounting to dread, dimmed the +day's event into insignificance. The morning's newspapers were before +her, sent, no doubt, by Dymes's direction, and she mused over the +eye-attracting announcements of her debut. 'Mrs. Harvey Rolfe's First +Violin Recital, Prince's Hall, this afternoon, at 3.' It gave her no +more gratification than if the name had been that of a stranger. + +The world had grown as unreal as a nightmare. People came before her +mind, people the most intimately known, and she seemed but faintly to +recognise them. They were all so much changed since yesterday. Their +relations to each other and to her were altered, confused. Scarce one +of them she could regard without apprehension or perplexity. + +What faces would show before her when she advanced upon the platform? +Would she behold Sibyl, or Hugh Carnaby, or Cyrus Redgrave? Their +presence would all but convince her that she had passed some hours of +yesterday in delirium. They might be present; for was not she--she +herself--about to step forward and play in public? Their absence--what +would it mean? Where were they at this moment? What had happened in the +life of each since last she saw them? + +When it was time to begin to dress, she undertook the task with effort, +with repugnance. She would have chosen to sit here, in a drowsy +idleness, and let the hours go by. On her table stood the little vial +with its draught of oblivion. Oh to drink of it again, and to lay her +head upon the pillow and outsleep the day! + +Nevertheless, when she had exerted herself, and was clad in the fresh +garments of spring, the mirror came to her help. She was pale yet; but +pallor lends distinction to features that are not commonplace, and no +remark of man or woman had ever caused her to suspect that her face was +ordinary. She posed before the glass, holding her violin, and the +picture seemed so effective that she began to regain courage. A +dreadful thing had happened--perhaps more dreadful than she durst +imagine--but her own part in it was nothing worse than folly and +misfortune. She had no irreparable sin to hide. Her moment of supreme +peril was past, and would not return. If now she could but brace her +nerves, and pass successfully through the ordeal of the next few hours, +the victory for which she had striven so hard, and had risked so much, +would at length be won. Everything dark and doubtful she must try to +forget. Success would give her new strength; to fail, under any +circumstances ignominious, would at this crisis of her life be a +disaster fraught with manifold and intolerable shame. + +She played a few notes. Her hand was steady once more; she felt her +confidence revive. Whenever she had performed before an audience, it +had always seemed to her that she must inevitably break down; yet at +the last minute came power and self-control. So it would be today. The +greater the demand upon her, so much the surer her responsive energy. +She would not see faces. When all was over, let the news be disclosed, +the worst that might be waiting; between now and then lay an infinity +of time. + +So, when she went downstairs to meet Harvey, the change in her +appearance surprised him. He had expected a bloodless countenance, a +tremulous step; but Alma came towards him with the confident carriage +of an earlier day, with her smile of superiority, her look that invited +or demanded admiration. + +'Well? You won't be ashamed of me?' + +'To tell the truth,' said Harvey, 'I was going because I feared someone +would have to look after you in the middle of the affair. If there's no +danger of that, I think I shall not go into the place at all.' + +'Why?' + +'I don't care for it. I prefer to hear you play in private.' + +'You needn't have the least fear for me,' said Alma loftily. + +'Very well. We'll lunch together, as we arranged, and I'll be at the +door with a cab for you after the people have gone.' + +'Why should you trouble?' + +'I had rather, if you don't mind.' + +They drove from Baker Street to the Hall, where Alma alighted for a +minute to leave her instrument, and thence to a restaurant not far +away. Alma felt no appetite, but the necessity of supporting her +strength obliged her to choose some suitable refreshment. When their +order had been given, Harvey laid his hand upon an evening newspaper, +just arrived, which the waiter had thrown on to the next table. He +opened it, not with any intention of reading, but because he had no +mind to talk; Alma's name, exhibited in staring letters at the entrance +of the public building, had oppressed him with a sense of degradation; +he felt ignoble, much as a man might feel who had consented to his own +dishonour. As his eyes wandered over the freshly-printed sheet, they +were arrested by a couple of bold headlines: 'Sensational Affair at +Wimbledon--Mysterious Death of a Gentleman'. He read the paragraph, and +turned to Alma with a face of amazement. + +'Look there--read that----' + +Alma took the paper. She had an instantaneous foreboding of what she +was to see; her heart stood still, and her eyes dazzled, but at length +she read. On the previous evening (said the report), a gentleman +residing at Wimbledon, and well known in fashionable circles, Mr. Cyrus +Redgrave, had met his death under very strange and startling +circumstances. Only a few particulars could as yet be made public; but +it appeared that, about nine o'clock in the evening, a medical man had +been hastily summoned to Mr. Redgrave's house, and found that gentleman +lying dead in a room that opened upon the garden. There was present +another person, a friend of the deceased (name not mentioned), who made +a statement to the effect that, in consequence of a sudden quarrel, he +had struck Mr. Redgrave with his fist, knocking him down, and, as it +proved, killing him on the spot. Up to the present moment no further +details were obtainable, but it was believed that the self-accused +assailant had put himself in communication with the police. There was a +rumour, too, which might or might not have any significance, that Mr. +Redgrave's housekeeper had suddenly left the house and could not be +traced. + +'Dead?' + +The word fell from her lips involuntarily. + +'And who killed him?' said Harvey, just above his breath. + +'It isn't known--there's no name----' + +'No. But I had a sudden thought. Absurd--impossible----' + +As Harvey whispered the words, a waiter drew near with the luncheon. It +was arranged upon the table, but lay there disregarded. Alma took up +the newspaper again. In a moment she leaned towards her husband. + +'What did you think?' + +'Nothing--don't talk about it.' + +Two glasses of wine had been poured out; Harvey took his and drank it +off. + +'It's a pity I saw this,' he said; 'it has shaken your nerves. I ought +to have kept it to myself.' + +Alma dipped a spoon in the soup before her, and tried to swallow. Her +hand did not tremble; the worst had come and gone in a few seconds; but +her palate refused food. She drank wine, and presently became so +collected, so quiet, that she wondered at herself. Cyrus Redgrave was +dead--dead!--the word kept echoing in her mind. As soon as she +understood and believed the fact of Redgrave's death, it became the +realisation of a hope which she had entertained without knowing it. +Only by a great effort could she assume the look of natural concern; +had she been in solitude, her face would have relaxed like that of one +who is suddenly relieved from physical torment. She gave no thought to +wider consequences: she saw the event only as it affected herself in +her relations with the dead man. She had feared him; she had feared +herself; now all danger was at an end. Now--now she could find courage +to front the crowd of people and play to them. Her conscience ceased +from troubling; the hope of triumph no longer linked itself with dread +of a fatal indebtedness. No touch of sorrow entered into her mood; no +anxiety on behalf of the man whose act had freed her. He, her husband's +friend, would keep the only secret which could now injure her. Cyrus +Redgrave was dead, and to her it meant a renewal of life. + +Harvey was speaking; he reminded her of the necessity of taking food. + +'Yes, I am going to eat something.' + +'Look here, Alma,'--he regarded her sternly,--'if you have any fear, if +you are unequal to this, let me go and make an excuse for you.' + +'I have not the _least_ fear. Don't try to make me nervous.' + +She ate and drank. Harvey, the while, kept his eyes fixed on the +newspaper. + +'Now I must go,' she said in a few minutes, after looking at her watch. +'Don't come out with me. Do just as you like about going into the Hall +and about meeting me afterwards. You needn't be the least bit anxious, +I assure you; I'm not going to make myself ridiculous.' + +They stood up. + +'I shall be at the door with a cab,' said Harvey. + +'Very well; I won't keep you waiting.' + +She left him, and walked from the restaurant with a quick step. Harvey +drank a little more wine, and made a pretence of tasting the dish +before him, then paid his bill and departed. He had now no intention +whatever of going to hear Alma play; but he wished to know whether +certain persons were among her audience, and, as he could not stand to +watch the people entering, he took the only other means of setting his +mind at rest--this was to drive forthwith to Oxford and Cambridge +Mansions. + +On his knocking at the Carnabys' door, a servant informed him that +neither her master nor her mistress was at home. Something unusual in +the girl's manner at once arrested his attention; she was evidently +disinclined to say anything beyond the formula of refusal, but with +this Harvey would not be satisfied. He mentioned his name, and urged +several inquiries, on the plea that he had urgent business with his +friends. All he could gather was that Carnaby had left home early this +morning, and that Mrs. Carnaby was out of town; it grew more evident +that the girl shrank from questions. + +'Has anyone been here before me, anxious to see them?' + +'I don't know, sir; I can't tell you anything else.' + +'And you have no idea when either of them will be back?' + +'I don't know at all; I don't know anything about it.' + +He turned away, as if to descend the stairs; but, as there was no sound +of a closing door, he glanced back, and caught a glimpse of the +servant, who stood looking after him. No sooner did their eyes meet +than the girl drew hastily in and the door was shut. + +Beset by a grave uneasiness, he walked into Edgware Road, and followed +the thoroughfare to its end at the Marble Arch. One thing seemed +certain: neither Carnaby nor his wife could be at Prince's Hall. It was +equally certain that only a serious cause could have prevented their +attendance. The servant manifestly had something to conceal; under +ordinary circumstances she would never have spoken and behaved in that +strange way. + +At the Marble Arch boys were crying newspapers. He bought two, and in +each of them found the sensational headlines; but the reports added +nothing to that he had already seen; all, it was clear, came from the +same source. + +He turned into the Park, and walked aimlessly by crosspaths hither and +thither. Time had to be killed; he tried to read his papers, but every +item of news or comment disgusted him, and he threw the sheets away. +When he came out at Knightsbridge, there was still half an hour to be +passed, so he turned eastward, and walked the length of Piccadilly. Now +at length Alma's fate was decided; the concert drew to its close. In +anxiety to learn how things had gone with her, he all but forgot Hugh +Carnaby, until, just as he was about to hail a cab for the purpose of +bringing Alma from the Hall, his eye fell on a fresh newspaper placard, +which gave its largest type to the Wimbledon affair, and promised a +'Startling Revelation'. He bought the paper, and read. It had become +known, said the reporter, that the gentleman who, on his own avowal, +had caused Mr. Redgrave's death, was Mr. H. Carnaby, resident at Oxford +and Cambridge Mansions. The rumour that Mr. Carnaby had presented +himself to the authorities was unfounded; as a matter of fact, the +police had heard nothing from him, and could not discover his +whereabouts. As to the mysterious disappearance of Mr. Redgrave's +housekeeper--Mrs. Lant by name--nothing new could be learnt. Mrs. Lant +had left all her personal belongings, and no one seemed able to +conjecture a reason for her conduct. + +Harvey folded up the paper, and crushed it into his pocket. He felt no +surprise; his brooding on possibilities had prepared him for this +disclosure, and, from the moment that his fears were confirmed, he +interpreted everything with a gloomy certainty. Hugh's fatal violence +could have but one explanation, and that did not come upon Harvey with +the shock of the incredible. Neither was he at any loss to understand +why Hugh had failed to surrender himself. Ere-long the newspapers would +rejoice in another 'startling revelation', which would make the tragedy +complete. + +In this state of mind he waited for Alma's coming forth. She was +punctual as she had promised. At the first sight of her he knew that +nothing disagreeable had befallen, and this was enough. As soon as the +cab drove off with them he looked an inquiry. + +'All well,' she answered, with subdued exultation. 'Wait till you see +the notices.' + +Her flushed face and dancing eyes told that she was fresh from +congratulation and flattery. Harvey could not spoil her moment of +triumph by telling what he had just learnt. She wished to talk of +herself, and he gave her the opportunity. + +'Many people?' + +'A very good hall. They say such an audience at a first recital has +hardly ever been known.' + +'You weren't nervous?' + +'I've often been far more when I played in a drawing-room; and I never +played so well--not half so well!' + +She entered upon a vivid description of her feelings. On first stepping +forward, she could see nothing but a misty expanse of faces; she could +not feel the boards she trod upon; yet no sooner had she raised her +violin than a glorious sense of power made her forget everything but +the music she was to play. She all but laughed with delight. Never had +she felt so perfect a mastery of her instrument. She played without +effort, and could have played for hours without weariness. Her +fellow-musicians declared that she was 'wonderful'; and Harvey, as he +listened to this flow of excited talk, asked himself whether he had +not, after all, judged Alma amiss. Perhaps he had been the mere dull +Philistine, unable to recognise the born artist, and doing his paltry +best to obstruct her path. Perhaps so; but he would look for the +opinion of serious critics--if any such had been present. + +At Baker Street they had to wait for a train, and here it happened that +Alma saw the evening placards. At once she changed; her countenance was +darkened with anxiety. + +'Hadn't you better get a paper?' she asked in a quick undertone. + +'I have one. Do you wish to see it now?' + +'Is there anything more?' + +'Yes, there is. You don't know, I suppose, whether Carnaby and his wife +were at the Hall?' + +'I could hardly distinguish faces,' she replied, with tremor. 'What is +it? Tell me.' + +He took out his newspaper and pointed to the paragraph which mentioned +Carnaby's name. Alma seemed overcome with painful emotion; she moved +towards the nearest seat, and Harvey, alarmed by her sudden pallor, +placed himself by her side. + +'What does it mean?' she whispered. + +'Who can say?' + +'They must have quarrelled about business matters.' + +'Perhaps so.' + +'Do you think he--Mr. Carnaby--means to hide away--to escape?' + +'He won't hide away,' Harvey answered. 'Yet he may escape.' + +'What do you mean? Go by ship?--get out of the country?' + +'I don't think so. He is far more likely to be found somewhere--in a +way that would save trouble.' + +Alma flashed a look of intelligence. + +'You think so,' she panted. 'You really think he has done that?' + +'I feel afraid of it.' + +Alma recovered breath; and, but that her face was bent low over the +newspaper, Harvey must have observed that the possibility of his +friend's suicide seemed rather to calm her agitation than to afflict +her with fresh dismay. + +But she could speak no more of her musical triumph. With the colour of +her cheeks she had lost all animation, all energy; she needed the +support of Harvey's arm in stepping to the railway carriage; and on her +arrival at home, yielding, as it seemed, to physical exhaustion, she +lay pallid, mute, and nerveless. + + + + +CHAPTER 15 + + +At night she had recourse to the little bottle, but this time it was +less efficacious. Again and again she woke from terrifying dreams, +wearied utterly, unable to rest, and longing for the dawn. Soon after +daybreak she arose and dressed; then, as there was yet no sound of +movement in the house, she laid her aching head upon the pillow again, +and once more fell into a troubled sleep. The usual call aroused her; +she went to the door and bade the servant bring her some tea and the +morning paper as soon as it was delivered. + +In a few minutes the tea and the newspaper were both brought. First she +glanced at the paragraphs relating to the Wimbledon tragedy; there was +nothing added to yesterday's news except that the inquest would be held +this morning. Then she looked eagerly for the report of her recital, +and found it only after much searching, barely a dozen lines, which +spoke of her as 'a lady of some artistic promise', said that much +allowance must be made for her natural nervousness, and passed on to +the other performers, who were unreservedly praised. Anger and +despondency struggled within her as she read the lines over and over +again. Nervous! Why, the one marvellous thing was her absolute conquest +of nervousness. She saw the hand of an enemy. Felix Dymes had warned +her of the envy she must look for in certain quarters, and here +appeared the first instance of it. But the post would bring other +papers. + +It brought half a dozen and a number of letters. At the sound of the +knock, Alma hurried downstairs, seized upon her budget, and returned to +the bedroom. Yes; as it happened, she had seen the least favourable +notice first of all. The other papers devoted more space to her (though +less than she had expected), and harmonised in their tone of +compliment; one went so far as to congratulate those who were present +on 'an occasion of undoubted importance'. Another found some fault with +her choice of pieces, but hoped soon to hear her again, for her 'claims +to more than ordinary attention' were 'indubitable'. There was a +certain lack of 'breadth', opined one critic; but 'natural +nervousness', &c. Promise, promise--all agreed that her 'promise' was +quite exceptional. + +Tremulous from these lines of print, she turned to the letters, and +here was full-fed with flattery. 'Your most brilliant debut'--'How +shall we thank you for such an artistic treat?'--'Oh, your divine +rendering of,' &c.--'You have taken your place, at once and _sans +phrase_, in the very front rank of violinists.' She smiled once more, +and lost a little of her cadaverous hue. Felix Dymes, scribbling late, +repeated things that he had heard since the afternoon. He added: 'I'm +afraid you'll be awfully upset about your friends the Carnabys. It's +very unfortunate this should have happened just now. But cheer up, and +let me see you as soon as possible. Great things to come!' + +She went down to breakfast with shaking limbs, scarce able to hold up +her head as she sat through the meal. Harvey ran his eye over the +papers, but said nothing, and kept looking anxiously at her. She could +not touch food; on rising from table she felt a giddiness which obliged +her to hold the chair for support. At her husband's beckoning she +followed him into the library. + +'Hadn't you better go back to bed?' + +'I shall lie down a little. But perhaps if I could get out----' + +'No, that you won't. And if you feel no better by afternoon I shall +send for the doctor.' + +'You see what the papers say----?' + +'Yes.' + +'Wouldn't it be graceful to own that you are surprised?' + +'We'll talk about that when you look less like a corpse. Would you like +me to send any message to Mrs. Carnaby?' + +Alma shook her head. + +'I'll write--today or tomorrow--there's no hurry----' + +'No hurry?' said Rolfe, surprised by something in her tone. 'What do +you mean by that?' + +'Are you going to see Mr. Carnaby?' was her answer. + +'I don't know where to find him, unless I go to the inquest.' + +'I had rather you stayed here today,' said Alma; 'I feel far from well.' + +'Yes, I shall stay. But I ought to let him hear from me. Best, perhaps, +if I send a telegram to his place.' + +The morning passed miserably enough. Alma went to her bedroom and lay +there for an hour or two, then she strayed to the nursery and sat a +while with Hugh and his governess. At luncheon she had no more appetite +than at breakfast, though for very faintness her body could scarce +support itself. After the meal Harvey went out to procure the earliest +evening papers, and on his way he called at the doctor's house. Not +till about five o'clock was a report of the Wimbledon inquest +obtainable. Having read it, Harvey took the paper home, where he +arrived just as the doctor drove up to the door. + +Alma was again lying down; her eyes showed that she had shed tears. On +Harvey's saying that the doctor was in the house, she answered briefly +that she would see him. The result of the interview was made known to +Rolfe. Nervous collapse; care and quiet; excitement of any kind to be +avoided; the patient better in bed for a few days, to obtain complete +rest. Avoidance of excitement was the most difficult of all things for +Alma at present. Newspapers could not be kept from her; she waited +eagerly for the report of the inquest. + +'Carnaby tells an astonishing story,' said Rolfe, as he sat down by her +when the doctor was gone. + +'Let me read it for myself.' + +She did so with every sign of agitation; but on laying the paper aside +she seemed to become quieter. After a short silence a word or two fell +from her. + +'So Sibyl was at Weymouth.' + +Harvey communed with his thoughts, which were anything but pleasant. He +did not doubt the truth of Hugh Carnaby's narrative, but he had a +gloomy conviction that, whether Hugh knew it or not, an essential part +of the drama lay unrevealed. + +'Will they find that woman, do you think?' were Alma's next words. + +'It doesn't seem very likely.' + +'What is the punishment for manslaughter?' + +'That depends. The case will go for trial, and--in the meantime----' + +'What?' asked Alma, raising herself. + +'The woman _may_ be found.' + +There was another silence. Then Alma asked---- + +'Do you think I ought to write to Sibyl?' + +'No,' he answered decisively. 'You must write to no one. Put it all out +of your mind as much as possible.' + +'Shall you see Mr. Carnaby?' + +'Only if he sends for me.' + +And this was just what happened. Admitted to bail by the magistrate, +Hugh presently sent a note from Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, asking +his friend to see him there. Harvey did not let Alma know of it. He +found some difficulty in getting away from home for a couple of hours, +so anxious had she become to keep him within call, and, when he of +necessity went out, to be informed of his movements. He attributed this +to her morbid condition; for, in truth, Alma was very ill. She could +take only the lightest food, and in the smallest quantities; she fell +repeatedly into fits of silent weeping; she had lost all strength, and +her flesh had begun to waste. On this same day Harvey heard that Mrs +Frothingham was making ready to come, and the news relieved him. + +On reaching the Carnabys', he was admitted by the same servant whose +behaviour had excited his suspicions a day or two ago. Without a word +she conducted him to Hugh's room. + +'Well, old man,' said the familiar voice, though in the tone of one who +is afraid of being overheard, 'it has come to this, you see. You're not +surprised? What else could be expected of a fellow like me, sooner or +later?' + +His face had the marks of sleeplessness; his hand was hot. He pressed +Harvey into a chair, and stood before him, making an obvious effort to +look and speak courageously. + +'It never struck me before how devilish awkward it is for a man in his +own home when he gets into a public scrape--I mean the servants. One +has to sit under them, as usual, you know, and feel their eyes boring +into one's back. Did you ever think of it?' + +'How long have you to wait?' asked Rolfe. + +'Only a fortnight. But there may be bother about that woman. I wish to +God they could catch her!' + +Harvey made no reply, and his eyes wandered. In a moment he became +aware that Hugh was looking at him with peculiar intentness. + +'I wish I could do anything for you, Carnaby.' + +'You can,' replied the other, with emphasis, his face growing stern. + +'What is it?' + +'Get rid of that ugly thought I see you have in your mind.' + +Hugh's voice, though still cautious, had risen a little; he spoke with +severity that was almost harshness. Their eyes met. + +'What ugly thought?' + +'Don't be dishonest with me, Rolfe. It's a queer-sounding tale, and +you're not the only man, I warrant, who thinks there's something behind +it. But I tell you there isn't--or nothing that concerns _me_.' He +paused for an instant. 'I shouldn't have dared to tell it, but for my +wife. Yes, my wife,' he repeated vehemently. 'It was Sibyl forced me to +tell the truth. Rather than have _her_ mixed up in such a thing as +this, I would have told any lie, at whatever cost to myself; but she +wouldn't let me. And she was right; I see now that she was, though it a +been hard enough, I tell you, to think of what people might be +saying--damn them! Don't you be one, Rolfe. My wife is as pure and +innocent as any woman living. I tell you that. I ask you to believe +that; and it's the one thing, the only thing, you can do for me.' + +His voice quivered, and he half-choked upon the passionate words. +Moved, though not to conviction, Harvey made the only possible reply. + +'I believe you; and if ever I have the chance I will repeat what you +say.' + +'Very well. But there's something else. I don't ask you to see anything +of Sibyl, or to let your wife see her; it will be much better not. I +don't know whether she will stay here, or in London at all; but she +will see as few people as possible. Don't think it necessary to write +to her; don't let your wife write. If we all live through it--and come +out again on the other side--things may be all right again; but I don't +look forward to anything. All I can think of now is that I've killed a +man who was a good friend to me, and have darkened all the rest of +Sibyl's life. And I only wish someone had knocked my brains out ten +years ago, when nobody would have missed such a blackguard and ruffian.' + +'Is it on your wife's account, or on ours that you want us to keep +apart?' asked Rolfe gravely. + +'Both, my dear fellow,' was the equally grave reply. 'I'm saying only +what I mean; it's no time for humbug now. Think it over, and you'll see +I'm right.' + +'Alma won't see any one just yet awhile,' said Harvey. 'She has made +herself ill, of course.' + +'Ill? How?' + +'The concert, and the frenzy that went before it.' + +'The concert----.' Carnaby touched his forehead. 'I remember. If I were +you, Rolfe----' + +'Well?' + +'I don't want to take advantage of my position and be impertinent but +do you think that kind of thing will do her any good in the end?' + +'It's going to stop,' replied Harvey, with a meaning nod. + +'I'm glad to hear you say so--very glad. Just stick to that. You're +more civilised than I am, and you'll know how to go about that kind of +thing as a man should.' + +'I mean to try.' + +'She is not seriously ill, I hope?' Hugh inquired, after reflecting for +a moment. + +'Oh, the nerves--breakdown--nothing dangerous, I believe.' + +'Life ought to be easy enough for you, Rolfe,' said the other. 'You're +at home here.' + +'It depends what you mean by "here". I'm at home in England, no doubt; +but it's very uncertain whether I shall hold out in London. You know +that we're going west to Gunnersbury. That's on the child's account; I +want him to go to school with a friend of ours. If we can live there +quietly and sanely, well and good; if the whirlpool begins to drag us +in again--then I have another idea.' + +'The whirlpool!' muttered Carnaby, with a broken laugh. 'It's got hold +of _me_, and I'm going down, old man--and it looks black as hell.' + +'We shall see the sunlight again together,' replied Rolfe, with forced +cheerfulness. + +'You think so? I wish I could believe it.' + +In less than half an hour Harvey was back at the station, waiting for +his train. He suffered pangs of self-rebuke; it seemed to him that he +ought to have found some better way, in word or deed, for manifesting +the sympathy of true friendship. He had betrayed a doubt which must for +ever affect Hugh's feeling towards him. But this was his lot in life, +to blunder amid trying circumstances, to prove unequal to every grave +call upon him. He tried vainly to see what else he could have done, yet +felt that another man would have faced the situation to better purpose. +One resolve, at all events, he had brought out of it: Hugh Carnaby's +reference to Alma declared the common-sense view of a difficulty which +ought to be no difficulty at all, and put an end to vacillation. But in +return for this friendly service he had rendered nothing, save a few +half-hearted words of encouragement. Rolfe saw himself in a mean, +dispiriting light. + +On the next day Mrs. Frothingham arrived at Pinner, and Harvey's +anxieties were lightened. The good, capable woman never showed to such +advantage as in a sick-room; scarcely had she entered the house when +Alma's state began to improve. They remarked that Alma showed no great +concern on Sibyl's account, but was seemingly preoccupied with thought +of Carnaby himself. This being the case, it was with solicitude that +Harvey and Mrs. Frothingham awaited the result of Hugh's trial for +manslaughter. Redgrave's housekeeper could not be found; the +self-accused man stood or fell by his own testimony; nothing was +submitted to the court beyond the fact of Redgrave's death, and Hugh +Carnaby's explanation of how it came about. Nothing of direct evidence; +indirect, in the shape of witness to character, was abundantly +forthcoming, and from 'people of importance. But the victim also was a +person of importance, and justice no doubt felt that, under whatever +provocation, such a man must not be slain with impunity. It sentenced +the homicide to a term of two years' imprisonment, without hard labour. + +Alma heard the sentence with little emotion. Soon after she fell into a +deeper and more refreshing sleep than any she had known since her +illness began. + +'It is the end of suspense,' said Mrs. Frothingham. + +'No doubt,' Harvey assented. + +A few days more and Mrs. Frothingham took Alma away into Hampshire. +Little Hugh went with them, his mother strongly desiring it. As for +Rolfe, he escaped to Greystone, to spend a week with Basil Morton +before facing the miseries of the removal from Pinner to Gunnersbury. + + + + +Part the Third + + + + +CHAPTER 1 + + +The house had stood for a century and a half, and for eighty years had +been inhabited by Mortons. Of its neighbours in the elm-bordered road, +one or two were yet older; all had reached the age of mellowness. +'Sicut umbra praeterit dies'--so ran the motto of the dial set between +porch and eaves; to Harvey Rolfe the kindliest of all greetings, +welcoming him to such tranquillity as he knew not how to find elsewhere. + +It was in the town, yet nothing town-like. No sooty smother hung above +the house-tops and smirched the garden leafage; no tramp of crowds, no +clatter of hot-wheel traffic, sounded from the streets hard by. But at +hours familiar, bidding to task or pleasure or repose, the music of the +grey belfries floated overhead; a voice from the old time, an +admonition of mortality in strains sweet to the ear of childhood. +Harvey had but to listen, and the days of long ago came back to him. +Above all, when at evening rang the curfew. Stealing apart to a bowered +corner of the garden, he dreamed himself into the vanished years, when +curfew-time was bed-time, and a hand with gentle touch led him from his +play to that long sweet slumber which is the child's new birth. + +Basil Morton was one of three brothers, the youngest. His father, a +corn-factor, assenting readily to his early inclination for the Church, +sent him from Greystone Grammar-School to Cambridge, where Basil passed +creditably through the routine, but in no way distinguished himself. +Having taken his degree, he felt less assured of a clerical vocation, +and thought that the law might perhaps be more suitable to him. Whilst +he thus wavered, his father died, and the young man found that he had +to depend upon himself for anything more than the barest livelihood. He +decided, after all, for business, and became a partner with his eldest +brother, handling corn as his father and his grandfather had done +before him. At eight and twenty he married, and a few years afterwards +the elder Morton's death left him to pursue commerce at his own +discretion. Latterly the business had not been very lucrative, nor was +Basil the man to make it so; but he went steadily on in the old tracks, +satisfied with an income which kept him free from care. + +'I like my trade,' he said once to Harvey Rolfe; 'it's clean and sweet +and useful. The Socialist would revile me as a middleman; but society +can't do without me just yet, and I ask no more than I fairly earn. I +like turning over a sample of grain; I like the touch of it, and the +smell of it. It brings me near to the good old Mother Earth, and makes +me feel human.' + +His house was spacious, well built, comfortable. The furniture, in +great part, was the same his parents had used; solid mahogany, not so +beautiful as furniture may be made, but serviceable, if need be, for +another fifty years. He had a library of several thousand volumes, +slowly and prudently collected, representing a liberal interest in all +travail of the mind, and a special taste for the things of classical +antiquity. Basil Morton was no scholar in the modern sense, but might +well have been described by the old phrase which links scholar with +gentleman. He lived by trade, but trade did not affect his life. The +day's work over, he turned, with no feeling of incongruity, to a page +of Thucydides, of Tacitus, or to those less familiar authors who +lighted his favourite wanderings through the ruins of the Roman Empire. +Better grounded for such studies than Harvey Rolfe, he pursued them +with a steadier devotion and with all the advantages of domestic peace. +In his mental habits, in his turns of speech, there appeared perhaps a +leaning to pedantry; but it was the most amiable of faults, and any +danger that might have lurked in it was most happily balanced and +corrected by the practical virtues of his life's companion. + +Mrs. Morton had the beauty of perfect health, of health mental and +physical. To describe her face as homely was to pay it the highest +compliment, for its smile was the true light of home, that never +failed. _Filia generosi_, daughter of a house that bred gentlewomen, +though its ability to dower them had declined in these latter days, she +conceived her duty as wife and mother after the old fashion, and was so +fortunate as to find no obstacle in circumstance. She rose early; she +slept early; and her day was full of manifold activity. Four children +she had borne--the eldest a boy now in his twelfth year, the youngest a +baby girl; and it seemed to her no merit that in these little ones she +saw the end and reason of her being. Into her pure and healthy mind had +never entered a thought at conflict with motherhood. Her breasts were +the fountain of life; her babies clung to them, and grew large of limb. +From her they learnt to speak; from her they learnt the names of trees +and flowers and all things beautiful around them; learnt, too, less by +precept than from fair example, the sweetness and sincerity wherewith +such mothers, and such alone, can endow their offspring. Later she was +their instructress in a more formal sense; for this also she held to be +her duty, up to the point where other teaching became needful. By +method and good-will she found time for everything, ruling her house +and ordering her life so admirably, that to those who saw her only in +hours of leisure she seemed to be at leisure always. She would have +felt it an impossible thing to abandon her children to the care of +servants; reluctantly she left them even for an hour or two when other +claims which could not be neglected called her forth. In play-time they +desired no better companion, for she was a child herself in gaiety of +heart and lissom sportiveness. No prettier sight could be seen at +Greystone than when, on a summer afternoon, they all drove in the pony +carriage to call on friends, or out into the country. Nowadays it was +often her eldest boy who held the reins, a bright-eyed, well-built lad, +a pupil at the old Grammar-School, where he used the desk at which his +father had sat before him. Whatever fault of boyhood showed itself in +Harry Morton, he knew not the common temptation to be ashamed of his +mother, or to flout her love. + +For holiday they never crossed the sea. Morton himself had been but +once abroad, and that in the year before his father's death, when he +was trying to make up his mind what profession he should take up; he +then saw something of France and of Italy. Talking with travelled +friends, he was wont to praise himself in humorous vein for the sober +fixity of his life, and to quote, in that mellow tone which gave such +charm to his talk, the line from Claudian, '_Erret et extremos alter +scrutetur Iberos_; for he had several friends to whom a Latin or a +Greek quotation was no stumbling-block. Certain of his college +companions, men who had come to hold a place in the world's eye, were +glad to turn aside from beaten tracks and smoke a pipe at Greystone +with Basil Morton--the quaint fellow who at a casual glance might pass +for a Philistine, but was indeed something quite other. His wife had +never left her native island. 'I will go abroad,' she said, 'when my +boys can take me.' And that might not be long hence; for Harry, who +loved no book so much as the atlas, abounded in schemes of travel, and +had already mapped the grand tour on which the whole family was to set +forth when he stood headboy at the Grammar-School. + +In this household Harvey Rolfe knew himself a welcome guest, and never +had he been so glad as now to pass from the noisy world into the calm +which always fell about him under his friend's roof. The miseries +through which he had gone were troubling his health, and health +disordered naturally reacted upon his mind, so that, owing to a gloomy +excitement of the imagination, for several nights he had hardly slept. +No sooner had he lain down in darkness than every form of mortal +anguish beset his thoughts, passing before him as though some hand +unfolded a pictured scroll of life's terrors. He seemed never before to +have realised the infinitude of human suffering. Hour after hour, with +brief intervals of semi-oblivion, from which his mind awoke in nameless +horror, he travelled from land to land, from age to age; at one moment +picturing some dread incident of a thousand years ago; the next, +beholding with intolerable vividness some scene of agony reported in +the day's newspaper. Doubtless it came of his constant brooding on +Redgrave's death and Hugh Carnaby's punishment. For the first time, +tragedy had been brought near to him, and he marvelled at the +indifference with which men habitually live in a world where tragedy is +every hour's occurrence. + +He told himself that this was merely a morbid condition of the brain, +but could not bring himself to believe it. On the contrary, what he now +saw and felt was the simple truth of things, obscured by everyday +conditions of active life. And that History which he loved to +read--what was it but the lurid record of woes unutterable? How could +he find pleasure in keeping his eyes fixed on century after century of +ever-repeated torment--war, pestilence, tyranny; the stake, the +dungeon; tortures of infinite device, cruelties inconceivable? He would +close his books, and try to forget all they had taught him. + +Tonight he spoke of it, as he sat with Morton after everyone else had +gone to bed. They had talked of Hugh Carnaby (each divining in the +other a suspicion they were careful not to avow), and their mood led +naturally to interchange of thoughts on grave subjects. + +'Everyone knows that state of mind, more or less,' said Morton, in his +dreamy voice--a voice good for the nerves. 'It comes generally when +one's stomach is out of order. You wake at half-past two in the +morning, and suffer infernally from the blackest pessimism. It's +morbid--yes; but for all that it may be a glimpse of the truth. Health +and good spirits, just as likely as not, are the deceptive condition.' + +'Exactly. But for the power of deceiving ourselves, we couldn't live at +all. It's not a question of theory, but of fact.' + +'I fought it out with myself,' said Basil, after a sip of whisky, 'at +the time of my "exodus from Houndsditch". There's a point in the life +of every man who has brains, when it becomes a possibility that he may +kill himself. Most of us have it early, but it depends on +circumstances. I was like Johnson's friend: be as philosophical as I +might, cheerfulness kept breaking in. And at last I let cheerfulness +have its way. As far as I know'--he gurgled a laugh--'Schopenhauer did +the same.' + +Harvey puffed at his pipe before answering. + +'Yes; and I suppose we may call that intellectual maturity. It's bad +for a man when he _can't_ mature--which is my case. I seem to be as far +from it as ever. Seriously, I should think few men ever had so slow a +development. I don't stagnate: there's always movement; but--putting +aside the religious question--my stage at present is yours of twenty +years ago. Yet, not even that; for you started better than I did. You +were never a selfish lout--a half-baked blackguard----' + +'Nor you either, my dear fellow.' + +'But I was! I've got along fairly well in self-knowledge; I can follow +my course in the past clearly enough. If I had my rights, I should live +to about a hundred and twenty, and go on ripening to the end. That +would be a fair proportion. It's confoundedly hard to think that I'm a +good deal past the middle of life, yet morally and intellectually am +only beginning it.' + +'It only means, Rolfe, that we others have a pretty solid conceit of +ourselves.--Listen! "We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master +Shallow." I don't apply the name to you; but you'll be none the worse +for a good night's sleep. Let us be off.' + +Harvey slept much better than of late. There was an air of comfort in +this guest-chamber which lulled the mind. Not that the appointments +were more luxurious than in his own bedroom, for Morton had neither the +means nor the desire to equip his house with perfections of modern +upholstery; but every detail manifested a care and taste and delicacy +found only in homes which are homes indeed, and not mere +dwelling-places fitted up chiefly for display. Harvey thought of the +happiness of children who are born, and live through all their +childhood, in such an atmosphere as this. Then he thought of his own +child, who had in truth no home at all. A house in Wales--a house at +Pinner--a house at Gunnersbury--presently a house somewhere else. He +had heard people defend this nomad life--why, he himself, before his +marriage, had smiled at the old-fashioned stability represented by such +families as the Mortons; had talked of 'getting into ruts', of +'mouldering', and so on. He saw it from another point of view now, and +if the choice were between rut and whirlpool---- + +When he awoke, and lay looking at the sunlit blind, in the stillness of +early morning he heard a sound always delightful, always soothing, that +of scythe and whetstone; then the long steady sweep of the blade +through garden grass. Morton, old stick-in-the-mud, would not let his +gardener use a mowing machine, the scythe was good enough for him; and +Harvey, recalled to the summer mornings of more than thirty years ago, +blessed him for his pig-headedness. + +But another sound he missed, one he would have heard even more gladly. +Waking thus at Pinner (always about six o'clock), he had been wont to +hear the voice of his little boy, singing. Possibly this was a doubtful +pleasure to Miss Smith, in whose room Hughie slept; but, to her credit, +she had never bidden the child keep quiet. And there he lay, singing to +himself, a song without words; singing like a little bird at dawn; a +voice of innocent happiness, greeting the new day. Hughie was far off; +and in a strange room, with other children, he would not sing. But +Harvey heard his voice--the odd little bursts of melody, the liquid +rise and fall, which set to tune, no doubt, some childish fancy, some +fairy tale, some glad anticipation. Hughie lived in the golden age. A +year or two more, and the best of life would be over with him; for +boyhood is but a leaden time compared with the borderland between it +and infancy; and manhood--the curse of sex developed---- + +It was a merry breakfast-table. The children's sprightly talk, their +mother's excellent spirits, and Morton's dry jokes with one and all, +made Harvey feel ashamed of the rather glum habit which generally kept +him mute at the first meal of the day. Alma, too, was seldom in the +mood for breakfast conversation; so that, between them, they imposed +silence upon Hughie and Miss Smith. One might have thought that the +postman had brought some ill news, depressing the household. Yet things +were not wont to be so bad in Wales; at that time, the day, as a rule, +began cheerfully enough. Their life had darkened in the shadow of +London; just when, for the child's sake, everything should have been +made as bright as possible. And he saw little hope of change for the +better. It did not depend upon him. The note of family life is struck +by the house-mistress, and Alma seemed fallen so far from her better +self that he could only look forward with anxiety to new developments +of her character. + +'School?' he exclaimed, when Harry, with satchel over shoulder, came to +bid him good morning. 'I wish I could go in your place! It's just +thirty-one years since I left the old Grammar-School.' + +The boy did not marvel at this. He would not have done so if the years +had been sixty-one; for Mr. Rolfe seemed to him an old man, very much +older than his own father. + +As usual when at Greystone, Harvey took his first walk to the spots +associated with his childhood. He walked alone, for Morton had gone to +business until midday. On the outskirts of the town, in no very +pleasant situation, stood the house where he was born; new buildings +had risen round about it, and the present tenants seemed to be +undesirable people, who neglected the garden and were careless about +their window curtains. Here he had lived until he was ten years +old--till the death of his father. His mother died long before that; he +just, and only just, remembered her. He knew from others that she was a +gentle, thoughtful woman, always in poor health; the birth of her +second child, a girl, led to a lingering illness, and soon came the +end. To her place as mistress of the house succeeded Harvey's aunt, his +father's sister. No one could have been kinder to the children, but +Harvey, for some reason yet obscure to him, always disliked her. Whom, +indeed, did he not dislike, of those set over him? He recalled his +perpetual rebellion against her authority from the first day to the +last. What an unruly cub! And his father's anger when he chanced to +overhear some boyish insolence--alas! alas! + +For he saw so little of his father. Mr. Rolfe's work as a railway +engineer kept him chiefly abroad; he was sometimes absent for twelve +months at a time. Only in the last half-year of his life did he remain +constantly at home, and that because he was dying. Having contracted a +fever in Spain, he came back to recruit; but his constitution had +suffered from many hardships, and now gave way. To the last day (though +he was ten years old) Harvey never dreamt of what was about to happen. +Self-absorbed in a degree unusual even with boys, he feared his father, +but had not learnt to love him. And now, looking back, he saw only too +well why the anxious parent treated him with severity more often than +with gentleness and good humour. A boy such as he must have given sore +trouble to a father on his death-bed. + +When it was too late, too late by many a year, he mourned the loss +which had only startled him, which had seemed hardly a loss at all, +rather an emancipation. As a man of thirty, he knew his father much +better than when living with him day after day. Faults he could +perceive, some of them inherited in his own character; but there +remained the memory of a man whom he could admire and love--whom he did +admire and love more sincerely and profoundly the older he grew. And he +held it the supreme misfortune of his life that, in those early years +which count so much towards the future, he had been so rarely under his +father's influence. + +Inevitable, it seemed. Yet only so, perhaps, because even a good and +conscientious man may fail to understand the obligation under which he +lies towards his offspring. + +He and his sister Amy passed into the guardianship of Dr Harvey, Mr +Rolfe's old friend, the boy's godfather, who had done his best to +soothe the mind of the dying man with regard to his children's future. +There were no pecuniary difficulties; the children's education was +provided for, and on coming of age each would have about two thousand +pounds. Dr Harvey, a large-hearted, bright-witted Irishman, with no +youngsters of his own, speedily decided that the boy must be sent away +to a boarding-school, to have some of the self-will knocked out of him. +Amy continued to live with her aunt for two years more; then the good +woman died, and the Doctor took Amy into his own house, which became +Harvey's home during holidays. + +The ivy-covered house, in the best residential street of Greystone. +Harvey paused before it. On the railings hung a brass plate with +another name; the good old Doctor had been in his grave for many a year. + +What wonder that he never liked the boy? Harvey, so far as anyone could +perceive, had no affection, no good feeling, no youthful freshness or +simplicity of heart; moreover, he exhibited precocious arrogance, +supported by an obstinacy which had not even the grace of quickening +into fieriness; he was often a braggart, and could not be trusted to +tell the truth where his self-esteem was ever so little concerned. How +unutterably the Harvey Rolfe of today despised himself at the age of +fifteen or so! Even at that amorphous age, a more loutish, ungainly boy +could scarcely have been found. Bashfulness cost him horrid torments, +of course exasperating his conceit. He hated girls; he scorned women. +Among his school-fellows he made a bad choice of comrades. Though +muscular and of tolerable health, he was physically, as well as +morally, a coward. Games and sports had I no attraction for him; he +shut himself up in rooms, and read a great deal, yet even this, it +seemed, not without an eye to winning admiration. + +Brains he had--brains undeniably; but for a long time there was the +greatest doubt as to what use he could make of them. Harvey remembered +the day when it was settled that he should study medicine. He resolved +upon it merely because he had chanced to hear the Doctor say that he +was not cut out for _that_. + +He saw himself at twenty, a lank, ungainly youth, with a disagreeable +complexion and a struggling moustache. He was a student at Guy's; he +had 'diggings'; he tasted the joy of independence. As is the way with +young men of turbid passions and indifferent breeding, he rapidly +signalised his independence by plunging into sordid slavery. A +miserable time to think of; a wilderness of riot, folly, and shame. Yet +it seemed to him that he was enjoying life. Among the rowdy set of his +fellow-students he shone with a certain superiority. His contempt of +money, and his large way of talking about it, conveyed the impression +that abundant means awaited him. He gave away coin as readily as he +spent it on himself; not so much in a true spirit of generosity (though +his character had gleams of it), as because he dreaded above all things +the appearance of niggardliness and the suspicion of a shallow purse. + +Then came the memorable interview with his guardian on his twenty-first +birthday. Harvey flinched and grew hot in thinking of it. What an +ungrateful cur! What a self-sufficient young idiot! The Doctor had +borne so kindly with his follies and vices, had taken so much trouble +for his good, was it not the man's right and duty to speak grave words +of counsel on such an occasion as this? But to counsel Mr. Harvey Rolfe +was to be guilty of gross impertinence. With lofty spirit the young +gentleman proclaimed that he must no longer be treated as a school-boy! +Whereupon the Doctor lost his temper, and spoke with a particularly +strong Hibernian accent--spoke words which to this moment stung the +hearer's memory. He saw himself marching from the room--that room +yonder, on the ground-floor. It was some small consolation to remember +that he had been drinking steadily for a week before that happened. +Indeed, he could recall no scene quite so discreditable throughout the +course of his insensate youth. + +Well, he had something like two thousand pounds. Whether he had looked +for more or less he hardly knew, or whether he had looked for anything +at all. At one-and-twenty he was the merest child in matters of the +world. Surely something must have arrested the natural development of +his common-sense. Even in another ten years he was scarcely on a level, +as regards practical intelligence, with the ordinary lad who is leaving +school. + +He at once threw up his medical studies, which had grown hateful to +him. He took his first taste of foreign travel. He extended his reading +and his knowledge of languages. And insensibly a couple of years went +by. + +The possession of money had done him good. It clarified his passions, +or tended that way. A self-respect, which differed appreciably from +what he had formerly understood by that term, began to guard him +against grossness; together with it there developed in him a new social +pride which made him desire the acquaintance of well-bred people. +Though he had no longer any communication with the good old Doctor, Amy +frequently wrote to him, and in one of her letters she begged him to +call on a family in London, one of whose younger members lived at +Greystone and was Amy's friend. After much delay, he overcame his +bashfulness, and called upon the worthy people--tailored as became a +gentleman at large. The acquaintance led to others; in a short time he +was on pleasant terms with several well-to-do families. He might have +suspected--but at the time, of course, did not--that Dr Harvey's kindly +influence had something to do with his reception in these houses. +Self-centred, but painfully self-distrustful, he struggled to overcome +his natural defects of manner. Possibly with some success; for did not +Lily Burton, who at first so piqued him by her critical smile, come to +show him tolerance, friendliness, gracious interest? + +Lily Burton!--how emptily, how foolishly the name tinkled out of that +empty and foolish past! Yet what a power it had over him when he was +three and twenty! Of all the savage epithets which he afterwards +attached to its owner, probably she merited a few. She was a flirt, at +all events. She drew him on, played upon his emotions, found him, no +doubt, excellent fun; and at last, when he was imbecile enough to +declare himself, to talk of marriage, Lily, raising the drollest eyes, +quietly wished to know what his prospects were. + +The intolerable shame of it, even now! But he laughed, mocking at his +dead self. + +His mind's eye beheld the strange being a year later. Still in good +clothes, but unhealthy, and at his last half-crown; four and twenty, +travelled, and possessed of the elements of culture, he had only just +begun to realise the fact that men labour for their daily bread. Was it +the peculiar intensity of his egoism that so long blinded him to common +anxieties? Even as the last coins slipped between his fingers, he knew +only a vaguely irritable apprehension. Did he imagine the world would +beg for the honour of feeding and clothing Mr. Harvey Rolfe? + +It came back to him, his first experience of hunger--so very different +a thing from appetite. He saw the miserable bedroom where he sat on a +rainy day. He smelt the pawnshop. His heart sank again under the weight +of awful solitude. Then, his illness; the letter he wrote to Amy; her +visit to him; the help she brought. But she could not persuade him to +go back with her to Greystone to face the Doctor. Her money was a loan; +he would bestir himself and find occupation. For a wonder, it was +found--the place at the Emigration Agency; and so, for a good many +years, the notable Mr. Harvey Rolfe sank into a life of obscure routine. + +Again and again his sister Amy besought him to visit Greystone. Dr +Harvey was breaking up; would he not see the kind old man once more? +Yes, he assured himself that he would; but he took his time about it, +and Dr Harvey, who at threescore and ten could not be expected to wait +upon a young man's convenience, one day very quietly died. To Amy +Rolfe, who had become as a daughter to him, he left the larger part of +his possessions, an income of nine hundred a year. Not long after this, +Harvey met his sister, and was astonished to find her looking thin, +pale, spiritless. What did it mean? Why did she gaze at him so sadly? +Come, come, he cried, she had been leading an unnatural life, +cloistered, cheerless. Now that she was independent, she must enjoy +herself, see the world! Brave words; and braver still those in which he +replied to Amy's entreaty that he would share her wealth. Not he, +indeed! If, as she said, the Doctor meant and hoped it, why did he not +make that plain in his will? Not a penny would he take. He had all he +wanted. And he seemed to himself the most magnanimous of men. + +Amy lived on at Greystone; amid friends, to be sure, but silent, +melancholy; and he, the brother whom she loved, could spare her only a +day or two once a year, when he chattered his idle self-conceit. Anyone +else would have taken trouble to inquire the cause of her pallor, her +sadness. He, forsooth, had to learn with astonishment, at last, that +she wished to see him--on her deathbed. + +He had often thought of her, and kindly. But he knew her not at all, +took no interest in her existence. She, on the other hand, had +treasured every miserable little letter his idleness vouchsafed; she +had hoped so for his future, ever believing in him. When Amy lay dead, +he saw the sheet of paper on which she had written the few lines +necessary to endow him with all she left--everything 'to my dear +brother'. What words could have reproached him so keenly? + +His steps turned to the churchyard, where on a plain upright stone he +read the names of his mother, of his father. Amy's grave was hard by. +He, too, if he had his wish, would some day rest here; and here his own +son would stand, and read his name, and think of him. Ah, but with no +such remorse and self-contempt! That was inconceivable. The tenderness +which dimmed his eyes would have changed to misery had he dreamed it +possible that his own boy could palter so ignobly with the +opportunities of life. + +Upon these deep emotions intruded the thought of Alma. Intruded; for he +neither sought nor welcomed his wife's companionship at such a moment, +and he was disturbed by a perception of the little claim she had to be +present with him in spirit. He could no longer pretend to himself that +he loved Alma; whatever the right name for his complex of +feelings--interest, regard, admiration, sexual attachment--assuredly it +must be another word than that sacred to the memory of his parents, to +the desires and hopes centring in his child. For all that, he had no +sense of a hopeless discord in his wedded life; he suffered from no +disillusion, with its attendant bitterness. From this he was saved by +the fact, easy at length to recognise, that in wooing Alma he had +obeyed no dictate of the nobler passion; here, too, as at every other +crisis of life, he had acted on motives which would not bear analysis, +so large was the alloy of mere temperament, of weak concession to +circumstance. Rather than complain that Alma fell short of the ideal in +wifehood, should he not marvel, and be grateful that their marriage +might still be called a happy one? Happiness in marriage is a term of +such vague application: Basil Morton, one in ten thousand, might call +himself happy; even so, all things considered, must the husband who +finds it _just_ possible to endure the contiguity of his wife. Midway +between these extremes of the definition stood Harvey's measure of +matrimonial bliss. He saw that he had no right to grumble. + +He saw, moreover, and reflected constantly upon it in these days, how +largely he was himself to blame for the peril of estrangement which +threatened his life with Alma. Meaning well, and thinking himself a +pattern of marital wisdom, he had behaved, as usual, with gross lack of +discretion. The question now was, could he mend the harm that he had +done? Love did not enter into the matter; his difficulty called for +common-sense--for rational methods in behaviour towards a wife whom he +could still respect, and who was closely bound to him by common +interest in their child. + +He looked up, and had pleasure once more in the sunny sky. After all, +he, even he, had not committed the most woeful of all blunders; though +it was a mystery how he had escaped it. The crown of his feeble, futile +career should, in all fitness, have been marriage with a woman worse +than himself. And not on his own account did he thank protecting +fortune. One lesson, if one only, he had truly learnt from nature: it +bade him forget all personal disquietude, in joy that he was not guilty +of that crime of crimes, the begetting of children by a worthless +mother. + + + + +CHAPTER 2 + + +Mrs. Morton felt a lively interest in Mrs. Rolfe's musical enterprise, +and would have liked to talk about it, but she suspected that the topic +was not very agreeable to her guest. In writing to Morton, Harvey had +just mentioned the matter, and that was all. On the second day of his +visit, when he felt much better, and saw things in a less troubled +light, he wished to remove the impression that he regarded Alma's +proceedings with sullen disapproval; so he took the opportunity of +being alone with his hostess, and talked to her of the great venture +with all the good humour he could command. Mrs. Morton had seen two +notices of Alma's debut; both were so favourable that she imagined them +the augury of a brilliant career. + +'I doubt that,' said Harvey; 'and I'm not sure that it's desirable. She +has made herself miserably ill, you see. Excitement is the worst +possible thing for her. And then there's the whole question of whether +professional life is right and good for a married woman. How do you +think about it?' + +The lady instanced cases that naturally presented themselves. She +seemed to have no prejudice. Mrs. Rolfe appeared to her a person of +artistic temper; but health was of the first importance; and then---- + +Harvey waited; but only a thoughtful smile completed the remark. + +'What other consideration had you in mind?' + +'Only a commonplace--that a married woman would, of course, be guided +by her husband's wish.' + +'You think that equivalent to reason and the will of God?' said Harvey +jocosely. + +'If we need appeal to solemn sanction.' + +Rolfe was reminded, not unpleasantly, that he spoke with a woman to +whom 'the will of God' was something more than a facetious phrase. + +'I beg your pardon; let us say reason alone. But is it reasonable for +the artist to sacrifice herself because she happens to have married an +everyday man?' + +Mrs. Morton shook her head and laughed. + +'If only one know what is meant by the everyday man! My private view of +him is rather flattering, perhaps. I'm inclined to think him, on the +whole, not inferior to the everyday woman; and _she_--she isn't a bad +sort of creature, if fairly treated. I don't think the everyday man +will go very far wrong, as a rule, in the treatment of his wife.' + +'You really believe that?' asked Harvey, with a serious smile. + +'Why, is it such a heresy?' + +'I should rather have thought so. One is so accustomed to hear the +other view I mean, it's in the air. Don't think I'm asking your +sympathy. I have always wished Alma to act on her own judgment; she has +been left quite free to do so. But if the results seem worse than +doubtful, then comes the difficulty.' + +'To be settled, surely, like all other difficulties between sensible +people.' + +Mrs. Morton's faith was of enviable simplicity. She knew, as a matter +of fact, that husbands and wives often found their difficulties +insuperable; but why this should be so, seemed to her one of the dark +and mournful enigmas of life. It implied such a lack not only of good +sense, but of right feeling. In her own experience she had met with no +doubt, no worry, which did not yield to tact, or generous endeavour, +or, at worst, to the creed by which she lived. One solicitude, and one +only, continued to affect her as wife and mother; that it could not +overcome her happy temper was due to the hope perpetually inspired by +her husband's love--a hope inseparable from her profoundest +convictions. She and Morton differed in religious views, and there had +come a grave moment when she asked whether it would be possible to +educate her children in her own belief without putting a distance +between them and their father. The doubt had disappeared, thanks to +Morton's breadth of view, or facility of conscience; there remained the +trouble in which it had originated, but she solaced herself with the +fond assurance that this also would vanish as time went on. In the same +mood of kindly serenity she regarded the lives of her friends, always +hoping for the best, and finding it hard to understand that anyone +could deliberately act with unkindness, unreasonableness, or any other +quality opposed to the common good. + +Rolfe had no desire of talking further about his private affairs. He +had made up his mind on the points at issue, and needed no counsel, but +the spirit of Mrs. Morton's conversation helped him to think +tranquilly. The great danger was that he might make things worse by his +way of regarding them. Most unluckily, Alma's illness had become +connected in his imagination with the tragedy of the Carnabys; he could +not keep the things apart. Hugh Carnaby's miserable doom, and the dark +surmises attaching to his wife, doubtless had their part in bringing +about a nervous crisis; why could he not recognise this as perfectly +natural, and dismiss the matter? In spite of all reasoning, Alma's +image ever and again appeared to him shadowed by the gloom which +involved her friend--or the woman who _was_ her friend. He knew it (or +believed it) to be the merest illusion of his perturbed mind; for no +fact, how trivial soever, had suggested to him that Alma knew more of +the circumstances of Redgrave's death than she seemed to know. On the +one hand, he was glad that Alma and Sibyl no longer cared to meet; on +the other, he could not understand what had caused this cessation of +their friendship, and he puzzled over it. But these idle fancies would +pass away; they were already less troublesome. A long country walk with +Morton, during which they conversed only of things intellectual, did +him much good. Not long ago Morton had had a visit from an old +Cambridge friend, a man who had devoted himself to the study of a +certain short period of English history, and hoped, some ten years +hence, to produce an authoritative work on the subject. + +'There's a man I envy!' cried Rolfe, when he had listened to Basil's +humorous description of the enthusiast. 'It's exactly what I should +like to do myself.' + +'What prevents you?' + +'Idleness--irresolution--the feeling that the best of my life is over. +I have never been seriously a student, and it's too late to begin now. +But if I were ten years younger, I would make myself master of +something. What's the use of reading only to forget? In my time I have +gone through no small library of historical books--and it's all a mist +on the mind's horizon. That comes of reading without method, without a +purpose. The time I have given to it would have made me a pundit, if I +had gone to work reasonably.' + +'Isn't my case the same?' exclaimed Morton. 'What do I care! I enjoyed +my reading and my knowledge at the time, and that's all I ever +expected.' + +'Very well--though you misrepresent yourself. But for me it isn't +enough. I want to know something as well as it can be known. Purely for +my own satisfaction; the thought of "doing something" doesn't come in +at all. I was looking at your county histories this morning, and I felt +a huge longing to give the rest of my life to some little bit of +England, a county, or even a town, and exhaust the possibilities of +knowledge within those limits. Why, Greystone here--it has an +interesting history, even in relation to England at large; and what a +delight there would be in following it out, doggedly, +invincibly--making it one's single subject--grubbing after it in +muniment-rooms and libraries--learning by heart every stone of the old +town--dying at last with the consolation that nobody could teach one +anything more about it!' + +'I know the mood,' said Morton, laughing. + +'I'm narrowing down,' pursued Harvey. 'Once I had tremendous +visions--dreamt of holding half a dozen civilisations in the hollow of +my hand. I came back from the East in a fury to learn the Oriental +languages--made a start, you know, with Arabic. I dropped one nation +after another, always drawing nearer home. The Latin races were to +suffice me. Then early France, especially in its relations with +England;--Normandy, Anjou. Then early England, especially in its +relations with France. The end will be a county, or a town--nay, +possibly a building. Why not devote one's self to the history of a +market-cross? It would be respectable, I tell you. Thoroughness is all.' + +When they were alone in the library at night, Morton spoke of his +eldest boy, expressing some anxiety about him. + +'The rascal will have to earn his living--and how? There's time, I +suppose, but it begins to fidget me. He won't handle corn--I'm clear as +to that. At his age, of course, all lads talk about voyages and so on, +but Harry seems cut out for a larger sphere than Greystone. I shan't +balk him. I'd rather he hadn't anything to do with fighting--still, +that's a weakness.' + +'We think of sending Wager's lad into the navy,' said Rolfe, when he +had mused awhile. 'Of course, he'll have to make his own way.' + +'Best thing you can do, no doubt. And what about his little sister?' + +'That's more troublesome. It's awkward that she's a relative of Mrs +Abbott. Otherwise, I should have proposed to train her for a cook.' + +'Do you mean it?' + +'Why not? She isn't a girl of any promise. What better thing for her, +and for the community, than to make her a good cook? They're rare +enough, Heaven knows. What's the use of letting her grow up with ideas +of gentility, which in her case would mean nothing but uselessness? She +must support herself, sooner or later, and it won't be with her brains. +I've seriously thought of making that suggestion to Mrs. Abbott. Ten +years hence, a sensible woman cook will demand her own price, and be a +good deal more respected than a dressmaker or a she-clerk. The stomach +is very powerful in bringing people to common-sense. When all the +bricklayers' daughters are giving piano lessons, and it's next to +impossible to get any servant except a lady's-maid, we shall see women +of leisure develop a surprising interest in the boiling of potatoes.' + +Morton admitted the force of these arguments. + +'What would you wish your own boy to be?' he asked presently. + +'Anything old-fashioned, unadventurous, happily obscure; a country +parson, perhaps, best of all.' + +'I understand. I've had the same thoughts. But one Ii to get over that +kind of thing. It won't do to be afraid of life--nor of death either.' + +'And there's the difficulty of education,' said Rolfe. 'If I followed +my instincts, I should make the boy unfit for anything but the +quietest, obscurest life. I should make him hate a street, and love the +fields. I should teach him to despise every form of ambition; to shrink +from every kind of pleasure, but the simplest and purest; to think of +life as a long day's ramble, and death as the quiet sleep that comes at +the end of it. I should like him not to marry--never to feel the need +of it; or if marry he must, to have no children. That's my real wish; +and if I tried to carry it out, the chances are that I should do him an +intolerable wrong. For fear of it, I must give him into the hands of +other people; I must see him grow into habits and thoughts which will +cause me perpetual uneasiness; I must watch him drift further and +further away from my own ideal of life, till at length, perhaps, there +is scarce a possibility of sympathy between us.' + +'Morbid--all morbid,' remarked the listener. + +'I don't know. It may only mean that one sees too clearly the root +facts of existence. I have another mood (less frequent) in which I try +to persuade myself that I don't care much about the child; that his +future doesn't really concern me at all. Why should it? He's just one +of the millions of human beings who come and go. A hundred years +hence--what of him and of me? What can it matter how he lived and how +he died? The best kind of education would be that which hardened his +skin and blunted his sympathies. What right have I to make him +sensitive? The thing is, to get through life with as little suffering +as possible. What monstrous folly to teach him to wince and cry out at +the sufferings of other people! Won't he have enough of his own before +he has done? Yet that's what we shall aim at--to cultivate his +sympathetic emotions, so that the death of a bird shall make him sad, +and the sight of human distress wring his heart. Real kindness would +try to make of him a healthy ruffian, with just enough conscience to +keep him from crime.' + +'Theory for theory, I prefer this,' said Morton. 'To a certain extent I +try to act upon it.' + +'You do?' + +'Just because I know that my own tendency is to over-softness. I have +sometimes surprised my wife by bidding Harry disregard things that +appealed to his pity. You remember what old Hobbes says: "_Homo malus, +puer robustus_"? There was more truth in it in his day than in ours. +It's natural for a boy to be a good deal of a savage, but our +civilisation is doing its best to change that. Why, not long ago the +lad asked me whether fishing wasn't cruel. He evidently felt that it +was, and so do I; but I couldn't say so. I laughed it off, and told him +that a fish diet was excellent for the brains!' + +'I hope I may have as much courage,' said Harvey. + +'Life is a compromise, my dear fellow. If the world at large would +suddenly come round to a cultivation of the amiable virtues--well and +good. But there's no hope of it. As it is, our little crabs must grow +their hard shell, or they've no chance.' + +'What about progress? In educating children, we are making the new +world.' + +Morton assented. + +'But there's no hurry. The growth must be gradual--will be, whether we +intend it or not. The fact is, I try not to think overmuch about my +children. It remains a doubt, you know, whether education has any +influence worth speaking of.' + +'To me,' said Harvey, 'the doubt seems absurd. In my own case, I know, +a good system of training would have made an enormous difference. +Practically, I was left to train myself, and a nice job I made of it. +Do you remember how I used to talk about children before I had one? I +have thought it was the talk of a fool; but, perhaps, after all, it had +more sanity than my views nowadays.' + +'_Medio tutissimus_,' murmured Basil. + +'And what about your girls?' asked the other, when they had smoked in +silence. 'Is the difficulty greater or less?' + +'From my point of view, less. For one thing, I can leave them entirely +in the hands of their mother; if they resemble her, they won't do +amiss. And there's no bother about work in life; they will have enough +to live upon--just enough. Of course, they may want to go out into the +world. I shall neither hinder nor encourage. I had rather they stayed +at home.' + +'Don't lose sight of the possibility that by when they are grown up +there may be no such thing as "home". The word is dying out.' + +Morton's pedantry led him again to murmur Latin---- + +'_Multa renascentur quoe jam cecidere_.' + +'You're the happiest man I know, or ever shall know,' said Rolfe, with +more feeling than he cared to exhibit. + +'Don't make me think about Croesus, King of Lydia. On the whole, +happiness means health, and health comes of occupation. In one point I +agree with you about yourself: it would have been better if someone had +found the right kind of work for you, and made you stick to it. +By-the-bye, how does your friend, the photographic man, get on?' + +'Not at all badly. Did I tell you I had put money into it? I go there a +good deal, and pretend to do something.' + +'Why pretend? Couldn't you find a regular job there for a few hours +every day?' + +'I dare say I could. It'll be easier to get backwards and forwards from +Gunnersbury. How would you like,' he added, with a laugh, 'to live at +Gunnersbury?' + +'What does it matter where one lives? I have something of a prejudice +against Hoxton or Bermondsey; but I think I could get along in most +other places. Gunnersbury is rather pleasant, I thought. Isn't it quite +near to Kew and Richmond?' + +'Do those names attract you?' + +'They have a certain charm for the rustic ear.' + +'It's all one to me. Hughie will go to school, and make friends with +other children. You see, he's had no chance of it yet. We know a +hundred people or so, but have no intimates. Is there such a thing as +intimacy of families in London? I'm inclined to think not. Here, you go +into each other's houses without fuss and sham; you know each other, +and trust each other. In London there's no such comfort, at all events +for educated people. If you have a friend, he lives miles away; before +his children and yours can meet, they must travel for an hour and a +half by bus and underground.' + +'I suppose it _must_ be London?' interrupted Morton. + +'I'm afraid so,' Harvey replied absently, and his friend said no more. + +He had meant this visit to be of three days at most; but time slipped +by so pleasantly that a week was gone before he could resolve on +departure. Most of the mornings he spent in rambles alone, +rediscovering many a spot in the country round which had been familiar +to him as a boy, but which he had never cared to seek in his +revisitings of Greystone hitherto. One day, as he followed the windings +of a sluggish stream, he saw flowers of arrowhead, white flowers with +crimson centre, floating by the bank, and remembered that he had once +plucked them here when on a walk with his father, who held him the +while, lest he should stretch too far and fall in. To reach them now, +he lay down upon the grassy brink; and in that moment there returned to +him, with exquisite vividness, the mind, the senses, of childhood; once +more he knew the child's pleasure in contact with earth, and his hand +grasped hard at the sweet-smelling turf as though to keep hold upon the +past thus fleetingly recovered. It was gone--no doubt, for ever; a last +glimpse vouchsafed to him of life's beginning as he set his face +towards the end. Then came a thought of joy. The keen sensations which +he himself had lost were his child's inheritance. Somewhere in the +fields, this summer morning, Hughie was delighting in the scent, the +touch, of earth, young amid a world where all was new. The stereotyped +phrase about parents living again in their children became a reality +and a source of deep content. So does a man repeat the experience of +the race, and with each step onward live into the meaning of some old +word that he has but idly echoed. + +On the day before he left, a letter reached him from Alma. He had felt +surprise at not hearing sooner from her; but Alma's words explained the +delay. + +'I have been thinking a great deal,' she wrote, 'and I want to tell you +of my thoughts. Don't imagine they are mere fancies, the result of +ill-health. I feel all but well again, and have a perfectly clear head. +And perhaps it is better that I should write what I have to say, +instead of speaking it. In this way I oblige you to hear me out. I +don't mean that you are in the habit of interrupting me, but perhaps +you would if I began to talk as I am going to write. + +'Why can't we stay at Pinner? + +'There, that shall have a line to itself. Take breath, and now listen +again. I dislike the thought of removing to Gunnersbury--really and +seriously I dislike it. You know I haven't given you this kind of +trouble before; when we left Wales I was quite willing to have stayed +on if you had wished it--wasn't I? Forgive me, then, for springing this +upon you after all your arrangements are made; I could not do it if I +did not feel that our happiness (not mine only) is concerned. Would it +be possible to cancel your agreement with the Gunnersbury man? If not, +couldn't you sublet, with little or no loss? The Pinner house isn't let +yet--is it? Do let us stay where we are. I think it is the first +serious request I ever made of you, and I think you will see that I +have some right to make it. + +'I had rather, much rather, that Hughie did not go to Mrs. Abbott's +school. Don't get angry and call me foolish. What I mean is, that I +would rather teach him myself. In your opinion I have neglected him, +and I confess that you are right. There now! I shall give up my music; +at all events, I shall not play again in public. I have shown what I +could do, and that's enough. You don't like it--though you have never +tried to show me _why_--and again I feel that you are right. A +professional life for me would mean, I see it now, the loss of things +more precious. I will give it up, and live quietly at home. I will have +regular hours for teaching Hughie. If you prefer it, Pauline shall go, +and I will take charge of him altogether. If I do this, what need for +us to remove? The house is more comfortable than the new one at +Gunnersbury; we are accustomed to it; and by being farther from London +I shall have less temptation to gad about. I know exactly what I am +promising, and I feel I _can_ do it, now that my mind is made up. + +'Need I fear a refusal? I can't think so. Give the matter your best +thought, and see whether there are not several reasons on my side. But, +please, answer as soon as you can, for I shall be in suspense till I +hear from you. + +Alma signed herself 'Yours ever affectionately', but Harvey could find +no trace of affection in the letter. It astonished and annoyed him. Of +course, it could have but one explanation; Alma might as well have +saved herself trouble by writing, in a line or two, that she disliked +Mrs. Abbott, and could not bear that the child should be taught by her. +He read through the pages again, and grew angry. What right had she to +make such a request as this, and in the tone of a demand? Twice in the +letter she asserted that she _had_ a right, asserted it as if with some +mysterious reference. Had he sat down immediately to reply, Harvey +would have written briefly forcibly; for, putting aside other grounds +of irritation, there is nothing a man dislikes more than being called +upon at last moment to upset elaborate and troublesome arrangements. +But he was obliged to postpone his answer for a few hours, and in the +meantime he grew more tolerant of Alma's feelings. Had her objection +come earlier, accompanied by the same proposals, he would have been +inclined to listen; but things had gone too far. He wrote, quite +good-temperedly, but without shadow of wavering. There was nothing +sudden, he pointed out, in the step he was about to take; Alma had +known it for months, and had acquiesced in it. As for her music, he +quite agreed with her that she would find it better in every way to +abandon thoughts of a public career; and the fact of Hughie's going to +school for two or three hours a day would in no wise interfere with her +wish to see more of him. What her precise meaning was in saying that +she had some 'right' to make this request, he declared himself unable +to discover. Was it a reproach? If so, his conscience afforded him no +light, and he hoped Alma would explain the words in a letter to him at +Pinner. + +This correspondence clouded his last evening at Greystone. He was glad +that some acquaintances of Morton's came, and stayed late; sitting +alone with his friend, he would have been tempted to talk of Alma, and +he felt that silence was better just now. + +By a train soon after breakfast next morning, he left the old town, +dearer to him each time that he beheld it, and travelled slowly to the +main-line junction, whence again he travelled slowly to Peterborough. +There the express caught him up, and flung him into roaring London +again. Before going to Pinner, he wished to see Cecil Morphew, for he +had an idea to communicate--a suggestion for the extending of business +by opening correspondence with out of the way towns, such as Greystone. + +On reaching the shop in Westminster Bridge Road, he found that Morphew +also had a communication to make, and of a more exciting nature. + + + + +CHAPTER 3 + + +Morphew was engaged upstairs with the secretary of an Amateur +Photographic Society. Waiting for this person's departure, Rolfe talked +with the shopman--a capable fellow, aged about thirty, whose heart was +in the business; he looked at a new hand-camera, which seemed likely to +have a good sale, and heard encouraging reports of things in general. +Then Morphew came down, escorting his visitor. As soon as he was free, +he grasped Harvey by the arm, and whispered eagerly that he had +something to tell him. They went upstairs together, into a room +furnished as an office, hung about with many framed photographs. + +'He's dead!' exclaimed Cecil--'he's dead!' + +A name was needless. Only one man's death could be the cause of such +excitement in Morphew, and it had been so long awaited that the event +had no touch of solemnity. Yet Harvey perceived that his friend's +exultation was not unmixed with disquietude. + +'Yesterday morning, early. I heard it by chance. Of course, she hasn't +written to me, but no doubt I shall hear in a few days. I walked about +near the house for hours last night--like an idiot. The thing seemed +impossible; I had to keep reminding myself, by looking at the windows, +that it was true. Eight years--think of that! Eight years' misery, due +to that fellow's snobbishness!' + +In Harvey's mind the story had a somewhat different aspect. He knew +nothing personally of this Mr. Winter, who might indeed be an +incarnation of snobbery; on the other hand, Cecil Morphew had his +defects, and even to a liberal-minded parent might not recommend +himself as a son-in-law. Then again, the young lady herself, now about +six and twenty, must surely have been influenced by some other motive +than respect for her parents' wishes, in thus protracting her +engagement with a lover who had a secure, though modest, income. Was it +not conceivable that she inherited something of the paternal spirit? +or, at all events, that her feelings had not quite the warmth that +Morphew imagined? + +'I'm glad it's over,' he replied cordially. 'Now begins a new life for +you.' + +'But eight years--eight years of waiting----' + +'Hang it, what is your age? Thirty! Why, you're only just old enough. +No man ought to marry before thirty.' + +Morphew interrupted vehemently. + +'That's all rot! Excuse me; I can't help it. A man ought to marry when +he's urged to it by his nature, and as soon as he finds the right +woman. If I had married eight years ago----.' He broke off with an +angry gesture, misery in his eyes. 'You don't believe that humbug, +Rolfe; you repeat it just to console me. There's little consolation, I +can assure you. I was two and twenty; she, nineteen. Mature man and +woman; and we longed for each other. Nothing but harm could come of +waiting year after year, wretched both of us.' + +'I confess,' said Harvey, 'I don't quite see why she waited after +twenty-one.' + +'Because she is a good, gentle girl, and could not bear to make her +father and mother unhappy. The blame is all theirs--mean, shallow, +grovelling souls!' + +'What about her mother now?' + +'Oh, she was never so obstinate as the old jackass. She'll have little +enough to live upon, and we shall soon arrange things with her somehow. +Is it credible that human beings can be so senseless? For years now, +their means have been growing less and less, just because the snobbish +idiot _would_ keep up appearances. If he had lived a little longer, the +widow would have had practically no income at all. Of course, she +shared in the folly, and I'm only sorry she won't suffer more for it. +They didn't enjoy their lives--never have done. They lived in miserable +slavery to the opinion of their fellow-snobs. You remember that story +about the flowers at their silver wedding: two hundred pounds--just +because Mrs. Somebody spent as much--when they couldn't really afford +two hundred shillings. And they groaned over it--he and she--like +people with the stomachache. Why, the old fool died of nothing else; he +was worn out by the fear of having to go into a smaller house.' + +Harvey would have liked to put a question: was it possible that the +daughter of such people could be endowed with virtues such as become +the wife of a comparatively poor man? But he had to ask it merely in +his own thoughts. Before long, no doubt, he would meet the lady herself +and appease his curiosity. + +Whilst they were talking, there came a knock at the door; the shopman +announced two ladies, who wished to inquire about some photographic +printing. + +'Will you see them, Rolfe?' asked Cecil. 'I don't feel like it--indeed +I don't. You'll be able to tell them all they want.' + +Harvey found himself equal to the occasion, and was glad of it; he +needed occupation of some kind to keep his thoughts from an unpleasant +subject. After another talk with Morphew, in which they stuck to +business, he set off homeward. + +Here news awaited him. On his arrival all seemed well; Ruth opened the +door, answered his greeting in her quiet, respectful way, and at once +brought tea to the study. When he rang to have the things taken away, +Ruth again appeared, and he saw now that she had something unusual to +say. + +'I didn't like to trouble you the first thing, sir,' she began--'but +Sarah left yesterday without giving any notice; and I think it's +perhaps as well she did, sir. I've heard some things about her not at +all nice.' + +'We must find someone else, then,' replied Harvey. 'It's lucky she +didn't go at a less convenient time. Was there some unpleasantness +between you?' + +'I had warned her, for her own good, sir, that was all. And there's +something else I had perhaps better tell you now, sir.' Her voice, with +its pleasant Welsh accent, faltered ominously. 'I'm very sorry indeed +to say it, sir, but I shall be obliged to leave as soon as Mrs. Rolfe +can spare me.' + +Harvey was overwhelmed. He looked upon Ruth as a permanent member of +the household. She had made herself indispensable; to her was owing the +freedom from domestic harassment which Alma had always enjoyed--a most +exceptional blessing, yet regarded, after all this time, as a matter of +course. The departure of Ruth meant conflict with ordinary servants, in +which Alma would assuredly be worsted. At this critical moment of their +life, scarcely could anything more disastrous have happened. Seeing her +master's consternation, Ruth was sore troubled, and hastened to explain +herself. + +'My brother's wife has just died, sir, and left him with three young +children, and there's no one else can be of help to him but me. He +wanted me to come at once, but, of course, I told him I couldn't do +that. No one can be sorry for his wife's death; she was such a poor, +silly, complaining, useless creature; he hasn't had a quiet day since +he married her. She belonged to Liverpool, and there they were married, +and when he brought her to Carnarvon I said to myself as soon as I saw +her that _she_ wouldn't be much use to a working-man. She began the +very first day to complain and to grumble, and she's gone on with it +ever since. When I was there in my last holiday I really wondered how +he bore his life. There's many women of that kind, sir, but I never +knew one as bad as her--never. Everything was too much trouble for her, +and she didn't know how to do a thing in the house. I didn't mean to +trouble you with such things, sir. I only told you just to show why I +don't feel I can refuse to go and help him, and try to give him a +little peace and quiet. He's a hard-working man, and the children +aren't very healthy, and I'm sure I don't know how he'd manage----' + +'You have no choice, Ruth, I see. Well, we must hope to find some one +in your place--_but_----' + +Just as he shook his head, the house-bell rang, and Ruth withdrew to +answer it. In a minute or two the study door opened again. Harvey +looked up and saw Alma. + +'I was obliged to come,' she said, approaching him, as he rose in +astonishment. 'I thought at first of asking you to come on to +Basingstoke, but we can talk better here.' + +No sign of pleasure in their meeting passed between them. On Harvey's +face lingered something of the disturbance caused by Ruth's +communication, and Alma understood it as due to her unexpected arrival; +the smile with which she had entered died away, and she stood like a +stranger doubtful of her reception. + +'Was it necessary to talk?' asked Rolfe, pushing forward a chair, and +doing his best to show good humour. + +'Yes--after your reply to my letter this morning,' she answered coldly. + +'Well, you must have some tea first. This is cold. Won't you go and +take your things off, and I'll tell Ruth. By-the-bye, we re in +confusion.' + +He sketched the position of things; but Alma heard without interest. + +'It can't be helped,' was her absent reply. 'There are plenty of +servants.' + +Fresh tea was brought, and after a brief absence Alma sat down to it. +Her health had improved during the past week, but she looked tired from +the journey, and was glad to lean back in her chair. For some minutes +neither of them spoke. Harvey had never seen an expression on Alma's +features which was so like hostility; it moved him to serious +resentment. It is common enough for people who have been several years +wedded to feel exasperation in each other's presence, but for Rolfe the +experience was quite new, and so extremely disagreeable, that his +pulses throbbed with violence, and his mouth grew dry. He determined to +utter not a word until Alma began conversation. This she did at length, +with painful effort. + +'I think your answer to me was very unkind.' + +'I didn't mean it so.' + +'You simply said that you wouldn't do as I wished.' + +'Not that I wouldn't, but that it was impossible. And I showed you the +reasons--though I should have thought it superfluous.' + +Alma waited a moment, then asked---- + +'Is this house let?' + +'I don't know. I suppose not.' + +'Then there is no reason whatever why we shouldn't stay here.' + +'There is every reason why we shouldn't stay here. Every arrangement +has been made for our leaving--everything fully talked over. What has +made you change your mind?' + +'I haven't really changed my mind. I always disliked the idea of going +to Gunnersbury, and you must have seen that I did; but I was so much +occupied with--with other things; and, as I have told you, I didn't +feel quite the same about my position as I do now.' + +She expressed herself awkwardly, growing very nervous. At the first +sign of distress in her, Harvey was able to change his tone. + +'Things are going horribly wrong somehow, Alma. There's only one way +out of it. Just say in honest words what you mean. Why do you dislike +the thought of our moving?' + +'I told you in my letter,' she answered, somewhat acridly. + +'There was no explanation. You said something I couldn't understand, +about having a _right_ to ask me to stay here.' + +She glanced at him with incredulous disdain. + +'If you don't understand, I can't put it into plainer words.' + +'Well now, let _me_ put the whole matter into plainer words than I have +liked to use.' Rolfe spoke deliberately, and not unkindly, though he +was tempted to give way to wrath at what he imagined a display of +ignoble and groundless jealousy. 'All along I have allowed you to take +your own course. No, I mustn't say "allowed", the word is inapplicable; +I never claimed the right to dictate to you. We agreed that this was +the way for rational husband and wife. It seemed to us that I had no +more right to rule over you than you to lay down the law for me. Using +your freedom, you chose to live the life of an artist--that is to say, +you troubled yourself as little as possible about home and family. I am +not complaining--not a bit of it. The thing was an experiment, to be +sure; but I have held to the conditions, watched their working. +Latterly I began to see that they didn't work well, and it appears that +you agree with me. This is how matters stand; or rather, this is how +they stood until, for some mysterious reason, you seemed to grow +unfriendly. The reason is altogether mysterious; I leave you to explain +it. From my point of view, the failure of our experiment is simple and +natural enough. Though I had only myself to blame, I have felt for a +long time that you were in an utterly false position. Now you begin to +see things in the same light. Well and good; why can't we start afresh? +The only obstacle is your unfriendly feeling. Give me an opportunity of +removing it. I hate to be on ill terms with you; it seems monstrous, +unaccountable. It puts us on a level with married folk in a London +lodging-house. Is it necessary to sink quite so low?' + +Alma listened with trembling intensity, and seemed at first unable to +reply. Her agitation provoked Harvey more than it appealed to his pity. + +'If you can't do as I wish,' she said at length, with an endeavour to +speak calmly, 'I see no use in making any change in my own life. There +will be no need of me. I shall make arrangements to go on with my +professional career.' + +Harvey's features for a moment set themselves in combativeness, but as +quickly they relaxed, and showed an ambiguous smile. + +'No need of you--and Ruth going to leave us?' + +'There oughtn't to be any difficulty in finding someone just as good.' + +'Perhaps there ought not to be; but we may thank our stars if we find +anyone half as trustworthy. The chances are that a dozen will come and +go before we settle down again. I don't enjoy that prospect, and I +shall want a good deal of help from you in bearing the discomfort.' + +'What kind of help? Of course, I shall see that the house goes on as +usual.' + +'Then it's quite certain you will have no time left for a "professional +career".' + +'If I understand you, you mean that you don't wish me to have any time +for it.' + +Harvey still smiled, though he could not conceal his nervousness. + +'I'm afraid it comes to that.' + +So little had Alma expected such a declaration, that she gazed at him +in frank surprise. + +'Then you are going to oppose me in everything?' + +'I hope not. In that case we should do much better to say good-bye.' + +The new tone perplexed her, and a puzzled interest mingled with the +lofty displeasure of her look. + +'Please let us understand each other.' She spoke with demonstrative +calmness. 'Are we talking on equal terms, or is it master and servant?' + +'Husband and wife, Alma, that's all.' + +'With a new meaning in the words.' + +'No; a very old one. I won't say the oldest, for I believe there was a +time when primitive woman had the making of man in every sense, and +somehow knocked a few ideas into his head; but that was very long ago.' + +'If I could be sure of your real meaning----.' She made an irritated +gesture. 'How are we going to live? You speak of married people in +lodging-houses. I don't know much about them, happily, but I imagine +the husband talks something like this--though in more intelligible +language.' + +'I dare say he does--poor man. He talks more plainly, because he has +never put himself in a false position--has never played foolishly with +the facts of life.' + +Alma sat reflecting. + +'Didn't I tell you in my letter,' she said at length, 'that I was quite +willing to make a change, on one condition?' + +'An impossible condition.' + +'You treat me very harshly. How have I deserved it? When I wrote that, +I really wished to please you. Of course, I knew you were dissatisfied +with me, and it made me dissatisfied with myself. I wrote in a way that +ought to have brought me a very different answer. Why do you behave as +if I were guilty of something--as if I had put myself at your mercy? +You never found fault with me--you even encouraged me to go on----' + +Her choking voice made Harvey look at her in apprehension, and the look +stopped her just as she was growing hysterical. + +'You are right about my letter,' he said, very gravely and quietly. 'It +ought to have been in a kinder tone. It would have been, but for those +words you won't explain.' + +'You think it needs any explanation that I dislike the thought of +Hughie going to Mrs. Abbott's?' + +'Indeed I do. I can't imagine a valid ground for your objection.' + +There was a word on Alma's tongue, but her lips would not utter it. She +turned very pale under the mental conflict. Physical weakness, instead +of overcoming her spirit, excited it to a fresh effort of resistance. + +'Then,' she said, rising from the chair, 'you are not only unkind to +me, but dishonest.' + +Harvey flushed. + +'You are making yourself ill again. We had far better not talk at all.' + +'I came up for no other purpose. We have to settle everything.' + +'As far as I am concerned, everything is settled.' + +'Then I have no choice,' said Alma, with subdued passion. 'We shall +live as we have done. I shall accept any engagement that offers, in +London or the country, and regard music as my chief concern. You wished +it, and so it shall be.' + +Rolfe hesitated. Believing that her illness was the real cause of this +commotion, he felt it his duty to use all possible forbearance; yet he +knew too well the danger of once more yielding, and at such a crisis. +The contest had declared itself--it was will against will; to decide it +by the exertion of his sane strength against Alma's hysteria might be +best even for the moment. He had wrought himself to the point of +unwonted energy, a state of body and mind difficult to recover if now +he suffered defeat. Alma, turning from him, seemed about to leave the +room. + +'One moment----' + +She looked round, carelessly attentive. + +'That wouldn't be living as we have done. It would be an intolerable +state of things after this.' + +'It's your own decision.' + +'Far from it. I wouldn't put up with it for a day.' + +'Then there's only one thing left: I must go and live by myself.' + +'I couldn't stand that either, and wouldn't try.' + +'I am no slave! I shall live where and how I choose.' + +'When you have thought about it more calmly, your choice will be the +same as mine.' + +Trembling violently, she backed away from him. Harvey thought she would +fall; he tried to hold her by the arm, but Alma shook him off, and in +the same moment regained her strength. She faced him with a new +defiance, which enabled her at last to speak the words hitherto +unutterable. + +'How do you think I can bear to see Hughie with _those_ children?' + +Rolfe stood in amaze. The suddenness of this reversion to another stage +of their argument enhanced his natural difficulty in understanding her. +'What children?' + +'Those two--whatever their name may be.' + +'Wager's boy and girl?' + +'You call them so.' + +'Are you going crazy? I _call_ them so?--what do you mean?' + +A sudden misgiving appeared in Alma's eyes; she stared at him so +strangely that Harvey began to fear for her reason. + +'What is it, dear? What have you been thinking? Tell me--speak like +yourself----' + +'Why do you take so much interest in them?' she asked faintly. + +'Heavens! You have suspected----? What _have_ you suspected?' + +'They are your own. I have known it for a long time.' + +Alarm notwithstanding, Rolfe was so struck by the absurdity of this +charge that he burst into stentorian laughter. Whilst he laughed, Alma +sank into a chair, powerless, tearful. + +'I should much like to know,' exclaimed Harvey, laying a hand upon her, +'how you made that astounding discovery. Do you think they are like me?' + +'The girl is--or I thought so.' + +'After you had decided that she must be, no doubt.' Again he exploded +in laughter. 'And this is the meaning of it all? This is what you have +been fretting over? For how long?' + +Alma brushed away her tears, but gave no answer. + +'And if I am their father,' he pursued, with resolute mirthfulness, +'pray, who do you suppose their mother to be?' + +Still Alma kept silence, her head bent. + +'I'll warrant I can give you evidence against myself which you hadn't +discovered,' Rolfe went on--'awful and unanswerable evidence. It is I +who support those children, and pay for their education!--it is I, and +no other. See your darkest suspicion confirmed. If only you had known +this for certain!' + +'Why, then, do you do it?' asked Alma, without raising her eyes. + +'For a very foolish reason: there was no one else who could or would.' + +'And why did you keep it a secret from me?' + +'This is the blackest part of the whole gloomy affair,' he answered, +with burlesque gravity. 'It's in the depraved nature of men to keep +secrets from their wives, especially about money. To tell the truth, +I'm hanged if I know why I didn't tell you before our marriage. The +infamous step was taken not very long before, and I might as well have +made a clean breast of it. Has Mrs. Abbott never spoken to you about +her cousin, Wager's wife?' + +'A word or two.' + +'Which you took for artful fiction? You imagined she had plotted with +me to deceive you? What, in the name of commonsense, is your estimate +of Mrs. Abbott's character?' + +Alma drew a deep breath, and looked up into her husband's face. +'Still--she knew you were keeping it from me, about the money.' + +'She had no suspicion of it. She always wrote to me openly, +acknowledging the cheques. Would it gratify you to look through her +letters?' + +'I believe you.' + +'Not quite, I fancy. Look at me again and say it.' + +He raised her head gently. + +'Yes, I believe you--it was very silly.' + +'It was. The only piece of downright feminine foolishness I ever knew +you guilty of. But when did it begin?' + +Alma had become strangely quiet. She spoke in a low, tired voice, and +sat with head turned aside, resting against the back of the chair; her +face was expressionless, her eyelids drooped. Rolfe had to repeat his +question. + +'I hardly know,' she replied. 'It must have been when my illness was +coming on.' + +'So I should think. It was sheer frenzy. And now that it's over, have +you still any prejudice against Mrs. Abbott?' + +'No.' + +The syllable fell idly from her lips. + +'You are tired, dear. All this sound and fury has been too much for +you. Lie down on the sofa till dinner-time.' + +She allowed him to lead her across the room, and lay down as he wished. +To his kiss upon her forehead she made no response, but closed her eyes +and was very still. Harvey seated himself at his desk, and opened two +or three unimportant letters which had arrived this morning. To one of +them he wrote an answer. Turning presently to glance at Alma, he saw +that she had not stirred, and when he leaned towards her, the sound of +her breathing told him that she was asleep. + +He meditated on Woman. + +A quarter of an hour before dinner-time he left the room; on his +return, when the meal was ready, he found Alma still sleeping, and so +soundly that it seemed wrong to wake her. As rays of sunset had begun +to fall into the room, he drew the blind, then quietly went out, and +had dinner by himself. + +At ten o'clock Alma still slept. Using a closely-shaded lamp, Harvey +sat in the room with her and read--or seemed to read; for ever and +again his eyes strayed to the still figure, and his thoughts wandered +over all he knew of Alma's life. He wished he knew more, that he might +better understand her. Of her childhood, her early maidenhood, what +conception had he? Yet he and she were _one_--so said the creeds. And +Harvey laughed to himself, a laugh more of melancholy than of derision. + +The clock ticked on; it was near to eleven. Then Alma stirred, raised +herself, and looked towards the light. + +'Harvey----? Have I been asleep so long?' + +'Nearly five hours.' + +'Oh! That was last night----' + +'You mean, you had no sleep?' + +'Didn't close my eyes.' + +'And you feel better now?' + +'Rather hungry.' + +Rolfe laughed. He had seated himself on the couch by her and held her +in his arms. + +'Why, then we'll have some supper--a cold fowl and a bottle of +Burgundy--a profligate supper, fit for such abandoned characters; and +over it you shall tell me how the world looked to you when you were ten +years old.' + + + + +CHAPTER 4 + + +Alma returned to Basingstoke, and remained there until the new house +was ready for her reception. With the help of her country friends she +engaged two domestics, cook and housemaid, who were despatched to +Gunnersbury in advance; they had good 'characters', and might possibly +co-operate with their new mistress in her resolve to create an +admirable household. Into this ambition Alma had thrown herself with no +less fervour than that which carried her off to wild Wales five years +ago; but her aim was now strictly 'practical', she would have nothing +more to do with 'ideals'. She took lessons in domestic economy from the +good people at Basingstoke. Yes, she had found her way at last! Alma +saw it in the glow of a discovery, this calm, secure, and graceful +middle-way. She talked of it with an animation that surprised and +pleased her little circle down in Hampshire; those ladies had never +been able to illumine their everyday discharge of duty with such high +imaginative glory. In return for their humble lessons, Alma taught them +to admire themselves, to see in their place and functions a nobility +they had never suspected. + +For a day or two after her arrival at Gunnersbury, Harvey thought that +he had never seen her look so well; certainly she had never shown the +possibilities of her character to such advantage. It seemed out of the +question that any trouble could ever again come between them. Only when +the excitement of novelty had subsided did he perceive that Alma was +far from having recovered her physical strength. A walk of a mile or +two exhausted her; she came home from an hour's exercise with Hughie +pale and tremulous; and of a morning it was often to be noticed that +she had not slept well. Without talking of it, Harvey planned the +holiday which Alma had declared would be quite needless this year; he +took a house in Norfolk for September. Before the day of departure, +Alma had something to tell him, which, by suggesting natural +explanation of her weakness, made him less uneasy. Remembering the +incident which had brought to a close their life in Wales, he saw with +pleasure that Alma no longer revolted against the common lot of woman. +Perhaps, indeed, the announcement she made to him was the cause of more +anxiety in his mind than in hers. + +They took their servants with them, and left the house to a caretaker. +Pauline Smith, though somewhat against Harvey's judgment, had been +called upon to resign; Alma wished to have Hughie to herself, save +during his school hours; he slept in her room, and she tended him most +conscientiously. Harvey had asked whether she would like to invite any +one, but she preferred to be alone. + +This month by the northern sea improved her health, but she had little +enjoyment. After a few days, she wearied of the shore and the moorland, +and wished herself back at Gunnersbury. Nature had never made much +appeal to her; when she spoke of its beauties with admiration, she +echoed the approved phrases, little more; all her instincts drew +towards the life of a great town. Sitting upon the sand, between cliff +and breakers, she lost herself in a dream of thronged streets and +brilliant rooms; the voice of the waves became the roar of traffic, a +far sweeter music. With every year this tendency had grown stronger; +she could only marvel, now, at the illusion which enabled her to live +so long, all but contentedly, in that wilderness where Hughie was born. +Rather than return to it, she would die--rather, a thousand times. +Happily, there was no such danger. Harvey would never ask her to leave +London. All he desired was that she should hold apart from certain +currents of town life; and this she was resolved to do, knowing how +nearly they had swept her to destruction. + +'Wouldn't you like to take up your sketching again?' said Harvey one +day, when he saw that she felt dull. + +'Sketching? Oh, I had forgotten all about it. It seems ages ago. I +should have to begin and learn all over again. No, no; it isn't worth +while. I shall have no time.' + +She did not speak discontentedly, but Rolfe saw already the +justification of his misgivings. She had begun to feel the constant +presence of the child a restraint and a burden. + +Happily, on their return home, Hughie would go to school for a couple +of hours each morning. Alma could have wished it any other school than +Mary Abbott's, but the thought was no longer so insupportable as when +she suffered under her delusion concerning the two children. Now that +she had frequently seen Minnie Wager, she wondered at the +self-deception which allowed her to detect in the child's face a +distinct resemblance to Harvey. Of course, there was nothing of the +kind. She had been the victim of a morbid jealousy--a symptom, no +doubt, of the disorder of the nerves which was growing upon her. Yet +she could not overcome her antipathy to Mary Abbott. Harvey, she felt +sure, would never have made himself responsible for those children, but +that in doing so he benefited their teacher; and it was not without +motive of conscience that he kept the matter secret. By no effort could +Alma banish this suspicion. She resolved that it should never appear; +she commanded her face and her utterance; but it was impossible for her +ever to regard Mrs. Abbott with liking, or even with respect. + +In a darker corner of her mind lay hidden another shape of +jealousy--jealousy unavowed, often disguised as fear, but for the most +part betraying itself through the mask of hatred. + +Times innumerable, in nights that brought no rest, and through long +hours of weary day, Alma had put her heart to the proof, and acquitted +it of any feeling save a natural compassion for the man Hugh Carnaby +had killed. She had never loved Redgrave, had never even thought of him +with that curiosity which piques the flesh; yet so inseparably was he +associated with her life at its points of utmost tension and ardour, +that she could not bear to yield to any other woman a closer intimacy, +a prior claim. At her peril she had tempted him, and up to the fatal +moment she was still holding her own in the game which had become to +her a passion. It ended--because a rival came between. Of Sibyl's guilt +she never admitted a doubt; it was manifest in the story made public by +Hugh Carnaby, the story which he, great simple fellow, told in all good +faith, relying absolutely on his wife's assertion of innocence. Saving +her husband, who believed Sibyl innocent? + +She flattered herself with the persuasion that it was right to hate +Sibyl--a woman who had sold herself for money, whose dishonour differed +in no respect from that of the woman of the pavement. And all the more +she hated her because she feared her. What security could there be that +Redgrave's murderer (thus she thought of him) had kept the secret which +he promised to keep? That he allowed no hint of it to escape him in +public did not prove that he had been equally scrupulous with Sibyl; +for Hugh was a mere plaything in the hands of his wife, and it seemed +more than likely that he had put his stupid conscience at rest by +telling her everything. Were it so, what motive would weigh with Sibyl +to keep her silent? One, and one only, could be divined: a fear lest +Alma, through intimacy with Redgrave, might have discovered things +which put her in a position to dare the enmity of her former friend. +This, no doubt, would hold Sibyl to discretion. Yet it could not +relieve Alma from the fear of her, and of Hugh Carnaby himself--fear +which must last a lifetime; which at any moment, perhaps long years +hence, might find its bitter fulfilment, and work her ruin. For Harvey +Rolfe was not a man of the stamp of Hugh Carnaby: he would not be +hoodwinked in the face of damning evidence, or lend easy ear to +specious explanations. The very fact that she _could_ explain her +ambiguous behaviour was to Alma an enhancement of the dread with which +she thought of such a scene between herself and Harvey; for to be +innocent, and yet unable to force conviction of it upon his inmost +mind, would cause her a deeper anguish than to fall before him with +confession of guilt. And to convince him would be impossible, for ever +impossible. Say what she might, and however generous the response of +his love, there must still remain the doubt which attaches to a woman's +self-defence when at the same time she is a self-accuser. + +In the semi-delirium of her illness, whilst waiting in torment for the +assurance that Carnaby had kept her secret, she more than once prayed +for Sibyl's death. In her normal state of mind Alma prayed for nothing; +she could not hope that Sibyl's life would come to a convenient end; +but as often as she thought of her, it was with a vehemence of +malignity which fired her imagination to all manner of ruthless +extremes. It revolted her to look back upon the time when she sat at +that woman's feet, a disciple, an affectionate admirer, allowing +herself to be graciously patronised, counselled, encouraged. The repose +of manner which so impressed her, the habitual serenity of mood, the +unvarying self-confidence--oh, these were excellent qualities when it +came to playing the high part of cold and subtle hypocrisy! She knew +Sibyl, and could follow the workings of her mind: a woman incapable of +love, or of the passion which simulates it; worshipping herself, +offering luxuries to her cold flesh as to an idol; scornful of the +possibility that she might ever come to lack what she desired; and, at +the critical moment, prompt to secure herself against such danger by +the smiling, cynical acceptance of whatsoever shame. Alma had no small +gift of intuition; proved by the facility and fervour with which she +could adapt her mind to widely different conceptions of life. This +characteristic, aided by the perspicacity which is bestowed upon every +jealous woman, perchance enabled her to read the mysterious Sibyl with +some approach to exactness. Were it so, prudence should have warned her +against a struggle for mere hatred's sake with so formidable an +antagonist. But the voice of caution had never long audience with Alma, +and was not likely, at any given moment, to prevail against a transport +of her impetuous soul. + +Harvey, meanwhile, fearing her inclination to brood over the dark +event, tried to behave as though he had utterly dismissed it from his +thoughts. He kept a cheerful countenance, talked much more than usual, +and seemed full of health and hope. As usual between married people, +this resolute cheerfulness had, more often than not, an irritating +effect upon Alma. Rolfe erred once more in preferring to keep silence +about difficulties rather than face the unpleasantness of frankly +discussing them. One good, long, intimate conversation about Mrs. +Carnaby, with unrestricted exchange of views, the masculine and the +feminine, with liberal acceptance of life as it is lived, and honest +contempt of leering hypocrisies, would have done more, at this +juncture, to put healthy tone into Alma's being than any change of +scene and of atmosphere, any medicament or well-meant summons to +forgetfulness. Like the majority of good and thoughtful men, he could +not weigh his female companion in the balance he found good enough for +mortals of his own sex. With a little obtuseness to the 'finer' +feelings, a little native coarseness in his habits towards women, he +would have succeeded vastly better amid the complications of his +married life. + +Troubles of a grosser kind, such as heretofore they had been +wonderfully spared, began to assail them during their month in Norfolk. +One morning, about midway in the holiday, Harvey, as he came down for a +bathe before breakfast, heard loud and angry voices from the kitchen. +On his return after bathing, he found the breakfast-table very +carelessly laid, with knives unpolished, and other such neglects of +seemliness. Alma, appearing with Hughie, spoke at once of the strange +noises she had heard, and Harvey gave his account of the uproar. + +'I thought something was wrong,' said Alma. 'The cook has seemed in a +bad temper for several days. I don't like either of them. I think I +shall give them both notice, and advertise at once. They say that +advertising is the best way.' + +The housemaid (in her secondary function of parlour-maid) waited at +table with a scowl. The fish was ill fried, the eggs were hard, the +toast was soot-smeared. For the moment Alma made no remark; but half an +hour later, when Harvey and the child had rambled off to the sea-shore, +she summoned both domestics, and demanded an explanation of their +behaviour. Her tone was not conciliatory; she had neither the +experience nor the tact which are necessary in the mistress of a +household, and it needed only an occasion such as this to bring out the +contemptuousness with which she regarded her social inferiors. Too +well-bred to indulge in scolding or wrangling, the delight of a large +class of housewives, Alma had a quiet way of exhibiting displeasure and +scorn, which told smartly on the nerves of those she rebuked. No one +could better have illustrated the crucial difficulty of the +servant-question, which lies in the fact that women seldom can rule, +and all but invariably dislike to be ruled by, their own sex; a +difficulty which increases with the breaking-up of social distinctions. + +She went out into the sunshine, and found Harvey and Hughie building a +great castle of sand. Her mood was lightsome for she felt that she had +acted with decision and in a way worthy of her dignity. + +'They will both go about their business. I only hope we may get meals +for the rest of the time here.' + +Harvey nodded, with closed lips. + +'It's a pity Pauline went,' he remarked presently. + +'I'm afraid it is. I hadn't quite realised what it would mean.' + +'I rather think I ventured to say something of that kind, didn't I? She +_may_ not have taken another place. Suppose you write to her?' + +Alma seemed to waver. + +'What I am thinking,' she said in a lower tone, 'is that--before +long--we shall need--I suppose--someone of a rather different kind--an +ordinary nurse-girl. But you wouldn't like Hughie to be with anyone of +that sort?' + +'It wouldn't matter now.' + +'Here's the philosophy of the matter in a nut-shell,' said Harvey +afterwards. 'Living nowadays means keeping up appearances, and you must +do it just as carefully before your own servants as before your +friends. The alternatives are, one general servant, with frank +confession of poverty, or a numerous household and everything _comme il +faut_. There's no middle way, with peace. I think your determination to +take care of Hughie yourself was admirable; but it won't work. These +two women think you do it because you can't afford a nurse, and at once +they despise us. It's the nature of the beasts--it's the tone of the +time. Nothing will keep them and their like in subordination but a +jingling of the purse. One must say to them all day long, "I am your +superior; I can buy you by the dozen, if need be; I never need soil my +finger with any sort of work, and you know it." Ruth was a good +creature, but I seriously doubt whether she would have been quite so +good if she hadn't seen us keeping our horse and our gardener and our +groom down yonder--everything handsome about us. For the sake of +quietness we must exalt ourselves.' + +'You're quite right about Ruth,' replied Alma, laughing. 'Several times +she has let me see how she admired my life of idleness; but it's just +that I don't want to go back to.' + +'No need. Ruth was practically a housekeeper. You can manage your own +house, but you must have a servant for everything. Get a nurse, by all +means.' + +Alma drew a breath of contentment. + +'You are not dissatisfied with _me_, Harvey?' + +'Of course not.' + +'But tell me--how does Mrs. Morton manage? Why isn't she despised by +her servants when she's always so busy?' + +Harvey had to close his lips against the first answer which occurred to +him. + +'For one thing,' he replied, 'there's a more natural state of things in +those little towns; something of the old spirit still lives. Then the +Mortons have the immense advantage of being an old family, settled +there for generations, known and respected by everyone. That's a kind +of superiority one can't buy, and goes for a great deal in comfortable +living. Morton's servants are the daughters of people who served his +parents. From their childhood they have thought it would be a privilege +to get into that house.' + +'Impossible in London.' + +'Unless you are a duchess.' + +'What a pleasant thing it must be,' said Alma musingly, 'to have +ancestors.' + +Harvey chuckled. + +'The next best thing is to have descendants.' + +'Why, then,' exclaimed Alma, 'we become ancestors ourselves. But one +ought to have an interesting house to live in. Nobody's ancestors ever +lived in a semi-detached villa. What I should like would be one of +those picturesque old places down in Surrey quite in the country, yet +within easy reach of town; a house with a real garden, and perhaps an +orchard. I believe you can get them very cheap sometimes. Not rent the +house, but buy it. Then we would have our portraits painted, and----' + +Harvey asked himself how long Alma would find satisfaction in such a +home; but it pleased him to hear her talking thus of the things which +were his own hopeless dream. + +'That reminds me, Alma, you have never sat yet for your picture, as I +said you should.' + +'We must wait--now.' + +'It shall be done next year.' + +They were content with each other this evening, and looked forward to +pleasures they might have in common. For Harvey had learnt to nourish +only the humblest hopes, and Alma thought she had subdued herself to an +undistinguished destiny. + + + + +CHAPTER 5 + + +Determined to have done once for all with a task she loathed, Alma +wrote out her advertisements for cook, house-parlourmaid, and nurse, +and sent them to half a dozen newspapers. After three weeks of +correspondence with servants and mistresses--a correspondence which, as +Rolfe said, would have made a printed volume of higher sociological +interest than anything yet published, or likely to be--the end of her +patience and her strength compelled her to decide half desperately, and +engage the three young women who appeared least insolent. At the same +time she had to find a new boy for boots, windows, knives, and coals, +the youngster hitherto employed having been so successful with his +'book' on Kempton Park and Hurst Park September meetings that he +relinquished menial duties and devoted himself wholly to the turf; but +this was such a simple matter, compared with the engaging of indoor +domestics, that she felt it almost a delight. When a strong, +merry-looking lad presented himself, eager for the job, and speaking +not a word that was beside the point, Alma could have patted his head. + +She amused Harvey that evening by exclaiming with the very accent of +sincerity---- + +'How I like men, and how I detest women!' + +Her nerves were so upset again that, when all was over, she generally +slept pretty well, but now her insomnia returned, and had to keep her +bed for a day or two. At the sea-side she had once more she had +recourse to the fashionable specific. Harvey knew nothing of this; she +was careful to hide it from him; and each time she measured out her +dose she assured herself that it should be the last. + +Oh, but to lie through those terrible small hours, her brain feverishly +active, compelling her to live again in the scenes and the emotions she +most desired to forget! She was haunted by the voice of Cyrus Redgrave, +which at times grew so distinct to her hearing that it became an +hallucination. Her memory reproduced his talk with astonishing +fidelity; it was as though she had learnt it by heart, instead of +merely listening to it at the time. This only in the silence of night; +during the day she could not possibly have recalled a tenth of what her +brain thus treacherously preserved. + +In sleep she sometimes dreamt of him, and that was perhaps worse; for +whilst the waking illusion only reproduced what he had actually said, +with all his tricks of tone, his suavities of expression, sleep brought +before her another Redgrave. He looked at her with a smile, indeed, but +a smile of such unutterable malignity that she froze with terror. It +was always the same. Redgrave stood before her smiling, silent; stood +and gazed until in a paroxysm of anguish she cried out and broke the +dream. Once, whilst the agony was upon her, she sprang from bed, +meaning to go to her husband and tell him everything, and so, it might +be, put an end to her sufferings. But with her hand upon the door she +lost courage. Impossible! She could not hope to be believed. She could +never convince her husband that she had told him all. + +Upon _her_ lay the guilt of Redgrave's death. This had entered slowly +into her consciousness; at first rejected, but ever returning until the +last argument of self-solace gave way. But for her visit to the +bungalow that evening, Hugh Carnaby would not have been maddened to the +point of fatal violence. In the obscurity he had mistaken her figure +for that of Sibyl; and when Redgrave guarded her retreat, he paid for +the impulse with his life. + +On the Sunday before her concert, she had thought of going to see +Redgrave, but the risk seemed too great, and there was no certainty of +finding him at home. She wished above all things to see him, for there +was a suspicion in her mind that Mrs. Strangeways had a plot against +her, though of its nature she could form no idea. It might be true that +Redgrave was purposely holding aloof, whether out of real jealousy, or +simply as a stratagem, a new move in the game. She would not write to +him; she knew the danger of letters, and had been careful never to +write him even the simplest note. If she must remain in uncertainty +about his attitude towards her, the approaching ordeal would be +intensified with a new agitation: was he coming to her recital, or was +he not? She had counted upon triumphing before him. If he could stay +away, her power over him was incomplete, and at the moment when she had +meant it to be irresistible. + +The chance encounter on Monday with Hugh Carnaby made her think of +Sibyl, and she could not rest until she had endeavoured to learn +something of Sibyl's movements. As Carnaby was leaving town, his wife +would be free; and how did Sibyl use her freedom? On that subject Mrs +Strangeways had a decided opinion, and her knowledge of the world made +it more than probable that she was right. Without any scheme of +espionage, obeying her instinct of jealous enmity, Alma hastened to +Oxford and Cambridge Mansions. But Sibyl had left home, and--was not +expected to return that night. + +How she spent the next few hours Alma could but dimly remember. It was +a vortex of wretchedness. As dark fell she found herself at the gate +leading to the bungalow, lurking, listening, waiting for courage to go +farther. She stole at length over the grass behind the bushes, until +she could see the lighted window of Redgrave's study. The window was +open. She crept nearer and nearer, till she was actually in the veranda +and looking into the room. Redgrave sat within, smoking and reading a +newspaper. She purposely made a movement which drew his attention. + +How would it have ended but for Hugh Carnaby? + +Beyond ascertaining that Sibyl was not there, she had of course +discovered nothing of what she wished to know. As likely as not she had +come too early. Redgrave's behaviour when she drew his attention +suggested that such a sound at the open window did not greatly surprise +him; the surprise appeared when he saw who stood there--surprise and +momentary embarrassment, which would be natural enough if he expected a +different visitor. And he was so anxious that she should come in at +once. Had she done so, Redgrave's life would have been saved; but---- + +Its having been publicly proved that Mrs. Carnaby was then far away +from Wimbledon did not tend to shake Alma's conviction. The summons to +her mother's deathbed had disturbed Sibyl's arrangements, that was all. +Most luckily for her, as it turned out. But women of that kind (said +Alma bitterly) are favoured by fortune. + +Locked in a drawer of her writing-table lay a bundle of letters and +papers which had come to her immediately after the concert. To none of +the letters had she replied; it was time for her to go through them, +and answer, with due apologies, those which deserved an answer. Several +did not; they were from people whom she hoped never to see +again--people who wrote in fulsome terms, because they fancied she +would become a celebrity. The news of her breakdown had appeared in a +few newspapers, and brought her letters of sympathy; these also lay +unanswered. On a day of late autumn she brought herself to the task of +looking through this correspondence, and in the end she burnt it all. +Among the half-dozen people to whom she decided to write was Felix +Dymes; not out of gratitude, or any feeling of friendliness, but +because she could not overcome a certain fear of the man. He was +capable of any meanness, perhaps of villainy; and perhaps he harboured +malice against her, seeing that she had foiled him to the last. She +penned a few lines asking him to let her have a complete statement of +the financial results of her recital, which it seemed strange that he +had not sent already. + +'My health,' she added, 'is far from re-established, and I am unable +either to go to town or to ask you to come and see me. It is rather +doubtful whether I shall ever again play in public.' + +In her own mind there lingered no doubt at all, but she thought it +better not to be too abrupt with Dymes. + +After burning all the letters, she read once more through the press +notices of her performance. It was significant that the musical critics +whose opinion had any weight gave her only a word or two of cautious +commendation; her eulogists were writers who probably knew much less +about music than she, and who reported concerts from the social point +of view. Popular journalism represented her debut as a striking +success. Had she been able to use her opportunity to the utmost, +doubtless something of a 'boom'--the word then coming into +fashion--might have resulted for her; she could have given two or three +more recitals before the end of the season, have been much photographed +and paragraphed, and then have gone into the country 'to spread her +conquests farther'. This was Felix Dymes's hope. Writing with all +propriety, he had yet allowed it to be seen how greatly he was vexed +and disappointed at her failure to take the flood. Alma, too, had +regretful moments; but she fought against the feeling with all her +strength. Today she all but found courage to throw these newspapers +into the fire; it would be a final sacrifice, a grave symbolic act, and +might bring her peace. Yet she could not. Long years hence, would it +not be a legitimate pride to show these things to her children? A +misgiving mingled with the thought, but her reluctance prevailed. She +made up a parcel, wrote upon it, 'My Recital, May 1891', and locked it +up with other most private memorials. + +She had not long to wait for her answer from Dymes. He apologised for +his delay in the matter of business, and promised that a detailed +statement should be sent to her in a very few days. The unfortunate +state of her health--there Alma smiled--moved him to sympathy and +profound regret; her abandonment of a professional career _could_ not, +_must_ not, be a final decision! + +Something prompted her to hand this letter to Harvey. + +'I took it for granted,' he said humorously, 'that the man had sent you +a substantial cheque long ago.' + +'I believe the balance will be on my side.' + +'Would you like me to see to the rest of the business for you?' + +'I don't think that's necessary, is it?' + +To her relief, Harvey said no more. She waited for the promised +balance-sheet, but weeks passed by and it did not arrive. An +explanation of this readily occurred to her: Dymes calculated upon +bringing her to an interview. She thought of Harvey's proposal, and +wished she could dare to accept it; but the obscure risks were too +great. So, months elapsed, till the affair seemed forgotten. + +They never spoke to each other of Hugh Carnaby or of Sibyl. + +Meanwhile, Alma did not lack society. Mrs. Abbott, whom, without change +of feeling, she grew accustomed to see frequently, introduced her to +the Langland family, and in Mrs. Langland she found a not uncongenial +acquaintance. This lady had known many griefs, and seemed destined to +suffer many more; she had wrinkles on her face which should not have +been there at forty-five; but no one ever heard her complain or saw her +look downhearted. + +In her zeal for housewifery, Alma saw much to admire and to imitate in +Mrs. Langland. She liked the good-humoured modesty with which the elder +lady always spoke of herself, and was not displeased at observing an +air of deference when the conversation turned on such high matters as +literature and art. Mrs. Langland knew all about the recital at +Prince's Hall; she knew, moreover, as appeared from a casual remark one +day, that Mrs. Rolfe had skill in 'landscape painting'. + +'Who told you that?' asked Alma, with surprise. + +'I hope it wasn't a secret. Mrs. Abbott spoke of your water-colours +once. She was delighted with them.' + +Praise even from Mary Abbott gratified Alma; it surprised her, and she +doubted its sincerity, but there was satisfaction in knowing that her +fame went abroad among the people at Gunnersbury. Without admiration +she could not live, and nothing so severely tested her resolution to be +content with the duties of home as Harvey's habit of taking all for +granted, never remarking upon her life of self-conquest, never soothing +her with the flatteries for which she hungered. + +She hailed with delight the first visit after several months from her +friends Dora and Gerda Leach. During the summer their father's health +had suffered so severely that the overwrought man found himself +compelled to choose between a long holiday abroad and the certainty of +complete collapse if he tried to pursue his ordinary life. The family +went away, and returned in November, when it seemed probable that the +money-making machine known as Mr. Leach had been put into tolerable +working order for another year or so. Not having seen Alma since her +recital, the girls overflowed with talk about it, repeating all the +eulogies they had heard, and adding such rapturous laudation of their +own that Alma could have hung upon their necks in gratitude. They found +it impossible to believe that she would no more play in public. + +'Oh, but when you are _quite_ well!' they exclaimed. 'It would be a +shame--a sin!' + +In writing to them, Alma had put her decision solely on the ground of +health. Now, assuming a countenance of gentle gravity, she made known +her higher reasons. + +'I have felt it to be my duty. Remember that I can't consider myself +alone. I found that I must either devote myself wholly to music or give +it up altogether. You girls can't very well understand. When one is a +wife and a mother--I thought it all over during my illness. I had been +neglecting my husband and Hughie, and it was too bad--downright +selfishness. Art and housekeeping won't go together; I thought they +might, butt found my mistake. Of course, it cost me a struggle, but +that's over. I have learnt to _renounce_.' + +'It's very noble of you!' murmured Dora Leach. + +'I never heard anything so noble!' said her sister. + +Alma flushed with pleasure. + +'And yet you know,' Dora pursued, 'artists have a duty to the world.' + +'I can't help questioning,' said Gerda, 'whether you had a _right_ to +sacrifice yourself.' + +Alma smiled thoughtfully. + +'You can't quite see it as I do. When one has children----' + +'It must make a great difference'--'Oh, a great difference!'--responded +the sisters. And again they exclaimed at the spectacle of such noble +devotedness. + +By natural transition the talk turned to Mrs. Carnaby. The girls spoke +of her compassionately, but Alma soon perceived that they did not utter +all their thoughts. + +'I'm afraid,' she said, 'that some people take another view. I have +heard--but one doesn't care to repeat such things.' + +Dora and Gerda betrayed a lively interest. Yes, they too had heard +disagreeable gossip; what a shame it was! + +'Of course, you see her?' said Dora. + +Alma shook her head, and seemed a trifle embarrassed. + +'I don't even know whether she still lives there.' + +'Oh yes, she does,' replied Miss Leach eagerly. 'But I've been told +that very few people go. I wondered--we rather wished to know whether +_you_ did.' + +Again Alma gently shook her head. + +'I haven't even heard from her. I suppose she has her reasons. To tell +you the truth, I'm not quite sure that my husband would like me to +call. It isn't a pleasant subject, is it? Let us talk of something +else.' + +So, when Dora and Gerda went away, they carried with them the +conviction that Mrs. Carnaby was an 'impossible' person and of course +lost no opportunity of imparting it to their friends. + +About a week before Christmas, when the new servants seemed to have +settled to their work, and the house routine needed less supervision, +Alma and her husband dined at the Langlands', to meet a few quiet +people. Among the guests was Mrs. Langland's brother, of whom Alma had +already heard, and whom, before the end of the evening, she came to +regard with singular interest. Mr. Thistlewood had no advantages of +physique, and little charm of manner; his long, meagre body never +seemed able to put itself at ease; sitting or standing, he displayed +the awkwardness of a naturally shy man who has not studied the habits +of society. But his features, in spite of irregularity, and a +complexion resembling the tone of 'foxed' paper, attracted observation, +and rewarded it; his eye had a pleasant twinkle, oddly in contrast with +the lines of painful thought upon his forehead, and the severity of +strained muscles in the lower part of his face. He was head-master of a +small school of art in a northern county; a post which he had held only +for a twelvemonth. Like his sister's husband, Thistlewood suffered from +disappointed ambition, for he had aimed at great things as a painter; +but he accepted his defeat, and at thirty-five was seeking content in a +'sphere of usefulness' which promised, after all, to give scope to his +best faculties. Not long ago he would have scorned the thought of +becoming a 'teacher'; yet for a teacher he was born, and the truth, in +dawning upon his mind, had brought with it a measure of consolation. + +A finger missing from his left hand told a story of student life in +Paris. It was a quarrel with a young Frenchman, about a girl. He and +his rival happening to sit opposite to each other at a restaurant +table, high words arose between them, and the Frenchman eventually made +a stab at Thistlewood's hand with his dinner-fork. That ended the +dispute, but the finger had to come off. Not long afterwards +Thistlewood accepted an engagement to go as artist with a party of +English explorers into Siberia. On his return he lingered for a week or +two in St Petersburg, and there chanced to meet the girl who had cost +him one of his digits. She, like himself, had been in pursuit of +adventures; but, whereas the artist came back with a well-filled purse, +the wandering damsel was at her last sou. They journeyed together to +London, and for the next year or two Thistlewood had the honour of +working himself almost to death to support a very expensive young +woman, who cared no more for him than for her cast-off shoes. Happily, +some richer man was at length found who envied him his privilege, and +therewith ended Thistlewood's devotion to the joys of a bohemian life. +Ever since, his habits had been excessively sober--perhaps a little +morose. But Mrs. Langland, who now saw him once a year; thought him in +every respect improved. Moreover, she had a project for his happiness, +and on that account frequently glanced at him during dinner, as he +conversed, much more fluently than of wont, with his neighbour, Mrs. +Abbott. + +Alma sat on the other side of the table, and was no less observant than +the hostess of a peculiar animation on Mr. Thistlewood's dark visage. +To be sure, she knew nothing of him, and it might be his habit to wear +that look when he talked with ladies; but Alma thought it unlikely. And +it seemed to her that Mary Abbott, though much as usual in manner, had +a just perceptible gleam of countenance beyond what one was accustomed +to remark in her moments of friendly conversation. This, too, might be +merely the result of a little natural excitement, seeing that the +school-mistress so seldom dined from home. But, in any case, the +proximity of these two persons was curiously interesting and suggestive. + +In the drawing-room, presently, Alma had a pleasant little talk with Mr +Thistlewood. By discreet experiment, she satisfied herself that Mrs +Abbott's name certainly quickened his interest; and, having learnt so +much, it was easy, by representing herself as that lady's old and +intimate friend, to win from the man a significant look of pleasure and +confidence. They talked of art, of landscape, and it appeared that +Thistlewood was acquainted with the part of Carnarvonshire where Alma +had lived. What was more, he had heard of her charming water-colours, +and he would so much like to see them. + +'Some enemy has done this,' replied Alma, laughing gaily. 'Was it Mrs +Abbott?' + +'No, it was not,' he answered, with corresponding vivacity. + +'Why, then, it must have been Mrs. Langland, and I have a good mind to +put her to open shame by asking you to come and see my wretched daubs.' + +Nothing would please him better, declared Thistlewood; and thereupon he +accepted an invitation to tea for the following afternoon. + +Alma asked no one else. She understood that this man was only to be +observed under favourable conditions by isolating him. She wished, +moreover, to bring him into fireside conversation with Harvey, and to +remark her husband's demeanour. By way of preparation for this +conjuncture, she let fall, in private chat with Harvey, a word or two +which pointed humorously at her suspicions concerning Thistlewood and +Mary Abbott. The hearer exhibited an incredulous surprise. + +'It was only a fancy,' said Alma, smiling rather coldly; and she felt +more desirous than ever of watching her husband in Thistlewood's +presence. + +Unexpectedly, from her point of view, the two men got along together +very well indeed. Harvey, thoroughly cordial, induced their guest to +speak of his work at the School of Art, and grew so interested in it +that the conversation went on for a couple of hours. Thistlewood had +pronounced and enthusiastic ideas on the subject. + +'My difficulty is,' he exclaimed, 'that I can't get hold of the +children young enough. People send their boys and girls to be taught +drawing as an "accomplishment"--the feeble old notion. I want to teach +it as a most important part of elementary education--in fact, to take +youngsters straight on from the kindergarten stage.' + +'Did I tell you,' put in Alma, 'that our little boy goes to Mrs +Abbott's?' and her eyes were on both men at once. + +'I should say you couldn't have done better than send him there,' +replied Thistlewood, shuffling his feet and fidgeting with his hands. +'Mrs. Abbott is an admirable teacher. She quite agrees with me--I +should say that I quite agree with her. But I am forgetting, Mrs. +Rolfe, that you know her better than I do.' + +Hughie was allowed to come into the room for a little while, and to +give an account of what he learnt at school. When at length Thistlewood +took his leave, it was with a promise that he would come again and dine +a few days hence. His visit at Mrs. Langland's would extend over +another fortnight. Before the day of his departure northwards, Alma met +him several times, and succeeded in establishing almost an intimate +friendship with him. He came to bid her goodbye on a black and bitter +January afternoon, when it happened that Harvey was away. As soon as he +entered, she saw upon his face a look of ill augury, a heavy-eyed +dejection very unlike the twinkling hopefulness with which he had +hitherto regarded her. + +'What's the matter?' she asked, holding his hand for a moment. 'Don't +you like going back to work?' + +'I enjoy my work, Mrs. Rolfe, as you know.' + +'But you are not like yourself.' + +'My friends here have made the time very pleasant. Naturally, I don't +like leaving them.' + +He was a little abrupt, and decidedly showed the less genial phase of +his disposition. + +'Have some tea,' said Alma, 'and warm yourself at the fire. You will +thaw presently, Mr. Thistlewood. I suppose, like other unregenerate +men, you live in rooms? Has that kind of life an irresistible charm for +you?' + +He looked at her with a frown which, to say the least, was +discouraging; it changed, however, to a more amiable expression as she +handed him his tea. + +'What do you imagine my income is, Mrs. Rolfe?' came growlingly from +him. + +'I have no idea. You mean, I'm afraid'--Alma's voice fell upon its +gentlest note--'that it doesn't allow you to think of--of any change?' + +'It _ought_ not to allow me,' replied the other. 'I have about two +hundred pounds a year, and can't hope much more for a long time.' + +'And that,' exclaimed Alma, 'seems to you insufficient? I should have +thought in a little town--so far away--Oh! you want to surround +yourself with luxuries----' + +'I don't!--I beg your pardon, Mrs. Rolfe, I meant to say that you +surely know me better.' His hand trembled and spilt the tea, which he +had not yet touched. 'But how can you suppose that--that anyone----?' + +He turned his face to the fire, the light of which made his eyes glare +fiercely. Forthwith, Alma launched upon a spirited remonstrance. Never, +even in the days just before her marriage, had she been so fervid and +eloquent on behalf of the 'simple life'. Two hundred pounds! Why, it +was wealth for rational people! She inveighed against display and +extravagance. + +'You are looking round the room.--Oh, don't apologise; it was quite +natural. I confess, and I'm ashamed of myself. But ask Mrs. Abbott to +tell you about our little house in Wales; she came once to see us +there. We lived--oh so simply and cheaply; and it was our happiest +time. If only we could go back to it! But the world has been too much +for us. People call it comfort; it means, I assure you, ceaseless +trouble and worry. Who knows? some day we may come to our senses, and +shake off the burden.' + +Thistlewood smiled. + +'If we could all have cottages among the mountains,' he said. 'But a +little provincial town----' + +'Set an example! Who would have a better right to defy foolish +prejudice? A teacher of the beautiful--you might do infinite good by +showing how beautifully one can live without obeying mere fashion in a +single point.' + +'I heartily agree with you,' replied Thistlewood, setting down his +empty cup. 'You express my own thoughts much better than I could +myself. And your talk has done me good, Mrs. Rolfe. Thank you for +treating me with such friendly kindness.' + +Therewith he rose and said goodbye to her, with a hope that they might +meet again. Alma was vexed that he would not stay longer and take her +more completely into his confidence; but she echoed the hope, and +smiled upon him with much sweetness. + +His behaviour could have only one interpretation: he had proposed to +Mary Abbott, and she had refused him. The longer Alma thought, the more +certain she was--and the more irritated. It would be very difficult to +continue her civility to Mrs. Abbott after this. + + + + +CHAPTER 6 + + +In these days Rolfe had abandoned even the pretence of study. He could +not feel at home among his books; they were ranked about him on the old +shelves, but looked as uncomfortable as he himself; it seemed a +temporary arrangement; he might as well have been in lodgings. At +Pinner, after a twelvemonth, he was beginning to overcome the sense of +strangeness; but a foreboding that he could not long remain there had +always disturbed him. Here, though every probability pointed to a +residence of at least two or three years, he scarcely made an effort to +familiarise himself with the new surroundings; his house was a shelter, +a camp; granted a water-tight roof, and drains not immediately +poisonous, what need to take thought for artificial comforts? Thousands +of men, who sleep on the circumference of London, and go each day to +business, are practically strangers to the district nominally their +home; ever ready to strike tent, as convenience bids, they can feel no +interest in a vicinage which merely happens to house them for the time +being, and as often as not they remain ignorant of the names of streets +or roads through which they pass in going to the railway station. +Harvey was now very much in this case. That he might not utterly waste +his time, he had undertaken regular duties under Cecil Morphew's +direction, and spent some hours daily in Westminster Bridge Road. +Thence he went to his club, to see the papers; and in returning to +Gunnersbury he felt hardly more sense of vital connection with this +suburb than with the murky and roaring street in which he sat at +business. By force of habit he continued to read, but only books from +the circulating library, thrown upon his table pell-mell--novels, +popular science, travels, biographies; each as it came to hand. The +intellectual disease of the time took hold upon him: he lost the power +of mental concentration, yielded to the indolent pleasure of desultory +page-skimming. There remained in him but one sign of grace: the qualms +that followed on every evening's debauch of mind, the headachey +impression that he was going through a morbid experience which somehow +would work its own cure. + +Alma seemed quite unaware of any change in him. To his physical comfort +she gave all due attention, anxious lest he should catch cold in this +hideous weather, and doing her best to rule the house as he desired; +but his intellectual life was no concern to her. Herein, of course, +Harvey did but share the common lot of men married; he recognised the +fact, and was too wise to complain of it, even in his own mind. Yet it +puzzled him a little, now and then, that a woman so intelligent as Alma +should in this respect be simply on a level with the brainless +multitude of her sex. One evening, when they were together in his room, +he took down a volume, and blew the dust off it, saying as he did so---- + +'They're not often disturbed nowadays, these solid old fellows.' + +'But I suppose you like to have them about you?' Alma replied +carelessly, as she glanced at the shelves. + +'Why, yes, they're good furniture; help to warm the room.' + +'No doubt they do,' Alma replied. 'It's always more comfortable here +than in the drawing-room.' + +Daily he asked himself whether she was reconciled to the loss of her +ambitions, and he could not feel any certainty. In the present state of +her health it might be natural for her to acquiesce in a humdrum life; +but when the next few months were over, and she found herself once more +able to move about as she pleased, would her mind remain the same? +Happy she was not, and probably nothing in his power to do could make +her so. Marriage rarely means happiness, either for man or woman; if it +be not too grievous to be borne, one must thank the fates and take +courage. But Harvey had a troublesome conscience. In acting with +masculine decision, with the old-fashioned authority of husbands, he +had made himself doubly responsible for any misery that might come to +Alma through the conditions of her life. It might be that, on the +higher plane of reasoning, he was by no means justified; there might +have been found a middle way, which, whilst guarding Alma from obvious +dangers, still left her free to enjoy and to aspire. What he had done +was very much like the clipping of wings. Practically it might be +needful, and of safe result; but there is a world beyond the barnyard, +for all that; and how should he know, with full assurance, whether Alma +had not suffered a grave wrong! He durst not reopen the discussion with +her. He had taken his stand, and must hold it, or lose all +self-respect. Marriage is like life itself, easiest to those who think +least about it. Rolfe knew that well enough, and would gladly have +acted upon the knowledge; he came nearest to doing so at the times when +Hughie was his companion. Relieved by the nursemaid from duties she had +only borne by the exertion of something like heroism, Alma once more +drew a broad line of demarcation between nursery and drawing-room; it +was seldom she felt in a mood for playing with the child, and she had +no taste for 'going walks'. But Harvey could not see too much of the +little boy, indoors or out, and it rejoiced him to know that his love +was returned in full measure; for Hughie would at any time abandon +other amusements to be with his father. In these winter months, when by +rare chance there came a fine Saturday or Sunday, they went off +together to Kew or Richmond, and found endless matter for talk, +delightful to both of them. Hughie, now four years old, was well grown, +and could walk two or three miles without weariness. He had no colour +in his cheeks, and showed the nervous tendencies which were to be +expected in a child of such parentage, but on the whole his health gave +no cause for uneasiness. If anything chanced to ail him, Harvey +suffered an excessive disquiet; for the young life seemed to him so +delicate a thing that any touch of pain might wither it away. Because +of the unutterable anguish in the thought, he had often forced himself +to front the possibility of Hughie's death, and had even brought +himself to feel that in truth it would be no reason for sorrow; how +much better to fall asleep in playtime, and wake no more, than to +outlive the happiness and innocence which pass for ever with childhood. +And when the fear of life lay heaviest upon him, he found solace in +remembering that after no great lapse of time he and those he loved +would have vanished from the earth, would be as though they had not +been at all; every pang and woe awaiting them suffered and forgotten; +the best and the worst gone by for ever; the brief flicker of troubled +light quenched in eternal oblivion. It was Harvey Rolfe's best +substitute for the faith and hope of the old world. + +He liked to feel the soft little hand clasping his own fingers, so big +and coarse in comparison, and happily so strong. For in the child's +weakness he felt an infinite pathos; a being so entirely helpless, so +utterly dependent upon others' love, standing there amid a world of +cruelties, smiling and trustful. All his heart went forth in the desire +to protect and cherish. Nothing else seemed of moment beside this one +duty, which was also the purest joy. The word 'father' however sweet to +his ear, had at times given him a thrill of awe; spoken by childish +lips, did it mean less than 'God'? He was the giver of life, and for +that dread gift must hold himself responsible. A man in his agony may +call upon some unseen power, but the heavens are mute; can a father +turn away in heedlessness if the eyes of his child reproach him? All +pleasures, aims, hopes that concerned himself alone, shrank to the +idlest trifling when he realised the immense debt due from him to his +son; no possible sacrifice could discharge it. He marvelled how people +could insist upon the duty of children to parents. But did not the +habit of thought ally itself naturally enough with that strange +religion which, under direst penalties, exacts from groaning and +travailing humanity a tribute of fear and love to the imagined Author +of its being? + +With delight he followed every step in the growth of understanding; and +yet it was not all pleasure to watch the mind outgrowing its +simplicity. Intelligence that has learnt the meaning of a doubt +compares but sadly with the charm of untouched ingenuousness--that +exquisite moment (a moment, and no more) when simplest thought and +simplest word seek each other unconsciously, and blend in sweetest +music. At four years old Hughie had forgotten his primitive language. +The father regretted many a pretty turn of tentative speech, which he +was wont to hear with love's merriment. If a toy were lost, a little +voice might be heard saying, 'Where has that gone now _to_?' And when +it was found again--'There is _it_!' After a tumble one day, Hughie was +cautious in running. 'I shall fall down and break myself.' Then came +distinction between days of the week. 'On Sunday I do' so and so; 'on +Monday days I do' something else. He said, 'Do you remember?' and what +a pity it seemed when at last the dull grown-up word was substituted. +Never again, when rain was falling, would Hughie turn and plead, +'Father, tell the sun to come out!' Nor, when he saw the crescent moon +in daytime, would he ever grow troubled and exclaim, 'Someone has +broken it!' + +It was the rule now that before his bedtime, seven o'clock, Hughie +spent an hour in the library, alone with his father. A golden hour, +sacred to memories of the world's own childhood. He brought with him +the book that was his evening's choice--Grimm, or Andersen, or AEsop. +Already he knew by heart a score of little poems, or passages of verse, +which Rolfe, disregarding the inept volumes known as children's +anthologies, chose with utmost care from his favourite singers, and +repeated till they were learnt. Stories from the Odyssey had come in of +late; but Polyphemus was a doubtful experiment--Hughie dreamt of him. +Great caution, too, was needful in the matter of pathos. On hearing for +the first time Andersen's tale of the Little Tin Soldier, Hughie burst +into tears, and could scarce be comforted. Grimm was safer; it seemed +doubtful whether Andersen was really a child's book at all, every page +touched with the tears of things, every line melodious with sadness. + +And all this fostering of the imagination--was it right? was it wise? +Harvey worried himself with doubts insoluble. He had merely obeyed his +own instincts. But perhaps he would be doing far better if he never +allowed the child to hear a fairy-tale or a line of poetry. Why not +amuse his mind with facts, train him to the habit of scientific +thought? For all he knew, he might be giving the child a bias which +would result in a life's unhappiness; by teaching him to see only the +hard actual face of things, would he not fit him far more surely for +citizenship of the world? + +He would have liked to talk about the child with Mary Abbott, but there +never came an opportunity. Though it shamed and angered him to be under +such constraint, he felt obliged to avoid any private meeting with her. +Alma, he well understood, still nursed the preposterous jealousy which +had been in her mind so long; and in the present state of things, +dubious, transitional, it behoved him to give no needless occasion of +disquiet. As the months went on, he saw her spirits fail; with the +utmost difficulty she was persuaded to leave the house, and for hours +at a time she sat as if in melancholy brooding, unwilling to talk or to +read. Harvey tried reading to her, but in the daytime she could not +keep her thoughts from wandering, and after dinner it merely sent her +to sleep. Yet she declared that there was nothing to trouble about; she +would be herself again before long. + +But one day the doctor who was attending her had a few words in private +with Rolfe, and told him that he had made an unpleasant discovery--Mrs +Rolfe was in the habit of taking a narcotic. At first, when the doctor +asked if this was the case, she had denied it, but in the end he had +elicited a confession, and a promise that the dangerous habit should be +relinquished. + +'I was on no account to mention this to you, and you mustn't let it be +seen that I have done so. If it goes on, and I'm rather afraid it will +for a short time, I shall tell her that you must be informed of it.' + +Harvey, to whom such a suspicion had never occurred, waited anxiously +for the doctor's further reports. As was anticipated, Alma's promise +held good only for a day or two, and when again she confessed, her +husband was called into counsel. The trio went through a grave and +disagreeable scene. On the doctor's departure, Alma sat for a long time +stubbornly and dolorously mute; then came tears and passionate +penitence. + +'You mustn't think I'm a slave to it,' she said. 'It isn't so at all. I +can break myself off it at once, and I will.' + +'Then why did you go on after the doctor's first warning?' + +'Out of perversity, nothing else. I suffer much from bad nights, but it +wasn't that; I could bear it. I said to myself that I should do as I +liked.' She gave a tearful laugh. + +'That's the whole truth. I felt just like a child when it's determined +to be naughty.' + +'But this is far too serious a matter----' + +'I know, I know. There shall be an end of it. I had my own way, and I'm +satisfied. Now I shall be reasonable.' + +Judging from results, this seemed to be a true explanation. From that +day the doctor saw no reason for doubt. But Harvey had a most +uncomfortable sense of strangeness in his wife's behaviour; it seemed +to him that the longer he lived with Alma, the less able he was to read +her mind or comprehend her motives. It did not reassure him to reflect +that a majority of husbands are probably in the same case. + +Meanwhile trouble was once more brewing in the back regions of the +house. The cook made an excuse for 'giving notice'. Rolfe, in his fury, +talked about abandoning the house and going with wife and child to some +village in the heart of France; yet this was hardly practicable. Again +were advertisements sent forth; again came the ordeal of +correspondence--this time undertaken by Harvey himself, for Alma was +unequal to it. The cook whom they at length engaged declared with +fervour that the one thing she panted for was downright hard work; she +couldn't abide easy places, and in fact had left her last because too +little was expected of her. + +'She will stay for two months,' said Harvey, 'and then it will be time +for the others to think of moving. Oh, we shall get used to it.' + +At the end of March, Alma's second child was born--a girl. Remembering +what she had endured at Hughie's birth, Rolfe feared that her trial +would be even worse this time; but it did not prove so. In a few days +Alma was well on the way to recovery. But the child, a lamentable +little mortal with a voice scarce louder than a kitten's, held its life +on the frailest tenure; there was doubt at first whether it could draw +breath at all, and the nurse never expected it to live till the second +day. At the end of a week, however, it still survived; and Alma turned +to the poor weakling with a loving tenderness such as she had never +shown for her first-born. To Harvey's surprise she gladly took it to +her breast, but for some reason this had presently to be forbidden, and +the mother shed many tears. After a fortnight things looked more +hopeful. Nurse and doctor informed Harvey that for the present he need +have no uneasiness. + +It was a Saturday morning, and so cheerful overhead that Rolfe used his +liberty to have a long stretch towards the fields. Hughie, who had no +school today, would gladly have gone with him, but after such long +restraint Harvey felt the need of four miles an hour, and stole away. +He made for Twickenham and Hampton Court, then by a long circuit came +round into Richmond Park. The Star and Garter gave him a late luncheon, +after which he lit his cigar and went idly along the terrace. There, +whom should he meet but Mary Abbott. + +She was seated, gazing at the view. Not till he came quite near did +Harvey recognise her, and until he stopped she did not glance in his +direction. Thus he was able to observe her for a moment, and noticed +that she looked anything but well; one would have thought her +overworked, or oppressed by some trouble. She did not see what her eyes +were fixed upon, and her features had a dreaming tenderness of +expression which made them more interesting, more nearly beautiful, +than when they were controlled by her striving will. When Harvey paused +beside her she gave him a startled smile, but was at once herself again. + +'Do you care for that?' he asked, indicating the landscape. + +'I can't be enthusiastic about it.' + +'Nor I. A bit of ploughed field in the midlands gives me more pleasure.' + +'It was beautiful once.' + +'Yes; before London breathed upon it.--Do you remember the view from +Cam Bodvean?' + +'Oh, indeed I do! The larches are coming out now.' + +'And the gorse shines, and the sea is blue, and the mountains rise one +behind the other!--Did you talk about it with Mr. Thistlewood? I found +that he knew all that country.' + +'We spoke of it,' replied Mrs. Abbott, taking a step forward. + +'An interesting man, don't you think?' + +Harvey glanced at her, remembering the odd suggestion he had heard from +Alma; and in truth it seemed that his inquiry caused her some +embarrassment. + +'Yes, very interesting,' answered his companion quietly, as she walked +on. + +'You had met him before----?' + +'He always comes to the Langlands' at Christmas.' She added in another +voice, 'I was glad to hear from Hughie yesterday that all was well at +home.' + +They sauntered along the path. Harvey described the walk he had had +this morning. Mrs. Abbott said that the bright day had tempted her to +an unusual distance; she had come, of course, by train, and must now +think of turning back towards the station. + +'Let me go so far with you,' said Harvey. 'What is your report of the +boy? He gives you no trouble, I hope?' + +She replied in detail, with the conscientiousness which always appeared +in her when speaking of her work. It was not the tone of one who +delights in teaching; there was no spontaneity, no enthusiasm; but +every word gave proof of how seriously she regarded the duties she had +undertaken. And she was not without pride in her success. The little +school had grown, so that it now became a question whether she should +decline pupils or engage an assistant teacher. + +'You are resolved to go on with the infantry?' said Rolfe, smiling. + +'The little ones--yes. I begin to feel some confidence with _them_; I +don't think I'm in danger of going far wrong. But I shouldn't have the +least faith in myself, now, with older children.--Of course I have +Minnie Wager. She'll soon be eleven, you know. I do my best with her.' + +'Mrs. Langland says you have done wonders.' + +'Minnie will never learn much from books; I feel pretty sure of that. +But'--she laughed--'everyone has a strong point, if it can be +discovered, and I really think I have found Minnie's at last. It was +quite by chance. The other day I was teaching my maid to make pastry, +and Minnie happened to stand by. Afterwards, she begged me to let _her_ +try her hand at it, and I did, and the result was surprising. For the +very first time she had found something that she enjoyed doing. She +went to it with zeal, and learnt in no time. Since then she has made +tarts, and puddings, and cake----' + +Harvey broke into laughter. It was an odd thing that the employment he +had suggested for this girl, in his talk at Greystone, should prove to +be her genuine vocation. + +'Don't you think it's as well to encourage her?' said Mrs. Abbott. + +'By all manner of means! I think it's a magnificent discovery. I should +give her the utmost encouragement. Let her learn cookery in all its +branches, steadily and seriously.' + +'It may solve the problem of her future. She might get employment in +one of the schools of cookery.' + +'Never again be uneasy about her,' cried Rolfe delightedly. 'She is +provided for. She will grow old with honour, love, obedience, troops of +friends!--A culinary genius! Why, it's the one thing the world is +groaning and clamouring for. Let her burn her school-books. Sacrifice +everything to her Art.--You have rejoiced me with this news.' + +Slenderly endowed on the side of humour, Mary Abbott could not feel +sure whether he was really pleased or not; he had to repeat to her, +with all gravity, that he no longer felt anxious on the girl's account. + +'For my own part,' said Mary, 'I would rather see her a good cook in a +lady's kitchen, if it came to that, than leading a foolish life at some +so-called genteel occupation.' + +'So would any one who has common-sense.--And her brother; I don't think +we can go wrong about him. The reports from school are satisfactory; +they show that he loathes everything but games and fighting. At fifteen +they'll take him on a training ship.--I wonder whether their father's +alive or dead?' + +'It is to be hoped they'll never see him again.' + +Harvey was smiling--at a thought which he did not communicate. + +'You say you wouldn't trust yourself to teach older children. You mean, +of course, that you feel much the difficulty of the whole thing--of all +systems of education.' + +'Yes. And I dare say it's nothing but foolish presumption when I fancy +I can teach babies.' + +'You have at all events a method,' said Harvey, 'and it seems to be a +very good one. For the teaching of children after they can read and +write, there seems to be no method at all. The old classical education +was fairly consistent, but it exists no longer. Nothing has taken its +place. Muddle, experiment, and waste of lives--too awful to think +about. We're savages yet in the matter of education. Somebody said to +me once: "Well, but look at the results; they're not so bad." Great +heavens! not so bad--when the supreme concern of mankind is to perfect +their instruments of slaughter! Not so bad--when the gaol and the +gallows are taken as a matter of course! Not so bad--when huge filthy +cities are packed with multitudes who have no escape from toil and +hunger but in a wretched death! Not so bad--when all but every man's +life is one long blunder, the result of ignorance and unruled passions!' + +Mrs. Abbott showed a warm assent. + +'People don't think or care anything about education. Seriously, I +suppose it has less place in the thoughts of most men and women than +any other business of life?' + +'Undoubtedly,' said Rolfe. 'And one is thought a pedant and a bore if +one ever speaks of it. It's as much against good manners as to begin +talking about religion. But a pedant must relieve his mind sometimes. +I'm so glad I met you today; I wanted to hear what you thought about +the boy.' + +For the rest of the way, they talked of lighter things; or rather, +Rolfe talked and his companion listened. Nothing more difficult than +easy chat between a well-to-do person of abundant leisure and one whose +days are absorbed in the earning of a bare livelihood. Mary Abbott had +very little matter for conversation beyond the circle of her pursuits; +there was an extraordinary change in her since the days of her married +life, when she had prided herself on talking well, or even brilliantly. +Harvey could not help a feeling of compassion as she walked at his +side. For all his admiration of her self-conquest, and of the tasks to +which she had devoted herself, he would have liked to free her from the +daily mill. She was young yet, and should taste of joy before the years +began to darken about her. But these are the thoughts that must not be +uttered. To show pity is to insult. A merry nod to the friend who +staggers on beneath his burden; and, even at his last gasp, the friend +shall try to nod merrily back again. + +He took leave of her at the station, saying that he meant to walk by +the river homeward. A foolish scruple, which would never have occurred +to him but for Alma's jealousy. + +When he reached his house at about four o'clock, he felt very tired; it +was a long time since he had walked so far. Using his latch-key to +enter, he crossed the hall to the study without seeing anyone or +hearing a sound. There was a letter on his table. As he opened it, and +began to read, the door--which he had left ajar--was pushed softly +open; there entered Hughie, unusually silent, and with a strange look +in his bright eyes. + +'Father--Louie says that baby is dead.' + +Harvey's hand fell. He stared, stricken mute. + +'Father--I don't want baby to be dead! Don't let baby be dead!' + +The child's voice shook, and tears came into his eyes. Without a word, +Rolfe hastened from the room and up the stairs. As he reached the +landing, a wail of grief sounded from somewhere near; could that be +Alma's voice? In a moment he had knocked at her door. He durst not turn +the handle; the beating of his heart shook him in every limb. The door +opened, and the nurse showed her face. A hurried whisper; the baby had +died two hours ago, in convulsions. + +Alma's voice sounded again. + +'Who is that?--Harvey--oh, come, come to me! My little baby is dead!' + +He sat alone with her for an hour. He scarcely knew her for his wife, +so unlike herself had she become under the stress of passionate woe; +her face drawn in anguish, yet illumined as he had never seen it; her +voice moving on a range of notes which it had never sounded. The little +body lay pressed against her bosom; she would not let it be taken from +her. Consolation was idle. Harvey tried to speak the thought which was +his first and last as he looked at the still, waxen face; the thought +of thankfulness, that this poor feeble little being was saved from +life; but he feared to seem unfeeling. Alma could not yet be comforted. +The sight of the last pitiful struggles had pierced her to the heart; +she told of it over and over again, in words and tones profoundly +touching. + +The doctor had been here, and would return in the evening. It was Alma +now who had to be cared for; her state might easily become dangerous. + +When Harvey went downstairs again, he met Hughie and his nurse in the +hall. The little boy ran to him. + +'Mayn't I come to you, Father? Louie says I mustn't come.' + +'Yes, yes; come, dear.' + +In the library he sat down, and took Hughie upon his knee, and pressed +the soft little cheek against his own. Without mention of baby, the +child asked at once if his father would not read to him as usual. + +'I don't think I can tonight, Hughie.' + +'Why not, Father? Because baby is dead?' + +'Yes. And Mother is very poorly. I must go upstairs again soon.' + +'Is Mother going to be dead?' asked the child, with curiosity rather +than fear. + +'No! No!' + +'But--but if mother went there, she could fetch baby back again.' + +'Went where?' + +Hughie made a vague upward gesture. + +'Louie says baby is gone up into the sky.' + +Perhaps it was best so. What else can one say to a little child of four +years old? Harvey Rolfe had no choice but to repeat what seemed good to +Louie the nursemaid. But he could refrain from saying more. + +Alma was in a fever by night-time. There followed days and days of +misery; any one hour of which, as Rolfe told himself, outbalanced all +the good and joy that can at best be hoped for in threescore years and +ten. But Alma clung to life. Harvey had thought she would ask for her +little son, and expend upon him the love called forth by her dead baby; +she seemed, however, to care even less for Hughie than before. And, +after all, the bitter experience had made little change in her. + + + + +CHAPTER 7 + + +Since the removal from Pinner, Rolfe had forgotten his anxieties with +regard to money. Expenses were reduced; not very greatly, but to a +point which made all the difference between just exceeding his income +and living just within it. He had not tried to economise, and would +scarcely have known how to begin; it was the change in Alma's mode of +life that brought about this fortunate result. With infinite +satisfaction he dismissed from his mind the most hateful of all worries. + +It looked, too, as if the business in Westminster Bridge Road might +eventually give a substantial return for the money he had invested in +it. Through the winter, naturally, little trade was done; but with +springtime things began to look brisk and hopeful. Harvey had applied +himself seriously to learning the details of the business; he was no +longer a mere looker-on, but could hold practical counsel with his +partner, make useful suggestions, and help in carrying them out. + +In the sixth month after her father's decease, Rolfe enjoyed the +privilege of becoming acquainted with Miss Winter. Morphew took him one +afternoon to the house at Earl's Court, where the widow and her +daughter were still living, the prospect of Henrietta's marriage having +made it not worth while for them to change their abode in the interim. +With much curiosity, with not a little mistrust, Harvey entered the +presence of these ladies, whose names and circumstances had been so +familiar to him for years. Henrietta proved to be very unlike the image +he had formed of her. Anticipating weakness, conventionality, and some +affectation, he was surprised to meet a lady of simple, grave manners; +nervous at first, but soon perfectly self-possessed; by no means +talkative, but manifesting in every word a well-informed mind and a +habit of reflection. It astonished him that such a man as Cecil Morphew +should have discovered his ideal in Henrietta Winter; it perplexed him +yet more that Cecil's attachment should have been reciprocated. + +Mrs. Winter was a very ordinary person; rather pretentious, rather too +fluent of speech, inclined to fretfulness, and probably of trying +temper. Having for many years lived much beyond his means (in the +manner so often described by Morphew), Mr. Winter had left his family +as good as unprovided for. There was money to be divided between mother +and daughter, but so small a sum that it could not be regarded as a +source of income. To the widow was bequeathed furniture; to Henrietta, +a library of two thousand volumes; _finally_, the testator directed +that the sum of five hundred pounds should be spent on a window of +stained glass (concerning which full particulars were given), to be set +up, in memory of himself, in the church he had been wont to honour with +his pious attendance. This item of her husband's will had so embittered +Mrs. Winter, that she hardly ever spoke of him; if obliged to do so, it +was with cold severity that she uttered his name. Immediately, she +withdrew all opposition to Henrietta's marriage with the man she had +considered so objectionable; she would not have been sorry had her +daughter chosen to be married with the least possible delay. As for the +future, of course she must live in her daughter's house; together, they +must make what they could of their small capital, and hope that Cecil's +business would prosper. + +Harvey had been acquainted with these facts since Mr. Winter's death. +Bearing them in mind as he talked with Henrietta, and exerting his +powers of observation to the utmost, he still found himself as far as +ever from a definite opinion as to the wisdom of the coming marriage. +That Mrs. Winter would be a great obstacle to happiness admitted of no +doubt; but Henrietta herself might or might not prove equal to the +change of circumstances. Evidently one of her characteristics was an +extreme conscientiousness; it explained, perhaps, her long inability to +decide between the claims of parents and lover. Her tastes in +literature threw some light upon the troubles which had beset her; she +was a student of George Eliot, and spoke of the ethical problems with +which that author is mainly concerned, in a way suggestive of +self-revelation. Conversing for the first time with Morphew's friend, +and finding him sufficiently intelligent, she might desire to offer +some indirect explanation of the course she had followed. Harvey could +not question her sincerity, but she seemed to him a trifle morbid. It +might be natural reaction, in a temper such as hers, against the +monstrous egotism by which her life had been subdued and shadowed. She +inclined to mystical views; mentioned Christina Rossetti as one of her +favourites; cared little or nothing for the louder interests of the +time. Impossible to detect the colour of her thoughts with regard to +Cecil; she spoke of him gravely and gently, but without the least +perceptible emotion. Harvey noticed her when Morphew was saying +goodbye; her smile was sweet, and perhaps tender, but even then she +seemed to be debating with herself some point of conscience. Perhaps +Cecil had pressed her hand rather too fervently? + +The friends walked away in silence along the dim-lighted street, +between monotonous rows of high sombre houses, each with its pillared +portico which looked like the entrance to a tomb. Glancing about him +with a sense of depression, Harvey wondered that any mortal could fix +his pride on the fact of residence in such a hard, cold, ugly +wilderness. + +'Has she altered much since you first knew her?' he asked at length. + +'A good deal,' answered the other. 'Yes, a good deal. She used to laugh +sometimes; now she never does. She was always quiet--always looked at +things seriously--but it was different. You think her gloomy?' + +'No, no; not gloomy. It's all natural enough. Her life wants a little +sunlight, that's all.' + +For the rest, he could speak with sincere admiration, and Cecil heard +him delightedly. + +The choice of a dwelling was a most difficult matter. As it must be +quite a small house, the remoter suburbs could alone supply what was +wanted; Morphew spent every Saturday and Sunday in wearisome +exploration. Mrs. Winter, though in theory she accepted the necessity of +cheapness, shrank from every practical suggestion declaring it +impossible to live in such places as Cecil requested her to look at. She +had an ideal of the 'nice little house,' and was as likely to discover +it in London's suburbs as to become possessed once more of the +considerable fortune which she and her husband had squandered in mean +extravagance. Morphew had already come to the conclusion, and Henrietta +agreed with him, that their future home must be chosen without regard to +Mrs. Winter's impracticable ideas. And the sooner the better, in her own +interests; for it was plain that so long as she continued in the old +house she would thoughtlessly waste her means. The end of the +twelvemonth, at latest, must see them all in their new home. + +But meanwhile fate was preparing a new trial for Henrietta's +much-disciplined conscience. + +On a Saturday afternoon, when the crisis of Alma's illness was over, +Harvey received a telegram summoning him to Westminster Bridge Road. +"Come if you possibly can. Or I must come to you." Only yesterday he had +been with Morphew for a couple of hours, and all seemed well; Cecil +thought he had found the house that would suit him; he was in jubilant +spirits, laughing, singing, more boylike than ever. Suspecting new +obstructiveness on the part of Mrs. Winter, Harvey went to town in an +impatient mood. He found the shop closed, as usual at this hour on +Saturday, and rang the house-door bell. Morphew himself replied, with a +countenance which made known forthwith that something extraordinary had +happened; eyes red and swollen, cheeks puffy, colourless, smeared. + +"Well?" + +Cecil clutched at his hand, and drew him in. They went upstairs to the +office, where all was quiet. + +"Rolfe, if I hadn't had you to send for, I should have been dead by now. +There's poison enough in this place. It has tempted me fearfully." + +"What, is it?" asked the other, in a not very sympathetic voice. His own +troubles of the past month made mere love-miseries seem artificial. + +"I shall have to tell you what I wanted to tell you long ago. If I had, +most likely this would never have happened.--It's all over with me, +Rolfe. I wish to God you had let me die in that hotel at Brussels.--She +has been told something about me, and there's an end of everything. She +sent for me this morning. I never thought she could be so pitiless.--The +kind of thing that a man thinks nothing of. And herself the cause of it, +if only I had dared to tell her so!" + +'The old story, I suppose,' said Harvey. 'Some other woman?' + +'I was very near telling you, that day you came to my beastly garret in +Chelsea; do you remember? It was the worst time with me then--except +when you found me in Brussels. I'd been gambling again; you knew that. +I wanted money for something I felt ashamed to speak of.--You know the +awful misery I used to suffer about Henrietta. I was often enough +nearly mad with--what is one to call it? Why isn't there a decent name +for the agony men go through at that age? I simply couldn't live alone +any longer--I couldn't; and only a fool and a hypocrite would pretend +to blame me. A man, that is; women seem to be made different.--Oh, +there's nothing to tell. The same thing happens a hundred times every +day in London. A girl wandering about in the Park--quarrel at home--all +the rest of it. A good many lies on her side; a good deal of +selfishness on mine. I happened to have money just then. And just when +I had _no_ money--about the time you met me--a child was born. She said +it was mine; anyway, I had to be responsible. Of course I had long ago +repented of behaving so badly to Henrietta. But no woman can +understand, and it's impossible to explain to them. You're a beast and +a villain, and there's an end of it.' + +'And how has this become known to Miss Winter?' Harvey inquired, seeing +that Morphew lost himself in gloom. + +'You might almost guess it; these things always happen in the same way. +You've heard me speak of a fellow called Driffel--no? I thought I might +have mentioned him. He got to know the girl. He and I were at a +music-hall one night, and she met us; and I heard, soon after, that she +was living with him. It didn't last long. She got ill, and wrote to me +from Westminster Hospital; and I was foolish enough to give her money +again, off and on, up to only a few months ago. She talked about living +a respectable life, and so on, and I couldn't refuse to help her. But I +found out it was all humbug, and of course I stopped. Then she began to +hunt me, Out of spite. And she heard from someone--Driffel, as likely +as not--all about Henrietta; and yesterday Henrietta had a letter from +her. This morning I was sent for, to explain myself.' + +'At one time, then, you had lost sight of her altogether?' + +'She has always had money from me, more or less regularly, except at +the time that Driffel kept her. But there has been nothing else between +us, since that first year. I kept up payments on account of the child, +and she was cheating me in that too. Of course she put out the baby to +nurse, and I understood it lived on; but the truth was it died after a +month or two--starved to death, no doubt. I only learnt that, by taking +a good deal of trouble, when she was with Driffel.' + +'Starved to death at a month or two old,' murmured Rolfe. 'The best +thing for it, no doubt.' + +'It's worse than anything I have done,' said Morphew, miserably. 'I +think more of it now than I did at the time. A cruel, vile thing!' + +'And you told Miss Winter everything?' + +'Everything that can be spoken about. The plain truth of the story. The +letter was a lie from beginning to end, of course. It made me out a +heartless scoundrel. I had been the ruin of the girl--a helpless +innocent; and now, after all these years, wanted to cut her adrift, not +caring what became of her. My defence seemed to Henrietta no defence at +all. The fact that there had been such an episode in my life was quite +sufficient. Everything must be at an end between us, at once and for +ever. She _could_ not live with me, knowing this. No one should learn +the cause; not even her mother; but I must never see her again. And so +I came away, meaning to end my life. It wasn't cowardice that prevented +me; only the thought that _she_ would be mixed up in it, and suffer +more than I had made her already.' + +Voice and look constrained Harvey to believe this. He spoke more +sympathetically. + +'It's better that it happened before than after.' + +'I've tried to think that, but I can't. Afterwards, I could have made +her believe me and forgive me.' + +'That seems to me more than doubtful.' + +'But why should it have happened at all?' cried Cecil, in the tone of +despairing bitterness. 'Did I deserve it? Haven't I behaved better, +more kindly, than most men would have done? Isn't it just because I was +too good-natured that this has come on me?' + +'I myself readily take that view,' answered Rolfe. 'But I can perfectly +understand why Miss Winter doesn't.' + +'So can I--so can I,' groaned Cecil. 'It's in her nature. And do you +suppose I haven't cursed myself for deceiving her? The thought has made +me miserable, often enough. I never dreamt she would get to know of it; +but it weighed upon me all the same. Yet who was the cause of it, +really and truly? I'm glad I could keep myself from saying all I +thought. She wouldn't have understood; I should only have looked more +brutal in her eyes. But if she had married me when she might have done! +_There_ was the wrong that led to everything else.' + +Harvey nodded and muttered. + +'At one and twenty she might have taken her own way. I wasn't a +penniless adventurer. My name is as good as hers. We could have lived +well enough on my income, until I found a way of increasing it, as I +should have done. Girls don't know what they are doing when they make +men wait year after year. No one can tell them. But I begged--I prayed +to her--I said all I dared. It was her cursed father and mother! If I +had had three thousand, instead of three hundred, a year, they would +have rushed her into marriage. No! we must have a big house, like their +own, and a troop of thieving servants, or we were eternally disgraced. +_How_ I got the money didn't matter, so long as I got it. And she +hadn't courage--she thought it wrong to defy them. As if the wrong +wasn't in giving way to such a base superstition! I believe she has +seen that since her father's death. And now----' + +He broke down, shaking and choking in an agony of sobs. Harvey could +only lay a kind hand upon him; there was no verbal comfort to offer. +Presently Cecil talked on again, and so they sat together as twilight +passed into darkness. Rolfe would gladly have taken the poor fellow +home with him, out of solitude with its miseries and dangers, but Cecil +refused. Eventually they walked westward for a few miles; then Morphew, +with a promise to see his friend next day, turned back into the crowd. + + + + +CHAPTER 8 + + +Alma was walking on the sea-road at Penzance, glad to be quite alone, +yet at a loss how to spend the time. Rolfe had sailed for Scilly, and +would be absent for two or three days; Mrs. Frothingham, with Hughie +for companion, was driving to Marazion. Why--Alma asked herself--had +she wished to be left alone this morning? Some thought had glimmered +vaguely in her restless mind; she could not recover it. + +The little shop window, set out with objects carved in serpentine, held +her for a moment; but remembering how often she had paused here lately, +she felt ashamed, and walked on. Presently there moved towards her a +lady in a Bath-chair; a lady who had once been beautiful, but now, +though scarcely middle-aged, looked gaunt and haggard from some long +illness. The invalid held open a newspaper, and Alma, in passing, saw +that it was _The World_. At once her step quickened, for she had +remembered the desire which touched her an hour ago. + +She walked to the railway station, surveyed the papers on the +bookstall, and bought three--papers which would tell her what was going +on in society. With these in hand she found a quiet spot, sheltered +from the August sun, where she could sit and read. She read eagerly, +enviously. And before long her eye fell upon a paragraph in which was a +name she knew. Lady Isobel Barker, in her lovely retreat at Boscombe, +was entertaining a large house-party; in the list appeared--Mrs. Hugh +Carnaby. Unmistakable: Mrs. Hugh Carnaby. Who Lady Isobel might be, +Alma had no idea; nor were any of the other guests known to her, but +the names of all seemed to roll upon the tongue of the announcing +footman. She had a vision of Sibyl in that august company; Sibyl, +coldly beautiful, admirably sage, with--perhaps--ever so little of the +air of a martyr, to heighten her impressiveness. + +When she could command herself, she glanced hurriedly through column +after column of all the papers, seeking for that name again. In one, an +illustrated publication, she came upon a couple of small portraits, +side by side. Surely she recognised that face--the bold, +coarse-featured man, with his pretentious smile? But the girl, no; a +young and very pretty girl, smirking a little, with feathery hair which +faded off into an aureole. The text was illuminating. + +'I am able to announce,' wrote Ego, 'and I think I shall be one of the +first to do so, that the brilliant composer, Mr. Felix Dymes, will +shortly vanish from the gay (if naughty) world of bachelorhood. I learn +on excellent authority that Mr. Dymes has quite recently become engaged +to Miss Lettice Almond, a very charming young lady, whose many gifts +(especially musical) have as yet been known only to a comparatively +small circle, and for the delightful reason that she is still only +eighteen. Miss Almond is the daughter of Mr. Haliburton Almond, senior +partner in the old and well-known firm of Almond Brothers, the +manufacturers of fireworks. She is an only daughter, and, though she +has two brothers, I may add (I trust without indiscretion) that the +title of heiress may be fittingly applied to her. The marriage may take +place in November, and will doubtless be a brilliant as well as a most +interesting affair. By-the-bye, Mr. Dymes's new opera is not likely to +be ready till next year, but some who have been privileged to hear the +parts already composed declare that it will surpass even "Blue Roses" +in the charm of sweet yet vivacious melody.' + +When she had read and mused for more than an hour, Alma tore out the +two passages that had a personal interest for her, and put them in her +purse. The papers she left lying for anyone who chose to pick them up. + +A fortnight later she was back at Gunnersbury; where, indeed, she would +have been content to stay all through the summer, had not Harvey and +the doctor insisted on her leaving home. All sorts of holidays had been +proposed, but nothing of the kind attracted her. She declared that she +was quite well, and that she preferred home to anywhere else; she had +got used to it, and did not wish to be unsettled. Six weeks at Penzance +simply wearied her; she brightened wonderfully on the day of return. +Harvey, always anxious, tried to believe that the great sorrow through +which she had passed was effecting only a natural change, subduing her +troublesome mutability of temper, and leading her to find solace in +domestic quietude. + +On the third day after her return, she had lunched alone, and was +sitting in the library. Her dress, more elaborate than usual, and the +frequent glances which she cast at the clock, denoted expectation of +some arrival. Hearing a knock at the front door, she rose and waited +nervously. + +'Mr. Dymes is in the drawing-room, mum.' + +She joined him. Dymes, with wonted frankness, not to say impudence, +inspected her from head to foot, and did not try to conceal surprise. + +'I was awfully glad to get your note. As I told you, I called here +about a month ago, and I should have called again. I didn't care to +write until I heard from you. You've been ill, I can see. I heard about +it. Awfully sorry.' + +Alma saw that he intended respectful behaviour. The fact of being in +her own house was, of course, a protection, but Dymes, she quite +understood, had altered in mind towards her. She treated him distantly, +yet without a hint of unfriendliness. + +'I began to wonder whether I had missed a letter of yours. It's some +time since you promised to write--on business.' + +'The fact is,' he replied, 'I kept putting it off, hoping to see you, +and it's wonderful how time slips by. I can hardly believe that it's +more than a year since your recital. How splendidly it came off! If +only you could have followed it up--but we won't talk about that.' + +He paused for any remark she might wish to make. Alma, dreamy for a +moment, recovered herself, and asked, in a disinterested tone---- + +'We paid all expenses, I suppose?' + +'Well--not quite.' + +'Not quite? I understood from you that there was no doubt about it.' + +'I thought,' said Dymes, as he bent forward familiarly, 'that my +silence would let you know how matters stood. If there had been +anything due to you, of course I should have sent a cheque. We did very +well indeed, remarkably well, but the advertising expenses were very +heavy.' He took a paper from his pocket. 'Here is the detailed account. +I shouldn't have spent so much if I hadn't regarded it as an +investment. You had to be boomed, you know--floated, and I flatter +myself I did it pretty well. But, of course, as things turned out----' + +Alma glanced over the paper. The items astonished her. + +'You mean to say, then, that I am in your debt for a hundred and thirty +pounds?' + +'Debt be hanged!' cried Dymes magnanimously. 'That's all done with, +long ago. I only wanted to explain how things were.' + +Alma reddened. She was trying to remember the state of her banking +account, and felt sure that, at this moment, considerably less than a +hundred pounds stood to her credit. But she rose promptly. + +'Of course, I shall give you a cheque.' + +'Nonsense! Don't treat me like a regular agent, Mrs. Rolfe. Surely you +know me better than that? I undertook it for the pleasure of the +thing----' + +'But you don't suppose I can accept a present of money from you, Mr +Dymes?' + +'Hang it! Just as you like, of course. But don't make me take it now, +as if I'd looked in with my little bill. Send the cheque, if you must. +But what I really came for, when I called a few weeks ago, was +something else--quite a different thing, and a good deal more +important. Just sit down again, if you can spare me a few minutes.' + +With face averted, Alma sank back into her chair. Harvey would give her +the money without a word, but she dreaded the necessity of asking him +for it. So disturbed were her thoughts that she did not notice how +oddly Dymes was regarding her, and his next words sounded meaningless. + +'By-the-bye, can we talk here?' + +'Talk----?' + +'I mean'--he lowered his voice--'are we safe from interruption? It's +all right; don't look frightened. The fact is, I want to speak of +something rather awkward--but it's something you ought to know about, +if you don't already.' + +'I am quite at leisure,' she replied; adding, with a nervous movement +of the head, 'there will be no interruption.' + +'I want to ask you, then, have you seen Mrs. Strangeways lately?' + +'No.' + +'Nor Mrs. Carnaby?' + +'No.' + +'I understand you've broken with them altogether? You don't want +anything more to do with that lot?' + +'I have nothing whatever to do with them,' Alma replied, steadying her +voice to a cold dignity. + +'And I think you're quite right. Now, look here--you've heard, I dare +say, that I'm going to be married? Well, I'm not the kind of fellow to +talk sentiment, as you know. But I've had fair luck in life, and I feel +pretty pleased with myself, and if I can do anybody a friendly +turn--anybody that deserves it--I'm all there. I want you just to think +of me as a friend, and nothing else. You're rather set against me, I +know; but try and forget all about that. Things are changed. After all, +you know, I'm one of the men that people talk about; my name has got +into the "directories of talent", as somebody calls them; and I have a +good deal at stake. It won't do for me to go fooling about any more. +All I mean is, that you can trust me, down to the ground. And there's +nobody I would be better pleased to help in a friendly way than you, +Mrs. Rolfe.' + +Alma was gazing at him in surprise, mingled with apprehension. + +'Please say what you mean. I don't see how you can possibly do me any +service. I have given up all thought of a professional career. + +'I know you have. I'm sorry for it, but it isn't that I want to talk +about. You don't see Mrs. Carnaby, but I suppose you hear of her now +and then?' + +'Very rarely.' + +'You know that she has been taken up by Lady Isobel Barker?' + +'Who is Lady Isobel Barker?' + +'Why, she's a daughter of the Earl of Bournemouth, and she married a +fellow on the Stock Exchange. There are all sorts of amusing stories +about her. I don't mean anything shady--just the opposite. She did a +good deal of slumming at the time when it was fashionable, and started +a home for women of a certain kind--all that sort of thing. Barker is +by way of being a millionaire, and they live in great style; have +Royalties down at Boscombe, and so on. Well, Mrs. Carnaby has got hold +of her. I don't know how she managed it. Just after that affair it +looked as if she would have a bad time. People cut her--you know all +about that?' + +'No, I don't. You mean that they thought----' + +'Just so; they did think.' He nodded and smiled. 'She was all the talk +at the clubs, and, no doubt, in the boudoirs. I wasn't a friend of +hers, you know--I met her now and then, that was all; so I didn't quite +know what to think. But it looked--_didn't_ it?' + +Alma avoided his glance, and said nothing. + +'I shouldn't wonder,' pursued Dymes, 'if she went to Lady Isobel and +talked about her hard case, and just asked for help. At all events, +last May we began to hear of Mrs. Carnaby again. Women who wanted to be +thought smart had quite altered their tone about her. Men laughed, but +some of them began to admit that the case was doubtful. At all events, +Lady Isobel was on her side, and that meant a good deal.' + +'And she went about in society just as if nothing had happened?' + +'No, no. That would have been bad taste, considering where her husband +was. She wasn't seen much, only talked about. She's a clever woman, and +by the time Carnaby's let loose she'll have played the game so well +that things will be made pretty soft for him. I'm told he's a bit of a +globe-trotter, sportsman, and so on. All he has to do is to knock up a +book of travels, and it'll go like wildfire.' + +Alma had pulled to pieces a tassel on her chair. + +'What has all this to do with me?' she asked abruptly. + +'I'm coming to that. You don't know anything about Mrs. Strangeways +either? Well, there _may_ be a doubt about Mrs. Carnaby, but there's +none about Mrs. S. She's just about as bad as they make 'em. I could +tell you things--but I won't. What I want to know is, did you quarrel +with her?' + +'Quarrel! Why should we have quarrelled? What had I to do with her?' + +'Nothing about Redgrave?' asked Dymes, pushing his head forward and +speaking confidentially. + +'What do you mean?' + +'No harm, I assure you--all the other way. I _know_ Mrs. Strangeways, +and I've had a good deal of talk with her lately, and I couldn't help +suspecting you had a reason of your own for getting clear of her. Let +me tell you, first of all, that she's left her house in Porchester +Terrace. My belief is that she and her husband haven't a five-pound +note between them. And the queer thing is, that this has come about +since Redgrave's death.' + +He paused to give his words their full significance. Alma, no longer +disguising her interest, faced him with searching eyes. + +'She's a bad un,' pursued the musician, 'and I shouldn't care to tell +all I think about her life for the last few years. I've seen a good +deal of life myself, you know, and I don't pretend to be squeamish; but +I draw a line for women. Mrs. Strangeways goes a good bit beyond it, as +I know for certain.' + +'What is it to _me_?' said Alma, with tremulous impatience. + +'Why, this much. She is doing her best to harm you, and in a devilish +artful way. She tries to make _me_ believe--and it's certain she says +the same to others--that what happened at Wimbledon was _the result of +a plot between you and Redgrave's housekeeper_!' + +Alma stared at him, her parted lips quivering with an abortive laugh. + +'Do you understand? She says that you were furiously jealous of Mrs +Carnaby, and didn't care what you did to ruin her; that you put +Redgrave's housekeeper up to telling Carnaby lies about his wife.' + +'How long has she been saying this?' + +'I heard it for the first time about two months ago. But let me go on. +The interesting thing is that, at the time of the trial and after it, +she was all the other way. She as good as told me that she had proof +against Mrs. Carnaby; I fancy she told lots of people the same. She +talked as if she hated the woman. But now that Mrs. Carnaby is looking +up--you see?--she's going to play Mrs. Carnaby's game at your expense. +What I should like to know is whether they've done it together?' + +'There can't be much doubt of that,' said Alma, between her teeth. + +'I don't know,' rejoined the other cautiously. 'Have you reason to +think that Mrs. Carnaby would like to injure you?' + +'I'm quite sure she would do so if it benefited herself.' + +'And yet you were fast friends not long ago, weren't you?' asked Dymes, +with a look of genuine curiosity. + +'We don't always know people as well as we think. Where is that woman +living now?--I mean, Mrs. Strangeways.' + +'That's more than I can tell you. She is--or is supposed to be--out of +town. I saw her last just before she left her house.' + +'Is the other in town?' + +'Mrs. Carnaby? I don't know. I was going to say,' Dymes pursued, 'that +the story Mrs. S. has been telling seems to me very clumsy, and that's +why I don't think the other has any hand in it. She seemed to have +forgotten that Redgrave's housekeeper, who was wanted by the police, +wasn't likely to put herself in Carnaby's way--the man she had robbed. +I pointed that out, but she only laughed. "We're not bound to believe," +she said, "all that Carnaby said on his trial."' + +'We are not,' Alma remarked, with a hard smile. + +'You think he dressed things up a bit?' + +'I think,' answered Alma, 'that he may have known more than he told.' + +'That's my idea, too. But never mind; whatever the truth may be, that +woman is doing you a serious injury. I felt you ought to know about it. +People have talked about you a good deal, wondering why on earth you +dropped out of sight so suddenly after that splendid start; and it was +only natural they should connect your name with the Carnaby affair, +knowing, as so many did, that you were a friend of theirs, and of +Redgrave too.' + +'I knew Mr. Redgrave,' said Alma, 'but I was no friend of his.' + +Dymes peered at her. + +'Didn't he interest himself a good deal in your business?' + +'Not more than many other people.' + +'Well, I'm very glad to hear that,' said Dymes, looking about the room. +'I tell you, honestly, that whenever I have a chance of speaking up for +you, I shall do it.' + +'I am very much obliged, but I really don't think it matters what is +said of me. I am not likely ever to meet the people who talk about such +things.' + +She said it in so convincing a tone that Dymes looked at her gravely. + +'I never know any one change so much,' he observed. 'Is it really your +health? No other reason for giving up such magnificent chances?' + +'Of course, I have my reasons. They concern nobody but myself.' + +'I might give a guess, I dare say. Well, you're the best judge, and we +won't say any more about that. But look here--about Mrs. S. and her +scandal. I feel sure, as I said, that she's toadying to Mrs. Carnaby, +and expects to make her gain out of it somehow. Her husband's a +loafing, gambling fellow, and I shouldn't wonder if he gave her the +skip. Most likely she'll have to live by her wits, and we know what +that means in a woman of her kind. She'll be more or less dangerous to +everybody that's worth blackmailing.' + +'You think she had--she was dependent in some way upon Mr. Redgrave?' +asked Alma, in an undertone. + +'I've heard so. Shall I tell you what a woman said who is very likely +to know? Long ago, in the time of her first marriage, she got hold of +something about him that would have made a furious scandal, and he had +to pay for her silence. All gossip; but there's generally a foundation +for that kind of thing. If it's true, no doubt she has been at his +relatives since his death. It doesn't look as if they were disposed to +be bled. Perhaps they turned the tables on her. She has looked sour and +disappointed enough for a long time.' + +'I was just thinking,' said Alma, with an air of serious deliberation, +'whether it would be worth while for _me_ to turn the tables on her, +and prosecute her for slander.' + +'If you take my advice, you'll keep out of that,' replied the other, +with emphasis. 'But another thing has occurred to me. I see your +opinion of Mrs. Carnaby, and no doubt you have good reason for it. Now, +would it be possible to frighten her? Have you'--he peered more +keenly--'any evidence that would make things awkward for Mrs. Carnaby?' + +Alma kept close lips, breathing rapidly. + +'If you _have_,' pursued the other, 'just give her a hint that Mrs +Strangeways had better stop talking. You'll find it effectual, no +doubt.' + +He watched her, and tried to interpret the passion in her eyes. + +'If I think it necessary,' said Alma, and seemed to check herself. + +'No need to say any more. I wished to put you on your guard, that's +all. We've known each other for a longish time, and I've often enough +felt sorry that something didn't come off--you remember when. No good +talking about that; but I shall always be glad if I can be a friend to +you. And, I say, don't think any more about that cheque, there's a good +girl.' + +The note of familiar patronage was more than distasteful to Alma. + +'I shall, of course, send it,' she replied curtly. + +'As you please. Would you like to hear a bit from my new opera? It +isn't every one gets the chance, you know.' + +Quite in his old way, he seated himself at the piano, and ran lightly +through a few choice _morceaux_, exacting praise, and showing himself +vexed because it was not fervent. In spite of her wandering thoughts, +Alma felt the seductiveness of these melodies--their originality, their +grace--and once more she wondered at their coming from the mind of such +a man. + +'Very pretty.' + +'Pretty!' exclaimed the composer scornfully. 'It's a good deal more +than that, and you know it. I don't care--there's somebody else feels +deuced proud of me, and good reason too. Well, ta-ta!' + +There are disadvantages in associating with people whose every word, as +likely as not, may be an insidious falsehood. Thinking over what she +had heard from Dymes, Alma was inclined to believe him; on the other +hand, she knew it to be quite possible that he sought her with some +interested motive. The wise thing, she knew, would be to disregard his +reports, and hold aloof from the world in which they originated. But +she had a strong desire to see Mrs. Strangeways. There might be someone +at the house in Porchester Terrace who could help her to discover its +late tenant. However dangerous the woman's wiles and slanders, an +interview with her could do no harm, and might set at rest a curiosity +long lurking, now feverishly stimulated. With regard to Sibyl, there +could be little doubt that Dymes had heard, or conjectured, the truth. +Sibyl was clever enough to make her perilous reverse a starting-point +for new social conquests. Were there but a hope of confronting her with +some fatal disclosure, and dragging her down, down! + +That cheque must be sent. She would show Harvey the account this +evening, and have done with the unpleasantness of it. Probably he +remembered from time to time that she had never told him how her +business with Dymes was settled. No more duplicity. The money would be +paid, and therewith finis to that dragging chapter of her life. + +Harvey came home at five o'clock, and, as usual, had tea with her. Of +late he had been uneasy about Cecil Morphew, whose story Alma knew; +today he spoke more hopefully. + +'Shall I bring him here tomorrow, and make him stay over Sunday? Sunday +is his bad day, and no wonder. If there were a licensed poison-shop in +London, they'd do a very fair trade on Sundays.' + +'There are the public-houses,' said Alma. + +'Yes; but Morphew doesn't incline that way. The fellow has delicate +instincts, and suffers all the more; so the world is made. I can't help +hoping it may come right for him yet. I have a suspicion that Mrs. +Winter may be on his side; if so, it's only a question of time. I keep +at him like a slave-driver; he _has_ to work whilst I'm there; and he +takes it very good-humouredly. But you mustn't give him music, Alma; he +says he can't stand it.' + +'I'm much obliged to him,' she answered, laughing. + +'You understand well enough.' + +After dinner Alma found her courage and the fitting moment. + +'I have something disagreeable to talk about. Mr. Dymes called this +afternoon, and handed in his _bill_.' + +'His bill? Yes, yes, I remember.--What's all this? Surely you haven't +obliged him to come looking after his money?' + +'It's the first account I have received.' + +Rolfe puckered his face a little as he perused the document, but ended, +as he began, with a smile. In silence he turned to the writing-table, +took out his cheque-book, and wrote. + +'You don't mind its being in my name?' + +'Not at all. Indeed, I prefer it. But I am sorry and ashamed,' she +added in a murmur. + +'Let it be taken to the post at once,' said Rolfe quietly. + +When this was done, Alma made known what Dymes had told her about +Sibyl, speaking in an unconcerned voice, and refraining from any hint +of suspicion or censure. + +'I had heard of it,' said Harvey, with troubled brow, and evidently +wished to say no more. + +'What do you suppose Mr. Carnaby will do?' Alma inquired. + +'Impossible to say. I'm told that the business at Coventry is +flourishing, and no doubt his interest in it remains. I hear, too, that +those Queensland mines are profitable at last. So there'll be no money +troubles. But what he will do----' + +The subject was dropped. + +Harvey had succeeded in hiding his annoyance at the large debt to +Dymes, a sum he could ill afford; but he was glad to have paid it, and +pleased with Alma's way of dismissing it to oblivion. The talk that +followed had turned his mind upon a graver trouble: he sat thinking of +Hugh Carnaby. Dear old Hugh! Not long ago the report ran that his +health was in a bad state. To one who knew him the wonder was that he +kept alive. But the second year drew on. + + + + +CHAPTER 9 + + +On Monday morning, when Harvey and his friend had started for town, and +Hughie was at school, Alma made ready to go out. In many months she had +been to London only two or three times. Thus alone could she subdue +herself. She tried to forget all that lay eastward from Gunnersbury, +rejecting every kind of town amusement, and finding society in a very +small circle of acquaintances who lived almost as quietly as herself. +But this morning she yielded to the impulse made irresistible by +Dymes's visit. In leaving the house, she seemed to escape from an +atmosphere so still and heavy that it threatened her blood with +stagnation; she breathed deeply of the free air, and hastened towards +the railway as if she had some great pleasure before her. + +But this mood had passed long before the end of her journey. Alighting +at Queen's Road, she walked hurriedly to Porchester Terrace, and from +the opposite side of the way had a view of Mrs. Strangeways' house. It +was empty, to let. She crossed, and rang the bell, on the chance that +some caretaker might be within; but no one answered. Her heart +throbbing painfully, she went on a little distance, then stood +irresolute. A cab crawled by; she raised her hand, and gave the +direction, 'Oxford and Cambridge Mansions'. Once here, she had no +difficulty in carrying out her purpose. Passion came to her aid; and +when Sibyl's door opened she could hardly wait for an invitation before +stepping in. + +The drawing-room was changed; it had been refurnished, and looked even +more luxurious than formerly. For nearly ten minutes she had to stand +waiting; seat herself she could not. Then entered Sibyl. + +'Good morning, Mrs. Rolfe. I am glad to see you.' + +The latter sentence was spoken not as a mere phrase of courtesy, but +with intention, with quiet yet unmistakable significance. Sibyl did not +offer her hand; she moved a chair so that its back was to the light, +and sat down very much as she might have done if receiving an applicant +for a 'situation'. + +'You had some reason for coming so early?' + +Alma, who had felt uncertain how this interview would begin, was glad +that she had to meet no pretences of friendship. Her heart burned +within her; she was pallid, and her eyes shone fiercely. + +'I came to ask if you could tell me where Mrs. Strangeways is to be +found?' + +'Mrs. Strangeways?' Sibyl repeated, with cold surprise. 'I know nothing +about her.' + +Feeling in every way at a disadvantage--contrast of costume told in +Sibyl's favour, and it was enhanced by the perfection of her +self-command--Alma could not maintain the mockery of politeness. + +'Of course, you say that,' she rejoined haughtily; 'and, of course, I +don't believe it.' + +'That is nothing to me, Mrs. Rolfe,' remarked the other, smiling. +'Doubtless you have your own reasons for declining to believe me; just +as you have your own reasons for--other things. Your next inquiry?' + +'Hasn't it been rather unwise of you, keeping away from me all this +time?' + +'Unwise? I hardly see your meaning.' + +'It looked rather as if you felt afraid to meet me.' + +'I see; that is your point of view.' Sibyl seemed to reflect upon it +calmly. 'To me, on the other hand, it appeared rather strange that I +neither saw nor heard from you at a time when other friends were +showing their sympathy. I heard that you were ill for a short time, and +felt sorry I was unable to call. Later, you still kept silence. I +didn't know the reason, and could hardly be expected to ask for it. As +for being afraid to meet you--that, I suppose, is a suspicion natural +to your mind. We won't discuss it. Is there any other question you +would like to ask?' + +Humiliated by her inability to reply with anything but a charge she +could not support, and fearing the violence of her emotions if she were +longer subjected to this frigid insult, Alma rose. + +'One moment, if you please,' continued Mrs. Carnaby. 'I was glad that +you had come, as I had half wished for an opportunity of speaking a few +words to you. It isn't a matter of much importance, but I may as well +say, perhaps, that you are indiscreet in your way of talking about me +to your friends. Of course, we haven't many acquaintances in common, +but I happen to have heard the opinion of me which you expressed +to--let me see, some ladies named Leach, whom I once knew slightly. It +seems hardly worth while to take serious steps in the matter--though I +might find it necessary. I only wish, in your own interest, to say a +word of warning. You have behaved, all things considered'--she dwelt on +the phrase--'rather indiscreetly.' + +'I said what I knew to be the truth,' replied Alma, meeting her look +with the satisfaction of defiance. + +Sibyl approached one step. + +'You knew it?' she asked, very softly and deliberately, searching the +passionate face with eyes as piercing as they were beautiful. + +'With certainty.' + +'I used to think you intelligent,' said Sibyl, 'but I fancy you don't +perceive what this "certainty" of yours suggests.' She paused, with a +curling lip. 'Let me put you on your guard. You have very little +command of your primitive feelings, and they bring you into danger. I +should be sorry to think that an unpleasant story I have heard +whispered was anything more than ill-natured scandal, but it's as well +to warn you that _other_ people have a taste for that kind of gossip.' + +'I'm well aware of it,' flashed the listener. 'And that was the very +reason why I came to ask you where Mrs. Strangeways is hiding.' + +'Mrs. Rolfe, you are aware of too many things. In your position I +should be uneasy.' + +'I will leave you to enjoy your _own_ uneasiness,' returned Alma, with +a contemptuous laugh. 'You must have enough of it, without imagining +that of others.' + +She half turned. Sibyl again took one step forward, and spoke with ever +so little tremor in the even voice. + +'You have understood me, I hope?' + +'Oh, quite. You have shown plainly how--afraid you are. Good morning, +Mrs. Carnaby.' + +Baker Street station being so near, Alma was tempted to go straightway +and demand from the Leach sisters an explanation of what she had heard; +they, too, seemed to be behaving treacherously. But she was unwilling +to miss the luncheon hour at home, for Hughie would speak of it to his +father, and so oblige her to make false excuses. Besides, she had +suffered more than enough indignity (though not unavenged!), and it was +better to summon the sisters to her presence. + +On reaching home, she at once sent them an ordinary invitation, but of +the briefest. In the evening she received Dymes's acknowledgment of the +cheque. Next day she wrote to him, a few formal lines, requesting that +he would let her know Mrs. Strangeways' address as soon as he had +discovered it. + +Dora Leach came to Gunnersbury alone. She was in distress and worry, +for her father had fallen ill again, and the doctors doubted whether he +would ever be fit to resume work; it had just dawned upon Dora that the +breadwinner of the family deserved rather more consideration than he +had been wont to receive, and that his death might involve unpleasant +consequences for those dependent upon him. To Alma's questioning she +replied frankly and with self-reproach. It was true that she had +whispered her friend's suspicions of Mrs. Carnaby, but only to one +person, and in strictest confidence. Neither she nor Gerda had met Mrs +Carnaby, and how the whisper could have reached Sibyl's ears was +inconceivable to her. + +'It doesn't matter in the least,' said Alma, finally. 'To tell you the +truth, I'm not sorry.' + +'Why, that's just what I thought!' exclaimed Dora, with sudden clearing +of her countenance. + +In a fortnight or so there came a note from Dymes, written at Brussels. +He had ascertained that Mrs. Strangeways was somewhere on the +Continent, but as yet he could not succeed in 'running her down'. Let +Mrs. Rolfe depend upon his zeal in this search, as in any other matter +in which he could be of use to her. Unfortunately, this envelope came +under Harvey's eyes, and Alma, knowing he had seen it, felt obliged to +speak. + +'Mr. Dymes refuses to believe that I shall never play again in public,' +she remarked, putting down his letter, as carelessly as possible, by +her plate at breakfast. + +'Does he pester you? If so, it might be better for me to----' + +'Oh dear, no! I can manage my own correspondence, Harvey, thank you.' + +Her tone of slight petulance was due to fear that he might ask to see +the letter, and it had its effect. But Alma's heart sank at the +deception, and her skill in practising it. Was it impossible to become +what she desired to be, an honest woman! Only yesterday Harvey had +spoken to her with vexation of a piece of untruthfulness in Hughie, and +had begged her to keep a watch upon the child's habit in this respect. +And she had promised, with much earnestness, much concern. + +There are women who can breathe only in the air of lies and of +treachery. Alma rebelled against the fate which made her life +dishonourable. Fate--she declared--not the depravity of her own heart. +From the dark day that saw her father's ruin, she had been condemned to +a struggle with circumstances. She meant honestly; she asked no more +than the free exercise of instincts nature had given her; but destiny +was adverse, and step by step had brought her into a position so false, +so hopeless, that she wondered at her strength in living on. + +Hughie had begun to learn the maps of countries, and prided himself on +naming them as he turned over an atlas. One day, about this time, she +looked over his shoulder and saw the map of Italy. + +'Those are lakes,' said the child, pointing north. 'Tell me their +names, Mother.' + +But she was silent. Her eye had fallen upon Garda, and at the head of +the lake was a name which thrilled her memory. What if she had gone to +Riva? Suddenly, and for the first time, she saw it as a thing that +might have happened; not as a mere dark suggestion abhorrent to her +thought. Had she known the world a little better, it might have been. +Then, how different her life! Pleasure, luxury, triumph; for she had +proved herself capable of triumphing. He, the man of money and +influence, would have made it his pride to smooth the way for her. And +perhaps never a word against her reputation; or, if whispers, did she +not know by this time how indulgent society can be to its brilliant +favourites? + +As it was: a small house at Gunnersbury, a baffled ambition, a life of +envy, hatred, fear, suffered in secret, hidden by base or paltry +subterfuge. A husband whom she respected, whose love she had never +ceased to desire, though, strange to say, she knew not whether she +loved him. Only death could part them; but how much better for him and +for her if they had never met! Their thoughts and purposes so unlike; +he, with his heart and mind set on grave, quiet, restful things, hating +the world's tumult, ever hoping to retire beyond its echo; she, her +senses crying for the delight of an existence that loses itself in +whirl and glare. + +In a crowded drawing-room she had heard someone draw attention to +her--'the daughter of Bennet Frothingham'. That was how people thought +of her, and would it not have been wiser if she had so thought of +herself? Daughter of a man who had set all on a great hazard; who had +played for the world's reward, and, losing, flung away his life. What +had _she_ to do with domestic virtues, and the pleasures of a dull, +decorous circle? Could it but come over again, she would accept the +challenge of circumstance, which she had failed to understand; accept +the scandal and the hereditary shame; welcome the lot cast for her, +and, like her father, play boldly for the great stakes. His widow might +continue to hold her pious faith in him, and refuse to believe that his +name merited obloquy; his child knew better. She had mistaken her path, +lost the promise of her beauty and her talent, led astray by the feeble +prejudice of those who have neither one nor the other. Too late, and +worse than idle now, to recognise it. She would be a good woman, rule +her little house, bring up her child, and have no will but her +husband's. + +House-ruling was no easy matter. Things did not go as she wished; the +servants were inefficient, sometimes refractory, and she loathed the +task of keeping them up to their duties. Insomnia began to trouble her +again, and presently she had recourse to the forbidden +sleeping-draught. Not regularly, but once a week or so, when the long +night harried her beyond endurance. Rolfe did not suspect it, for she +never complained to him. Winter was her bad time. In the spring her +health would improve, as usual, and then she would give up the habit. + +At Christmas the Langlands had the customary visit from their relative, +Mr. Thistlewood, who renewed his acquaintance with Alma. At their first +meeting she was struck by his buoyant air, his animated talk. A week +later, he called in the afternoon. Two ladies happened to be with Alma, +and they stayed a long time; but Thistlewood, who comported himself +rather oddly, saying little and sometimes neglecting a remark addressed +to him, stayed yet longer. When he was alone with his hostess, he took +a chair near to her, bent forward, and said, smiling---- + +'You remember our talk about marriage on a minute income?' + +'I do, very well.' + +'I have found someone who isn't afraid of it.' + +'You have? The same person who formerly _was_?' + +'No; she was not afraid of the income, but of me. I couldn't be +surprised, though it hit me hard. Time has spoken for me.' + +Harvey was dining in town. He came back with vexatious news about Cecil +Morphew, who neglected business, looked ill, and altogether seemed in a +bad way. As he talked, he began to notice that Alma regarded him with +brighter and happier eyes than for many a day. + +'Why does it amuse you?' he asked, stopping in his narrative. + +'It doesn't; I'm as sorry as you are. But I have a surprise for you.' + +'A pleasant one, this time, I see.' + +'Mrs. Abbott is going to marry Mr. Thistlewood.' + +She watched the effect of her words, and for an instant felt the old +pang, the old bitterness. But Harvey's confusion of feeling soon +passed, giving way to a satisfaction that could not be mistaken. + +'Who has told you?' + +'The happy man himself.' + +'I am glad--heartily glad! But I didn't think it would interest you so +much.' + +'Oh, women--marriages----!' + +She threw a pretty scorn upon herself. + +'Yes, that's good news. They will suit each other. But she'll give up +her school, and that's a nuisance.' + +'There are others as good.' + +'But not here. Another removal, I suppose.--When is it to be?' + +'Not till the Easter holidays.' + +They were in the library. Harvey began to fill his pipe, and nothing +more was said until he had drawn a few meditative puffs. + +'Another removal,' then escaped him, with half a groan. + +'Why should you care?' asked Alma thoughtfully. 'You don't like this +place.' + +'As well as any other. It's convenient for town.' + +'Do you really think of going on in that business, which you detest?' + +'It has brought in a little money, and may--ought to--bring more. But +if Morphew goes down----' + +Alma glanced at him, and said timidly---- + +'You are going to Greystone at Easter.' + +'We shall all go. What of that?' + +'Haven't you'--she spoke with an effort--'sometimes thought you would +like to live there?' + +'Great heavens--Alma!' + +He stared at her in humorous astonishment, then slowly shook his head. +How could _she_ live in such a place as Greystone? And what on earth +did she mean by disturbing him with such a suggestion? But Alma, +gravely and repeatedly, assured him that she could live there very +well; that in all likelihood she would be much more contented there +than here. + +'I should bring out my violin again, and the Greystone people would +admire me. There's a confession--to prove that I am in earnest. I can't +conquer the world; I don't wish it; that's all over. But I should find +it pleasant to have a reputation in Greystone--I should indeed.' + +Harvey sighed, and could not look at her. + +'And Hughie,' she continued, 'would go to the Grammar-School. You know +how you would like that. And living there is cheap; we might keep our +horse again.--Don't say anything now, but think about it.' + +He raised his eyes, and fixed them upon her with a look of infinite +tenderness and gratitude. It was Alma now who sighed, but not audibly. + +Before Thistlewood went north again, Harvey enjoyed long talks with +him. Mary Abbott he saw only in the presence of other people. But on an +evening in February, when Alma was at the Langlands' and he had +promised to call for her at ten o'clock, he left home an hour earlier +and walked past Mrs. Abbott's house. A light in the window of her +sitting-room showed that Mary was at home. After a turn or two +backwards and forwards, he went up to the door and knocked. A very +young servant took his name to her mistress, and then admitted him. + +'Will you let me answer your letter personally?' he said, as Mrs. +Abbott welcomed him in the room where she sat alone. + +She had written about Minnie Wager, begging that he would in future +cease to contribute to the girl's support, and be responsible only for +the boy. In her new home there would be no need of a servant; she and +Minnie would do the housework together. Impossible, she wrote, to speak +of his kindness both to her and the children. For Minnie, who might +henceforth be looked upon as self-supporting, he must no longer be +taxed. The child owed him every hope in her life; let him be satisfied +with what he had done so generously. + +Of these things they talked for a few minutes. It was easy to see how +great a change had befallen Mary Abbott's outlook upon life. She was +younger by several years, yet not like herself of that earlier time; +much gentler, much sweeter in face and word. Harvey observed her with +keen pleasure, and, becoming aware of his gaze, his smile, she blushed +like a girl. + +'Mr. Rolfe--I am sure you feel that I am deserting my post.' + +'To be sure you are. I shall always owe you a grudge for it.' + +'I thought of it all--of Hughie and the others. I didn't know how I +should ever face you.' + +''Twas a shameless thing. And yet I can find it in my heart to forgive +you. You are so ingenuous about it.' + +Mary looked up again. + +'What shall you do--about Hughie?' + +'Oh, there's a great scheme on foot. Alma suggests that we shall go and +live at Greystone. It tempts me.' + +'That it must, indeed! I know how you would like it.' + +'We shouldn't be so very far apart then--an hour's journey or so. You +would come to us, and we to you.' + +'Delightful!' + +They had not much more to say, but each was conscious of thought in the +other's mind that supplemented their insufficient phrases. As they +shook hands, Mary seemed trying to speak. The lamplight made a glimmer +in her eyes, and their lids drooped as she said at length---- + +'I am so glad that you like each other.' + +'He's a splendid fellow,' replied Rolfe joyously. 'I think no end of +him.' + +'And he of you--for I have told him everything.' + +Then Harvey quitted the house, and walked about under the starry sky +until it was time to call for Alma. + + + + +CHAPTER 10 + + +Yet once again did Alma hypnotise her imagination with a new ideal of +life. Her talk was constantly of Greystone. She began a correspondence +with Mrs. Morton, who did her best to encourage all pleasant +anticipations--careful the while, at her husband's bidding and Harvey's +too, not to exaggerate the resources of Greystone for a mind and temper +such as Alma's. Of course the little town had its musical circle, in +which Mrs. Rolfe's talent would find an appreciative reception. +Touching on this point to her correspondent, Alma remarked, with +emphasised modesty, that she must _not_ be regarded as a professional +violinist; it would be better, perhaps, if nothing were said about her +'rather audacious experiment' in London. Meanwhile, a suitable house +was being looked for. There need be no hurry; Midsummer was the +earliest possible date for removal, and a few months later might prove +more convenient. + +At Easter came Mary Abbott's wedding, which was celebrated as quietly +as might be. Alma had done her utmost to atone for bygone slights and +coldness; she and Mary did not love each other, nor ever could, and for +that reason they were all the more affectionate at this agitating time. +When all was over, the Rolfes set forth on their visit to Greystone. +Harvey could not look forward to complete enjoyment of the holiday, for +by this time Cecil Morphew had succumbed to his old habits of tossing +indolence, and only pretended to look after his business. If Harvey +withdrew, the shop must either be closed or pass into other hands. +Pecuniary loss was the least vexatious part of the affair. Morphew, +reckless in the ruin of his dearest hope, would seek excitement, try +once more to enrich himself by gambling, and so go down to the depths +whence there is no rescue. As a last hope, Harvey had written to +Henrietta Winter a long letter of all but passionate appeal; for answer +he received a few lines, infinitely sorrowful, but of inflexible +resolve. 'In the sight of God, Mr. Morphew already has a wife. I should +be guilty of a crime if I married him.' With a desperate ejaculation, +Rolfe crushed up the sheet of paper, and turned to other things. + +Whilst she was at Greystone, Alma heard again from Felix Dymes, his +letter having been forwarded. He wrote that Mrs. Strangeways was about +to return to England, and that before long she might be heard of at a +certain hotel in London. As this letter had escaped Harvey's notice, +Alma was spared the necessity of shaping a fiction about it. Glad of +this, and all but decided to put Mrs. Strangeways utterly out of her +life and mind, she sent no answer. + +But when she had been back again for some weeks at Gunnersbury; when a +house at Greystone was taken (though it would not be ready for them +till Michaelmas); when she was endeavouring, day after day, to teach +Hughie, and to manage her servants, and to support a wavering hope, +there arrived one morning a letter from Mrs. Strangeways. It was dated +from the hotel which Dymes had mentioned, and it asked Alma to call +there. A simple, friendly invitation, suggestive of tea and chat. Alma +did not speak of it, and for an hour or two thought she could disregard +it altogether. But that evening she talked to Harvey of shopping she +had to do in town, and the following afternoon she called upon Mrs. +Strangeways. + +A lift carried her to the topmost, or all but topmost, storey of the +vast hotel, swarming, murmurous. She entered a small sitting-room, +pretentiously comfortless, and from a chair by the open window--for it +was a day of hot sunshine--Mrs. Strangeways rose to greet her; quite in +the old way, smiling with head aside, cooing rapidly an effusive +welcome. Alma looked round to see that the door was shut; then, +declining the offered hand, she said coldly---- + +'You are mistaken if you think I have come as a friend.' + +'Oh! I am so sorry to hear you say that. Do sit down, and let me hear +all about it. I have so looked forward to seeing you.' + +'I am only here to ask what good it can do you to talk ill of me.' + +'I really don't understand. I am quite at a loss.' + +'But I know for certain that you have tried to injure me by telling +extraordinary falsehoods.' + +Mrs. Strangeways regarded her with an air of gently troubled +deprecation. + +'Oh, you have been grievously misled. Who can have told you this?' + +'The name doesn't matter. I have no doubt of the fact.' + +'But at least you will tell me what I am supposed to have said.' + +Alma hesitated, and only after several interchanges of question and +answer did the full extent of her accusation appear. Thereupon Mrs +Strangeways smiled, as if with forbearance. + +'Now I understand. But I have been cruelly misrepresented. I heard such +a rumour, and I did my best to contradict it. I heard it, +unfortunately, more than once.' + +Again Alma found herself in conflict with an adroitness, a +self-possession, so much beyond her own, that the sense of being +maliciously played with goaded her into rage. + +'No one but yourself could ever have started such a story!' + +'You mean,' sounded the other voice, still soft, though not quite so +amiable, 'that I was the only person who knew----' + +And there Mrs. Strangeways paused, as if discreetly. + +'Knew? Knew what?' + +'Only that you had reason for a little spite against your dear friend.' + +'Suppose it was so,' exclaimed Alma, remembering too well her last +conversation with this woman. 'Whatever you knew, or thought you knew, +about me--and it was little enough--you have been making use of it +disgracefully.' + +'You say I knew very little,' put in the other, turning a ring upon her +hand; 'but you will admit that it was enough to excite my curiosity. +May I not have taken trouble to learn more?' + +'Any amount of trouble would have taught you nothing; there was nothing +to discover. And that you know as well as I do.' + +Mrs. Strangeways moved her head, as if in good-natured acquiescence. + +'Don't let us be harsh with each other, my dear. We have both had our +worries and trials in consequence of that unfortunate affair. You, I +can see, have gone through a good deal; I assure you, so have I. But +oughtn't you to remember that our misfortunes were caused by the same +person? If I----' + +'Your misfortunes are nothing to me. And I shouldn't think you would +care to talk about them.' + +'Surely I might say the same to you, my dear Alma? Is there very much +to choose between us?' + +Alma flushed with resentment, but had no word ready on her parched +tongue. The other went on in an unbroken flow of mocking good humour. + +'We ought to be the best of friends. I haven't the least wish to do you +harm, and nothing would please me better than to gratify your little +feeling against a certain person. I may be able to manage that. Let me +tell you something--of course in the strictest confidence.' Her voice +was playful for a moment. 'I have been trying to find someone--you know +who I mean--who mysteriously disappeared. That interests you, I see. +It's very difficult; such people don't let themselves be dropped upon +by chance a second time. But, do you know, I have something very like a +clue, at last. Yes'--she nodded familiarly--'I have.' + +In vain Alma tried to lock her lips. + +'What if you find her?' + +'Do you forget that someone will very soon be at large again, and that +someone's wife, a very clever woman, counts on deceiving the world as +she deceived _him_?' + +'You are sure she _did_ deceive him?' + +Mrs. Strangeways laughed. + +'You are acute, my dear. You see the puzzle from all sides. But I won't +go into that just now. What I want to show you is, that our interests +are the same. We should both dearly like to see a certain person shown +up. I begin to see my way to do it very thoroughly. It would delight +you if I were at liberty to tell what I actually _have_ got hold of, +but you must wait a little. My worst difficulty, now, is want of money. +People have to be bought, you know, and I am not rich----. Don't you +think you could help a little?' + +The question came out with smooth abruptness, accompanied by a look +which startled the hearer. + +'I? I have no money.' + +'What an idea!' + +'I tell you I haven't a penny of my own!' + +'My dear Alma, you have obliging bankers. One of them is doing very +well indeed. You didn't go to his wedding?' + +Alma felt a chill of fear. The woman's eyes seemed to cast a net about +her, and to watch her struggle as it tightened. + +'I don't understand you. I have nothing to do with your plots.' + +She strung her muscles and stood up; but Mrs. Strangeways, scarcely +moving, still looked at her with baleful directness. + +'It would be a shame to lose our sport for want of a little money. I +must ask you to help, really.' + +'I can't--and won't.' + +'I feel sure you will--rather than have anything happen. You are +leading, I hear, a most exemplary life; I should be so sorry to disturb +it. But really, you _must_ help in our undertaking.' + +There was a very short silence. + +'A week, even a fortnight hence, will do. No great sum; two or three +hundred pounds. We won't say any more about it; I depend upon you. In a +fortnight's time will do.' + +'Do you imagine,' exclaimed Alma, on a high, quivering note, 'that I am +in your power?' + +'Hush! It is very dangerous to talk like that in a hotel.--Think over +what I have said. You will find me here. Think, and remember. You will +be quite satisfied with the results, but your help is indispensable.' + +Therewith Mrs. Strangeways turned to the open window. Looking at her +elaborately plaited yellow hair, her thin neck, her delicate fingers +just touching the long throat, Alma felt instinct of savagery; in a +flash of the primitive mind, she saw herself spring upon her enemy, +tear, bite, destroy. The desire still shook her as she stood outside in +the corridor, waiting to descend. And in the street she walked like a +somnambulist, with wide eyes, straight on. Curious glances at length +recalled her to herself; she turned hurriedly from the crowded highway. + +Before reaching home, she had surveyed her position, searched her +memory. 'The wretch is counting on my weakness. Knowing she can do +nothing, she thinks I shall be frightened by the threat. Money? And +perhaps all she said only a lie to tempt me! Let her do her worst--and +that will be nothing.' + +And by this she held, letting the days go by. The fortnight passed. She +was ill with apprehension, with suspense; but nothing happened. Three +weeks, and nothing happened. Then Alma laughed, and went about the +house singing her deliverance. + +On that day, Mrs. Strangeways sat talking with Mrs. Carnaby, in the +latter's drawing-room. Her manner was deferential, but that of a +friend. Sibyl, queening it at some distance, had the air of conferring +a favour as she listened. + +'I haven't the least doubt that I shall soon lay my hand upon her. I +have had an answer to my last advertisement.' + +'Then let me see it,' replied Sibyl coldly. + +'Impossible. I put myself in a position of much danger. I dare not +trust even you, Mrs. Carnaby.' + +'Very well. You know my promise. Get her into the hands of the police, +and your reward is waiting.' + +'But I may lose my opportunity, for want of money. If you would trust +me with only--say a hundred pounds.' + +'Not a farthing. I didn't ask you to undertake this. If you do it, well +and good, I will pay you. But nothing till then.' + +Mrs. Strangeways perused the carpet. + +'Anyone else,' she murmured, 'might be tempted to think that you didn't +really care to have her caught.' + +'You may be tempted to think exactly what you like,' answered Sibyl, +with fine scorn. + +The other scrutinised her, with an eye of anxious uncertainty. + +'Have you thought, again, of taking any steps in the other matter?' + +'Have you anything to show?' + +'No. But it can be obtained. A charge of slander could be brought +against her at any moment. If you prefer libel, it is merely taking a +little trouble.' + +Sibyl reflected. + +'There is no hurry. I will pay you, as I said, for any trustworthy +evidence--of any kind. You bring me none.--Does she come to see you?' + +'Occasionally.' + +'And--have you succeeded in making _her_ pay?' asked Sibyl, with a curl +of the lips. + +Mrs. Strangeways merely smiled. After a brief pause, Sibyl looked at +her watch, and rose. + +'I have an engagement. And--pray don't trouble to come again unless you +have really something to come for. I can't pretend to have any taste +for this kind of conversation. It really matters very little; we know +that woman will be caught some day, and I shall have the pleasure of +prosecuting her for stealing my jewellery and things. The other +person--perhaps she is a little beneath my notice.' + +She rang the bell, and Mrs. Strangeways, having no alternative, +slightly bent her head and withdrew. + +Mrs. Carnaby had no engagement; she was quite at leisure, and, as usual +nowadays, spent her leisure in thought. She did not read much, and not +at all in the solid books which were to be seen lying about her rooms; +but Lady Isobel Barker, and a few other people, admired her devotion to +study. Certainly one or two lines had begun to reveal themselves on +Sibyl's forehead, which might possibly have come of late reading and +memory overstrained; they might also be the record of other +experiences. Her beauty was more than ever of the austere type; in +regarding her, one could have murmured-- + + Chaste a' the icicle + That's curded by the frost from purest snow, + And hangs on Dian's temple. + +But in privacy Sibyl did not look her best. Assuredly not after the +withdrawal of Mrs. Strangeways, when her lips, sneering away their fine +contour, grew to an ugly hardness, and her eyes smalled themselves in a +vicious intensity of mental vision. + + + + +CHAPTER 11 + + +Major Carnaby, Hugh's brother, was now in England. A stranger to the +society in which Mrs. Carnaby had lived, he knew nothing of the gossip +at one time threatening her with banishment from polite circles. An +honest man, and taking for granted the honesty of his kinsfolk, he put +entire faith in Hugh's story, despatched to him by letter a few days +after the calamitous event at Wimbledon. On arriving in London, the +good Major was pleased, touched, flattered by the very warm welcome +with which his sister-in-law received him. Hitherto they had seen +hardly anything of each other; but since the disaster their +correspondence had been frequent, and Sibyl's letters were so brave, +yet so pathetic, that Major Carnaby formed the highest opinion of her. +She did not pose as an injured woman; she never so much as hinted at +the activity of slanderous tongues; she spoke only of Hugh, the dear, +kind, noble fellow, whom fate had so cruelly visited The favourable +impression was confirmed as soon as they met. The Major found that this +beautiful, high-hearted creature had, among her many virtues, a sound +capacity for business; no one could have looked after her husband's +worldly interests with more assiduity and circumspection. He saw that +Hugh had been quite right in assuring him (at Sibyl's instance) that +there was no need whatever for him to neglect his military duties and +come home at an inconvenient time. Hugh's affairs were in perfect +order; all he would have to think about was the recovery of health and +mental tranquillity. + +To this end, they must decide upon some retreat in which he might pass +a quiet month or two. That dear and invaluable friend, to whom Sibyl +owed 'more than she could tell' (much more than she could tell to Major +Carnaby), was ready with a delightful suggestion. Lady Isobel (that is +to say, her auriferous husband, plain Mr. Barker) had a little house in +the north, cosy amid moor and mountain, and she freely offered it. +There Hugh and his wife might abide in solitude until the sacred +Twelfth, when religious observance would call thither a small company +of select pilgrims. The offer was gratefully accepted. Major Carnaby +saw no reason for hesitating, and agreed with Sibyl that the plan +should be withheld from Hugh until the last moment, as a gratifying +surprise. By some means, however, on the day before Hugh's release, +there appeared in certain newspapers a little paragraph making known to +the public this proof of Lady Isabel's friendship for Sibyl and her +husband. + +'It's just as well,' said Mrs. Carnaby, after appearing vexed for a +moment. 'People will be saved the trouble of calling here. But it +really is mysterious how the papers get hold of things.' + +She was not quite sure that Hugh would approve her arrangement, and the +event justified this misgiving. Major Carnaby was to bring his brother +to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, and, if possible, all were to travel +northward that same day. But Hugh, on hearing what was proposed, made +strong objection: he refused to accept the hospitality of people quite +unknown to him; why, with abundant resources of their own, should they +become indebted to strangers? So vehement was his resistance, and so +pitiful the state of body and mind which showed itself in his all but +hysterical excitement, that Sibyl pretended to abandon the scheme. +Today they would remain here, talking quietly; by tomorrow they might +have decided what to do. + +At ten o'clock next morning, when Sibyl had been up for an hour, Hugh +still lay asleep. She went softly into the room, lighted by the sun's +yellow glimmer through blind and lace curtains, and stood looking at +him, her husband. To him she had given all the love of which she was +capable; she had admired him for his strength and his spirit, had liked +him as a companion, had prized the flattery of his ardent devotion, his +staunch fidelity. To have married him was, of course, a mistake, not +easy of explanation in her present mind; she regretted it, but with no +bitterness, with no cruel or even unkind thought. His haggard features, +branded with the long rage of captivity; his great limbs, wasted to +mere bone and muscle, moved her indignant pity. Poor dear old boy! + +He believed her; he still believed her. She saw that these two years of +misery had made his faith in her something like a religion; he found it +his one refuge from despair. 'But for that, Sibyl, I shouldn't be alive +now!' She had known self-reproach; now again it touched her slightly, +passingly--poor old boy! But unfaithful to him? To call _that_ +unfaithfulness? The idea was too foolish. + +Her fears were all outlived. She had dared the worst, and daring was +grown an easy habit. But in the life that lay before them, _her_ +judgment, _her_ ambitions, must prevail and direct. Yesterday she had +no course save yielding; today her rule must begin. + +Hugh was stirring. He groaned, and threw out one of his arms; muttered, +as if angrily. She touched him, and on the instant he awoke. + +'Sibyl? Good God! that's a queer thing--I dreamt that yesterday was a +dream, and that I had woke up to find myself---- Did you ever do +that--dream you were dreaming?' + +She stroked his head, laughing playfully. + +'You've had a good long night. Don't you feel better? Shall I bring you +some breakfast here?' + +'No; I must get up. What's the time? Miles will be coming.' + +Sibyl knew that the Major would not be here until two o'clock; but she +said nothing, and left him to dress. + +On the breakfast-table were delicacies to tempt his palate, but Hugh +turned from them. He ate for a few minutes only, without appetite, and, +as on the day before, Sibyl was annoyed by the strange rudeness with +which he fed himself; he seemed to have forgotten the habits of +refinement at table. Afterwards he lighted a cigar, but soon threw it +aside; tobacco made him sick. In the drawing-room he moved aimlessly +about, blundering now and then against a piece of furniture, and +muttering a curse. The clothes he wore, out of his old wardrobe, hung +loose about him; he had a stoop in the shoulders. + +'Sibyl, what are we going to do?' + +For this she had waited. She sat looking at him with a compassionate +smile. It was an odd thing if this poor broken-down man could not be +made subservient to her will. + +'I still think, dear boy, that we ought to accept Lady Isobel's +invitation.' + +A nervous paroxysm shook him. + +'Damn Lady Isobel! I thought that was done with.' + +'I don't think you would speak of her like that, Hugh, if you knew all +her kindness to me. I couldn't tell you all yesterday. May I now? Or +shall I only irritate you?' + +'What is it? Of course, I don't want you to offend her. But I suppose +she has common-sense?' + +'More than most women. There's no fear of offending her. I have another +reason. Come and sit quietly by me, and let us talk as we used to do. +Do you know, dear, it's a good thing for me that I had powerful +friends; I needed all their help against my enemies.' + +'What enemies?' + +'Have you forgotten what you yourself said, and felt so strongly, at +that time--what a danger I was exposed to when we determined to tell +the whole truth? You knew what some people would say.' + +'They've said it, no doubt; and what harm has it done you? Tell me a +name, and if it's a man----' + +'Don't! I can't bear to see that look on your face, Hugh. You could do +nothing but endless harm, trying to defend me that way. I have lived it +down, thinking of you even more than of myself. There was a time when I +almost despaired; people are so glad to think evil. If I had been a +weak woman, I should have run away and hidden myself; and then +everybody would have said, "I told you so." But I had to think of you, +and that gave me strength. What could I do? Truth alone is no good +against the world; but truth with a handle to its name and with a +million of money--that's a different thing. It was life or death, dear +boy, and I had to fight for it. So I went to Lady Isobel Barker. I only +knew her by name. She, of course, knew _me_ by name, and cold enough +she was when I got admitted to her. But half an hour's talk--and I had +won! She was my friend; she would stand by me, and all the world should +know it. Stay! The worst is over, but there's still a good deal to be +done. It has to be known that my friends are your friends also. There +was a paragraph in the papers yesterday, saying that you and your wife +were going as Lady Isobel's guests to that house of hers. She did that +for me. And now, do you think we ought to seem even seem--to slight her +kindness?' Hugh was turning about, chafing impotently. + +'Then you mean to go on here?' he asked, with half-appealing, +half-resentful eyes. + +Sibyl made a gesture of entreaty. + +'What other life is there for me? What would you have me do?' + +His arms fell; for a minute he sat with head hanging, his eyes fixed +and blank like those of a drunken man. Then, as if goaded suddenly---- + +'Who are these enemies you talk about?' + +Sibyl's look wandered; her lips moved in hesitancy. + +'Name one of them.' + +'Isn't it better to try to forget them?' + +'Women, I suppose?--You say you haven't seen Rolfe. Has _he_ heard this +talk about you, do you think?' + +'No doubt,' she answered distantly. 'Isn't he coming to see you?' + +'If he saw that in the papers, he won't think I am here. But I should +like to see him. I've a good mind to telegraph--but I don't know his +address. Yes--I forgot--there's a letter from him somewhere.' + +'I know the address,' said Sibyl, in the same tone of reserve. + +'I should like to see old Rolfe--poor old Rolfe.' + +'Why do you pity him?' + +'Oh--only a way of speaking. You know the address, you say? Has he +written? Has _she_ written?' + +'Oh no!' + +'You haven't seen her?' + +Sibyl evaded the question. + +'Doesn't it seem to you rather strange,' she said, 'that the Rolfes +should keep away from me--never call or write?' + +Hugh's lips were set. When she repeated her inquiry more urgently, he +gave a peevish answer. + +'You cared very little about her at the last. And Rolfe--when a man +marries--No, I won't see him just yet. I'll write to him when we're +away.' + +'It wouldn't astonish you'--Sibyl spoke in a thin voice, not quite +under her control--'if you heard that Mrs. Rolfe had done her best and +her worst against me?' + +'She? Against you?' + +'I don't know that it matters. You said "poor Rolfe". I should fancy he +is poor, in every sense. As I have said so much, it's better to let you +know all; it will show you that I am not exaggerating what I have gone +through. People knew, of course, that she had called herself a friend +of mine; and just then she came into notice--just enough to give her +opportunities of being dangerous. Well, I heard before long that she +was slandering me to all her acquaintances. Oh, _she_ knew all about +me! It was lucky for me I had a credulous husband. And it still goes +on. She came here not long ago; yes, she came. She told me that she +knew I was afraid of her, and she threatened me.' + +Hugh sat staring like a paralytic. + +'_She_? Rolfe's wife did this?' + +'Her motive, I don't know. Pure hatred, it seemed. But I've had a +strange fancy. She talked about a woman I used to know very slightly, a +Mrs. Strangeways, and seemed to be in fear of her; she said that woman +and I were circulating stories about her. And I have wondered--Why are +you looking like that?' + +'She must be mad.--I'll tell you. I only wish I had told you before. +She was _there_ that night--at Redgrave's. But for _her_ it would never +have happened. I saw him standing with her, by the window of his +room--that is, I saw a woman, but it wasn't light enough to know her; +and all at once she ran back, through the open French windows into the +house; and then I rushed in and found her there--it was Rolfe's wife.' + +'Why did you keep this from me?' + +'She implored me--vowed there was nothing wrong--cried and begged. And +I thought of Rolfe. I see now that I ought to have told him. The woman +must be crazy to have behaved like this to you.' + +Sibyl's face shone. + +'Now I understand. This explains her. Oh, my dear, foolish husband! +After all, you did _not_ tell the whole truth. To spare your friend's +feelings, you risked your wife's reputation. And I have been at the +mercy of that woman's malice! Don't you think, Hugh, that I have had to +bear a little more than I deserved? Your distrust and what came of +it--I have long forgiven you all that. But this--wasn't it rather too +hard upon me?' + +He flinched under her soft reproach. + +'I couldn't be sure, Sibyl. Perhaps it was true--perhaps she was only +there----' + +A flash of scorn from her eyes struck him into silence. + +'Perhaps? And perhaps she meant no harm in lying about me! You will +send at once for Rolfe and tell him.' + +Hugh moved from her, and stood with his face averted. + +'Can you hesitate for a moment?' she asked severely + +'Why need I tell Rolfe? Send for _her_, and say what you like. Won't +that be enough? It's awful to think of telling Rolfe. Don't ask me do +to that, Sibyl.' + +He approached her, voice and attitude broken to humility. Sibyl grew +only more resolute. + +'You must tell him. Don't you owe it me?' + +'By God, I can't do that!--I can't do that! Have her here, before us +both. Shame her and threaten her as much as you like; but don't tell +Rolfe. It's like you and me, Sibyl. Suppose she has really done no +wrong, and we put that thought into his mind?' + +'Have you lost all your senses?' she exclaimed passionately. 'Must I +keep reminding you what she has done to _me_? Is a woman that will +behave in that way likely to be innocent? Is her husband to be kept in +the dark about her, deceived, cheated? I can't understand you. If you +are too cowardly to do your plain duty--Hugh, how am I talking? You +make me forget myself. But you know that it's impossible to spare your +friend. It wouldn't be just to him. Here's a form; write the telegram +at once.' + +'Write it yourself,' he answered, in a low, nerveless voice, moving +away again. + +It was quickly done, though Sibyl paused to reflect after the first +word or two. The message ran thus---- + +'I want to see you and Mrs. Rolfe before going away. Please both come +this evening if possible. If you cannot, reply when.' + +Without showing what she had written, she left the room, and despatched +a servant to the post-office. + + + + +CHAPTER 12 + + +As a last resource against Cecil Morphew's degeneration, Harvey had +given up his daily work in Westminster Bridge Road. 'I shall go no +more,' he wrote. 'I am quite unable to manage the business alone, and +if you won't attend to it, it must smash. But please to remember that I +took a share on certain conditions.' For a week he had stayed at home. +Morphew did not reply, but the fact that no appeals arrived from the +trusty shopman seemed to prove that this last step had been effectual. +This morning Rolfe was half-minded to go up to town, but decided that +he had better not. Thus the telegram from Oxford and Cambridge Mansions +came into his hands at about twelve o'clock. + +Alma, after giving Hughie his morning's lesson, had gone out with him +for an hour. As soon as she returned, Harvey showed her the message. + +'Why does he want both of us to go?' he asked uneasily. + +Alma merely shook her head, as if the matter interested her very +little, and turned to leave the room again. + +'I think I had better go alone,' said Harvey, his eyes on the telegram. + +'Just as you like,' answered Alma, and withdrew. + +She spent the afternoon much as usual. Rolfe had said at lunch that he +would go to Carnaby's immediately after dinner. Mrs. Langland and one +of her daughters called; they thought Mrs. Rolfe rather absent-minded, +but noticed nothing else. At dinner-time she said carelessly to her +husband---- + +'I think I had better go with you, as I was asked.' + +'No, no; I think not.' + +'I had rather, Harvey, if you don't mind. I am quite ready; shall only +have to put my hat on.' + +He made no further objection, but looked a little displeased, and was +silent through the meal. + +They travelled by rail to Edgware Road, exchanging scarce a word on the +way. On the stairs of the Mansions, Alma found the ascent too much for +her; she stopped, and put out a hand to support herself. Rolfe looked +round. + +'Nothing. You have made me walk rather quickly.' + +'I'm sorry. Rest a moment.' + +But Alma hastened upwards. + +They were shown at once into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Carnaby, who +was sitting alone, rose at the announcement of their names. Alma +stepped forwards, and seemed about to offer her hand, but she was +disregarded. Their hostess stood with her eyes on Rolfe, who, observing +the strangeness of this reception, bowed and said nothing. + +'It was I who sent the telegram, Mr. Rolfe.' Sibyl's voice had its +wonted refinement, and hardly disturbed the silence. 'My husband would +have postponed the pleasure of seeing you, but I thought it better you +should meet him at once.' Her finger touched an electric bell. 'And I +particularly wished Mrs. Rolfe to be with you; I am so glad she was +able to come. Pray sit down.' + +Harvey, with no thought of accepting this invitation, cast stern +glances at the speaker and at his wife. + +'What does all this mean, Mrs. Carnaby?' + +'Your old friend will tell you.' + +The door had opened, and Hugh Carnaby slouched in. At the sight of Alma +he stood still. Then meeting Harvey's eyes, he exclaimed, with hoarse +indistinctness, 'Rolfe!' Each advanced, and their hands clasped. + +'Rolfe!--old fellow!--I'm the most miserable devil on earth.' + +Tears were in his eyes and in his voice. He held Harvey's hand tight +prisoned in both his own, and stood tottering like a feeble old man. +'Old friend, I can't help myself--don't feel hard against me--I have to +tell you something.' + +He looked towards Alma, who was motionless. Sibyl had sat down, and +watched as at a play, but with no smile. + +'Come into the next room with me,' added the choking voice. + +'No. Here, if you please, Hugh,' sounded with gentle firmness. + +'Sibyl--then tell it. I can't.' + +'It's a simple story, Mr. Rolfe,' began Sibyl. 'I am sure you are not +aware that Mrs. Rolfe, ever since our great misfortune, has lost no +opportunity of slandering me. She has told people, in plain words, that +she knew me to be guilty of what my husband was for a moment trapped +into suspecting. Among others, she told it to her friend Miss Leach. +Not long ago, she went so far as to call upon me here and accuse me to +my face, telling me I was afraid of what she knew against me. I have +thought of taking legal measures to protect myself; perhaps I shall +still do so. Today something has come to my knowledge which possibly +explains Mrs. Rolfe's singular malice. My husband tells me--and it's a +sad pity he kept it a secret so long--that there was a third person +present that evening when he came upon Mr. Redgrave. I dare say you +remember the details of the story told in court. All was perfectly +true; but my husband should have added that a woman was with Mr. +Redgrave, talking alone with him in the dark; and when the blow had +been struck, this woman, who had quickly disappeared from the veranda +into the house, was found to be Mrs. Rolfe.' + +Hugh's hand had fallen on to his friend's shoulder. He spoke as soon as +Sibyl ceased. + +'She said she had done no wrong. I had no proof of any--no proof +whatever.' + +Rolfe was looking at Alma. She, through the unimpassioned arraignment, +stood with eyes fixed upon her enemy, rather as if lost in thought than +listening; her mouth was tortured into a smile, her forehead had the +lines of age and misery. At the sound of Hugh's voice, she turned to +him, and spoke like one recovering consciousness. + +'You have told the truth.' + +'Why did you compel me to make this known, Mrs. Rolfe?' + +'Oh, that's quite a mistake. It was she who made you tell it--as she +will make you do anything, and believe anything, she likes. I can +imagine how delighted she was. But it doesn't matter. If you care to +know it, either of you'--she included Carnaby and her husband in one +glance, as equally remote from her--'I haven't gone about seeking to +injure her. Perhaps I let one or two people know what I thought; but +they had heard the truth already. It wasn't prudent; and it wasn't a +right return for the kindness you had shown me, Mr. Carnaby. But I'm +not sure that I should have done better in helping to deceive you. Has +she anything more to say? If not, I will leave you to talk about it.' + +The tone of this speech, so indifferent that it seemed light-headed, +struck the hearers mute. Rolfe, speaking for the first time since +Hugh's entrance, said at length, with troubled sternness---- + +'Alma, you have repeated your charge against Mrs. Carnaby; what grounds +have you for it?' + +She looked at him with a vague smile, but did not answer. + +'Surely you don't make an accusation of this kind without some proof?' + +'Harvey!' The cry quivered on a laugh. 'O Harvey! who would know you +with that face?' + +Sibyl rose. The men exchanged a quick glance. Rolfe moved to his wife's +side, and touched her. + +'Yes, yes, I _know_,' she went on, drawing away--'I know what you asked +me. Keep quiet, just a little. There are three of you, and it's hard +for me alone. It isn't so easy to make _you_ believe things, Harvey. Of +course, I knew how it would be if this came out. I can tell you, but +not now; some other time, when we are alone. You won't believe me; I +always knew _I_ shouldn't be believed. I ought to have been cautious, +and have kept friends with her. But it wasn't as if I had anything to +hide--anything that mattered. Let me go, and leave you three to talk. +And when you come home----' + +Turning, looking for the door, she fell softly on to her knees. In a +moment Harvey had raised her, and seated her in the chair which Hugh +pushed forward. Sibyl, motionless, looked on. Seeing that Alma had not +lost consciousness, she awaited her next word. + +'We will go away,' said Hugh, under his breath; and he beckoned to +Sibyl. Reluctantly she took a step towards him, but was stopped by +Alma's voice. + +'Don't go on my account. Haven't _you_ any question to ask me? When I +go, I shan't be anxious to see you again. Don't look frightened; I know +what I am talking about. My head went round for a moment--and no +wonder. Stand there, face to face.--Leave me alone, Harvey; I can stand +very well. I want her to ask me anything she has to ask. It's her only +chance, now. I won't see her again--never after this.' + +'Mrs. Carnaby,' said Rolfe, 'there must be an end of it. You had better +ask Alma what she has against you.' + +Sibyl, summoning all her cold dignity, stood before the half-distraught +woman, and looked her in the eyes. + +'What harm or wrong have I done you, Mrs. Rolfe, that you hate me so?' + +'None that I know of, until you brought me here today.' + +'But you have said that you think me no better than a guilty hypocrite, +and isn't it natural that I should defend myself?' + +'Quite natural. You have done it very cleverly till now, and perhaps +you will to the end. I feel sure there is no evidence against you, +except the word of the woman who told your husband; and even if she +comes forward, you have only to deny, and keep on denying.' + +'Then why do you believe that woman rather than me?' + +Alma answered only with a frivolous laugh. Sibyl, turning her head, +looked an appeal to the listeners. + +'Mrs. Rolfe,' said Hugh, in a rough, imploring voice, 'have you no +other answer? You can't ruin people's lives like this, as if it were +sport to you.' + +Alma gazed at him, as if she had but just observed his face. + +'You have gone through dreadful things,' she said earnestly. 'I'm sorry +to cause you more trouble, but the fault is hers. She got that secret +from you, and it delighted her. Go on believing what she says; it's the +best way when all's over and done with. You can never know as _I_ do.' + +She laughed again, a little spurt of joyless merriment. Upon that, in +the same moment, followed a loud hysterical cry; then sobs and wailing, +with movements as if to tear open the clothing that choked her. Sibyl +hastened away, and returned with her vinaigrette, which she handed to +Rolfe. But already the crisis was over. Alma lay back in a chair, +sobbing quietly, with head bent aside. + +Carnaby and his wife, after an exchange of signals, silently left the +room. Rolfe paced backwards and forwards for a minute or two, until he +heard his name spoken; then he drew near, and Alma looked at him with +her own eyes once more. + +'I won't go back home unless you wish, Harvey.' + +'Do you feel able to go?' + +'If you wish me. If not, I'll go somewhere else.' + +He sat down by her. + +'Are you yourself, Alma? Do you know what you are saying?' + +'Yes--indeed I do. I know I lost myself; my head went round; but I am +well again now.' + +'Then tell me in a word--is there any reason why you should _not_ go +home with me?' + +'What's the use? You won't believe me. You can't believe me!' + +He grasped her hand, and spoke imperatively, but not unkindly. + +'Stop that! Answer me, and I will believe what you say.' + +'There is no reason. I have done no wrong.' + +'Then come, if you feel able to.' + +She rose without help, and walked to a mirror, at which she arranged +her dress. Harvey opened the door, and found all quiet. He led her +through the passage, out into the common staircase, and down into the +street. Here she whispered to him that a faintness was upon her; it +would pass if she could have some restorative. They found a +four-wheeled cab, and drove to a public-house, where Rolfe obtained +brandy and brought it out to her. Then, wishing to avoid the railway +station until Alma had recovered her strength, he bade the cabman drive +on to Notting Hill Gate. + +'May I sit at your side?' she asked, bending towards him in the +darkness, when they had been silent for a few minutes. + +Harvey replied by changing his own place. + +'I want to tell you,' she resumed, her face near to his. 'I can't wait, +and know you are thinking about me. There isn't much to tell. Are you +sure you can believe me?' + +'I have promised that I will.' + +'I don't ask you to be kind or to love me. You will never love me +again. Only believe that I tell the truth, that's all. I am not like +that woman.' + +'Tell me,' he urged impatiently. + +'I wanted to make use of Mr. Redgrave to use his influence with people +in society, so that I could have a great success. I knew he wasn't to +be trusted, but I had no fear; I could trust myself. I never said or +did anything--it was only meeting him at people's houses and at +concerts, and telling him what I hoped for. You couldn't take any +interest in my music, and you had no faith in my power to make a +success. I wanted to show you that you were wrong.' + +'I was wrong in more ways than one,' said Harvey. + +'You couldn't help it. If you had tried to make me go another way, it +would only have led to unhappiness. At that time I was mad to make my +name known, and, though I loved you, I believe I could have left you +rather than give up my ambition. Mr. Redgrave used to invite people to +his house in the summer to afternoon tea, and I went there once with a +lady. Other people as well--a lot of other people. That's how I knew +the house. I was never there alone until that last evening.--Don't +shrink away from me!' + +'I didn't. Go on, and be quick.' + +'I suspected Sibyl from the moment you told me about her husband and Mr +Redgrave. You did, too, Harvey.' + +'Leave her aside.' + +'But it was because of her. I saw she was getting to dislike me, and I +thought she knew Mr. Redgrave was doing his best for me, and that she +was jealous, and would prevent him--do you understand? He was my +friend, nothing else; but _she_ would never believe that. And a few +days before my recital he seemed to lose interest, and I thought it was +her doing. Can you understand how I felt? Not jealousy, for I never +even liked him. I was living only for the hope of a success. Do you +believe me, Harvey?' 'Easily enough.' + +Thereupon she related truly, without omission, the train of +circumstances that brought her to Wimbledon on the fatal night, and all +that happened until she fled away into the darkness. + +'It would be silly to say I oughtn't to have gone there. Of course, I +knew all I was risking; but I felt I could give my life to detect that +woman and have her in my power. + +'It's just that I don't understand. If it had been ordinary +jealousy--why, of course----' + +'Men never can understand why women hate each other. She thought +herself so superior to me, and showed it in every look and word; and +all the time I knew she was a wicked hypocrite.' + +'_How_ did you know that?' Rolfe broke in vehemently, staring into her +white face as a ray from the street illumined it. + +'Oh, I can't tell you!' she replied, in a moaning, quivering voice. 'I +knew it--I knew it--something told me. But I don't ask you to believe +that. Only about myself--can you believe about myself?' + +He replied mechanically, 'Yes.' Alma, with a sigh as much of +hopelessness as of relief, lay back and said no more. + +At Notting Hill Gate they waited for a train. Alma wandered about the +platform, her head bent, silent and heeding nothing. In the railway +carriage she closed her eyes, and Harvey had to draw her attention when +it was time to alight. On entering the house she went at once upstairs. +Harvey loitered about below, and presently sat down in the study, +leaving the door ajar. + +He was trying to persuade himself that nothing of much moment had come +to pass. A doubt troubled him; most likely it would trouble him for the +rest of his life; but he must heed it as little as possible. What other +course was open to a sensible man? To rave and swear in the high tragic +style would avail nothing, one way or the other; and the fact +was--whatever its explanation--that he felt no prompting to such +violence. Two years had passed; the man was dead; Alma had changed +greatly, and was looking to new life in new conditions. His worst +uneasiness arose from the hysteria which had so alarmingly declared +itself this evening. He thought of Bennet Frothingham, and at length +rose from his chair, meaning to go upstairs. But just then a step +sounded in the hall; his door was pushed open, and Alma showed herself. + +'May I come?' she asked, looking at him steadily + +He beckoned with his head. She closed the door, and came slowly +forward, stopping at a few paces from him. + +'Harvey----' + +'Well?' + +'I want you to decide tonight. If you think it would be better for both +of us, let me go. I shouldn't part from you unkindly; I don't mean +that. I should ask you to let me have money as long as I needed it. But +you know that I could support myself very soon. If you think it better, +do say so, and we'll talk about it as friends.' + +'I don't think anything of the kind. I shouldn't let you go, say what +you might.' + +'You wouldn't? But if you find that you _can't_ believe me----' + +'It would make no difference, even that. But I do believe you.' + +She drew nearer, looking wistfully into his face. + +'But _she_ has made her husband believe her. You will always think of +that--always.' + +'You must remember, Alma, that I have no serious reason for doubting +her word.' + +She uttered a cry of distress. + +'Then you doubt mine!--you doubt mine!' + +'Nonsense, dear. Do try to think and talk more reasonably. What is it +to you and me whether she was guilty or not? I may doubt your judgment +about her, and yet believe perfectly all you tell me about yourself.' + +'Then you think I have slandered her?' + +'There's no earthly use in talking about it. You can give no reasons; +you _have_ no reasons. Your suspicion may be right or wrong; I don't +care the toss of a button. All I know is, that we mustn't talk of it. +Sit down and be quiet for a little. Oughtn't you to eat something +before you go up?' + +Alma put her hands upon his shoulders, bending her face so as to hide +it from him. + +'Dear--if you could just say that you believe me; not about myself--I +know you do--but about _her_. Could you say that?' + +He hesitated, all a man's common-sense in revolt against the entreaty; +but he saw her quiver with a sob, and yielded. + +'Very well, I will believe that too.' + +Her touch became an embrace, gentle and timid; she threw her head back, +gazing at him in rapture. + +'You will never again doubt it?' + +'Never again.' + +'Oh, you are good!--you are kind to me, dear! And will you love me a +little? Do you think you can, just a little?' + +His answer satisfied her, and she lay in his arms, shedding tears of +contentment. Then, for a long time, she talked of the new life before +them. She would be everything he wished; no moment's trouble should +ever again come between him and her. Nothing now had any charm for her +but the still, happy life of home; her ambitions were all dead and +buried. And Harvey answered her with tenderness; forgetting the doubt, +refusing to look forward, knowing only that Alma had a place for ever +in his heart. + +Tonight she must sleep. Whilst undressing she measured the familiar +draught of oblivion, and said to herself: 'The last time.' She lay down +in darkness, closed her eyes, and tried to think only of happy things. +But sleep would not come, and quiet thoughts would not linger with her. +More than an hour must have passed, when she heard Harvey come +upstairs. His step paused near her door, and she raised herself, +listening. He went on, and his own door closed. + +Then, for a short time, she lost herself, but in no placid slumber. +Startled to wakefulness, she found that she had left her bed and was +sitting on the chair beside it. She felt for the matches, and lit a +candle. A great anguish of mind came upon her, but she could not shed +tears; she wished to escape from her room to Harvey's, but durst not +look out into the dark passage. + +When her heart grew quieter, she went again to the drawer in which she +kept her remedy for insomnia. Saying to herself, 'The last time--I +shall be well again after tomorrow,' she measured another dose, a +larger, and drank it off. Trembling now with cold, she crept into bed +again, and lay watching the candle-flame. + +Half an hour after this--it was about two o'clock--the handle of her +door was turned, and Rolfe quietly looked in. He had awoke with an +anxious feeling; it seemed to him that he heard Alma's voice, on the +borderland of dream, calling his name. But Alma lay asleep, breathing +steadily, her face turned from the light. As the candle had nearly +burnt down, he blew it out, and went back to his bed. + +At breakfast time Alma did not appear. The housemaid said that, half an +hour ago, she was still sleeping. When he had had his meal with Hughie, +Rolfe went up and entered his wife's room. Alma lay just as he had seen +her in the night. He looked close--laid his hand upon her---- + +A violent ringing of the bedroom bell brought up the servant. Harvey +met her at the door, and bade her run instantly to the doctor's house, +which was quite near. + +The doctor could only say, 'We warned her.' + + + + +CHAPTER 13 + + +_Sicut umbra praeterit dies_. + +The dial on the front of the old house was just shadowing four o'clock. +Harvey Rolfe and his friend Morton sat on the lawn, Harvey reading +aloud from a small volume which he had slipped into his pocket before +walking over this afternoon. From another part of the garden sounded +young voices, musical in their merriment. + +It was a little book called 'Barrack-Room Ballads'. Harvey read in it +here and there, with no stinted expression of delight, occasionally +shouting his appreciation. Morton, pipe in mouth, listened with a +smile, and joined more moderately in the reader's bursts of enthusiasm. + +'Here's the strong man made articulate,' cried Rolfe at length. 'It's +no use; he stamps down one's prejudice--what? It's the voice of the +reaction. Millions of men, natural men, revolting against the softness +and sweetness of civilisation; men all over the world; hardly knowing +what they want and what they don't want; and here comes one who speaks +for them--speaks with a vengeance.' + +'Undeniable.' + +'_But_----' + +'I was waiting for the _but_,' said Morton, with a smile and a nod. + +'The brute savagery of it! The very lingo--how appropriate it is! The +tongue of Whitechapel blaring lust of life in the track of English +guns!-- He knows it; the man is a great artist; he smiles at the voice +of his genius.--It's a long time since the end of the Napoleonic wars. +Since then Europe has seen only sputterings of temper. Mankind won't +stand it much longer, this encroachment of the humane spirit. See the +spread of athletics. We must look to our physique, and make ourselves +ready. Those Lancashire operatives, laming and killing each other at +football, turning a game into a battle. For the milder of us there's +golf--an epidemic. Women turn to cricket--tennis is too soft--and +tomorrow they'll be bicycling by the thousand;--they must breed a +stouter race. We may reasonably hope, old man, to see our boys blown +into small bits by the explosive that hasn't got its name yet.' + +'Perhaps,' replied Morton meditatively. 'And yet there are considerable +forces on the other side.' + +'Pooh! The philosopher sitting on the safety-valve. He has breadth of +beam, good sedentary man, but when the moment comes--The Empire; that's +beginning to mean something. The average Englander has never grasped +the fact that there was such a thing as a British Empire. He's +beginning to learn it, and itches to kick somebody, to prove his +Imperialism. The bully of the music-hall shouting "Jingo" had his +special audience. Now comes a man of genius, and decent folk don't feel +ashamed to listen this time. We begin to feel our position. We can't +make money quite so easily as we used to; scoundrels in Germany and +elsewhere have dared to learn the trick of commerce. We feel sore, and +it's a great relief to have our advantages pointed out to us. By God! +we are the British Empire, and we'll just show 'em what _that_ means!' + +'I'm reading the campaigns of Belisarius,' said Morton, after a pause. + +'What has that to do with it?' + +'Thank Heaven, nothing whatever.' + +'I bore you,' said Harvey, laughing. 'Well, I read little or nothing, +except what I can use for Hughie. We're doing the geography of Asia, +and I try to give him a few clear notions. Do you remember the idiotic +way in which they used to teach us geography? I loathed the +lesson.--That reminds me; Henrietta Winter is dead.' + +'Is she? How did it remind you?' + +'Why, because Morphew is going to New Zealand. I had a letter from him +this morning. Here it is. "I heard yesterday that H. W. is dead. She +died a fortnight ago, and a letter from her mother has only just +reached me in a roundabout way. She had been ailing for some time. They +suspected drains, and had workmen in, with assurance that all had been +put right. Since H.'s death the drains have again been examined, and it +was found that the men who came before so bungled and scamped their +work that an abominable state of things was made much worse."--Those +fellows will shout nobly for the Empire one of these days!--"I never +saw her, but she spoke of me just before the end; spoke very kindly, +says her mother. Damnation! I can write no more about it. I know you +don't care to hear from me, but I'll just say that I'm going out to New +Zealand. I don't know what I shall do there, but a fellow has asked me +to go with him, and it's better than rotting here. It may help me to +escape the devil yet; if so, you shall hear. Goodbye!"' + +He thrust the letter back into his pocket. + +'I rather thought the end would be pyrogallic acid.' + +'He has the good sense to prefer ozone,' said Morton. + +'For a time, at all events.--Look behind you. The young rascal is +creeping this way. He'd rather sit and listen to our talk than be with +the other youngsters. That's wrong, you know.' + +Morton look round, and saw Hugh Rolfe. Seven years old now; slight, and +with little or no colour in his cheeks; a wistful, timid smile on the +too intelligent face. He was gazing towards his father, and evidently +wished to draw near, yet feared that his presence might not be welcome. +Morton beckoned him, and at once he ran and threw himself upon the +grass by his father's side. + +'Tired of playing?' asked Harvey, with voice and look which betrayed a +tenderness he was always trying to conceal. + +'A little tired. We are going to have tea soon.--May I look at this +book, Father?' + +'No pictures.' + +'I don't mind.--Yes, there's a picture; a soldier!' + +Interest quickened in the boy's eyes, and he turned eagerly from +title-page to text. But just then there came a loud calling of his name +from the other end of the garden. + +'They want you,' said Harvey. 'Off you go. You can have the book +another time.' + +Hughie obeyed without hesitation, but his face had a weary look as he +walked away to join the other children. + +'I must send him to the Grammar-School next year,' said Rolfe. 'It +won't do; he must be among boys, and learn to be noisy. Perhaps I have +been altogether wrong in teaching him myself. What right has a man to +teach, who can't make up his mind on any subject of thought? Of course +I don't talk to _him_ about my waverings and doubtings, but probably +they affect him.' + +'Don't bother your head so much about it,' replied Morton. 'He'll be +all right as he grows stronger.' + +A servant had brought out two little tables; tea was going to be served +in the garden. When it was ready, Mrs. Morton appeared; the men rose as +she came towards them, a newspaper in her hand. + +'Have you noticed this?' she asked of Rolfe, with a smile, pointing out +a paragraph to him. + +He read it; first to himself, then aloud. + +'Yesterday, at Lady Isobel Barker's house in Pont Street, a meeting was +held of ladies interested in a project for the benefit of working-class +women in the West End. It is proposed to arrange for a series of +lectures, specially adapted to such an audience, on subjects of +literary and artistic interest. Unfortunately, Lady Isobel herself was +unable to take part in the proceedings, owing to sudden indisposition; +but her views were most suggestively set forth by Mrs. Hugh Carnaby, +who dwelt on the monotony of the lives of decent working-class women, +and showed how much they would be benefited by being brought into touch +with the intellectual movements of the day. Practical details of the +scheme will shortly be made public.' + +Morton chuckled quietly. + +'Splendid idea,' said Rolfe. 'Anyone who knows anything of the West End +working-class woman will be sure to give it warm support.' + +The tea-bell rang; the children came running. Morton's eldest boy, who +had been busy in his workshop, exhibited a fine model schooner, just +finished. Presently, the hostess asked Rolfe whether he had heard of +late from Mr. Carnaby. + +'A week ago; the first time for a year. The demand for shares in their +company was tremendous, and they are turning out the new bicycle at the +rate of hundreds a week.' + +'Has he quite got over that illness?' + +'Says he suffers much from dyspepsia; otherwise, fairly well. The +prospect of money-making on a great scale seems pleasant to him.' + +'To Mrs. Carnaby, also, I dare say.' + +'No doubt,' replied Rolfe absently. + +After tea, a trio of little singers, one of whom was Hughie, gave the +songs they had newly learnt with Mrs. Morton, she accompanying them on +the piano. Rolfe sat in a corner of the room and listened, as always, +with keen pleasure. + +'One more,' he asked, when they were about to cease. + +They sang that which he liked best---- + + Fear no more the heat o' the sun + +After it there came a minute's silence; then Harvey rose. + +'Say goodbye, Hughie; we must be going home.' + +Hand in hand, each thinking his own thoughts, they walked homeward +through the evening sunshine. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Whirlpool, by George Gissing + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHIRLPOOL *** + +***** This file should be named 4299.txt or 4299.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/9/4299/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. 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Hart +and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.] +[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales +of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or +software or any other related product without express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10/04/01*END* + + + + + + +Edited by Charles Aldarondo Aldarondo@yahoo.com + + + + +George Gissing + +The Whirlpool + + + +Part the First + + + +CHAPTER 1 + + +Harvey Rolfe was old enough to dine with deliberation, young and healthy +enough to sauce with appetite the dishes he thoughtfully selected. You +perceived in him the imperfect epicure. His club had no culinary fame; +the dinner was merely tolerable; but Rolfe's unfinished palate flattered +the second-rate cook. He knew nothing of vintages; it sufficed him to +distinguish between Bordeaux and Burgundy; yet one saw him raise his +glass and peer at the liquor with eye of connoisseur. All unaffectedly; +for he was conscious of his shortcoming in the art of delicate living, +and never vaunted his satisfactions. He had known the pasture of +poverty, and the table as it is set by London landladies; to look back +on these things was to congratulate himself that nowadays he dined. + +Beyond the achievement of a vague personal distinction at the +Metropolitan Club, he had done nothing to make himself a man of note, +and it was doubtful whether more than two or three of the members really +liked him or regarded him with genuine interest. His introduction to +this circle he owed to an old friend, Hugh Carnaby, whose social +position was much more clearly defined: Hugh Carnaby, the rambler, the +sportsman, and now for a twelvemonth the son-in-law of Mrs. Ascott +Larkfield. Through Carnaby people learnt as much of his friend's history +as it concerned anyone to know: that Harvey Rolfe had begun with the +study of medicine, had given it up in disgust, subsequently was 'in +business', and withdrew from it on inheriting a competency. They were +natives of the same county, and learnt their Latin together at the +Grammar School of Greystone, the midland town which was missed by the +steam highroad, and so preserves much of the beauty and tranquillity of +days gone by. Rolfe seldom spoke of his own affairs, but in talking of +travel he had been heard to mention that his father had engineered +certain lines of foreign railway. It seemed that Harvey had no purpose +in life, save that of enjoying himself. Obviously he read a good deal, +and Carnaby credited him with profound historical knowledge; but he +neither wrote nor threatened to do so. Something of cynicism appeared in +his talk of public matters; politics amused him, and his social views +lacked consistency, tending, however, to an indolent conservatism. +Despite his convivial qualities, he had traits of the reserved, even of +the unsociable, man: a slight awkwardness in bearing, a mute shyness +with strangers, a hesitancy in ordinary talk, and occasional bluntness +of assertion or contradiction, suggesting a contempt which possibly he +did not intend. Hugh Carnaby declared that the true Rolfe only showed +himself after a bottle of wine; maintained, moreover, that Harvey had +vastly improved since he entered upon a substantial income. When Rolfe +was five and twenty, Hugh being two years younger, they met after a long +separation, and found each other intolerable; a decade later their +meeting led to hearty friendship. Rolfe had become independent, and was +tasting his freedom in a twelvemonth's travel. The men came face to face +one day on the deck of a steamer at Port Said. Physically, Rolfe had +changed so much that the other had a difficulty in recognising him; +morally, the change was not less marked, as Carnaby very soon became +aware. At thirty-seven this process of development was by no means +arrested, but its slow and subtle working escaped observation unless it +were that of Harvey Rolfe himself. + +His guest this evening, in a quiet corner of the dining-room where he +generally sat, was a man, ten years his junior, named Morphew: slim, +narrow-shouldered, with sandy hair, and pale, delicate features of more +sensibility than intelligence; restless, vivacious, talking incessantly +in a low, rapid voice, with frequent nervous laughs which threw back his +drooping head. A difference of costume -- Rolfe wore morning dress, +Morphew the suit of ceremony -- accentuated the younger man's advantage +in natural and acquired graces; otherwise, they presented the contrast +of character and insignificance. Rolfe had a shaven chin, a weathered +complexion, thick brown hair; the penumbra of middle-age had touched his +countenance, softening here and there a line which told of temperament +in excess. At this moment his manner inclined to a bluff jocularity, due +in some measure to the bottle of wine before him, as also was the tinge +of colour upon his cheek; he spoke briefly, but listened with smiling +interest to his guest's continuous talk. This ran on the subject of the +money-market, with which the young man boasted some practical +acquaintance. + +'You don't speculate at all?' Morphew asked. + +'Shouldn't know how to go about it,' replied the other in his deeper +note. + +'It seems to me to be the simplest thing in the world if one is content +with moderate profits. I'm going in for it seriously -- cautiously -- as +a matter of business. I've studied the thing -- got it up as I used to +work at something for an exam. And here, you see, I've made five pounds +at a stroke -- five pounds! Suppose I make that every now and then, it's +worth the trouble, you know -- it mounts up. And I shall never stand to +lose much. You see, it's Tripcony's interest that I should make +profits.' + +'I'm not quite sure of that.' + +'Oh, but it _is_! Let me explain --' + +These two had come to know each other under peculiar circumstances a +year ago. Rolfe was at Brussels, staying -- his custom when abroad -- at +a hotel unfrequented by English folk. One evening on his return from the +theatre, he learnt that a young man of his own nationality lay seriously +ill in a room at the top of the house. Harvey, moved by compassion, +visited the unfortunate Englishman, listened to his ravings, and played +the part of Good Samaritan. On recovery, the stranger made full +disclosure of his position. Being at Brussels on a holiday, he had got +into the company of gamblers, and, after winning a large sum (ten +thousand francs, he declared), had lost not only that, but all else. +that he possessed, including his jewellery. He had gambled deliberately; +he wanted money, money, and saw no other way of obtaining it. In the +expansive mood of convalescence, Cecil Morphew left no detail of his +story unrevealed. He was of gentle birth, and had a private income of +three hundred pounds, charged upon the estate of a distant relative; his +profession (the bar) could not be remunerative for years, and other +prospects he had none. The misery of his situation lay in the fact that +he was desperately in love with the daughter of people who looked upon +him as little better than a pauper. The girl had pledged herself to him, +but would not marry without her parents' consent, of which there was no +hope till he had at least trebled his means. His choice of a profession +was absurd, dictated merely by social opinion; he should have been +working hard in a commercial office, or at some open-air pursuit. +Naturally he turned again to the thought of gambling, this time the +great legalised game of hazard, wherein he was as little likely to +prosper as among the blacklegs of Brussels. Rolfe liked him for his +ingenuousness, and for the vein of poetry in his nature. The love affair +still went on, but Morphew seldom alluded to it, and his seasoned friend +thought of it as a youthful ailment which would pass and be forgotten. + +'I'm convinced,' said the young man presently, 'that any one who really +gives his mind to it can speculate with moderate success. Look at the +big men -- the brokers and the company promoters, and so on; I've met +some of them, and there's nothing in them -- nothing! Now, there's +Bennet Frothingham. You know him, I think?' + +Rolfe nodded. + +'Well, what do you think of him? Isn't he a very ordinary fellow? How +has he got such a position? I'm told he began just in a small way -- by +chance. No doubt _he_ found it so easy to make money he was surprised at +his success. Tripcony has told me a lot about him. Why, the "Britannia" +brings him fifteen thousand a year; and he must be in a score of other +things.' + +'I know nothing about the figures,' said Rolfe, 'and I shouldn't put +much faith in Tripcony; but Frothingham, you may be sure, isn't quite an +ordinary man.' + +'Ah, well, of course there's a certain knack -- and then, experience --' + +Morphew emptied his glass, and refilled it. Nearly all the tables in the +room were now occupied, and the general hum of talk gave security to +intimate dialogue. Flushed and bright-eyed, the young man presently +leaned forward. + +'If I could count upon five hundred, she would take the step.' + +'Indeed?' + +'Yes, that's settled. What do you think? Plenty of people live very well +on less.' + +'You want my serious opinion?' + +'If you _can_ be serious.' + +'Then I think that the educated man who marries on less than a thousand +is either mad or a criminal.' + +'Bosh! We won't talk about it.' + +They rose, and walked towards the smoking-room, Rolfe giving a nod here +and there as he passed acquaintances. In the hall someone addressed him. + +'How does Carnaby take this affair?' + +'What affair?' + +'Don't you know? Their house has been robbed -- stripped. It's in the +evening papers.' + +Rolfe went on into the smoking-room, and read the report of his friend's +misfortune. The Carnabys occupied a house in Hamilton Terrace. During +their absence from home last night, there had been a clean sweep of all +such things of value as could easily be removed. The disappearance of +their housekeeper, and the fact that this woman had contrived the +absence of the servants from nine o'clock till midnight, left no mystery +in the matter. The clubmen talked of it with amusement. Hard lines, to +be sure, for Carnaby, and yet harder for his wife, who had lost no end +of jewellery; but the thing was so neatly and completely done, one must +needs laugh. One or two husbands who enjoyed the luxury of a housekeeper +betrayed their uneasiness. A discussion arose on the characteristics of +housekeepers in general, and spread over the vast subject of domestic +management, not often debated at the Metropolitan Club. In general talk +of this kind Rolfe never took part; smoking his pipe, he listened and +laughed, and was at moments thoughtful. Cecil Morphew, rapidly consuming +cigarettes as he lay back in a soft chair, pointed the moral of the +story in favour of humble domesticity. + +In half an hour, his guest having taken leave, Rolfe put on his +overcoat, and stepped out into the cold, clammy November night. He was +overtaken by a fellow Metropolitan -- a grizzled, scraggy-throated, +hollow-eyed man, who laid a tremulous hand upon his arm. + +'Excuse me, Mr. Rolfe, have you seen Frothingham recently?' + +'Not for a month.' + +'Ah! I thought perhaps -- I was wondering what he thought about the +Colebrook smash. To tell you the truth, I've heard unpleasant rumours. +Do you -- should you think the Colebrook affair would affect the +"Britannia" in any way?' + +It was not the first time that this man had confided his doubts and +timidities to Harvey Rolfe; he had a small, but to him important, +interest in Bennet Frothingham's wide-reaching affairs, and seemed to +spend most of his time in eliciting opinion on the financier's +stability. + +'Wouldn't you be much more comfortable,' said Rolfe, rather bluntly, 'if +you had your money in some other kind of security?' + +'Ah, but, my dear sir, twelve and a half per cent -- twelve and a half! +I hold preference shares of the original issue.' + +'Then I'm afraid you must take your chance.' + +'But,' piped the other in alarm, 'you don't mean that --' + +'I mean nothing, and know nothing. I'm the last man to consult about +such things.' + +And Rolfe, with an abrupt 'Goodnight,' beckoned to a passing hansom. The +address he gave was Hugh Carnaby's, in Hamilton Terrace. + +Twice already the horse had slipped at slimy crossings, when, near the +top of Regent Street, it fell full length, and the abrupt stoppage +caused a collision of wheels with another hansom which was just passing +at full speed in the same direction. Rolfe managed to alight in the +ordinary way, and at once heard himself greeted by a familiar voice from +the other cab. His acquaintance showed a pallid, drawn, all but +cadaverous visage, with eyes which concealed pain or weariness under +their friendly smile. Abbott was the man's name. Formerly a lecturer at +a provincial college, he had resigned his post on marrying, and taken to +journalism. + +'I want to speak to you, Rolfe,' he said hurriedly, 'but I haven't a +moment to spare. Going to Euston -- could you come along for a few +minutes?' + +The vehicles were not damaged; Abbott's driver got quickly out of the +crowd, and the two men continued their conversation. + +'Do you know anything of Wager?' inquired the journalist, with a +troubled look. + +'He came to see me a few evenings ago -- late.' + +'Ha, he did! To borrow money, wasn't it?' + +'Well, yes.' + +'I thought so. He came to me for the same. Said he'd got a berth at +Southampton. Lie, of course. The fellow has disappeared, and left his +children -- left them in a lodging-house at Hammersmith. How's that for +cool brutality? The landlady found my wife's address, and came to see +her. Address left out on purpose, I dare say. There was nothing for it +but to take care of the poor little brats. -- Oh, damn!' + +'What's the matter?' + +'Neuralgia -- driving me mad. Teeth, I think. I'll have every one +wrenched out of my head if this goes on. Never mind. What do you think +of Wager?' + +'I remember, when we were at Guy's, he used to advocate the +nationalisation of offspring. Probably he had some personal interest in +the matter, even then.' + +'Hound! I don't know whether to set the police after him or not. It +wouldn't benefit the children. I suppose it's no use hunting for his +family?' + +'Not much, I should say.' + +'Well, lucky we have no children of our own. Worst of it is, I don't +like the poor little wretches, and my wife doesn't either. We must find +a home for them.' + +'I say, Abbott, you must let me go halves at that.' + +'Hang it, no! Why should you support Wager's children? They're relatives +of ours, unfortunately. But I wanted to tell you that I'm going down to +Waterbury.' He looked at his watch. 'Thirteen minutes -- shall I do it? +There's a good local paper, the _Free Press_, and I have the offer of +part-ownership. I shall buy, if possible, and live in the country for a +year or two, to pick up my health. Can't say I love London. Might get +into country journalism for good. Curse this torment!' + +In Tottenham Court Road, Rolfe bade his friend goodbye, and the cab +rushed on. + + +CHAPTER 2 + + +It was half past ten when Rolfe knocked at the door in Hamilton Terrace. +He learnt from the servant that Mr. Carnaby was at home, and had +company. In the room known as the library, four men sat smoking; their +voices pealed into the hall as the door opened, and a boisterous welcome +greeted the newcomer's appearance. + +'Come to condole?' cried Hugh, striding forward with his +man-of-the-wide-world air, and holding out his big hand. 'No doubt +they're having a high old time at the club. Does it please them? Does it +tickle them?' + +'Why, naturally. There's the compensation, my boy -- you contribute to +the gaiety of your friends.' + +Carnaby was a fair example of the well-bred, well-fed Englishman -- +tall, brawny, limber, not uncomely, with a red neck, a powerful jaw, and +a keen eye. Something more of repose, of self-possession, and a slightly +more intellectual brow, would have made him the best type of conquering, +civilising Briton. He came of good family, but had small inheritance; +his tongue told of age-long domination; his physique and carriage showed +the horseman, the game-stalker, the nomad. Hugh had never bent over +books since the day when he declined the university and got leave to +join Colonel Bosworth's exploring party in the Caucasus. After a boyhood +of straitened circumstances, he profited by a skilful stewardship which +allowed him to hope for some seven hundred a year; his elder brother, +Miles, a fine fellow, who went into the army, pinching himself to +benefit Hugh and their sister Ruth. Miles was now Major Carnaby, active +on the North-West Frontier. Ruth was wife of a missionary in some land +of swamps; doomed by climate, but of spirit indomitable. It seemed +strange that Hugh, at five and thirty, had done nothing particular. +Perhaps his income explained it -- too small for traditional purposes, +just large enough to foster indolence. For Hugh had not even followed up +his promise of becoming an explorer; he had merely rambled, mostly in +pursuit of fowl or quadruped. When he married, all hope for him was at +an end. The beautiful and brilliant daughter of a fashionable widow, her +income a trifle more than Carnaby's own; devoted to the life of cities, +wherein she shone; an enchantress whose spell would not easily be +broken, before whom her husband bowed in delighted subservience -- such +a woman might flatter Hugh's pride, but could scarce be expected to draw +out his latent energies and capabilities. This year, for the first time, +he had visited no wild country; his journeying led only to Paris, to +Vienna. In due season he shot his fifty brace on somebody's grouse-moor, +but the sport did not exhilarate him. + +An odd and improbable alliance, that between Hugh Carnaby and Harvey +Rolfe. Yet in several ways they suited each other. Old-time memories had +a little, not much, to do with it; more of the essence of the matter was +their feeling of likeness in difference. Ten years ago Carnaby felt +inclined to call his old school-fellow a 'cad'; Harvey saw nothing in +Hugh but robust snobbishness. Nowadays they had the pleasant sense of +understanding each other on most points, and the result was a good deal +of honest mutual admiration. The one's physical vigour and adroitness, +the other's active mind, liberal thoughts, studious habits, proved +reciprocally attractive. Though in unlike ways, both were impressively +modern. Of late it had seemed as if the man of open air, checked in his +natural courses, thrown back upon his meditations, turned to the +student, with hope of guidance in new paths, of counsel amid unfamiliar +obstacles. To the observant Rolfe, his friend's position abounded in +speculative interest. With the course of years, each had lost many a +harsher characteristic, whilst the inner man matured. That their former +relations were gradually being reversed, neither perhaps had consciously +noted; but even in the jests which passed between them on Harvey's +arrival this evening, it appeared plainly enough that Hugh Carnaby no +longer felt the slightest inclination to regard his friend as an +inferior. + +The room, called library, contained one small case of books, which dealt +with travel and sport. Furniture of the ordinary kind, still new, told +of easy circumstances and domestic comfort. Round about the walls hung a +few paintings and photographs, intermingled with the stuffed heads of +animals slain in the chase, notably that of a great ibex with +magnificent horns. + +'Come, now, tell me all about it,' said Rolfe, as he mixed himself a +glass of whisky and water. 'I don't see that anything has gone from this +room.' + +'Don't you?' cried his host, with a scornful laugh. 'Where are my +silver-mounted pistols? Where's the ibex-hoof made into a paperweight? +And' -- he raised his voice to a shout of comical despair -- 'where's my +cheque-book?' + +'I see.' + +'I wish _I_ did. It must break the record for a neat house-robbery, +don't you think? And they'll never be caught -- I'll bet you anything +you like they won't. The job was planned weeks ago; that woman came into +the house with no other purpose.' + +'But didn't your wife know anything about her?' + +'What can one know about such people? There were references, I believe +-- as valuable as references usually are. She must be an old hand. But +I'm sick of the subject; let's drop it. -- You were interrupted, +Hollings. What about that bustard?' + +A very tall, spare man, who seemed to rouse himself from a nap, resumed +his story of bustard-stalking in Spain last spring. Carnaby, who knew +the country well, listened with lively interest, and followed with +reminiscences of his own. He told of a certain boar, shot in the +Sierras, which weighed something like four hundred pounds. He talked, +too, of flamingoes on the 'marismas' of the Guadalquivir; of punting day +after day across the tawny expanse of water; of cooking his meals on +sandy islets at a fire made of tamarisk and thistle; of lying wakeful in +the damp, chilly nights, listening to frogs and bitterns. Then again of +his ibex-hunting on the Cordilleras of Castile, when he brought down +that fine fellow whose head adorned his room, the horns just +thirty-eight inches long. And in the joy of these recollections there +seemed to sound a regretful note, as if he spoke of things gone by and +irrecoverable, no longer for him. + +One of the men present had recently been in Cyprus, and mentioned it +with disgust. Rolfe also had visited the island, and remembered it much +more agreeably, his impressions seeming to be chiefly gastronomic; he +recalled the exquisite flavour of Cyprian hares, the fat francolin, the +delicious beccaficoes in commanderia wine; with merry banter from +Carnaby, professing to despise a man who knew nothing of game but its +taste. The conversation reverted to technicalities of sport, full of +terms and phrases unintelligible to Harvey; recounting feats with +'Empress' and 'Paradox', the deadly results of a 'treble A', or of +'treble-nesting slugs', and boasting of a 'right and left with No. 6'. +Hugh appeared to forget all about his domestic calamity; only when his +guests rose did he recur to it, and with an air of contemptuous +impatience. But he made a sign to Rolfe, requesting him to stay, and at +midnight the two friends sat alone together. + +'Sibyl has gone to her mother's,' began Hugh in a changed voice. 'The +poor girl takes it pluckily. It's a damnable thing, you know, for a +woman to lose her rings and bracelets and so on -- even such a woman as +Sibyl. She tried to laugh it off, but I could see -- we must buy them +again, that's all. And that reminds me -- what's your real opinion of +Frothingham?' + +Harvey laughed. + +'When such a lot of people go about asking that question, it would make +_me_ rather uneasy if I had anything at stake.' + +'They do? So it struck me. The fact is, we have a good deal at stake. +The dowager swears by Frothingham. I believe every penny she has is in +the "Britannia", one way or another.' + +'It's a wide net,' said Rolfe musingly. 'The Britannia Loan, Assurance, +Investment, and Banking Company, Limited. Very good name, I've often +thought.' + +'Yes; but, look here, you don't seriously doubt --' + +'My opinion is worthless. I know no more of finance than of the Cabala. +Frothingham personally I rather like, and that's all I can say.' + +'The fact is, I have been thinking of putting some of my own -- yet I +don't think I shall. We're going away for the winter. Sibyl wants to +give up the house, and I think she's right. For people like us, it's +mere foolery to worry with a house and a lot of servants. We're neither +of us cut out for that kind of thing. Sibyl hates housekeeping. Well, +you can't expect a woman like her to manage a pack of thieving, lying, +lazy servants. The housekeeper idea hasn't been a conspicuous success, +you see, and there's nothing for it but hotel or boarding-house.' + +'If you remember,' said Rolfe, 'I hinted something of the kind a year +ago.' + +'Yes; but -- well, you know, when people marry they generally look for a +certain natural consequence. If we have no children, it'll be all +right.' + +Rolfe meditated for a moment. + +'You remember that fellow Wager -- the man you met at Abbott's? His wife +died a year ago, and now he has bolted, leaving his two children in a +lodging-house.' + +'What a damned scoundrel!' cried Hugh, with a note of honest +indignation. + +'Well, yes; but there's something to be said for him. It's a natural +revolt against domestic bondage. Of course, as things are, someone else +has to bear the bother and expense; but that's only our state of +barbarism. A widower with two young children and no income -- imagine +the position. Of course, he ought to be able to get rid of them in some +legitimate way -- state institution -- anything you like that answers to +reason.' + +'I don't know whether it would work.' + +'Some day it will. People talk such sentimental rubbish about children. +I would have the parents know nothing about them till they're ten or +twelve years old. They're a burden, a hindrance, a perpetual source of +worry and misery. Most wives are sacrificed to the next generation -- an +outrageous absurdity. People snivel over the deaths of babies; I see +nothing to grieve about. If a child dies, why, the probabilities are it +_ought_ to die; if it lives, it lives, and you get survival of the +fittest. We don't want to choke the world with people, most of them +rickety and wheezing; let us be healthy, and have breathing space.' + +'I believe in _that_,' said Carnaby. + +'You're going away, then. Where to?' + +'That's the point,' replied Hugh, moving uneasily. 'You see, with Sibyl +--. I have suggested Davos. Some people she knows are there -- girls who +go in for tobogganing, and have a good time. But Sibyl's afraid of the +cold. I can't convince her that it's nothing to what we endure here in +the beastliness of a London winter. She hates the thought of ice and +snow and mountains. A great pity; it would do her no end of good. I +suppose we must go to the Riviera.' + +He shrugged his shoulders, and for a moment there was silence. + +'By-the-bye,' he resumed, 'I have a letter from Miles, and you'd like to +see it.' + +From a pile of letters on the table he selected one written on two +sheets of thin paper, and handed it to Rolfe. The writing was bold, the +style vigorous, the matter fresh and interesting. Major Carnaby had no +graces of expression; but all the more engrossing was his brief +narrative of mountain warfare, declaring its truthfulness in every +stroke of the pen. + +'Fine fellow!' exclaimed Rolfe, when he had read to the end. 'Splendid +fellow!' + +'Isn't he! And he's seeing life.' + +'That's where you ought to be, my boy,' remarked Rolfe, between puffs of +tobacco. + +'I dare say. No use thinking about it. Too late.' + +'If I had a son,' pursued Harvey, smiling at the hypothesis, 'I think +I'd make a fighting man of him, or try to. At all events, he should go +out somewhere, and beat the big British drum, one way or another. I +believe it's our only hope. We're rotting at home -- some of us sunk in +barbarism, some coddling themselves in over-refinement. What's the use +of preaching peace and civilisation, when we know that England's just +beginning her big fight -- the fight that will put all history into the +shade! We have to lead the world; it's our destiny; and we must do it by +breaking heads. That's the nature of the human animal, and will be for +ages to come.' + +Carnaby nodded assent. + +'If we were all like your brother,' Rolfe went on. 'I'm glad he's +fighting in India, and not in Africa. I can't love the buccaneering +shopkeeper, the whisky-distiller with a rifle -- ugh!' + +'I hate that kind of thing. The gold grubbers and diamond bagmen! But +it's part of the march onward. We must have money, you know.' + +The speaker's forehead wrinkled, and again he moved uneasily. Rolfe +regarded him with a reflective air. + +'That man you saw here tonight,' Carnaby went on, 'the short, thick +fellow -- his name is Dando -- he's just come back from Queensland. I +don't quite know what he's been doing, but he evidently knows a good +deal about mines. He says he has invented a new process for getting gold +out of ore -- I don't know anything about it. In the early days of +mining, he says, no end of valuable stuff was abandoned, because they +couldn't smelt it. Something about pyrites -- I have a vague +recollection of old chemistry lessons. Dando wants to start smelting +works for his new process, somewhere in North Queensland.' + +'And wants money, I dare say,' remarked the listener, with a twinkle of +the eye. + +'I suppose so. It was Carton that brought him here for the first time, a +week ago. _Might_ be worth thinking about, you know.' + +'I have no opinion. My profound ignorance of everything keeps me in a +state of perpetual scepticism. It has its advantages, I dare say.' + +'You're very conservative, Rolfe, in your finance.' + +'Very.' + +'Quite right, no doubt. Could you join us at Nice or some such place?' + +'Why, I rather thought of sticking to my books. But if the fogs are very +bad --' + +'And you would seriously advise us to give up the house?' + +'My dear fellow, how can you hesitate? Your wife is quite right; there's +not one good word to be said for the ordinary life of an English +household. Flee from it! Live anywhere and anyhow, but don't keep house +in England. Wherever I go, it's the same cry: domestic life is played +out. There isn't a servant to be had -- unless you're a Duke and breed +them on your own estate. All ordinary housekeepers are at the mercy of +the filth and insolence of a draggle-tailed, novelette-reading feminine +democracy. Before very long we shall train an army of menservants, and +send the women to the devil.' + +'Queer thing, Rolfe,' put in his friend, with a laugh; 'I've noticed it +of late, you're getting to be a regular woman-hater.' + +'Not a bit of it. I hate a dirty, lying, incapable creature, that's all, +whether man or woman. No doubt they're more common in petticoats.' + +'Been to the Frothinghams' lately?' + +'No.' + +'I used to think you were there rather often.' + +Rolfe gave a sort of grunt, and kept silence. + +'To my mind,' pursued the other, 'the best thing about Alma is that she +appreciates my wife. She has really a great admiration for Sibyl; no +sham about it, I'm sure. I don't pretend to know much about women, but I +fancy that kind of thing isn't common -- real friendship and admiration +between them. People always say so, at all events.' + +'I take refuge once more,' said Rolfe, 'in my fathomless ignorance.' + +He rose from his chair, and sat down again on a corner of the table. +Carnaby stood up, threw his arms above his head, and yawned with animal +vehemence, the expression of an intolerable ennui. + +'There's something damnably wrong with us all -- that's the one thing +certain.' + +'Idleness, for one thing,' said Rolfe. + +'Yes. And I'm too old to do anything. Why didn't I follow Miles into the +army? I think I was more cut out for that than for anything else. I +often feel I should like to go to South Africa and get up a little war +of my own.' + +Rolfe shouted with laughter. + +'Not half a bad idea, and the easiest thing in the world, no doubt.' + +'Nigger-hunting; a superior big game.' + +'There's more than that to do in South Africa,' said Harvey. 'I was +looking at a map in Stanford's window the other day, and it amused me. +Who believes for a moment that England will remain satisfied with bits +here and there? We have to swallow the whole, of course. We shall go on +fighting and annexing, until -- until the decline and fall of the +British Empire. That hasn't begun yet. Some of us are so over-civilised +that it makes a reaction of wholesome barbarism in the rest. We shall +fight like blazes in the twentieth century. It's the only thing that +keeps Englishmen sound; commercialism is their curse. Happily, no sooner +do they get fat than they kick, and somebody's shin suffers; then they +fight off the excessive flesh. War is England's Banting.' + +'You'd better not talk like that to Sibyl.' + +'Why, frankly, old man, I think that's your mistake. But you'll tell me, +and rightly enough, to mind my own business.' + +'Nonsense. What do you mean exactly? You think I ought to --' + +Hugh hesitated, with an air of uneasiness. + +'Well,' pursued his friend cautiously, 'do you think it's right to +suppress your natural instincts? Mightn't it give her a new interest in +life if she came round a little to your point of view?' + +'Queer thing, how unlike we are, isn't it?' said Carnaby, with a sudden +drop of his tone to amiable ingenuousness. 'But, you know; we get along +together very well.' + +'To be sure. Yet you are going to rust in the Riviera when you want to +be on the Himalayas. Wouldn't it do your wife good to give up her books +and her music for a while and taste fresh air?' + +'I doubt if she's strong enough for it.' + +'It would make her stronger. And here's a good opportunity. If you give +up housekeeping (and housekeepers), why not reform your life altogether? +Go and have a look at Australia.' + +'Sibyl hates the sea.' + +'She'd soon get over that. Seriously, you ought to think of it.' + +Carnaby set his lips and for a moment hung his head. + +'You're quite right. But --' + +'A little pluck, old fellow.' + +'I'll see what can be done. Have another whisky?' + +They went out into the hall, where a dim light through coloured glass +illumined a statue in terracotta, some huge engravings, the massive +antlers of an elk, and furniture in carved oak. + +'Queer feeling of emptiness,' said Carnaby, subduing his voice. 'I feel +as if they'd carried off everything, and left bare walls. Sibyl couldn't +stay in the place. Shall I whistle for a cab? By Jove! that reminds me, +the whistle has gone; it happened to be silver. A wedding present from +that fool Benson, who broke his neck in a steeplechase three weeks +after.' Harvey laughed, and stepped out into the watery fog. + + +CHAPTER 3 + + +A cab crawling at the upper end of the terrace took him quickly home. He +entered with his latch-key as a church clock tolled one. + +It was a large house, within a few minutes' walk of Royal Oak Station. +Having struck a match, and lit a candle which stood upon the hall table +(indicating that he was the last who would enter tonight), Harvey put up +the door-chain and turned the great key, then went quietly upstairs. His +rooms were on the first floor. A tenancy of five years, with long +absences, enabled him to regard this niche in a characterless suburb as +in some sort his home; a familiar smell of books and tobacco welcomed +him as he opened the door; remnants of a good fire kept the air warm, +and dispersed a pleasant glow. On shelves which almost concealed the +walls, stood a respectable collection of volumes, the lowest tier +consisting largely of what secondhand booksellers, when invited to +purchase, are wont to call 'tomb-stones' that is to say, old folios, of +no great market value, though good brains and infinite labour went to +the making of them. A great table, at one end of which was a tray with +glasses and a water-bottle, occupied the middle of the floor; nearer the +fireplace was a small writing-desk. For pictures little space could be +found; but over the mantelpiece hung a fine water-colour, the flood of +Tigris and the roofs of Bagdad burning in golden sunset. Harvey had +bought it at the gallery in Pall Mall not long ago; the work of a man of +whom he knew nothing; it represented the farthest point of his own +travels, and touched profoundly his vague historico-poetic +sensibilities. + +Three letters lay on the desk. As soon as he had lit his lamp, and +exchanged his boots for slippers, he looked at the envelopes, and chose +one addressed in a woman's hand. The writer was Mrs. Bennet Frothingham. + +'We have only just heard, from Mrs. Carnaby, that you are back in town. +_Could_ you spare us tomorrow evening? It would be so nice of you. The +quartet will give Beethoven's F minor, and Alma says it will be well +done -- the conceit of the child! We hope to have some interesting +people What a shocking affair of poor Mrs. Carnaby's! I never knew +anything _quite_ so bad. -- Our united kind regards.' + +Harvey thrust out his lips, in an ambiguous expression, as he threw the +sheet aside. He mused before opening the next letter. This proved to be +of startling contents: a few lines scribbled informally, undated, +without signature. A glance at the postmark discovered 'Liverpool'. + +'The children are at my last address, -- you know it. I can do no more +for them. If the shabby Abbotts refuse -- as I dare say they will -- it +wouldn't hurt you to keep them from the workhouse. But it's a devilish +hard world, and they must take their chance.' + +After a stare and a frown, Harvey woke the echoes with boisterous +laughter. It was long since any passage in writing had so irresistibly +tickled his sense of humour. Well, he must let Abbott know of this. It +might be as well, perhaps, if he called on Mrs. Abbott tomorrow, to +remove any doubt that might remain in her mind. The fellow Wager being +an old acquaintance of his, he could not get rid of a sense of far-off +responsibility in this matter; though, happily, Wager's meeting with Mrs +Abbott's cousin, which led to marriage and misery, came about quite +independently of him. + +The last letter he opened without curiosity, but with quiet interest and +pleasure. It was dated from Greystone; the writer, Basil Morton, had a +place in his earliest memories, for, as neighbours' children, they had +played together long before the grammar-school days which allied him +with Hugh Carnaby. + +'For aught I know,' began Morton, 'you may at this moment be drifting on +the Euphrates, or pondering on the site of Alexandreia Eschate. It is +you who owe me an account of yourself; nevertheless, I am prompted to +write, if only to tell you that I have just got the complete set of the +Byzantine Historians. A catalogue tempted me, and I did buy.' + +And so on in the same strain, until, in speaking of nearer matters, his +style grew simpler. + +'Our elder boy begins to put me in a difficulty. As I told you, he has +been brought up on the most orthodox lines of Anglicanism; his mother -- +best of mothers and best of wives, but in this respect atavistic -- has +had a free hand, and I don't see how it could have been otherwise. But +now the lad begins to ask awkward questions, and to put me in a corner; +the young rascal is a vigorous dialectician and rationalist -- odd +result of such training. It becomes a serious question how I am to +behave. I cannot bear to distress his mother, yet how can I tell him +that I literally believe those quaint old fables? _Solvetur vivendo_, of +course, like everything else, but just now it worries me a little. +Generally I can see a pretty clear line of duty; here the duty is +divided, with a vengeance. Have you any counsel?' + +Harvey Rolfe mumbled impatiently; all domestic matters were a trial to +his nerves. It seemed to him an act of unaccountable folly to marry a +woman from whom one differed diametrically on subjects that lay at the +root of life; and of children he could hardly bring himself to think at +all, so exasperating the complication they introduced into social +problems which defied common-sense. He disliked children; fled the sight +and the sound of them in most cases, and, when this was not possible, +regarded them with apprehension, anxiety, weariness, anything but +interest. In the perplexity that had come upon him, Basil Morton seemed +to have nothing more than his deserts. 'Best of mothers and of wives', +forsooth! An excellent housekeeper, no doubt, but what shadow of +qualification for wifehood and motherhood in this year 1886? The whole +question was disgusting to a rational man -- especially to that vigorous +example of the class, by name Harvey Rolfe. + +Late as it was, he did not care to go to bed. This morning he had +brought home a batch of books from the London Library, and he began to +turn them over, with the pleasure of anticipation. Not seldom of late +had Harvey flattered himself on the growth of intellectual gusto which +proceeded in him together with a perceptible decline of baser appetites, +so long his torment and his hindrance. His age was now seven and thirty; +at forty he might hope to have utterly trodden under foot the instincts +at war with mental calm. He saw before him long years of congenial +fellowship, of bracing travel, of well-directed studiousness. Let +problems of sex and society go hang! He had found a better way. + +On looking back over his life, how improbable it seemed, this happy +issue out of crudity, turbulence, lack of purpose, weakness, +insincerity, ignorance. First and foremost he had to thank good old Dr +Harvey, of Greystone; then, his sister, sleeping in her grave under the +old chimes she loved; then, surely himself, that seed of good within him +which had survived all adverse influences -- watched, surely, by his +unconscious self, guarded long, and now deliberately nurtured. Might he +not think well of himself. + +His library, though for the most part the purchase of late years, +contained books which reminded him of every period of his life. Up +yonder, on the top shelf, were two score volumes which had belonged to +his father, the share that fell to him when he and his sister made the +ordained division: scientific treatises out of date, an old magazine, +old books of travel. Strange that, in his times of folly, he had not +sold these as burdensome rubbish; he was very glad now, when love and +reverence for things gone by began to take hold upon him. There, at the +same height, stood a rank of school-books preserved for him by his +sister till she died; beside them, medical works, relics of his abortive +study when he was neither boy nor man. Descending, the eye fell upon +yellow and green covers, dozens of French novels, acquired at any time +from the year of his majority up to the other day; in the mass, they +reminded him of a frothy season, when he boasted a cheap Gallicism, and +sneered at all things English. A sprinkling of miscellaneous literature +accounted for ten years or more when he cared little to collect books, +when the senses raged in him, and only by miracle failed to hurl him +down many a steep place. Last came the serious acquisitions, the bulk of +his library: solid and expensive works --historians, archaeologists, +travellers, with noble volumes of engravings, and unwieldy tomes of +antique lore. Little enough of all this had Rolfe digested, but more and +more he loved to have erudition within his reach. He began to lack room +for comely storage; already a large bookcase had intruded into his +bedroom. If he continued to purchase, he must needs house himself more +amply; yet he dreaded the thought of a removal. + +He knew enough and to spare of life in lodgings. His experience began +when he came up as a lad to Guy's Hospital, when all lodgings in London +shone with the glorious light of liberty. It took a wider scope when, +having grasped his little patrimony, he threw physic to the dogs, and +lived as a gentleman at large. In those days he grew familiar with many +kinds of 'apartments' and their nomadic denizens. Having wasted his +substance, he found refuge in the office of an emigration agent, where, +by slow degrees, he proved himself worth a couple of hundred pounds per +annum. This was the 'business' to which Hugh Carnaby vaguely referred +when people questioned him concerning his friend's history. + +Had he possessed the commercial spirit, Harvey might have made his +position in this office much more lucrative. Entering nominally as a +clerk, he undertook from the first a variety of duties which could only +be discharged by a man of special abilities; for instance, the literary +revision of seductive pamphlets and broadsheets issued by his employer +to the public contemplating emigration. These advertisements he +presently composed, and, from the point of view of effectiveness, did it +remarkably well. How far such work might be worthy of an honest man, was +another question, which for several years scarcely troubled his +conscience. Before long a use was found for his slender medical +attainments; it became one of his functions to answer persons who +visited the office for information as to the climatic features of this +or that new country, and their physical fitness for going out as +colonists. Of course, there was demanded of him a radical +unscrupulousness, and often enough he proved equal to the occasion; but +as time went on, bringing slow development of brain and character, he +found these personal interviews anything but agreeable. He had +constantly before him the spectacle of human misery and defeat, now and +then in such dread forms that his heart sank and his tongue refused to +lie. When disgust made him contemplate the possibility of finding more +honourable employment, the manifest difficulties deterred him. + +He held the place for nearly ten years, living in the end so soberly and +frugally that his two hundred pounds seemed a considerable income; it +enabled him to spend his annual month of holiday in continental travel, +which now had a significance very different from that of his truancies +in France or Belgium before he began to earn a livelihood. Two deaths, a +year's interval between them, released him from his office. Upon these +events and their issue he had not counted; independence came to him as a +great surprise, and on the path of self-knowledge he had far to travel +before the significance of that and many another turning-point grew +clear to his backward gaze. + +Seeking for a comfortable abode, he discovered these rooms in Bayswater. +They were to let furnished, the house being occupied by a widow not +quite of the ordinary type of landlady, who entertained only bachelors, +and was fairly conscientious in the discharge of her obligations. Six +months later, during Harvey's absence abroad, this woman died, and on +his return the house had already been stripped of furniture. For a +moment he inclined to take a house of his own, but from this perilous +experiment he was saved by an intimation that, if he were willing to +supply himself with furniture and service, an incoming tenant would let +him occupy his old quarters. Harvey grasped at the offer. His landlord +was a man named Buncombe, a truss manufacturer, who had two children, +and seemingly no wife. The topmost storey Buncombe assigned to relatives +of his own -- a middle-aged woman, Mrs. Handover, with a sickly grownup +son, who took some part in the truss business. For a few weeks Rolfe was +waited upon by a charwoman, whom he paid extravagantly for a maximum of +dirt and discomfort; then the unsatisfactory person fell ill, and, +whilst cursing his difficulties, Harvey was surprised by a visit from +Mrs. Handover, who made an unexpected suggestion -- would Mr. Rolfe accept +her services in lieu of the charwoman's, paying her whatever he had been +accustomed to give? The proposal startled him. Mrs. Handover seemed to +belong pretty much to his own rank of life; he was appalled at the +thought of bidding her scrub floors and wash plates; and indeed it had +begun to dawn upon him that, for a man with more than nine hundred a +year, he was living in a needlessly uncomfortable way. On his reply that +he thought of removing, Mrs. Handover fell into profound depression, and +began to disclose her history. Very early in life she had married a man +much beneath her in station, with the natural result. After some years +of quarrelling, which culminated in personal violence on her husband's +part, she obtained a judicial separation. For a long time the man had +ceased to send her money, and indeed he was become a vagabond pauper, +from whom nothing could be obtained; she depended upon her son, and on +the kindness of Buncombe, who asked no rent. If she could earn a little +money by work, she would be much happier, and with tremulous hope she +had taken this step of appealing to her neighbour in the house. + +Harvey could not resist these representations. When the new arrangement +had been in operation for a week or so, Harvey began to reflect upon Mrs +Handover's personal narrative, and in some respects to modify his first +impulsive judgment thereon. It seemed to him not impossible that Mr +Handover's present condition of vagabond pauper might be traceable to +his marriage with a woman who had never learnt the elements of domestic +duty. Thoroughly well-meaning, Mrs. Handover was the most incompetent of +housewives. Yet such was Harvey Rolfe's delicacy, and so intense his +moral cowardice, that year after year he bore with Mrs. Handover's +defects, and paid her with a smile the wages of two first-rate servants. +Dust lay thick about him; he had grown accustomed to it, as to many +another form of sluttishness. After all, he possessed a quiet retreat +for studious hours, and a tolerable sleeping-place, with the advantage +of having his correspondence forwarded to him when he chose to wander. +To be sure, it was not final; one would not wish to grow old and die +amid such surroundings; sooner or later, circumstance would prompt the +desirable change. Circumstance, at this stage of his career, was +Harvey's god; he waited upon its direction with an air of wisdom, of +mature philosophy. + +Of his landlord, Buncombe, he gradually learnt all that he cared to +know. The moment came when Buncombe grew confidential, and he, too, had +a matrimonial history to disclose. Poverty played no part in it; his +business flourished, and Mrs. Buncombe, throughout a cohabitation of five +years, made no complaint of her lot. All at once -- so asserted Buncombe +-- the lady began to talk of dullness; for a few months she moped, then +of a sudden left home, and in a day or two announced by letter that she +had taken a place as barmaid at a music-hall. There followed an +interview between husband and wife, with the result, said Buncombe, that +they parted the best of friends, but with an understanding that Mrs +Buncombe should be free to follow her own walk in life, with a moderate +allowance to supplement what she could earn. That was five years ago. +Mrs. Buncombe now sang at second-rate halls, and enjoyed a certain +popularity, which seemed to her an ample justification of the +independence she had claimed. She was just thirty, tolerably +good-looking, and full of the enjoyment of life. Her children, +originally left in the care of her mother, whom Buncombe supported, were +now looked after by the two servants of the house, and Buncombe seemed +to have no conscientious troubles on that score; to Harvey Rolfe's eye +it was plain that the brother and sister were growing up as vicious +little savages, but he permitted himself no remark on the subject. + +After a few conversations, he gained an inkling of Buncombe's motive in +taking a house so much larger than he needed. This magnificence was +meant as an attraction to the roaming wife, whom, it was clear, Buncombe +both wished and hoped to welcome back before very long. She did +occasionally visit the house, though only for an hour or two; just to +show, said Buncombe, that there was no ill-feeling. On his part, +evidently, there was none whatever. An easy-going, simple-minded fellow, +aged about forty, with a boyish good temper and no will to speak of, he +seemed never to entertain a doubt of his wife's honesty, and in any case +would probably have agreed, on the least persuasion, to let bygones be +bygones. He spoke rather proudly than otherwise of Mrs. Buncombe's +artistic success. + +'It isn't every woman could have done it, you know, Mr. Rolfe.' + +'It is not,' Harvey assented. + +Only those rooms were furnished which the little family used, five or +six in all; two or three stood vacant, and served as playgrounds for the +children in bad weather. Of his relatives at the top, Buncombe never +spoke; he either did not know, or viewed with indifference, the fact +that Mrs. Handover served his lodger in a menial capacity. About once a +month he invited three or four male friends to a set dinner, and +hilarity could be heard until long after midnight. Altogether it was a +strange household, and, as he walked about the streets of the +neighbourhood, Harvey often wondered what abnormalities even more +striking might be concealed behind the meaningless uniformity of these +heavily respectable housefronts. As a lodger he was content to dwell +here; but sometimes by a freak of imagination he pictured himself a +married man, imprisoned with wife and children amid these leagues of +dreary, inhospitable brickwork, and a great horror fell upon him. + +No. In his time he had run through follies innumerable, but from the +supreme folly of hampering himself by marriage, a merciful fate had +guarded him. It was probably the most remarkable fact of his life; it +heightened his self-esteem, and appeared to warrant him in the assurance +that a destiny so protective would round the close of his days with +tranquillity and content. + +Upon this thought he lay down to rest. For half an hour Basil Morton's +letter had occupied his mind: he had tried to think out the problem it +set forth, not to leave his friend quite unanswered; but weariness +prevailed, and with it the old mood of self-congratulation. + +Next morning the weather was fine; that is to say, one could read +without artificial light, and no rain fell, and far above the house-tops +appeared a bluish glimmer, shot now and then with pale yellowness. +Harvey decided to carry out his intention of calling upon Mrs. Abbott. +She lived at Kilburn, and thither he drove shortly before twelve +o'clock. He was admitted to a very cosy room, where, amid books and +pictures, and by a large fire, the lady of the house sat reading. +Whatever the cause, it seemed to him that his welcome fell short of +cordiality, and he hastened to excuse himself for intruding at so early +an hour. + +'I received a letter last night which I thought you had better know of +without delay.' + +'From that man -- Mr. Wager?' said Mrs. Abbott quickly and hopefully, her +face brightening. + +'Yes. But there's nothing satisfactory in it. He writes from Liverpool, +and merely says that the children are at his lodgings, and he can do no +more for them.' + +Mrs. Abbott set her lips in an expression almost of sullenness. Rolfe had +never seen her look thus, but it confirmed a suspicion which he had +harboured concerning her. Why, he hardly knew -- for she always +presented a face of amiability, and talked in gentle, womanly tones -- +doubt as to Abbott's domestic felicity haunted his mind. Perhaps he now +saw her, for the first time, as she commonly appeared to her husband -- +slightly peevish, unwilling to be disturbed, impatient when things did +not run smoothly. + +'You saw my husband yesterday?' was her next remark, not very graciously +uttered. + +'We met in the street last night -- before I got Wager's letter. He was +suffering horribly from neuralgia.' + +Harvey could not forbear to add this detail, but he softened his voice +and smiled. + +'I don't wonder at it,' returned the lady; 'he takes no care of +himself.' + +Harvey glanced about the room. Its furnishing might be called luxurious, +and the same standard of comfort prevailed through the house. +Considering that Edgar Abbott, as Rolfe knew, married on small means, +and that he had toiled unremittingly to support a home in which he could +seldom enjoy an hour's leisure, there seemed no difficulty in explaining +this neglect of his own health. It struck the visitor that Mrs. Abbott +might have taken such considerations into account, and have spoken of +the good fellow more sympathetically. In truth, Harvey did not quite +like Mrs. Abbott. Her age was about seven and twenty. She came of poor +folk, and had been a high-school teacher; very clever and successful, it +was said, and Harvey could believe it. Her features were regular, and +did not lack sweetness; yet, unless an observer were mistaken, the last +year or two had emphasised a certain air of conscious superiority, +perchance originating in the schoolroom. She had had one child; it +struggled through a few months of sickly life, and died of convulsions +during its mother's absence at a garden-party. To all appearances, her +grief at the loss betokened tenderest feeling. When, in half a year's +time, she again came forth into the world, a change was noted; her +character seemed to have developed a new energy, she exhibited wider +interests, and stepped from the background to become a leader in the +little circle of her acquaintances. + +'Have you read this?' asked his hostess abruptly, holding up to him a +French volume, Ribot's _L'Heredite Psychologique_. + +'No. That kind of thing doesn't interest me much.' + +'Indeed! I find it _intensely_ interesting.' + +Harvey rose; he was in no mood for this kind of small-talk. But no +sooner had he quitted his chair, than Mrs. Abbott threw her book aside, +and spoke in another tone, seriously, though still with a perceptible +accent of annoyance. + +'Of course that man's children are here, and I suppose it is our duty to +provide for them till some other arrangement is made. But I think we +ought to put the matter in the hands of the police. Don't you, Mr +Rolfe?' + +'I'm afraid there's small chance of making their father support them. He +is certainly out of England by now, and won't easily be caught.' + +'The worst of it is, they are anything but _nice_ children. What could +one expect with such a father? Since their poor mother died, they have +been in the hands of horrible people -- low-class landladies, no doubt; +their talk shocks me. The last amusement they had, was to be taken by +somebody to Tussaud's, and now they can talk of nothing but "the hunted +murderer" -- one sees it on the walls, you know; and they play at being +murderer and policeman, one trying to escape the other. Pretty play for +children of five and seven, isn't it?' + +Rolfe made a gesture of disgust. + +'I know the poor things can't help it,' pursued Mrs. Abbott, with softer +feeling, 'but it turns me against them. From seeing so little of their +father, they have even come to talk with a vulgar pronunciation, like +children out of the streets almost. It's dreadful! When I think of my +cousin -- such a sweet, good girl, and _these_ her children -- oh, it's +horrible!' + +'They are very young,' said Harvey, in a low voice, perturbed in spite +of himself. 'With good training ----' + +'Yes, of course we must put them in good hands somewhere.' + +Plainly it had never occurred to Mrs. Abbott that such a task as this +might, even temporarily, be undertaken by herself; her one desire was to +get rid of the luckless brats, that their vulgarity might not pain her, +and the care of them encumber her polite leisure. + +After again excusing himself for this call, and hearing his apology this +time more graciously received, Harvey withdrew from the cosy study, and +left Mrs, Abbott to her _Heredite Psychologique_. On his way to lunch in +town, he thought of the overworn journalist groaning with neuralgia, and +wondered how Mrs. Abbott would relish a removal to the town of Waterbury. + + +CHAPTER 4 + + +Uncertain to the last moment, Harvey did at length hurry into his dress +clothes, and start for Fitzjohn Avenue. He had little mind for the +semi-fashionable crowd and the amateur music, but he could not answer +Mrs. Bennet Frothingham with any valid excuse, and, after all, she meant +kindly towards him. Why he enjoyed so much of this lady's favour it was +not easy to understand; intellectual sympathy there could be none +between them, and as for personal liking, on his side it did not go +beyond that naturally excited by a good-natured, feather-brained, rather +pretty woman, whose sprightliness never passed the limits of decorum, +and who seemed to have better qualities than found scope in her +butterfly existence. Perhaps he amused her, being so unlike the kind of +man she was accustomed to see. His acquaintance with the family dated +from their social palingenesis, when, after obscure prosperity in a +southern suburb, they fluttered to the northern heights, and were +observed of the paragraphists. Long before that, Bennet Frothingham had +been known in the money-market; it was the 'Britannia' -- Loan, +Assurance, Investment, and Banking Company, Limited -- that made him +nationally prominent, and gave an opportunity to his wife (in second +marriage) and his daughter (by the first). Three years ago, when Carnaby +(already lured by the charms of Sibyl Larkfield) presented his friend +Rolfe as 'the man who had been to Bagdad', Alma Frothingham, not quite +twenty-one, was studying at the Royal Academy of Music, and, according +to her friends, promised to excel alike on the piano and the violin, +having at the same time a 'really remarkable' contralto voice. Of late +the young lady had abandoned singing, rarely used the pianoforte, and +seemed satisfied to achieve distinction as a violinist. She had founded +an Amateur Quartet Society, whose performances were frequently to be +heard at the house in Fitzjohn Avenue. + +Last winter Harvey had chanced to meet Alma and her stepmother at +Leipzig, at a Gewandhaus concert. He was invited to go with them to hear +the boys' motet at the Thomaskirche; and with this intercourse began the +change in their relations from mere acquaintance to something like +friendship. Through the following spring Rolfe was a familiar figure at +the Frothinghams'; but this form of pleasure soon wearied him, and he +was glad to escape from London in June. He knew the shadowy and +intermittent temptation which beckoned him to that house; music had +power over him, and he grew conscious of watching Alma Frothingham, her +white little chin on the brown fiddle, with too exclusive an interest. +When 'that fellow' Cyrus Redgrave, a millionaire, or something of the +sort, began to attend these gatherings with a like assiduity, and to win +more than his share of Miss Frothingham's conversation, Harvey felt a +disquietude which happily took the form of disgust, and it was easy +enough to pack his portmanteau. + +Through the babble of many voices in many keys, talk mingling with +laughter more or less melodiously subdued, he made his way up the great +staircase. As he neared the landing, there sounded the shrill squeak of +a violin and a 'cello's deep harmonic growl. His hostess, small, +slender, fair, and not yet forty, a jewel-flash upon her throat and in +the tiara above her smooth low forehead, took a step forward to greet +him. + +'Really? How delightful! I shot at a venture, and it was a hit after +all!' + +'They are just beginning?' + +'The quartet -- yes. Herr Wilenski has promised to play afterwards.' + +He moved on, crossed a small drawing-room, entered the larger room +sacred to music, and reached a seat in the nick of time. Miss +Frothingham, the violin against her shoulder, was casting a final glance +at the assembly, the glance which could convey a noble severity when it +did not forthwith impose silence. A moment's perfect stillness, and the +quartet began. There were two ladies, two men. Miss Frothingham played +the first violin, Mr. AEneas Piper the second; the 'cello was in the +hands of Herr Gassner, and the viola yielded its tones to Miss Dora +Leach. Harvey knew them all, but had eyes only for one; in truth, only +one rewarded observation. Miss Leach was a meagre blonde, whose form, +face, and attitude enhanced by contrast the graces of the First Violin. +Alma's countenance shone -- possibly with the joy of the artist, perhaps +only with gratified vanity. As she grew warm, the rosy blood mantled in +her cheeks and flushed her neck. Every muscle and nerve tense as the +strings from which she struck music, she presently swayed forward on the +points of her feet, and seemed to gain in stature, to become a more +commanding type. Her features suggested neither force of intellect or +originality of character: but they had beauty, and something more. She +stood a fascination, an allurement, to the masculine sense. Harvey Rolfe +had never so responded to this quality in the girl; the smile died from +his face as he regarded her. Of her skill as a musician, he could form +no judgment; but it seemed to him that she played very well, and he had +heard her praised by people who understood the matter; for instance, +Herr Wilenski, the virtuoso, from whom -- in itself a great compliment +-- Alma was having lessons. + +He averted his eyes, and began to seek for known faces among the +audience. His host he could not discover; Mr. Frothingham must be away +from home this evening; it was seldom he failed to attend Alma's +concerts. But near the front sat Mrs. Ascott Larkfield, a dazzling +figure, and, at some distance, her daughter Mrs. Carnaby, no shadow of +gloom upon her handsome features. Hugh was not in sight; probably he +felt in no mood for parties. Next to Mrs. Carnaby sat 'that fellow', +Cyrus Redgrave, smiling as always, and surveying the people near him +from under drooping brows, his head slightly bent. Mr. Redgrave had thin +hair, but a robust moustache and a short peaked beard; his complexion +was a rifle sallow; he lolled upon the chair, so that, at moments, his +head all but brushed Mrs. Carnaby's shoulder. + +Long before the close of the piece, Rolfe had ceased to listen, his +thoughts drifting hither and hither on a turbid flood of emotion. During +the last passage -- _Allegro molto leggieramente_ -- he felt a movement +round about him as a general relief, and when, on the last note, there +broke forth (familiar ambiguity) sounds of pleasure and of applause, he +at once stood up. But he had no intention of pressing into the throng +that rapidly surrounded the musicians. Seeing that Mr. Redgrave had +vacated his place, whilst Mrs. Carnaby remained seated, he stepped +forward to speak with his friend's wife. She smiled up at him, and +lifted a gloved finger. + +'No! Please don't!' + +'Not sit down by you?' + +'Oh, certainly. But I saw condolence in your face, and I'm tired of it. +Besides, it would be mere hypocrisy in you.' + +Harvey gave a silent laugh. He had tried to understand Sibyl Carnaby, +and at different times had come to very different conclusions regarding +her. All women puzzled, and often disconcerted, him; with Sibyl he could +never talk freely, knowing not whether to dislike or to admire her. He +was not made on the pattern of Cyrus Redgrave, who probably viewed +womankind with instinctive contempt, yet pleased all with the flattery +of his homage. + +'Well, then, we won't talk of it,' he said, noticing, in the same +moment, that her person did not lack the adornment of jewels. Perhaps +she had happened to be wearing these things on the evening of the +robbery; but Rolfe felt a conviction that, under any circumstances, +Sibyl would not be without rings and bracelets. + +'They certainly improve,' she remarked, indicating the quartet with the +tip of her fan. + +Her opinions were uttered with calm assurance, whatever the subject. An +infinite self-esteem, so placid that it never suggested the vulgarity of +conceit, shone in her large eyes and dwelt upon the beautiful curve of +her lips. No face could be of purer outline, of less sensual +suggestiveness; it wore at times an air of cold abstraction which was +all but austerity. Rolfe imagined her the most selfish of women, thought +her incapable of sentiment; yet how was her marriage to be accounted +for, save by supposing that she fell in love with Hugh Carnaby? Such a +woman might surely have sold herself to great advantage; and yet -- odd +incongruity -- she did not impress one as socially ambitious. Her +mother, the ever-youthful widow, sped from assembly to assembly, unable +to live save in the whirl of fashion; not so Sibyl. Was she too proud, +too self-centred? And what ambition did she nourish? + +Or was it all an illusion of the senses? Suppose her a mere graven +image, hollow, void. Call her merely a handsome woman, with the face of +some remarkable ancestress, with just enough of warmth to be subdued by +the vigorous passion of such a fine fellow as Carnaby. On the whole, +Rolfe preferred this hypothesis. He had never heard her say anything +really bright, or witty, or significant. But Hugh spoke of her fine +qualities of head and heart; Alma Frothingham made her an exemplar, and +would not one woman see through the vacuous pretentiousness of another? + +Involuntarily, he was gazing at her, trying to read her face. + +'So you think we ought to go to Australia,' said Sibyl quietly, +returning his look. + +Hugh had repeated the conversation of last night; indiscreet, but +natural. One could not suppose that Hugh kept many secrets from his +wife. + +'I?' He was confused. 'Oh, we were talking about the miseries of +housekeeping ----' + +'I hate the name of those new countries.' + +It was said smilingly, but with what expression in the word 'hate'! + +'Vigorous cuttings from the old tree,' said Rolfe. 'There is England's +future.' + +'Perhaps so. At present they are barbarous, and I have a decided +preference for civilisation. So have you, I am quite sure.' + +Rolfe murmured his assent; whereupon Sibyl rose, just bent her head to +him, and moved with graceful indolence away. + +'Now she hates _me_,' Harvey said in his mind; 'and much I care!' + +As a matter of courtesy, he thought it well to move in Miss +Frothingham's direction. The crowd was thinning; without difficulty he +approached to within a few yards of her, and there exchanged a word or +two with the player of the viola, Miss Leach -- a good, ingenuous +creature, he had always thought; dangerous to no man's peace, but rather +sentimental, and on that account to be avoided. Whilst talking, he heard +a man's voice behind him, pretentious, coarse, laying down the law in a +musical discussion. + +'No, no; Beethoven is not _Klaviermaszig_. His thoughts ate symphonic -- +they need the orchestra. . . . A string quartet is to a symphony what a +delicate water-colour is to an oil-painting. . . . Oh, I don't care for +his playing at all! he has not -- what shall I call it? -- _Sehnsucht_.' + +Rolfe turned at length to look. A glance showed him a tall, bony young +man, with a great deal of disorderly hair, and shaven face; +harsh-featured, sensual, utterly lacking refinement. He inquired of Miss +Leach who this might be, and learnt that the man's name was Felix Dymes. + +'Isn't he a humbug?' + +The young lady was pained and shocked. + +'Oh, he is very clever,' she whispered. 'He has composed a most +beautiful song -- don't you know it? -- "Margot". It's very likely that +Topham may sing it at one of the Ballad Concerts.' + +'Now I've offended _her_,' said Rolfe to himself. 'No matter.' + +Seeing his opportunity, he took a few steps, and stood before Alma +Frothingham. She received him very graciously, looking him straight in +the face, with that amused smile which he could never interpret. Did it +mean that she thought him 'good fun'? Had she discussed him with Sibyl +Carnaby, and heard things of him that moved her mirth? Or was it pure +good nature, the overflowing spirits of a vivacious girl? + +'So good of you to come, Mr. Rolfe. And what did you think of us?' + +This was characteristic. Alma delighted in praise, and never hesitated +to ask for it. She hung eagerly upon his unready words. + +'I only show my ignorance when I talk of music. Of course, I liked it.' + +'Ah! then you didn't think it very good. I see ----' + +'But I _did_! Only my opinion is worthless.' + +Alma looked at him, seemed to hesitate, laughed; and Harvey felt the +conviction that, by absurd sincerity, he had damaged himself in the +girl's eyes. What did it matter? + +'I've been practising five hours a day,' said Alma, in rapid, ardent +tones. Her voice was as pleasant to the ear as her face to look upon; +richly feminine, a call to the emotions. 'That isn't bad, is it?' + +'Tremendous energy!' + +'Oh, music is my religion, you know. I often feel sorry I haven't to get +my living by it; it's rather wretched to be only an amateur, don't you +think?' + +'Religion shouldn't be marketable,' joked Harvey. + +'Oh, but you know what I mean. You are so critical, Mr. Rolfe. I've a +good mind to ask Father to turn me out of house and home, with just +half-a-crown. Then I might really do something. It would be splendid! -- +Oh, what do you think of that shameful affair in Hamilton Terrace? Mrs +Carnaby takes it like an angel. They're going to give up housekeeping. +Very sensible, I say. Everybody will do it before long. Why should we be +plagued with private houses?' + +'There are difficulties ----' + +'Of course there are, and men seem to enjoy pointing them out. They +think it a crime if women hate the bother and misery of housekeeping.' + +'I am not so conservative.' + +He tried to meet her eyes, which were gleaming fixedly upon him; but his +look fell, and turned as quickly from the wonderful white shoulders, the +throbbing throat, the neck that showed its colour against swan's-down. +To his profound annoyance, someone intervened -- a lady bringing someone +else to be introduced. Rolfe turned on his heel, and was face to face +with Cyrus Redgrave. Nothing could be suaver or more civil than Mr +Redgrave's accost; he spoke like a polished gentleman, and, for aught +Harvey knew, did not misrepresent himself. But Rolfe had a prejudice; he +said as little as possible, and moved on. + +In the smaller drawing-room he presently conversed with his hostess. Mrs +Frothingham's sanguine and buoyant temper seemed proof against fatigue; +at home or as a guest she wore the same look of enjoyment; vexations, +rivalries, responsibilities, left no trace upon her beaming countenance. +Her affections were numberless; her ignorance, as an observer easily +discovered, was vast and profound; but the desire to please, the tact of +a 'gentlewoman, and thorough goodness of heart, appeared in all her +sayings and doings; she was never offensive, never wholly ridiculous. +Small-talk flowed from her with astonishing volubility, tone and subject +dictated by the characteristics of the person with whom she gossiped; +yet her preference was for talk on homely topics, reminiscences of a +time when she knew not luxury. 'You may not believe it,' she said to him +in a moment of confidence, 'but I assure you I am a very good cook.' +Rolfe did not quite credit the assurance, but he felt it not improbable +that Mrs. Frothingham would accept a reverse of fortune with much +practical philosophy; he could imagine her brightening a small house +with the sweetness of her disposition, and falling to humble duties with +sprightly goodwill. In this point she was a noteworthy exception among +the prosperous women of his acquaintance. + +'And what have you been doing?' she asked, not as a mere phrase of +civility, but in a voice and which a look of genuine interest. + +'Wasting my time, for the most part.' + +'So you always say; but it can't be true. I know the kind of man who +wastes his time, and you're not a bit like him. Nothing would gratify my +curiosity more than to be able to watch you through a whole day. What +did you think of the quartet?' + +'Capital!' + +'I'm sure they would make wonderful progress, and Alma does work so +hard! I'm only afraid she may injure her health.' + +'I see no sign of it yet.' + +'She's certainly looking very well,' said Mrs. Frothingham, with manifest +pride and affection. Of Alma she always spoke thus; nothing of the +step-mother was ever observable. + +'Mr. Frothingham is not here this evening!' + +'I really don't know why,' replied the hostess, casting her eyes round +the room. 'I quite expected him. But he has been dreadfully busy the +last few weeks. And people do worry him so. Somebody called whilst we +were at dinner, and refused to believe that Mr. Frothingham was not at +home, and made quite a disturbance at the door -- so they told me +afterwards. I'm really quite nervous sometimes; crazy people are always +wanting to see him -- people who really ought not to be at large. No +doubt they have had their troubles, poor things; and everybody thinks my +husband can make them rich if only he chooses.' + +A stout, important-looking man paused before Mrs. Frothingham, and spoke +familiarly. + +'I'm looking for B. F. Hasn't he put in an appearance yet?' + +'I really hope he's enjoying himself somewhere else,' replied the +hostess, rising, with a laugh. 'You leave him no peace.' + +The stout man did not smile, but looked gravely for a moment at Rolfe, a +stranger to him, and turned away. + +Herr Wilenski, the virtuoso, was about to play something; the guests +moved to seat themselves. Rolfe, however, preferred to remain in this +room, where he could hear the music sufficiently well. He had not quite +recovered from his chagrin at the interruption of his talk with Alma -- +a foolishness which made him impatient with himself. At the same time, +he kept thinking of the 'crazy people' of whom Mrs. Frothingham spoke so +lightly. A man such as Bennet Frothingham must become familiar with many +forms of 'craziness', must himself be responsible for a good deal of +folly such as leads to downright aberration. Recalling Mrs. Frothingham's +innocent curiosity concerning his own life, Harvey wished, in turn, that +it were possible for him to watch and comprehend the business of a great +finance-gambler through one whole day. What monstrous cruelties and +mendacities might underlie the surface of this gay and melodious +existence! Why was the stout man looking for 'B. F.'? Why did he turn +away with such a set countenance? Why was that old bore at the club in +such a fidget about the 'Britannia'? + +Ha! There indeed sounded the violin! It needed no technical intelligence +to distinguish between the playing of Wilenski and that of Alma +Frothingham. Her religion, forsooth! Herr Wilenski, one might be sure, +talked little enough about his 'religion'. What did Alma think as she +listened? Was she overcome by the despair of the artist-soul struggling +in its immaturity? Or did she smile, as ever, and congratulate herself +on the five hours a day, and tell herself how soon she would reach +perfection if there were real necessity for it? Hopeless to comprehend a +woman. The senses warred upon the wit; seized by calenture, one saw +through radiant mists. + +He did not like the name 'Alma'. It had a theatrical sound, a suggestion +of unreality. + +The _maestro_ knew his audience; he played but for a quarter of an hour, +and the babble of tongues began again. Rolfe, sauntering before the +admirable pictures which hung here as a mere symbol of wealth, heard a +voice at his shoulder. + +'I'm very thirsty. Will you take me down?' + +His heart leapt with pleasure; Alma must have seen it in his eyes as he +turned. + +'What did Wilenski play?' he asked confusedly, as they moved towards the +staircase. + +'Something of Grieg's Mr. Wilbraham is going to sing "Wie bist du, meine +Koniginn" -- Brahms, you know. But you don't really care for music.' + +'What an astounding accusation!' + +'You don't really care for it. I've known that since we were at +Leipzig.' + +'I have never pretended to appreciate music as you do. That needs +education, and something more. Some music wearies me, there's no denying +it.' + +'You like the Melody in F?' + +'Yes, I do.' + +Alma laughed, with superiority, but not ill-naturedly. + +'And I think it detestable -- but of course that doesn't matter. When I +talk about books you think me a nincompoop. -- That word used to amuse +me so when I was a child. I remember laughing wildly whenever I saw or +heard it. It _is_ a funny word, isn't it?' + +'The last I should apply to you,' said Rolfe in an absent undertone, as +he caught a glimpse of the white teeth between her laughing lips. + +They entered the supper-room, where as yet only a few people were +refreshing themselves. Provisions for a regiment spread before the gaze; +delicacies innumerable invited the palate: this house was famed for its +hospitable abundance. Alma, having asked her companion to get her some +lemonade, talked awhile with two ladies who had begun to eat and drink +in a serious spirit; waiting for her, Rolfe swallowed two glasses of +wine to counteract a certain dullness and literalness which were wont to +possess him in such company. + +'I won't sit down,' she said. 'No, thanks, nothing to eat. I wonder +where Papa is? Now, _he_ enjoys music, though he is no musician. I think +Papa a wonderful man. For years he has never had more than six hours +sleep; and the work he does! He _can't_ take a holiday; idleness makes +him ill. We were down in Hampshire in July with some relatives of +Mamma's -- the quietest, sleepiest village -- and Papa tried to spend a +few days with us, but he had to take to flight; he would have perished +of ennui.' + +'Life at high pressure,' remarked Rolfe, as the least offensive comment +he could make. + +'Yes; and isn't it better than life at low?' exclaimed the girl, with +animation. 'Most people go through existence without once exerting all +the powers that are in them. I should hate to die with the thought that +I hadn't really lived myself _out_. A year ago Papa took me into the +City to see the offices of _Stock and Share_, just after the paper +started. It didn't interest me very much; but I pretended it did, +because Papa always takes an interest in _my_ affairs. But I found there +was something else. After we had seen the printing machinery, and so on, +he took me up to the top of the building into a small room, where there +was just a table and a chair and a bookshelf; and he told me it was his +first office, the room in which he had begun business thirty years ago. +He has always kept it for his own, and just as it was -- a fancy of his. +There's no harm in my telling you; he's very proud of it, and so am I. +That's energy!' + +'Very interesting indeed.' + +'I must go up again,' she added quickly. 'Oh, there's miss Beaufoy; do +let me introduce you to Miss Beaufoy.' + +She did so, unaware of Rolfe's groaning reluctance, and at once +disappeared. + +The supper-room began to fill. As soon as he could escape from Miss +Beaufoy, who had a cavalier of her own, Harvey ascended the stairs +again, and found a quiet corner, where he sat for a quarter of an hour +undisturbed. Couples and groups paused to talk near him, and whenever he +caught a sentence it was the merest chatter, meaningless repetition of +commonplaces which, but for habit, must have been an unutterable +weariness to the least intelligent of mortals. He was resolved never to +come here again; never again to upset his peace of mind and sully his +self-respect by grimacing amid such a crowd. He enjoyed human +fellowship, timely merry-making; but to throng one's house with people +for whom, with one or two exceptions, one cared not a snap of the +fingers, what was this but sheer vulgarism? As for Alma Frothingham, +long ago he had made up his mind about her. Naturally, inevitably, she +absorbed the vulgarity of her atmosphere. All she did was for effect: it +was her cue to pose as the artist; she would keep it up through life, +and breathe her last, amid perfumes, declaring that she had 'lived +herself out'. + +In his peevishness he noticed that women came up from supper with +flushed cheeks and eyes unnaturally lustrous. What a grossly sensual +life was masked by their airs and graces! He had half a mind to start +tomorrow for the Syrian deserts. + +'Do let us see you again soon,' said his hostess, as he took leave of +her. 'Come in at five o'clock on Wednesday, that's our quiet day; only a +few of our _real_ friends. We shall be in town till Christmas, for +certain.' + +On the stairs he passed Mr. Felix Dymes, the composer of 'Margot'. + +'Oh, it's the easiest thing in the world,' Mr. Dymes was saying, 'to +compose a song that will be popular. I'll give you the recipe, and +charge nothing You must have a sudden change to the minor, and a waltz +refrain -- that's all. Oh yes, there's money in it. I know a man who +----' + +Rolfe had never left the house in such a bad temper. + + +CHAPTER 5 + + +When he awoke next morning, the weather was so gloomy that he seriously +resumed his thought of getting away from London. Why, indeed, did he +make London his home, when it would be easy to live in places vastly +more interesting, and under a pure sky? He was a citizen of no city at +all, and had less desire than ever to bind himself to a permanent +habitation. All very well so long as he kept among his male friends, at +the club and elsewhere; but this 'society' played the deuce with him, +and he had not the common-sense, the force of resolve, to keep out of it +altogether. + +Well, he must go to his bank this morning, to draw cash. + +It was about twelve o'clock when he stood at the counter, waiting with +his cheque. The man before him talked with the teller. + +'Do you know that the "Britannia" has shut up?' + +'The bank? No!' + +'But it has. I passed just now, and there were a lot of people standing +about. Closed at half-past eleven, they say. + +Harvey had a singular sensation, a tremor at his heart, a flutter of the +pulses, a turning cold and hot; then he was quite calm again, and said +to himself, 'Of course.' For a minute or two the quiet routine of the +bank was suspended; the news passed from mouth to mouth; newcomers +swelled a gossiping group in front of the counter, and Harvey listened. +The general tone was cynical; there sounded scarcely a note of +indignation; no one present seemed to be personally affected by the +disaster. The name of Bennet Frothingham was frequently pronounced, with +unflattering comments. + +'Somebody'll get it hot,' remarked one of the speakers; and the others +laughed. + +Rolfe, having transacted his business, walked away. It struck him that +he would go and look at the closed bank, but he did not remember the +address; a policeman directed him, and he walked on, the distance not +being very great. At the end of the street in which the building stood, +signs of the unusual became observable -- the outskirts of a crowd, +hanging loose in animated talk, as after some exciting occurrence; and +before the bank itself was gathered a throng of men, respectability's +silk hats mingling with the felts and caps of lower strata. Here and +there a voice could be heard raised in anger, but the prevailing emotion +seemed to be mere curiosity. The people who would suffer most from the +collapse of this high-sounding enterprise could not reach the scene of +calamity at half an hour's notice; they were dwellers in many parts of +the British Isles, strangers most of them to London city, with but a +vague mental picture of the local habitation of the Britannia Loan, +Assurance, Investment, and Banking Company, Limited. + +His arm was seized, and a voice said hoarsely in his ear -- + +'By God! too late.' + +Hugh Carnaby had tumbled out of a cab, and saw his friend in the same +moment that he got near enough to perceive that the doors of the bank +were shut. + +'The thieves have lost no time,' he added, pale with fury. + +'You had warning of it?' + +Hugh pulled him a few yards away, and whispered ---- + +'Bennet Frothingham shot himself last night.' + +Again Harvey experienced that disagreeable heart-shock, with the +alternation of hot and cold. + +'Where? At home?' + +'At the office of _Stock and Share_. Come farther away. It'll be in the +evening papers directly, but I don't want those blackguards to hear me. +I got up late this morning, and as I was having breakfast, Sibyl rushed +in. She brought the news; had it from some friend of her mother's, a man +connected somehow with _Stock and Share_. I thought they would shut up +shop, and came to try and save Sibyl's balance -- a couple of hundred, +that's all -- but they've swallowed it with the rest.' + +'With the rest?' + +Hugh laughed mockingly. + +'Of hers. Devilish bad luck Sibyl has. It was just a toss-up that a good +deal of my own wasn't in, one way or another.' + +'Do you know any more about Frothingham?' + +'No. Only the fact. Don't know when it was, or when it got known. We +shall have it from the papers presently. I think every penny Mrs +Larkfield had was in.' + +'But it may not mean absolute ruin,' urged Harvey. + +'I know what to think when B. F. commits suicide. We shall hear that +some of the others have bolted. It'll be as clean a sweep as our +housekeeper's little job.' + +'I've had queer presentiments,' Harvey murmured. + +'Why, damn it, so have I! So had lots of people. But nobody ever does +anything till it's too late. I must get home again with my agreeable +news. You'll be going to the club, I dare say? They'll have plenty to +talk about for the next month or two.' + +'Try to come round tonight to my place.' + +'Perhaps. It depends on fifty chances. There's only one thing I know for +certain -- that I shall get out of this cursed country as soon as +possible.' + +They parted, and Harvey walked westward. He had no reason for hurry; as +usual, the tumult of the world's business passed him by; he was merely a +looker-on. It occurred to him that it might be a refreshing and a +salutary change if for once he found himself involved in the anxieties +to which other men were subject; this long exemption and security +fostered a too exclusive regard of self, an inaptitude for sympathetic +emotion, which he recognised as the defect of his character. This +morning's events had startled him, and given a shock to his imagination; +but already he viewed them and their consequences with a self-possession +which differed little from unconcern. Bennet Frothingham, no doubt, had +played a rascally game, foreseeing all along the issues of defeat. As to +his wife and daughter, it would be strange if they were not provided +for; suffer who might, they would probably live on in material comfort, +and nowadays that was the first consideration. He was surprised that +their calamity left him so unmoved; it showed conclusively how +artificial were his relations with these persons; in no sense did he +belong to their world; for all his foolish flutterings, Alma Frothingham +remained a stranger to him, alien from every point of view, personal, +intellectual, social. And how many of the people who crowded to her +concert last night would hear the news this morning with genuine +distress on her account? Gratified envy would be the prevailing mood, +with rancorous hostility in the minds of those who were losers by Bennet +Frothingham's knavery or ill-fortune. Hugh Carnaby's position called for +no lament; he had a sufficient income of his own, and would now easily +overcome his wife's pernicious influence; with or without her, he would +break away from a life of corrupting indolence, and somewhere beyond +seas 'beat the British drum' -- use his superabundant vitality as nature +prompted. + +After all, it promised to clear the air. These explosions were periodic, +inevitable, wholesome. The Britannia Loan, &c, &c, &c, had run its +pestilent course; exciting avarice, perturbing quiet industry with the +passion of the gamester, inflating vulgar ambition, now at length +scattering wreck and ruin. This is how mankind progresses. Harvey Rolfe +felt glad that no theological or scientific dogma constrained him to a +justification of the laws of life. + +At lunchtime, newspaper boys began to yell. The earliest placards roared +in immense typography. In the Metropolitan Club, sheets moist from the +press suddenly descended like a fall of snow. Rolfe stood by a window +and read quietly. This first report told him little that he had not +already learnt, but there were a few details of the suicide. +Frothingham, it appeared, always visited the office of _Stock and Share_ +on the day before publication. Yesterday, as usual, he had looked in for +half an hour at three o'clock; but unexpectedly he came again at seven +in the evening, and for a third time at about eleven, when the printing +of the paper was in full swing. 'It was supposed by the persons whom he +then saw that Mr. Frothingham finally quitted the office; whether he +actually left the building or not seems to remain uncertain. If so, he +re-entered without being observed, which does not seem likely. Between +two and three o'clock this morning, when _Stock and Share_ was +practically ready for distribution, a man employed on the premises is +said, for some unexplained reason, to have ascended to the top floor of +the building, and to have entered a room ordinarily unused. A gas-jet +was burning, and the man was horrified to discover the dead body of Mr +Frothingham, at full length on the floor, in his hand a pistol. On the +alarm being given, medical aid was at once summoned, and it became +evident that death had taken place more than an hour previously. That no +one heard the report of a pistol can be easily explained by the noise of +the machinery below. The dead man's face was placid. Very little blood +had issued from the wound, and the shot must have been fired with a +remarkably steady hand.' + +'A room on the top floor of the building, ordinarily unused ----' What +story was it that Alma Frothingham told last night, of her visit to the +office of _Stock and Share_? Rolfe had not paid much attention to it at +the time; now he recalled the anecdote, and was more impressed by its +significance. That room, his first place of business, the scene of poor +beginnings, Bennet Frothingham had chosen for his place of death. +Perhaps he had long foreseen this possibility, had mused upon the +dramatic fitness of such an end; for there was a strain of melancholy in +the man, legible on his countenance, perceptible in his private +conversation. Just about the time when Alma laughingly told the story, +her father must have been sitting in that upper room, thinking his last +thoughts; or it might be that he lay already dead. + +Later issues contained much fuller reports. The man who found the body +had explained his behaviour in going up to the unused room, and it +relieved the dark affair with a touch of comedy. Before coming to work, +he had quarrelled with his wife, and, rather than go home in the early +hours of the morning, he hit upon the idea of finding a sleeping-place +here on the premises, to which he could slink unnoticed. 'It's little +enough sleep I get in my own house,' was his remark to the reporter who +won his confidence. Clubmen were hilarious over this incident, +speculating as to the result of its publication on the indiscreet man's +domestic troubles. + +It was not unremarked that a long time elapsed between the discovery of +the suicide and its being heard of by anyone who had an interest in +making it generally known. With the exception of two persons, all who +were engaged upon the production of the newspaper went home in complete +ignorance of what had happened, so cautiously and successfully was the +situation dealt with by the sub-editor and his informant. When, after an +examination by the doctor, who had been summoned in all secrecy, it +became necessary to communicate with the police, the employees had all +gone away, and the printed sheets had been conveyed to the distributing +agents. Naturally, the subeditor of _Stock and Share_' preserved a +certain reticence in the matter; but one could hardly be mistaken in +assuming that the directors of the Britannia Company -- two or three of +them, at all events -- had an opportunity of surveying their position +long before the hour when this momentous news got abroad. + +With regard to the company's affairs, only conjecture could be as yet +indulged in. In view of the immediate stoppage of business, it was +pretty safe to surmise that alarming disclosures awaited the public. No +one, of course, would be justified in prejudging the case against the +unhappy man who, amid seemingly brilliant circumstances, had been driven +to so desperate an act. + +And so on, and so on, in one journal after another, in edition upon +edition. Harvey Rolfe read them till he was weary, listened to the +gossip of the club till he was nauseated. He went home at length with a +headache, and, having carefully avoided contact with Buncombe or Mrs +Handover, made an effort to absorb himself in a volume of Gregorovius, +which was at present his study. The attempt was futile. Talk still +seemed to buzz about him; his temples throbbed; his thoughts wandered +far and wide. Driven to bed long before his accustomed hour, he heard +raucous voices rending the night, bellowing in hideous antiphony from +this side of the street and the other, as the vendors of a halfpenny +paper made the most of what Providence had sent them. + +The first thing after breakfast next morning, he posted a line to Hugh +Carnaby. 'Is there any way in which I can be of use to you? If you think +not, I shall be off tomorrow to Greystone for a few days. I feel as if +we were all being swept into a ghastly whirlpool which roars over the +bottomless pit. Of course, I will stay if I can do anything, no matter +what. Otherwise, address for a week to Basil Morton's.' + +This he dropped into the nearest pillar-box, and, as the sun was +endeavouring to shine, he walked the length of the street, a pretence of +exercise. On his way back he was preceded by a telegraph boy, who +stopped at Buncombe's front door, and awoke the echoes with a twofold +double knock. Before the servant could open, Harvey was on the steps. + +'What name?' + +'Rolfe.' + +'For me, then.' + +He tore open the envelope. + +'Could you come at once? Something has happened. -- Abbott.' + +The boy wished to know if there would be a reply. Harvey shook his head, +and stepped into the hall, where he stood reflecting. What could have +happened that Edgar Abbott should summon him? Had his wife run away? -- +Ah, to be sure, it must have something to do with Wager's children -- an +accident, a death. But why send for _him_? + +He made a little change in his dress, and drove forthwith to Kilburn. As +his cab stopped, he saw that all the blinds in the front of the Abbotts' +house were drawn down. Death, then, obviously. It was with a painful +shaking of the nerves that he knocked for admission. + +'Mr. Abbott ----?' + +The servant girl, who had a long-drawn face, said nothing, but left him +where he stood, returning in a moment with a mumbled 'Will you please to +come in, sir?' He followed her to the room in which he had talked with +Mrs. Abbott two days ago; and she it was who again received him. Her back +to the light, she stood motionless. + +'Your husband has telegraphed for me ----' + +A voice that struggled with a sob made thick reply ---- + +'No -- I -- he is dead!' + +The accent of that last monosyllable was heart-piercing. It seemed to +Harvey as though the word were new-minted, so full it sounded of +dreadful meaning. + +'Dead?' + +Mrs. Abbott moved, and he could see her face better. She must have wept +for hours. + +'He has been taking morphia -- he couldn't sleep well -- and then his +neuralgia. The girl found him this morning, at seven o'clock -- there.' + +She pointed to the couch. + +'You mean that he had taken an overdose -- by accident ----' + +'It _must_ have been so. He had to work late -- and then be must have +lain down to sleep.' + +'Why here?' + +'A flood of anguish whelmed her. She uttered a long moan, all the more +terrible for its subdual to a sound that could not pass beyond the room. +Her struggle for self-command made her suffering only the more +impressive, the more grievous to behold.' + +'Mr. Rolfe, I sent for you because you are his old friend. I meant to +tell you all the truth, as I know it. I _can't_ tell it before strangers +-- in public! I _can't_ let them know -- the shame -- the shame!' + +Harvey's sympathy gave way to astonishment and strange surmise. +Hurriedly he besought her not to reveal anything in her present +distress; to wait till she could reflect calmly, see things in truer +proportion. His embarrassment was heightened by an inability to identify +this woman with the Mrs. Abbott he had known; the change in her +self-presentment seemed as great and sudden as that in her +circumstances. Face and voice, though scarce recognisable, had changed +less than the soul of her -- as Harvey imaged it. This entreaty she +replied to with a steadiness, a resolve, which left him no choice but to +listen. + +'I cannot, dare not, think that he did this knowingly. No! He was too +brave for that. He would never have left me in that way -- to my +despair. But it was my fault that made him angry -- no, not angry; he +was never that with me, or never showed it. But I had behaved with such +utter selfishness ----' + +Her misery refused to word itself. She sank down upon a chair and sobbed +and moaned. + +'Your grief exaggerates every little fault,' said Harvey. + +'No -- you must hear it all -- then perhaps I can hide my shame from +strangers. What use would it be if they knew? It alters nothing -- it's +only in my own heart. I have no right to pain you like this. I will tell +you quietly. You know that he went to Waterbury, on business. Did he +tell you? -- it was to buy a share in a local newspaper. I, in my +blindness and selfishness, disliked that. I wanted to live here; the +thought of going to live in the country seemed unbearable. That Edgar +was overworked and ill, seemed to me a trifle. Don't you remember how I +spoke of it when you came here the other morning? -- I can't understand +myself. How could I think so, speak so!' + +The listener said nothing. + +'He did what he purposed -- made a bargain, and came back to conclude +the purchase by correspondence. But his money -- the small capital he +counted upon -- was in "Britannia" shares; and you know what happened +yesterday -- yesterday, the very day when he went to sell the shares, +thinking to do so without the least difficulty.' + +Harvey gave a grim nod. + +'He came home, and I showed that I was glad ----' + +'No! You accuse yourself unreasonably.' + +'I tell you the truth, as my miserable conscience knows it. I was crazy +with selfishness and conceit. Rightly, he left me to my cowardly temper, +and went out again, and was away for a long time. He came back to +dinner, and then the suffering in his face all but taught me what I was +doing. I wanted to ask him to forgive me -- to comfort him for his loss; +but pride kept me from it. I couldn't speak -- I couldn't! After dinner +he said he had a lot of work to do, and came into this room. At ten +o'clock I sent him coffee. I wished to take it myself -- O God! if only +I had done so! I _wished_ to take it, and speak to him, but still I +couldn't. And I knew he was in torture; I saw at dinner that pain was +racking him. But I kept away, and went to my own bed, and slept -- +whilst he was lying here.' + +A rush of tears relieved her. Harvey felt his own eyes grow moist. + +'It was only that he felt so worn out,' she pursued. 'I know how it was. +The pain grew intolerable, and he went upstairs for his draught, and +then -- not having finished his work -- he thought he would lie down on +the sofa for a little; and so sleep overcame him. He never meant _this_. +If I thought it, I couldn't live!' + +'Undoubtedly you are right,' said Harvey, summoning an accent of +conviction. 'I knew him very well, and he was not the man to do that.' + +'No? You are sure of it? You feel it impossible, Mr. Rolfe?' + +'Quite impossible. There are men -- oh, you may assure yourself that it +was pure accident. Unfortunately, it happens so often.' + +She hung on his words, leaning towards him, her eyes wide and lips +parted. + +'So often! I have seen so many cases, in the papers. And he was +absent-minded. But what right have I to seek comfort for myself? Was I +any less the cause of his death? But must I tell all this in public? Do +you think I ought to?' + +With comfortable sincerity Rolfe was able to maintain the needlessness +of divulging anything beyond the state of Abbott's health and his +pecuniary troubles. + +'It isn't as if we had lived on ill terms with each other,' said the +widow, with a sigh of gratitude. 'Anything but that. Until of late we +never knew a difference, and the change that came was wholly my fault. I +hadn't the honesty to speak out and say what was in my mind. I never +openly opposed his wish to leave London. I pretended to agree to +everything, pretended. He showed me all his reasons, put everything +simply and plainly and kindly before me, and if I had said what I +thought, I feel sure he would have given it up at once. It was in my own +hands to decide one way or the other.' + +'Why should you reproach yourself so with mere thoughts, of which he +never became aware?' + +'Oh, it was yesterday, when he came back from the City. He knew then +that I was glad he couldn't carry out his purpose. He looked at me as he +never had done before -- a look of surprise and estrangement. I shall +always see that look on his face.' + +Harvey talked in the strain of solace, feeling how extraordinary was his +position, and that of all men he had least fitness for such an office. +It relieved him when, without undue abruptness, he could pass to the +practical urgencies of the case. Were Wager's children still in the +house? Alas! they were, and Mrs. Abbott knew not what to do about them. + +'You can't think of anyone who would take them -- for a day or two, +even?' + +Among her acquaintances there was not one of whom she could venture to +ask such a service. 'People have such a dread of children.' Her sister +was a governess in Ireland; other near relatives she had none. Edgar +Abbott's mother, old and in feeble health, lived near Waterbury; how was +the dreadful news to be conveyed to her? + +Harvey bestirred himself. Here, at all events, was a call to active +usefulness; he felt the privilege of money and leisure. + +'Can you give me the name of any one at Waterbury who would be a fit +person to break the news to Mrs. Abbott?' + +Two names were mentioned, and he noted them. + +'I will send telegrams at once to both.' + +'You will say it was an accident ----' + +'That shall be made clear. As for the children, I think I can have them +taken away this morning. In the house where I live there is a decent +woman who I dare say would be willing to look after them for the +present. Will you leave this entirely in my hands?' + +'I am ashamed -- I don't know how to thank you.' + +'No time shall be lost.' He rose. 'If Mrs. Handover will help us, I will +bring her here; then I shall see you again. In any case, of course, I +will come back -- there will be other business. But you ought to have +some friend -- some lady.' + +'There's _no_ one I can ask.' + +'Oh, but of all the people you know in London -- surely!' + +'They are not friends in that sense. I understand it now -- fifty +acquaintances; no friend.' + +'But let me think -- let me think. What was the name of that lady I met +here, whose children you used to teach?' + +'Mrs. Langland. She is very kind and friendly, but she lives at +Gunnersbury -- so far -- and I couldn't trouble her.' + +Upon one meeting and a short conversation, with subsequent remarks from +Edgar Abbott, Rolfe had grounded a very favourable opinion of Mrs +Langland. She dwelt clearly in his mind as 'a woman with no nonsense +about her', likely to be of much helpfulness at a crisis such as the +present. With difficulty he persuaded Mrs. Abbott to sit down and write a +few lines, to be posted at once to Gunnersbury. + +'I haven't dared to ask her to come. But I have said that I am alone.' + +'Quite enough, I think, if she is at home.' + +He took his leave, and drove back to Bayswater, posting the letter and +despatching two telegrams on the way. + +Of course, his visit to Greystone was given up. + + +CHAPTER 6 + + +Hugh Carnaby was gratified by the verdict of _felo de se_. He applauded +the jury for their most unexpected honesty. One had taken for granted +the foolish tag about temporary madness, which would have been an insult +to everybody's common-sense. + +'It's a pity they no longer bury at four cross-roads, with a stake in +his inside. (Where's that from? I remember it somehow.) The example +wouldn't be bad.' + +'You're rather early-Victorian,' replied Sibyl, who by this term was +wont to signify barbarism or crudity in art, letters, morality, or +social feeling. 'Besides, there's no merit in the verdict. It only means +that the City jury is in a rage. Yet every one of them would be +dishonest on as great a scale if they dared, or had the chance.' + +'Something in that, I dare say,' conceded Hugh. + +He admired his wife more than ever. Calm when she lost her trinkets, +Sibyl exhibited no less self-command now that she was suddenly deprived +of her whole fortune, about eight hundred a year. She had once remarked +on the pleasantness and fitness of a wife's possessing in her own name +an income equal to that of her husband; yet she resigned it without +fuss. Indeed, Sibyl never made a fuss about anything. She intimated her +wishes, and, as they were always possible of gratification, obtained +them as a matter of course. Naturally, since their marriage, she and +Hugh had lived to the full extent of their means. Carnaby had reduced +his capital by a couple of thousand pounds in preliminary expenses, and +debt to the amount of two or three hundred was outstanding at the end of +the first twelvemonth; but Sibyl manifested no alarm. + +'We have been great fools,' she said, alluding to their faith in Bennet +Frothingham. + +'It's certain that _I_ have,' replied her husband. 'I oughtn't to have +let your mother have her way about that money. If there had been a +proper settlement, you would have run no risk. Trustees couldn't have +allowed such an investment.' + +The same day Sibyl bought a fur for her neck which cost fifteen guineas. +The weather was turning cold, and she had an account at the shop. + +That afternoon, too, she went to see her mother, and on returning at six +o'clock looked into the library, where Hugh sat by the fire, a book in +his hand. Carnaby found the days very long just now. He shunned his +clubs, the Metropolitan and the Ramblers', because of a fear that his +connection with the 'Britannia' was generally known; to hear talk on the +subject would make him savage. He was grievously perturbed in mind by +his position and prospects; and want of exercise had begun to affect his +health. As always, he greeted his wife's entrance with a smile, and rose +to place a chair for her. + +'Thanks, I won't sit down,' said Sibyl. 'You look comfortable.' + +'Well?' + +She looked at him reflectively, and said in balanced tones ---- + +'I really think I can boast of having the most selfish mother in +England.' + +Hugh had his own opinion concerning Mrs. Ascott Larkfield, but would not +have ventured to phrase it. + +'How's that?' + +'I never knew anyone who succeeded so well in thinking steadily and +exclusively of herself. It irritates me to see her since this affair; I +shan't go again. I really didn't know what a detestable temper she has. +Her talk is outrageous. She doesn't behave like a lady. Could you +believe that she has written a violent letter to Mrs. Frothingham -- +"speaking her mind", as she says? It's disgraceful!' + +'I'm sorry she has done that. But it isn't every one that can bear +injury as you do, Sibyl.' + +'I supposed she could behave herself. She raises her voice, and uses +outrageous words, and shows temper with the servants. I wouldn't spend a +day in that house now on any account. And, after all, I find she hasn't +lost much more than I have. She will be able to count on six hundred a +year at least.' + +Carnaby received the news with a brightened visage. + +'Oh come! That's something.' + +'She took very good care, you see, not to risk everything herself.' + +'It's possible,' said Hugh, 'that she hadn't control of all her money.' + +'Oh yes, she had. She let that fact escape in her fury -- congratulated +herself on being so far prudent. Really, I never knew a more hateful +woman.' + +It was said without vehemence, with none of that raising of the voice +which so offended her: a deliberate judgment, in carefully chosen words. +Hugh tried to smile, but could not quite command his features; they +expressed an uneasy thoughtfulness. + +'Do you go out this evening?' he asked, after a pause. + +'No; I'm rather tired and out of sorts. Dinner is at seven. I shall go +to bed early.' + +The police had as yet failed to get upon the track of the felonious +housekeeper, known as Mrs. Maskell. Mrs. Carnaby's other servants still +kept their places, protesting innocence, and doubtless afraid to leave +lest they should incur suspicion. Domestic management was now In the +hands of the cook. Sibyl always declared that she could not eat a dinner +she had had the trouble of ordering, and she seemed unaffectedly to +shrink from persons of the menial class, as though with physical +repulsion. Perforce she submitted to having her hair done by her maid, +but she found the necessity disagreeable. + +The dinner was simple, but well cooked. Sibyl never ate with hearty +appetite, and declined everything not of excellent quality; unlike women +in general, she was fastidious about wine, yet took of it sparingly; +liqueurs, too, she enjoyed, and very strong coffee. To a cigarette in +the mouth of a woman she utterly objected; it offended her sense of the +becoming, her delicate perception of propriety. When dining alone or +with Hugh, she dressed as carefully as for a ceremonious occasion. Any +approach to personal disorder or neglect was inconceivable in Sibyl. Her +husband had, by accident, heard her called 'the best-groomed woman in +London'; he thought the praise well merited, and it flattered him. + +At table they talked of things as remote as possible from their +immediate concerns, and with the usual good humour. When he rose to open +the door, Hugh said ---- + +'Drawing-room or library?' + +'Library. You would like to smoke.' + +For ten minutes he sat with his arms on the table, his great well-shapen +hands loosely clenched before him. He drank nothing. His gaze was fixed +on a dish of fruit, and widened as if in a growing perplexity. Then he +recovered himself, gave a snort, and went to join his wife. + +Sibyl was reading a newspaper. Hugh lit his pipe in silence, and sat +down opposite to her. Presently the newspaper dropped, and Sibyl's eyes +were turned upon her husband with a smile. + +'Well?' + +'Well?' + +They smiled at each other amiably. + +'What do you suggest, Birdie?' + +The fondling name was not very appropriate, and had not been used of +late; Carnaby hit upon it in the honeymoon days, when he said that his +wife was like some little lovely bird, which he, great coarse fellow, +had captured and almost feared to touch lest he should hurt it. Hugh had +not much originality of thought, and less of expression. + +'There are places, you know, where one lives very comfortably on very +little,' said Sibyl. + +'Yes; but it leads to nothing.' + +'What _would_ lead to anything?' + +'Well, you see, I have capital, and some use ought to be made of it. +Everybody nowadays goes in for some kind of business.' + +She listened with interest, smiling, meditative. + +'And a great many people come out of it -- wishing they had done so +before.' + +'True,' said Carnaby; 'there's the difficulty. I had a letter from Dando +this morning. He has got somebody to believe in his new smelting process +-- somebody in the City; talks of going out to Queensland shortly. +Really -- if I could be on the spot ----' + +He hesitated, timidly indicating his thoughts. Sibyl mused, and slowly +shook her head. + +'No; wait for reports.' + +'Yes; but it's those who are in it first, you see.' + +Sibyl seemed to forget the immediate subject, and to let her thoughts +wander in pleasant directions. She spoke as if on a happy impulse. + +'There's one place I think I should like -- though I dread the voyage.' + +'Where's that?' + +'Honolulu.' + +'What has put that into your head?' + +'Oh, I have read about it. The climate is absolute perfection, and the +life exquisite. How do you get there?' + +'Across America, and then from San Francisco. It's anything but a cheap +place, I believe.' + +'Still, for a time. The thing is to get away, don't you think?' + +'No doubt of that. -- Honolulu -- by Jove! it's an idea. I should like +to see those islands myself' + +'And it isn't commonplace,' remarked Sibyl. 'One would go off with a +certain eclat. Very different from starting for the Continent in the +humdrum way.' + +The more Carnaby thought of it, the better he liked this suggestion. +That Sibyl should voluntarily propose so long a journey surprised and +delighted him. The tropics were not his favourite region, and those +islands of the Pacific offered no scope for profitable energy; he did +not want to climb volcanoes, still less to lounge beneath bananas and +breadfruit-trees, however pleasant such an escape from civilisation +might seem at the first glance. A year of marriage, of idleness amid +amusements, luxuries, extravagances, for which he had no taste, was +bearing its natural result in masculine restiveness. His robust physique +and temper, essentially combative, demanded liberty under conditions of +rude or violent life. He was not likely to find a satisfying range in +any mode of existence that would be shared by Sibyl. But he clutched at +any chance of extensive travel. It might be necessary -- it certainly +would be -- to make further incision into his capital, and so diminish +the annual return upon which he could count for the future; but when his +income had already become ludicrously inadequate, what did that matter? +The years of independence were past; somehow or other, he must make +money. Everybody did it nowadays, and an 'opening' would of course +present itself, something would of course 'turn up'. + +He stretched his limbs in a sudden vast relief. + +'Bravo! The idea is excellent. Shall we sell all this stuff?' waving a +hand to indicate the furniture. + +'Oh, I think not. Warehouse it.' + +Hugh would have rejoiced to turn every chair and table into hard cash, +not only for the money's sake, but for the sense of freedom that would +follow; but he agreed, as always, to whatever his wife preferred. They +talked with unwonted animation. A great atlas was opened, routes were +fingered; half the earth's circumference vanished in a twinkling. Sibyl, +hitherto mewed within the circle of European gaieties and relaxations, +all at once let her fancy fly -- tasted a new luxury in experiences from +which she had shrunk. + +'I'll order my outfit tomorrow. Very light things, I suppose? Who could +advise me about that?' + +Among a number of notes and letters which she wrote next day was one to +Miss Frothingham. 'Dear Alma,' it began, and it ended with 'Yours +affectionately' -- just as usual. + +'Could you possibly come here some day this week? I haven't written +before, and haven't tried to see you, because I felt sure you would +rather be left alone. At the same time I feel sure that what has +happened, though for a time it will sadden us both, cannot affect our +friendship. I want to see you, as we are going away very soon, first of +all to _Honolulu_. Appoint your own time; I will be here.' + +By return of post came the black-edged answer, which began with 'Dearest +Sibyl,' and closed with 'Ever affectionately'. + +'I cannot tell you how relieved I am to get your kind letter. These +dreadful days have made me ill, and one thing that increased my misery +was the fear that I should never hear from you again. I should not have +dared to write. How noble you are! -- but then I always knew that. I +cannot come tomorrow -- you know why -- but the next day I will be with +you at three o'clock, if you don't tell me that the hour is +inconvenient.' + +They met at the appointed time. Mrs. Carnaby's fine sense of the becoming +declared itself in dark array; her voice was tenderly subdued; the +pressure of her hand, the softly lingering touch of her lips, conveyed a +sympathy which perfect taste would not allow to become demonstrative. +Alma could at first say nothing. The faint rose upon her cheek had +vanished; her eyes were heavy, and lacked their vital gleam; her mouth, +no longer mobile and provocative, trembled on the verge of sobs, +pathetic, childlike. She hung her head, moved with a languid, diffident +step, looked smaller and slighter, a fashionable garb of woe aiding the +unhappy transformation. + +'I oughtn't to have given you this trouble,' said Sibyl. 'But perhaps +you would rather see me here ----' + +'Yes -- oh yes -- it was much better ----' + +'Sit down, dear. We won't talk of wretched things, will we? If I could +have been of any use to you ----' + +'I was so afraid you would never ----' + +'Oh, you know me better than that,' broke in Mrs. Carnaby, almost with +cheerfulness, her countenance already throwing off the decorous shadow, +like a cloak that had served its turn. 'I hope I am neither foolish nor +worldly-minded.' + +'Indeed, indeed not! You are goodness itself.' + +'How is Mrs. Frothingham?' + +The question was asked with infinite delicacy, head and body bent +forward, eyes floatingly averted. + +'Really ill, I'm afraid. She has fainted several times -- yesterday was +unconscious for nearly half an hour.' + +Sibyl flinched. Mention of physical suffering affected her most +disagreeably; she always shunned the proximity of people in ill health, +and a possibility of infection struck her with panic. + +'Oh, I'm so sorry. But it will pass over.' + +'I hope so. I have done what I could.' + +'I'm sure you have.' + +'But it's so hard -- when every word of comfort sounds heartless -- when +it's kindest to say nothing ----' + +'We won't talk about it, dear. You yourself -- I can see what you have +gone through. You must get away as soon as possible; this gloomy weather +makes everything worse.' + +She paused, and with an air of discreet interest awaited Alma's reply. + +'Yes, I hope to get away. I shall see if it's possible.' + +The girl's look strayed with a tired uncertainty; her hands never ceased +to move and fidget; only the habits of good breeding kept her body +still. + +'Of course, it is too soon for you to have made plans.' + +'It's so difficult,' replied Alma, her features more naturally +expressive, her eyes a little brighter. 'You see, I am utterly dependent +upon Mamma. I had better tell you at once -- Mamma will have enough to +live upon, however things turn out. She has money of her own; but of +course I have nothing -- nothing whatever. I think, most likely, Mamma +will go to live with her sister, in the country, for a time. She +couldn't bear to go on living in London, and she doesn't like life +abroad. If only I could do as I wish!' + +'I guess what that would be,' said the other, smiling gently. + +'To take up music as a profession -- yes. But I'm not ready for it.' + +'Oh, half a year of serious study; with your decided talent, I should +think you couldn't hesitate. You are a born musician.' + +The words acted as a cordial. Alma roused herself, lifted her drooping +head and smiled. + +'That's the praise of a friend.' + +'And the serious opinion of one not quite unfit to judge,' rejoined +Sibyl, with her air of tranquil self-assertion. 'Besides, we have agreed +-- haven't we? -- that the impulse is everything. What you wish for, try +for. Just now you have lost courage; you are not yourself. Wait till you +recover your balance.' + +'It isn't that I want to make a name, or anything of that sort,' said +Alma, in a voice that was recovering its ordinary pitch and melody. 'I +dare say I never should; I might just support myself, and that would be +all. But I want to be free -- I want to break away.' + +'Of course!' + +'I have been thinking that I shall beg Mamma to let me have just a small +allowance, and go off by myself. I know people at Leipzig -- the +Gassners, you remember. I could live there on little enough, and work, +and feel free. Of course, there's really no reason why I shouldn't. I +have been feeling so bound and helpless; and now that nobody has any +right to hinder me, you think it would be the wise thing?' + +Alma had occasionally complained to her friend, as she did the other +evening to Harvey Rolfe, that easy circumstances were not favourable to +artistic ambition, but no very serious disquiet had ever declared itself +in her ordinary talk. The phrases she now used, and the look that +accompanied them, caused Sibyl some amusement. Only two years older than +Alma, Mrs. Carnaby enjoyed a more than proportionate superiority in +knowledge of the world; her education had been more steadily directed to +that end, and her natural aptitude for the study was more pronounced. +That she really liked Alma seemed as certain as that she felt neither +affection nor esteem for any other person of her own sex. Herself not +much inclined to feminine friendship, Alma had from the first paid +voluntary homage to Sibyl's intellectual claims, and thought it a +privilege to be admitted to her intimacy; being persuaded, moreover, +that in Sibyl, and in Sibyl alone, she found genuine appreciation of her +musical talent. Sibyl's choice of a husband had secretly surprised and +disappointed her, for Hugh Carnaby was not the type of man in whom she +felt an interest, and he seemed to her totally unworthy of his good +fortune; but this perplexity passed and was forgotten. She saw that +Sibyl underwent no subjugation; nay, that the married woman did but +perfect herself in those qualities of mind and mood whereby she had +shone as a maiden. It was a combination of powers and virtues which +appeared to Alma little short of the ideal in womanhood. The example +influenced her developing character in ways she recognised, and in +others of which she remained quite unconscious. + +'I think you couldn't do better,' Mrs. Carnaby replied to the last +question; 'provided that ----' + +She paused intentionally, with an air of soft solicitude, of bland +wisdom. + +'That's just what I wanted,' said Alma eagerly. 'Advise me -- tell me +just what you think.' + +'You want to live alone, and to have done with all the silly +conventionalities and proprieties -- our old friend Mrs. Grundy, in +fact.' + +'That's it! You understand me perfectly, as you always do.' + +'If it had been possible, we would have lived together.' + +'Ah! how delightful! Don't speak of what can't be.' + +'I was going to say,' pursued Sibyl thoughtfully, 'that you will meet +with all sorts of little troubles and worries, which you have never had +any experience of. For one thing, you know' -- she leaned back, smiling, +at ease -- 'people won't behave to you quite as you have been accustomed +to expect. Money is very important even to a man; but to a woman it +means more than you can imagine.' + +'Oh, but I shan't be living among the kind of people ----' + +'No, no. Perhaps you don't quite understand me yet. It isn't the people +you seek who matter, but the people that will seek _you_; and some of +them will have very strange ideas -- very strange indeed.' + +Alma looked self-conscious, kept her eyes down, and at length nodded. + +'Yes. I think I understand.' + +'That's why I said "provided". You are not the ordinary girl, and you +won't imagine that I feared for you; I know you too well. It's a +question of being informed and on one's guard. I don't think there's +anyone else who would talk to you like this. It doesn't offend you?' + +'Sibyl!' + +'Well, then, that's all right. Go into the world by all means, but go +prepared -- armed; the word isn't a bit too strong, as I know perfectly. +Some day, perhaps -- but there's no need to talk about such things now.' + +Alma kept a short silence, breaking it at length with note of +exultation. + +'I'm quite decided now. I wanted just to hear what you would say. I +shan't wait a day longer than I can help. The old life is over for me. +If only it had come about in some other way, I should be singing with +rapture. I'm going to begin to live!' + +She quivered with intensity of feeling, or with that excitement of the +nerves which simulates intense feeling in certain natures. A flush stole +to her cheek; her eyes were once more full of light. Sibyl regarded her +observantly and with admiration. + +'You never thought of the stage, Alma?' + +'The stage? Acting?' + +'No; I see you never did. And it wouldn't do -- of course it wouldn't +do. Something in your look -- it just crossed my mind -- but of course +you have much greater things before you. It means hard work, and I'm +only afraid you'll work yourself all but to death.' + +'I shouldn't wonder,' replied the girl, with a little laugh of pride in +this possibility. + +'Well, I too am going away, you know.' + +Alma's countenance fell, shame again crept over it, and she murmured, 'O +Sibyl ----!' + +'Don't distress yourself the least on my account. That's an understood +thing; no mention, no allusion, ever between us. And the truth is that +my position is just a little like yours: on the whole, I'm rather glad. +Hugh wants desperately to get to the other end of the world, and I dare +say it's the best thing I could do to go with him. No roughing it, of +course; that isn't in my way.' + +'I should think not, indeed!' + +'Oh, I may rise to those heights, who knows! If the new sensation ever +seemed worth the trouble. -- In a year or two, we shall meet and compare +notes. Don't expect long descriptive letters; I don't care to do +indifferently what other people have done well and put into print -- +it's a waste of energy. But you are sure to have far more interesting +and original things to tell about; it will read so piquantly, I'm sure, +at Honolulu.' + +They drank tea together, and talked, in all, for a couple of hours. When +she rose to leave, Alma, but for her sombre drapings, was totally +changed from the limp, woebegone, shrinking girl who had at first +presented herself. + +'There's no one else,' she said, 'who would have behaved to me so kindly +and so nobly.' + +'Nonsense! But _that's_ nonsense, too. Let us admire each other; it does +us good, and is so very pleasant.' + +'I shall say goodbye to no one but you. Let people think and say of me +what they like; I don't care a snap of the fingers. In deed, I _hate_ +people.' + +'Both sexes impartially?' + +It was a peculiarity of their intimate converse that they never talked +of men, and a jest of this kind had novelty sufficient to affect Alma +with a slight confusion. + +'Impartially -- quite,' she answered. + +'Do make an exception in favour of Hugh's friend, Mr. Rolfe. I abandon +all the rest.' + +Alma betrayed surprise. + +'Strange! I really thought you didn't much like Mr. Rolfe,' she said, +without any show of embarrassment. + +'I didn't when I first knew him; but he grows upon one. I think him +interesting; he isn't quite easy to understand.' + +'Indeed he isn't.' + +They smiled with the confidence of women fancy-free, and said no more on +the subject. + +Carnaby came home to dinner brisk and cheerful; he felt better than for +many a day. Brightly responsive, Sibyl welcomed his appearance in the +drawing-room. + +'Saw old Rolfe for a minute at the club. In a vile temper. I wonder +whether he really has lost money, and won't confess? Yet I don't think +so. Queer old stick.' + +'By-the-bye, what _is_ his age?' asked Alma unconcernedly. + +'Thirty-seven or eight. But I always think of him as fifty.' + +'I suppose he'll never marry?' + +'Rolfe? Good heavens, no! Too much sense -- hang it, you know what I +mean! It would never suit _him_. Can't imagine such a thing. He gets +more and more booky. Has his open-air moods, too, and amuses me with his +Jingoism. So different from his old ways of talking; but I didn't care +much about him in those days. Well, now, look here, I've had a talk with +a man I know, about Honolulu, and I've got all sorts of things to tell +you. -- Dinner? Very glad; I'm precious hungry.' + + +CHAPTER 7 + + +About the middle of December, Alma Frothingham left England, burning +with a fever of impatience, resenting all inquiry and counsel, making +pretence of settled plans, really indifferent to everything but the +prospect of emancipation. The disaster that had befallen her life, the +dishonour darkening upon her name, seemed for the moment merely a price +paid for liberty. The shock of sorrow and dismay had broken innumerable +bonds, overthrown all manner of obstacles to growth of character, of +power. She gloried in a new, intoxicating sense of irresponsibility. She +saw the ideal life in a release from all duty and obligation -- save to +herself. + +Travellers on that winter day from Antwerp into Germany noticed the +English girl, well dressed, and of attractive features, whose excited +countenance and restless manner told of a journey in haste, with +something most important, and assuredly not disagreeable, at the end of +it. She was alone, and evidently quite able to take care of herself. +Unlike the representative English _Fraulein_, she did not reject +friendly overtures from strangers; her German was lame, but she spoke it +with enjoyment, laughing at her stumbles and mistakes. With her in the +railway carriage she kept a violin-case. A professional musician? 'Noch +nicht' was her answer, with a laugh. She knew Leipzig? Oh dear, yes, and +many other parts of Germany; had travelled a good deal; was an entirely +free and independent person, quite without national prejudice, indeed +without prejudice of any kind. And in the same breath she spoke +slightingly, if not contemptuously, of England and everything English. + +At Leipzig she stayed until the end of April, living with a family named +Gassner, people whom she had known for some years. Only on condition +that she would take up her abode with this household had Mrs. Frothingham +consented to make her an allowance and let her go abroad. Alma fretted +at the restriction; she wished to have a room of her own in a +lodging-house; but the family life improved her command of German -- +something gained. To music, meanwhile, she gave very little attention, +putting off with one excuse after another the beginning of her serious +studies. She seemed to have quite forgotten that music was her +'religion', and, for the matter of that, appeared to have no religion at +all. 'Life' was her interest, her study. She made acquaintances, +attended concerts and the theatre, read multitudes of French and German +novels. But her habits were economical. All the pleasures she desired +could be enjoyed at very small expense, and she found her stepmother's +remittances more than sufficient. + +In April she gained Mrs. Frothingham's consent to her removal from +Leipzig to Munich. A German girl with whom she had made friends was +going to Munich to study art. For reasons, vague even to herself (so ran +her letters to Mrs. Frothingham), she could not 'settle' at Leipzig. The +climate did not seem to suit her. She had suffered from bad colds, and, +in short, was doing no good. At Munich lived an admirable violinist, a +friend of Herr Wilenski's, who would be of great use to her. 'In short, +dear Mamma, doesn't it seem to you rather humiliating that at the age of +four-and-twenty I should be begging for permission to go here and there, +do this or that? I know all your anxieties about me, and I am very +grateful, and I feel ashamed to be living at your expense, but really I +must go about making a career for myself in my own way.' Mrs. Frothingham +yielded, and Alma took lodgings in Munich together with her German +friend. + +English newspapers were now reporting the trial of the directors of the +Britannia Company, for to this pass had things come. The revelations of +the law-court satisfied public curiosity, and excited indignant clamour. +Alma read, and tried to view the proceedings as one for whom they had no +personal concern; but her sky darkened, her heart grew heavy. The name +of Bennet Frothingham stood for criminal recklessness, for huge +rascality; it would be so for years to come. She had no courage to take +up her violin; the sound of music grew hateful to her, as if mocking at +her ruined ambition. + +Three months had passed since she received her one and only letter from +Honolulu; two months since she had written to Sibyl. On a blue day of +spring, when despondency lowered upon her, and all occupation, all +amusements seemed a burden, she was driven to address her friend on the +other side of the world, to send a cry of pain and hopelessness to the +dream-island of the Pacific. + +'What is the use of working at music? The simple truth is, that since I +left England I have given it up. I am living here on false pretences; I +shall never care to play the violin again. What sort of a reception +could I expect from an English audience? If I took another name, of +course it would get known who I was, and people would just come to stare +at me -- pleasant thought! And I have utterly lost confidence in myself. +The difficulties are great, even where there is great talent, and I feel +I have nothing of the kind. I might toil for years, and should do no +good. I feel I am not an artist -- I am beaten and disgraced. There's +nothing left but to cry and be miserable, like any other girl who has +lost her money, her hopes, everything. Why don't you write to me? If you +wait till you get this, it will be six or seven weeks before I could +possibly hear. And a letter from you would do me so much good.' + +Some one knocked at her door. She called '_Herein_!' and there appeared +a little boy, the child of her landlady, who sometimes ran errands for +her. He said that a gentleman was asking to see her. + +'_Ein Deutscher_?' + +'_Nein. Ein Englander, glaub'ich, und ein schnurriges Deutsch ist's, das +er verbricht_!' + +Alma started up, shut her unfinished letter in the blotting-case, and +looked anxiously about the room. + +'What is his name? Ask him to give you his name.' + +The youngster came back with a card, and Alma was astonished to read the +name of 'Mr. Felix Dymes'. Why, she had all but forgotten the man's +existence. How came he here? What right had he to call? And yet she was +glad -- nay, delighted. Happily, she had the sitting-room (shared with +her art-studying friend) to herself this morning. + +'Bring him up here,' she said to the boy hurriedly, 'and ask him to wait +a minute for me.' + +And she escaped to make a rapid change of dress. For Alma was not like +Sibyl Carnaby in perpetual regard for personal finish; she dressed +carelessly, save when the occasion demanded pains; she liked the ease of +gowns and slippers, of loose hair and free throat; and this taste had +grown upon her during the past months. But she did not keep Mr. Dymes +waiting very long, and on her entrance he gazed at her with very frank +admiration. Frank, too, was his greeting -- that of a very old and +intimate friend, rather than of a drawing-room acquaintance. He came +straight from England, he said; a spring holiday, warranted by the +success of his song 'Margot', which the tenor, Topham, had sung at St +James's Hall. A few days ago he had happened to see Miss Leach, who gave +him Miss Frothingham's address, and he could not deny himself the +pleasure of calling. Chatting thus, he made himself comfortable in a +chair, and Alma sat over against him. The man was loud, conceited, +vulgar; but, after all, he composed very sweet music, which promised to +take the public ear; and he brought with him a waft from the happiness +of old days; and how could one expect small proprieties of a bohemian, +an artist? Alma began to talk eagerly, joyously. + +'And what are you doing, Miss Frothingham?' + +'Oh, fiddling a little. But I haven't been very well.' + +'I can see that. Yet in another sense you look a better than ever.' + +He began to hum an air, glancing round the room. + +'You haven't a piano. Just listen to this; how do you think it will do?' +He hummed through a complete melody. 'Came into my head last night. +Wants rather sentimental words -- the kind of thing that goes down with +the British public. Rather a good air, don't you think?' + +Felix Dymes had two manners of conversation. In a company at all +ceremonious, and when it behoved him to make an impression, he talked as +the artist and the expert in music, with many German phrases, which he +pronounced badly, to fill up the gaps in his knowledge. His familiar +stream of talk was very different: it discarded affectation, and had a +directness, a vigour, which never left one in doubt as to his actual +views of life. How melody of any kind could issue from a nature so +manifestly ignoble might puzzle the idealist. Alma, who had known a good +many musical people, was not troubled by this difficulty; in her present +mood, she submitted to the arrogance of success, and felt a pleasure, an +encouragement, in Dymes's bluff _camaraderie_. + +'Let me try to catch it on the violin,' she said when, with nodding head +and waving arm, he had hummed again through his composition. + +She succeeded in doing so, and Dymes raised his humming to a sentimental +roar, and was vastly pleased with himself. + +'I like to see you in a place like this,' he said. 'Looks more +business-like -- as if you really meant to do something. Do you live +here alone?' + +'With a friend.' + +Something peculiar in Dymes's glance caused her to add, 'A German girl, +an art student.' Whereat the musician nodded and smiled. + +'And what's your idea? Come now, let's talk about it. I wonder whether I +could be of any use to you -- awfully glad if I could.' + +Alma was abashed, stammered her vague projects, and reddened under the +man's observant eye. + +'Look here,' he cried, with his charming informality, 'didn't you use to +sing? Somebody told me you had a pretty good voice.' + +'Oh, that was long ago.' + +'I wish you'd let me hear you.' + +'No, no! I don't sing at all.' + +'Pity, if it's true. I want to write a serio-comic opera, a new sort of +thing, and it struck me you were just cut out for that kind of singing. +You have the face and the -- you know -- the refinement; sort of thing +not easy to find. It's a poor chance, I'm afraid, coming out as a +violinist.' + +Half inclined to resent his impertinence, yet subdued by the practical +tone and air of superior knowledge, Alma kept a grave face. Dymes, +crossing his legs, went on with talk of projects he had in view, all +intended to be lucrative. He had capital; nothing great, just a +comfortable sum which he was bent on using to the best advantage. His +songs would presently be bringing him in a few hundreds a year -- so he +declared -- and his idea of life was to get as much enjoyment as +possible without working over-hard for it. The conversation lasted for a +couple of hours, Dymes growing even more genial and confidential, his +eyes seldom moving from Alma's face. + +'Well,' he said at length, rising, 'it's very jolly to see you again, +after all this time. I shall be staying here for a few days. You'll let +me call tomorrow?' + +At once glad and sorry to see him go, Alma laughingly gave the desired +permission. When, that evening, she looked at her unfinished letter, it +seemed such a miserable whine that she tore it up in annoyance. Dymes's +visit had done her good; she felt, if not a renewal of hope, at all +events the courage which comes of revived spirits. + +The next day she awaited his arrival with a pleasant expectation. He +entered humming an air -- another new composition -- which again she +caught from him and played on the violin. + +'Good, don't you think? I'm in great vein just now -- always am in the +spring, and when the weather's fine. I say, you're looking much better +today -- decidedly more fit. What do you do here for exercise? Do you go +to the Englische Garten? Come now, will you? Let's have a drive.' + +With sudden coldness Alma excused herself. The musician scrutinised her +rapidly, bit his lip, and looked round to the window; but in a moment he +had recovered his loud good humour. + +'You'll hardly believe it, but it's the plain truth, that I came all +this way just to see you. I hadn't thought of coming to Germany till I +met Miss Leach and heard about you. Now I'm so far, I might as well go +on into Italy, and make a round of it. I wish you were coming too.' + +Alma made no reply. He scrutinised her as before, and his features +worked as if with some emotion. Then, abruptly, he put a blunt question. + +'Do you think people who go in for music, art, and that kind of thing, +ought to marry?' + +'I never thought about it at all,' Alma replied, with a careless laugh, +striking a finger across the strings of the violin which she held on her +lap. + +'We're generally told they shouldn't,' pursued Dymes, in a voice which +had lost its noisy confidence, and was a little uncertain. 'But it all +depends, you know. If people mean by marriage the ordinary kind of thing +-- of course, that's the deuce. But it needn't be. Lots of people marry +nowadays and live in a rational way -- no house, or bother of that kind; +just going about as they like, and having a pleasant, reasonable life. +It's easy enough with a little money. Sometimes they're a good deal of +help to each other; I know people who manage to be.' + +'Oh, I dare say,' said Alma when he paused. 'It all depends, as you say. +You're going on to Italy at once?' + +Her half-veiled eyes seemed to conceal amusement, and there was +good-humoured disdain in the setting of her lips. With audacity so +incredible that it all but made her laugh, Dymes, not heeding her +inquiry, jerked out the personal application of his abstract remarks. +Yes, it was a proposal of marriage -- marriage on the new plan, without +cares or encumbrance; a suggestion rather than a petition; off-hand, +unsentimental, yet perfectly serious, as look and tone proclaimed. + +'There's much to be said for your views,' Alma replied, with humorous +gravity, 'but I haven't the least intention of marrying.' + +'Well, I've mentioned it.' He waved his hand as if to overcome an +unwonted embarrassment. 'You don't mind?' + +'Not a bit.' + +'I hope we shall meet again before long, and -- some day, you know -- +you may see the thing in another light. You mustn't think I'm joking.' + +'But it _is_ rather a joke.' + +'No; I never was more in earnest about anything, believe me. And I'm +convinced it's a good idea. However, you know one thing -- if I can be +of use to you, I shall. I'll think it over -- your chances and so on; +something may suggest itself. You're not cut out for everyday things.' + +'I try to hope not.' + +'Ah, but you can take my word for it.' + +With this comforting assurance, Felix Dymes departed. No melodrama; a +hand-grip, a significant nod, a loud humming as he went downstairs. + +Alma presently began a new letter to Sibyl Carnaby. It was written in a +cheery humour, though touched by the shadow of distressful circumstance. +She told the story of Mr. Dymes's visit, and made merry over it. 'I am +sure this is the very newest thing in "proposals". Though I live in such +a dull, lonely way, it has made me feel that I am still in touch with +civilisation. And really, if the worst come to the worst -- but it's +dangerous to joke about such things.' She touched lightly on the facts +of her position. 'I'm afraid I have not been doing very much. Perhaps +this is a fallow time with me; I may be gaining strength for great +achievements. Unfortunately, I have a lazy companion. Miss Steinfeld +(you know her from my last letter, if you got it) only pretends to work. +I like her for her thorough goodness and her intelligence; but she is +just a little _melancholisch_, and so not exactly the companion I need. +Her idea just now is that we both need "change" and she wants me to go +with her to Bregenz, on the Bodensee. Perhaps I shall when the weather +gets hot.' + +It had surprised her to be told by Felix Dymes that he obtained her +address at Munich from Miss Leach, for the only person in England to +whom she had yet made known her departure from Leipzig was her +step-mother. Speak of her how they might, her acquaintances in London +still took trouble to inform themselves of her movements. Perhaps the +very completeness of the catastrophe in which she was involved told in +her favour; possibly she excited much more interest than could ever have +attached to her whilst her name was respected. There was new life in the +thought. She wrote briefly to Dora Leach, giving an account of herself, +which, though essentially misleading, was not composed in a spirit of +conscious falsehood. For all her vanity, Alma had never aimed at effect +by practice of deliberate insincerities. Miss Leach was informed that +her friend could not find much time for correspondence. 'I am living in +the atmosphere of art, and striving patiently. Some day you shall hear +of me.' And when the letter was posted, Alma mused long on the effect it +would produce. + +With the distinguished violinist; the friend of Herr Wilenski, spoken of +to Mrs. Frothingham, she had as yet held no communication, and through +the days of early summer she continued to neglect her music. Indolence +grew upon her; sometimes she spent the whole day in a dressing-gown, +seated or reclining, with a book in her hand, or totally unoccupied. +Sometimes the military bands in the public gardens tempted her to walk a +little, or she strolled with Miss Steinfeld through the picture +galleries; occasionally they made short excursions into the country. The +art student had acquaintances in Munich, but did not see much of them, +and they were not the kind of people with whom Alma cared to associate. + +In July it was decided that they should go for a few weeks to Bregenz; +their health called for the change, which, as Miss Steinfeld knew of a +homely _pension_, could he had at small expense. Before their departure +the art student was away for a few days, and, to relieve the dreariness +of an existence which was becoming burdensome, Alma went out alone one +afternoon, purposing a trip by steam-tram to the gardens at Nymphenburg. +She walked to the Stiglmeyerplatz, where the tram starts, and there +stood waiting. A carriage drove past, with a sound of English voices, +which drew her attention. She saw three children, a lady, and a +gentleman. The last-mentioned looked at her, and she recognised Cyrus +Redgrave. Whether he knew her face seemed uncertain. Hoping to escape +unobserved, she turned quickly, and walked a few yards. Before she faced +round again, a quick footstep approached her, and the next moment Mr +Redgrave stood, hat in hand, courteously claiming her acquaintance. + +'I thought I could not possibly be mistaken!' + +The carriage, having stopped for him to alight, was driving away. + +'That is my sister and her children,' said Redgrave, when he had warmly +shaken hands and expressed his pleasure at the meeting. 'You never met +her. Her husband is in India, and you see me in full domesticity. This +morning I posted a note to you; of course, you haven't received it yet.' + +Alma did her best to behave with dignity. In any case it would have been +trying to encounter such a man as Redgrave -- wealthy, elegant, a figure +in society, who must necessarily regard her as banished from polite +circles; and in her careless costume she felt more than abashed. For the +first time a sense of degradation, of social inferiority, threatened to +overwhelm her self-respect. + +'How did you know my address?' she asked, with an involuntary imitation +of hauteur, made pathetic by the flush on her face and the lingering +half-smile. + +'Mrs. Frothingham kindly gave it me. -- You were walking this way, I +think? -- My sister is living at Stuttgart, and I happened to come over +just in time to act as her courier on a journey to Salzburg. We got here +yesterday, and go on tomorrow, or the day after. I dropped you a note, +asking if I might call.' + +'Where have you seen Mamma lately?' asked Alma, barely attentive to the +explanations he was giving her. + +'In London, quite by chance. In fact, it was at Waterloo Station. Mrs +Frothingham was starting for the country, and I happened to be going to +Wimbledon. I told her I might possibly see you on my way through +Munich.' + +Alma began to recover herself. That Cyrus Redgrave should still take an +interest in her was decidedly more gratifying than the eccentric +compliment of Felix Dymes. She strove to forget the humiliation of +having been found standing in a public place, waiting for a tram-car. In +Redgrave's manner no change was perceptible, unless, indeed, he spoke +with more cordiality, which must be prompted by kind feeling. Their +acquaintance covered only a year or two, and had scarcely amounted to +what passes for friendship, but Redgrave seemed oblivious of late +unpleasant events. + +'I'm glad you didn't call unexpectedly,' she said, trying to strike a +light note. 'I'm a student now -- no longer an amateur -- and live as a +student must.' + +'So much the better. I'm a natural bohemian myself, and like nothing so +well as to disregard ceremony. And, by-the-bye, that's the very reason +why I ran away from my sister to speak to you; I knew you would dislike +formalities. I'm afraid I was rather glad than otherwise to escape. We +have been taking the children for a drive -- charming little rascals, +but for the moment my domestic instincts are satisfied. Mrs. Frothingham +mentioned that you were living with a friend -- an art student.' + +'We go away for a holiday in a day or two,' said Alma, more at her ease. +'To Bregenz -- do you know it?' + +'By name only. You go in a day or two? I wish you would let me know your +address there,' he added, with frank friendliness. 'I go on with my +sister to Salzburg, and then turn off on my own account; I might be able +to pass your way, and I should so much like to have a talk with you -- a +real talk, about music and all sorts of things. Did I ever tell you of +my little place at Riva, head of Lake Garda? Cosy little nook, but I'm +not there very often; I half thought of going for a week or two's +quietness. Quite cool there by the lake. But I really must try to see +you at Bregenz -- do let me.' + +He begged it as a favour, a privilege, and Alma without hesitation told +him where she would be living. + +'For a few weeks? Oh, then, I shall make a point of coming that way. +You're not working too hard, I hope? I know you don't do things by +halves. When I first heard you were going in seriously for music, I said +to myself, "_Tant mieux_, another great violinist!"' + +The listener reddened with delight; her step became elastic; she carried +her head gallantly, and feared not the glances Redgrave cast at her. + +'I have learnt not to talk about myself,' she said, bestowing a smile +upon him. 'That's the first bad habit to be overcome by the amateur +converted.' + +'Capital! An axiom worth putting into print, for the benefit of all and +sundry. Now I must say goodbye; that fellow yonder will take me back to +the domesticities.' He hailed an empty carriage. 'We shall meet again +among the mountains. _Auf Wiedersehen_!' + +Alma continued to walk along the Nymphenburg road, unconscious of +external things. The tram for which she had been waiting passed by; she +no longer cared to go out into the country. It was enough to keep moving +in the bright sunshine, and to think her thoughts. + +No; people had by no means forgotten her. Whilst she was allowing +herself to fall into gloom and indolence, her acquaintances, it was +evident, made her a constant subject of talk, of speculation; just what +she had desired, but had lost courage to believe. They expected great +things of her; her personal popularity and her talents had prevailed +against the most prejudicial circumstance; people did not think of her +as the daughter of Bennet Frothingham, -- unless to contrast the +hopefulness of her future with the black calamity that lay behind. + +She waxed philosophical. How everything in this world tends to good! At +her father's death she had mourned bitterly; it had struck her to the +heart; his imprudence (she could never use, even in thought, a harsher +word) pained more than it shamed her, and not a day passed but she +sorrowed over the dishonour that darkened his memory. Yet were not these +woes and disasters the beginning of a new life for _her_! In prosperity, +what would she ever have become? Nothing less than being thrown out into +the world could have given her the impulse needed to realise a high +ambition. '_Tant mieux_, another great violinist!' How sincerely, how +inspiringly, it was said! + +And Alma's feet had brought her home again before she paused to reflect +that, for all purposes of ambition, the past half-year had been utterly +wasted. Never mind; after her return from Bregenz! + +On her table lay Redgrave's note; a very civil line or two, requesting +permission to call. There was another letter, black-bordered, which came +from her step-mother. Mrs. Frothingham said that she had been about to +write for several days, but all sorts of disagreeable business had +hindered her; even now, she could only write hurriedly. In the last +fortnight she had had to go twice to London. 'And really I think I shall +be obliged to go and live there again, for a time; so many things have +to be seen to. It might be best, perhaps, if I took a small flat. I was +going to say, however, that the last time I went up, I met Mr. Redgrave, +and we had quite a long talk -- about _you_. He was most sincerely +interested in your future; indeed it quite surprised me, for I will +confess that I had never had a very high opinion of him. I fancy he +suffered _no loss_. His behaviour to me was that of a gentleman, very +different from that of some people I could name. But it was _you_ he +spoke of most. He said he was shortly going to Germany, and begged me to +let him have your address, and really I saw no harm in it. He may call +upon you. If so, let me hear all about it, for it will interest me very +much.' + +Alma had half a mind to reply at once, but on reflection decided to +wait. After all, Mr. Redgrave might not keep his promise of coming to see +her at Bregenz, and in that event a very brief report of what had +happened would suffice. But she felt sure that he meant to come. + +And decidedly she hoped it; why, she was content to leave a rosy +vagueness. + + +CHAPTER 8 + + +Alma and her German friend silently agreed in foreseeing that they would +not live together much longer. Miss Steinfeld, eager at first to talk +English, was relapsing into her native tongue, and as Alma lazily +avoided German, they conversed in different languages, each with a +sprinkling of foreign phrase. The English girl might have allied herself +with a far worse companion; for, in spite of defects which resembled +Alma's own, vagueness of purpose, infirmity of will, Miss Steinfeld had +a fund of moral principle which made her talk wholesome and her +aspirations an influence for good. She imagined herself in love with an +artist whom she had seen only two or three times, and no strain could +have been more exalted than that in which she confided her romance to +the sympathetic Alma. Sympathetic, that is, within her limits; for Miss +Frothingham had never been in love, and rarely indulged a mood of +sentiment. Her characteristic emotions she of course did not reveal, +save unconsciously, and Miss Steinfeld knew nothing of the tragic +circumstances which explained her friend's solitude. + +In the first days at Bregenz they felt a renewal of pleasure in each +other's society; Alma's spirits were much improved; she enjoyed the +scenery, and lived in the open air. There was climbing of mountains, the +Pfander with its reward of noble outlook, and the easier Gebhardsberg, +with its hanging woods; there was boating on the lake, and rambling +along its shores, with rest and refreshment at some Gartenwithschaft. +Miss Steinfeld, whose reading and intelligence were superior to Alma's, +liked to explore the Roman ruins and linger in the museum. Alma could +not long keep up a pretence of interest in the relics of Brigantium; but +she said one day, with a smile ---- + +'I know someone who would enjoy this kind of thing -- an Englishman -- +very learned ----' + +'Old?' inquired her friend significantly. + +'Yes -- no. Neither old nor young. A strange man; rather interesting. +I've a good mind,' she added mischievously, 'to send him a photograph.' + +'Of yourself?' + +'Oh dear, no! He wouldn't care for that. A view of the Alt-Stadt.' + +And in her mood of frolic she acted upon the thought. She purchased two +or three views, had them done up for post, and addressed them to Harvey +Rolfe, Esq, at the Metropolitan Club; for his private address she could +not remember, but the club remained in her mind from Sibyl's talk of it. +when the packet was gone, of course she regretted having sent it. More +likely than not, Mr. Rolfe considered himself to have ended all +acquaintance with the disgraced family, and, if he recognised her +handwriting, would just throw the photographs aside. Let him; it +mattered nothing, one way or the other. + +When a week had passed, the novelty of things wore off; the friends +began to wander apart; Miss Steinfeld made acquaintances in the +_pension_, and Alma drifted into solitude. At the end of a fortnight she +was tired of everything, wished to go away, thought longingly of +England. It was plain that Mr. Redgrave would not come; he had never +seriously meant it; his _Auf Wiedersehen_ was a mere civility to get rid +of her in the street. Why had he troubled to inquire about her at all? +Of course it didn't matter -- nothing mattered -- but if ever she met +him again! Alma tried her features in expression of cold scornfulness. + +On the next day, as she was returning from an idle walk with her friend +along the Lindau road, Mr. Redgrave met them. He was dressed as she had +never seen him, in flannels, with a white necktie loosely knotted and a +straw hat. Not till he had come near enough to salute did she recognise +him; he looked ten years younger. + +They talked as if the meeting were of daily occurrence. Redgrave +addressed himself to Miss Steinfeld as often as to Alma, and showed a +graceful command of decorous commonplace. He had arrived early this +morning, had put up at the Oesterreichischer Hof, was already delighted +with Brogenz. Did Miss Steinfeld devote herself to landscape? Had she +done anything here? Had Miss Frothingham brought her violin? They +strolled pleasantly to the Hafen promenade, and parted at length with +assurances of meeting again, as if definite appointment were needless. + +'That is my idea of the English gentleman,' said Miss Steinfeld +afterwards. 'I think I should have taken him for a lord. No doubt he is +very rich?' + +'Oh, pretty well off,' Alma replied, with assumed indifference. 'Ten +thousand pounds a year, I dare say.' + +'Ten thousand! _Lieber Himmel_! And married?' + +'No.' + +'In Parliament, I suppose?' + +'No.' + +'Then, what does he do?' + +'Oh, amuses himself.' + +Each became occupied with her thoughts. Alma's were so agreeable, that +Miss Steinfeld, observing her, naturally fell into romantic speculation. + +Redgrave easily contrived that his next walk should be with Miss +Frothingham alone. He overtook her next morning, soon after she had left +the house, and they rambled in the Gebhardsberg direction. + +'Now let us have the promised talk,' he began at a favourable moment. +'I've been thinking about you all the time.' + +'Did you go to your place on Lake Garda?' + +'Yes; just to look at it, and get it put in order. I hope to be there +again before long. You didn't doubt I should come?' + +'You left it uncertain.' + +'To be sure. Life is uncertain. But I should have been desperately +disappointed if I hadn't found you here. There are so many things to be +said about going in for music as a profession. You have the talent, you +have the physical strength, I think.' His eye flattered her from head to +foot. 'But, to be a great artist, one must have more than technical +qualifications. It's the soul that must be developed.' + +Alma laughed. + +'I know it. And what is your receipt for developing the soul?' + +Redgrave paused in his walk. Smiling, he gave a twist to his moustache, +and appeared to meditate profoundly. + +'The soul -- well, it has a priggish sound. Let us say the character; +and that is developed through experience of life.' + +'I'm getting it.' + +'Are you? In the company of Miss Steinfeld? I'm afraid that won't carry +you very far. Experience means emotion; certainly, for a woman. Believe +me, you haven't begun to live yet. You may practise on your violin day +and night, and it won't profit you -- until you have _lived_.' + +Alma was growing serious. These phrases harmonised well enough with her +own insubstantial thoughts and idly-gathered notions. When preparing to +escape from England, she had used much the same language. But, after +all, what did it mean? What, in particular, did Cyrus Redgrave mean, +with his expressive eyes, and languid, earnest tone? + +'You will say that a girl has few opportunities. True, thanks to her +enslavement by society.' + +'I care nothing for society,' Alma interposed. + +'Good! I like the sound of that defiance; it has the right ring. A man +hasn't often the pleasure of hearing that from a woman he can respect. +It's easy, of course, to defy the laws of a world one doesn't belong to; +but you, who are a queen in your circle, and may throne, at any moment, +in a wider sphere -- it means much when you refuse to bow down before +the vulgar idols, to be fettered by superstitions.' + +His aim was dark to her, but she tasted the compliment which ignored her +social eclipse. Redgrave's conversation generally kept on the prosaic +levels -- studiously polite, or suavely cynical. It was a new experience +to see him borne on a wave of rhetoric; yet not borne away, for he spoke +with an ease, a self-command, which to older ears would have suggested +skill rather than feeling. He had nothing of the ardour of youth; his +poise and deliberation were quite in keeping with the two score years +that subtly graved his visage; the passions in him were sportive, +half-fantastical, as though, together with his brain, they had grown to +a ripe worldliness. He inspired no distrust; his good nature seemed +all-pervading; he had the air of one who lavishes disinterested counsel, +and ever so little exalts himself with his facile exuberance of speech. + +'I have seen much of artists; known them intimately, and studied their +lives. One and all, they date their success from some passionate +experience. From a cold and conventional existence can come nothing but +cold and conventional art. You left England, broke away from the common +routine, from the artificial and the respectable. That was an +indispensable first step, and I have told you how I applauded it. But +you cannot stop at this. I begin to fear for you. There is a convention +of unconventionality: poor quarters, hard life, stinted pleasures -- all +that kind of thing. I fear its effect upon you.' + +'What choice have I?' exclaimed Alma, moved to familiar frankness. 'If I +_am_ poor, I must live poorly.' + +He smiled graciously upon her, and raised his hand almost as though he +would touch her with reassuring kindness; but it was only to stroke his +trimmed beard. + +'Oh, you have a choice, believe me,' came his airy answer. 'There's no +harm in poverty that doesn't last too long. You may have profited by it; +it is an experience. But now -- Don't let us walk so far as to tire you. +Yes, we will turn. Variety of life, travel, all sorts of joys and +satisfactions -- these are the things you need.' + +'And if they are not within my reach?' she asked, without looking at +him. + +'By-the-bye' -- he disregarded her question -- 'your friend, Mrs +Carnaby, has taken a long flight.' + +'Yes.' + +The monosyllable was dropped. Alma walked with her eyes on the ground, +trailing her sunshade. + +'I didn't think she had much taste for travel. But you know her so much +better than I do.' + +'She is enjoying herself,' said Alma. + +'No need for _you_ to go so far. Down yonder' -- he nodded southward -- +'I was thinking, the other day, of the different kinds of pleasure one +gets from scenery in different parts of the world. I have seen the +tropics; they left me very much where I was, intellectually. It's the +human associations of natural beauty that count. You have no desire to +go to the islands of the Pacific?' + +'I can't say that I have.' + +'Of course not. The springs of art are in the old world. Among the vines +and the olives one hears a voice. I must really try to give you some +idea of my little place at Riva.' + +He began a playful description -- long, but never tedious; alluring, yet +without enthusiasm -- a dreamy suggestion of refined delights and +luxuries. + +'I have another place in the Pyrenees, to suit another mood; and not +long ago I was sorely tempted by the offer of a house not far from +Antioch, in the valley of the Orontes -- a house built by an Englishman. +Charming place, and so entirely off the beaten track. Isn't there a +fascination in the thought of living near Antioch? Well away from bores +and philistines. No Mrs. Grundy with her clinking tea-cups. I dare say +the house is still to be had. -- Oh, do tell me something about your +friend, Fraulein Steinfeld. Is she in earnest? Will she do anything?' + +His eloquence was at an end. Thenceforward he talked of common things in +unemotional language; and when Alma parted from him, it was with a sense +of being tired and disappointed. + +On the following day she did not see him at all. He could not have left +Bregenz, for, of course, he would have let her know. She thought of him +incessantly, reviewing all his talk, turning over this and that +ambiguous phrase, asking herself whether he meant much or little. It was +natural that she should compare and contrast his behaviour with that of +Felix Dymes. If his motive were not the same, why did he seek her +society? And if it were? If at length he spoke out, summing his hints in +the plain offer of all those opportunities she lacked? + +A brilliant temptation. To leave the world as Alma Frothingham, and to +return to it as Mrs. Cyrus Redgrave! + +But, in that event, what of her musical ambitions? He spoke of her art +as the supreme concern, to which all else must be subordinate. And +surely that was his meaning when he threw scorn upon 'bores and +philistines'. Why should the fact of his wealth interfere with her +progress as an artist? Possibly, on the other hand, he did not intend +that she should follow a professional career. Cannot one be a great +artist without standing on public platforms? Was it his lordly thought +to foster her talents for his own delectation and that of the few +privileged? + +Her brain grew confused with interpreting and picturing. But once more +she had made an advance in self-esteem. She could await the next meeting +with a confidence and pride very unlike her sensations in the +Stiglmeyerplatz at Munich. + +It took place on the second day. This time Redgrave did not wait upon +accident; he sent a note, begging that he might have the pleasure of +another talk with her. He would call at a certain hour, and take his +chance of finding her at home. When he presented himself, Alma was +sitting in the common room of the _pension_ with two German ladies; they +in a few minutes withdrew, and familiar conversation became possible. As +the windows stood open, and there were chairs upon the balcony, Redgrave +shortly proposed a move in that direction. They sat together for half an +hour. + +When Redgrave took his leave, it was without shaking of hands -- with no +_Auf Wiedersehen_. He smiled, he murmured civilities; Alma neither +smiled nor spoke. She was pale, and profoundly agitated. + +So this was his meaning? -- made plain enough at last, though with the +most graceful phrasing. Childish vanity and ignorance had forbidden her +to dream of such an issue. She had not for a moment grasped the +significance to a man of the world of the ruin and disgrace fallen upon +her family. In theory she might call herself an exile from the polite +world; none the less did she imagine herself still illumined by the +social halo, guarded by the divinity which doth hedge a member of the +upper-middle class. Was she not a lady? And who had ever dared to offer +a lady an insult such as this? Shop-girls, minor actresses, the inferior +sort of governess, must naturally be on their guard; their insecurity +was traditional; novel and drama represented their moral vicissitudes. +But a lady, who had lived in a great house with many servants, who had +founded an Amateur Quartet Society, the hem of whose garment had never +been touched with irreverent finger -- could _she_ stand in peril of +such indignity? + +Not till now had she called to mind the forewarnings of Sibyl Carnaby, +which, at the time of hearing them, she did not at all understand. +'People,' said Sibyl, 'would approach her with strange ideas.' This she +might have applied to the grotesque proposal (as it seemed to her) of +Felix Dymes, or to the risk of being tempted into premature publicity by +a business offer from some not very respectable impresario. What Sibyl +meant was now only too clear; but how little could Mrs. Carnaby have +imagined that her warning would be justified by one of her own friends +-- by a man of wealth and consideration. + +She durst not leave the house for fear of encountering Redgrave, who, if +they crossed by chance, might fancy she invited another meeting. She +dreaded the observation of women, especially of Miss Steinfeld. The only +retreat was her bedroom, and here she secluded herself till dinner-time. +At this meal she must needs face the company or incur remark. She tried +to return her friend's smile with the ordinary unconcern. After dinner +there was no avoiding Miss Steinfeld, whose air of extreme discretion +showed that she had an inkling of events, and awaited confidences. + +'Mr. Redgrave has gone -- he called to say goodbye.' + +'_So_?' + +Irritated by self-consciousness, revolting against a misinterpretation +which would injure her vanity, though it was not likely to aim at her +honour, Alma had recourse to fiction. + +'I daresay you guess? -- Yes, and I refused.' + +Miss Steinfeld was puzzled. It did not astonish her that a girl should +reject ten thousand pounds per annum, for that she was too high-minded; +but she had thought it beyond doubt that Alma's heart was engaged. Here, +it had seemed to her, was the explanation of a mystery attaching to this +original young Englishwoman; unhoped, the brilliant lover, the secretly +beloved, had sought her in her retirement. And after all, it was a +mistake. + +'I don't care for him a bit,' Alma went on. 'It had to be got over and +done with, that was all.' + +She felt ashamed of herself. In childhood she had told falsehoods +freely, but with the necessity for that kind of thing the habit had +fallen away. Solace, however, was at hand, for the German girl looked at +her with a new interest, a new sympathy, which Alma readily construed as +wonder and admiration, if not gentle envy. To have refused an offer of +marriage from a handsome man of great wealth might be counted for glory. +And Alma's momentary shame yielded to a gratification which put her +outwardly at ease. + +The restless night brought torment of the mind and harassed spirits. +Redgrave's proposal echoed in the vacant chambers of her life, sounding +no longer an affront, but an allurement. Why, indeed, had she repelled +it so unthinkingly? It did not necessarily mean scandal. He had not +invited her to open defiance of the world. 'You can absolutely trust me; +I am discretion itself. All resources are at my command.' Why had she +rejected with scorn and horror what was, perhaps, her great opportunity, +the one hope of her struggling and sinking ambition? She had lost faith +in herself; in her power to overcome circumstances, not yet in her +talent, in her artistic birthright. Redgrave would have made her path +smooth. 'I promise you a great reputation in two or three years' time.' +And without disgrace, without shadow of suspicion, it would all be +managed, he declared, so very easily. For what alternative had she +rebuffed him? + +Redgrave's sagacity had guided him well up to a certain point, but it +had lost sight of one thing essential to the success of his scheme. +Perhaps because he was forty years of age, perhaps because he had so +often come and seen and conquered, perhaps because he made too low an +estimate of Bennet Frothingham's daughter, -- he simply overlooked +sentimental considerations. It was a great and a fatal oversight. He +went far in his calculated appeal to Alma's vanity; had he but credited +her with softer passions, and given himself the trouble to play upon +them, he would not, at all events, have suffered so sudden a defeat. Men +of Redgrave's stamp grow careless, and just at the time of life when, +for various causes, the art which conceals art has become indispensable. +He did not flatter himself that Alma was ready to fall in love with him; +and here his calm maturity served him ill. To his own defect of ardour +he was blinded by habit. After all, the affair had little consequence. +It had only suggested itself after the meeting in Munich, and perhaps -- +he said to himself -- all things considered, the event was just as well. + +But Alma felt the double insult, to her worldly honour, to her +womanhood. The man had not even made pretence of loving her; and this, +whilst it embittered her disappointment, strengthened her to cast from +her mind the baser temptation. Marriage she would have accepted, though +doubtless with becoming hesitancy; the offer could not have been made +without one word of tenderness (for Cyrus Redgrave was another than +Felix Dymes), and she had not felt it impossible to wed this polished +capitalist. Out of the tumult of her feelings, as another day went by, +issued at length that one simple and avowable sense of disappointment. +She had grasped the prize, and heated her imagination in regarding it; +had overcome natural reluctances, objections personal and moral; was +ready to sit down and write to Mrs. Frothingham the splendid, startling +announcement. And here she idled in her bedroom, desolate, hopeless, +wishing she had courage to steal down at night to the waters of the +Bodensee, and end it all. + +On the third day she returned to Munich, having said farewell to her +friend, who was quite prepared for the parting. From Munich she +proceeded to Leipzig, and there entered again the family circle of the +Gassners. She had no intention of staying for very long; the pretence of +musical study could not be kept up; but her next step was quite +uncertain. + +A fortnight later, Mrs. Frothingham wrote thus: ---- + +'I am sending you on a letter which, if I am not mistaken, comes from Mr +Rolfe. Do tell me if I am right. Odd that he should write to you, if it +is he. You have not told me yet whether you saw Mr. Redgrave again. But I +see that you don't care much, and perhaps it is as well.' + +The forwarded letter had been originally addressed to the care of Mrs +Frothingham, and Alma, at a glance, recognised Harvey Rolfe's writing. +He dated from London. Was he mistaken, he began, in thinking that +certain photographs from Bregenz had come to him by Miss Frothingham's +kindness? For his part, he had spent June in a ramble in South-west +France, chiefly by the Dordogne, and through a strange, interesting bit +of marsh-country, called La Double. 'I hardly know how I got there, and +I shall not worry you by writing any account of the expedition. But at a +miserable village called La Roche Chalais, where I had a most +indigestible supper and a bed unworthy of the name, I managed to fall +ill, and quite seriously thought, "Ah, here is the end!" It has to come +somewhere, and why not on a _grabat_ at La Roche Chalais? A mistake; I +am here again, wasting life as strenuously as ever. Would you let me +hear from you? I should think it a great addition to your kindness in +sending the views. And so, with every good wish, he remained, &c. + +Having nothing better to do, Alma got out a map of France, and searched +for La Roche Chalais; but the place was too insignificant to be marked. +On the morrow, being still without occupation, she answered Rolfe's +letter, and in quite a playful vein. She had no time to correspond with +people who 'wasted their lives'. To her, life was a serious matter +enough. But he knew nothing of the laborious side of a musician's +existence, and probably doubted its reality. As an afterthought, she +thanked him gravely for his letter, and hoped that some day, when she +had really 'done something', they might meet and renew their friendship. + + +CHAPTER 9 + + +On an afternoon in September, Harvey Rolfe spent half an hour at a +certain London bookseller's, turning over books that dealt with the +theory and practice of elementary education. Two or three of them he +selected, and ordered to be sent to a lady at Gunnersbury. On his way +out he came upon an acquaintance making a purchase in another department +of the shop. It was some months since he had seen Cecil Morphew, who +looked in indifferent health, and in his dress came near to shabbiness. +They passed out together, Morphew carrying an enwrapped volume, which he +gave Rolfe to understand was a birthday present -- for _her_. The elder +man resisted his inclination to joke, and asked how things were going +on. + +'Much the same as usual, except that her father is in very bad health. +It's brutal, but I wish he would die.' + +'Naturally.' + +'That's what one's driven to, you see. And anyone but you, who know me, +would set me down as a selfish, calculating beast. Can't help it. I had +rather have her penniless. -- Will you come in here with me? I want to +buy some pyrogallic acid.' + +In the street again, Morphew mentioned that he had taken up photography. + +'It gives me something to do, and it takes me out into the open air. +This beastly town is the ruin of me, in every way. -- Come to my rooms +for an hour, will you? I'll show you some attempts; I've only just tried +my hand at developing. And it's a long time since we had a talk.' + +They made for a Chelsea omnibus and mounted. + +'I thought you were never in town at this time,' Morphew resumed. 'I +want to get away, but can't afford it; devilish low-water with me. I +must have a bicycle. With that and the camera I may just manage to live; +often there seems little enough to live for. -- Tripcony? Oh, Tripcony's +a damned swindler; I've given him up. Speculation isn't quite so simple +as I imagined. I made a couple of hundred, though -- yes, and lost +nearly three.' + +The young man's laugh was less pleasant to hear than formerly. +Altogether, Rolfe observed in him a decline, a loss of refinement as +well as of vitality. + +'Why don't you go into the country?' he said. 'Take a cottage and grow +cabbages; dig for three hours a day. It would do you no end of good.' + +'Of course it would. I wish I had the courage.' + +'I'm going to spend the winter in Wales,' said Harvey. 'An +out-of-the-world place in Carnarvonshire -- mountains and sea. Come +along with me, and get the mephitis blown out of you. You've got town +disease, street-malaria, lodging-house fever.' + +'By Jove, I'll think of it,' replied the other, with a strange look of +eagerness. 'But I don't know whether I can. No, I can't be sure. But +I'll try.' + +'What holds you?' + +'Well, I like to be near, you know, to _her_. And then -- all sorts of +difficulties ----' + +Morphew had his lodgings at present in a street near Chelsea Hospital, a +poor-looking place, much inferior to those in which Rolfe had formerly +seen him. His two rooms were at the top, and he had converted a garret +into a dark chamber for his photographic amusement. Dirt and disorder +made the sitting-room very uninviting; Rolfe looked about him, and +wondered what principle of corruption was at work in the young man's +life. + +Morphew showed a new portrait of his betrothed, Henrietta Winter; a +comely face, shadowed with pensiveness. 'Taken at Torquay; she sent it a +day or two ago. -- I've been thinking of giving her up. If I do, I shall +do it brutally and savagely, to make it easy for her. I've spoilt her +life, and I'm pretty sure I've ruined my own.' + +He brought out a bottle of whisky and half filled two tumblers. His own +measure he very slightly diluted, and drank it off at once. + +'You're at a bad pass, my boy,' remarked Rolfe. 'What's wrong? Something +more than usual, I know. Make a clean breast of it.' + +Morphew continued to declare that he was only low-spirited from the +longstanding causes, and, though Rolfe did not believe him, nothing more +could at present be elicited. The talk turned to photography, but still +had no life in it. + +'I think you had better dine with me this evening,' said Harvey. + +'Impossible. I wish I could. An engagement.' + +The young man shuffled about, and after a struggle with embarrassment, +aided by another tumbler of whisky, threw out something he wished to +say. + +'It's deuced hard to ask you, but -- could you lend me some money?' + +'Of course. How much? Why do you make such a sputter about it?' + +'I've been making a fool of myself -- got into difficulties. Will you +let me have fifty pounds?' + +'Yes, if you'll promise to clear at once out of this dust-bin, and in a +month or so come into Wales.' + +'You're an awfully good fellow, Rolfe, -- and I'm a damned fool. I +promise! I will! I'll get out of it, and then I'll think about breaking +with that girl. Better for both of us -- but you shall advise me. -- +I'll tell you everything some day. I can't now. I'm too ashamed of +myself.' + +When he got home, Harvey wrote a cheque for fifty pounds, and posted it +at once. + +Not many days after, there came to him a letter from Mrs. Frothingham. +With this lady he had held no communication since the catastrophe of +last November; knowing not how to address her without giving more pain +than his sympathy could counterbalance, he remained silent. She wrote +from the neighbourhood of Swiss Cottage, where she had taken a flat; it +was her wish, if possible, to see him 'on a matter of business', and she +requested that he would make an appointment. Much wondering in what +business of Mrs. Frothingham's he could be concerned, Harvey named his +time, and went to pay the call. He ascended many stairs, and was +conducted by a neat servant-maid into a pleasant little drawing-room, +where Mrs. Frothingham rose to receive him. She searched his face, as if +to discern the feeling with which he regarded her, and her timid smile +of reassurance did not lack its pathos. + +'Mr. Rolfe, it seems years since I saw you.' + +She was aged a little, and her voice fell in broken notes, an unhappy +contrast to the gay, confident chirping of less than twelve months ago. + +'I have only been settled here for a week. I thought of leaving London +altogether, but, after all, I had to come backwards and forwards so +often, -- it was better to have a home here, and this little flat will +just suit me, I think.' + +She seemed desirous of drawing attention to its modest proportions. + +'I really don't need a house, and lodgings are so wretched. These flats +are a great blessing -- don't you think? I shall manage here with one +servant, only one.' + +Rolfe struggled with the difficulty of not knowing what to say. There +was nothing for it but to discourse as innocently as might be on the +advantages of flats, their increasing popularity, and the special charms +of this particular situation. Mrs. Frothingham eagerly agreed with +everything, and did her best to allow no moment of silence. + +'You have heard from Miss Frothingham, I think?' she presently let fall, +with a return of anxiety. + +'Not very long ago. From Leipzig.' + +'Yes. Yes. -- I don't know whether she will stay there. You know she is +thinking of taking up music professionally? -- Yes. Yes. -- I do so hope +she will find it possible, but of course that kind of career is so very +uncertain. I'm not sure that I shouldn't be glad if she turned to +something else.' + +The widow was growing nervous and self-contradictory. With a quick +movement of her hands, she suddenly resumed in another tone. + +'Mr. Rolfe, I do so wish you would let me speak to you in confidence. I +want to ask your help in a most delicate matter. Not, of course, about +my step-daughter, though I shall have to mention her. It is something +quite personal to myself. If I could hope that you wouldn't think it +tiresome -- I have a special reason for appealing to you.' + +He would gladly, said Harvey, be of any use he could. + +'I want to speak to you about painful things,' pursued his hostess, with +an animation and emphasis which made her more like the lady of Fitzjohn +Avenue. 'You know everything -- except my own position, and that is what +I wish to explain to you. I won't go into details. I will only say that +a few years ago my husband made over to me a large sum of money -- I had +none of my own -- and that it still belongs to me. I say belongs to me; +but there is my trouble. I fear I have no right whatever to call it +mine. And there are people who have suffered such dreadful losses. Some +of them you know. There was a family named Abbott. I wanted to ask you +about them. Poor Mr. Abbott -- I remember reading ----' + +She closed her eyes for an instant, and the look upon her face told that +this was no affectation of an anguished memory. + +'It was accident,' Rolfe hastened to say. 'The jury found it accidental +death.' + +'But there was the loss -- I read it all. He had lost everything. Do +tell me what became of his family. Someone told me they were friends of +yours.' + +'Happily they had no children. There was a small life-insurance. Mrs +Abbott used to be a teacher, and she is going to take that up again.' + +'Poor thing! Is she quite young?' + +'Oh, about thirty, I should say.' + +'Will she go into a school?' + +'No. Private pupils at her own house. She has plenty of courage, and +will do fairly well, I think.' + +'Still, it is shocking that she should have lost all -- her husband, +too, just at that dreadful time. This is what I wanted to say, Mr. Rolfe. +Do you think it would be possible to ask her to accept something ----? I +do so feel,' she hurried on, 'that I ought to make some sort of +restitution -- what I can -- to those who lost everything. I am told +that things are not quite hopeless; something may be recovered out of +the wreck some day. But it will be such a long time, and meanwhile +people are suffering so. And here am I left in comfort -- more than +comfort. It isn't right; I couldn't rest till I did something. I am glad +to say that I have been able to help a little here and there, but only +the kind of people whom it's easy to help. A case like Mrs. Abbott's is +far worse, yet there's such a difficulty in doing anything; one might +only give offence. I'm sure my name must be hateful to her -- as it is +to so many.' + +Rolfe listened with a secret surprise. He had never thought ill of Mrs +Frothingham; but, on the other hand, had never attributed to her any +save superficial qualities, a lightsome temper, pleasure in hospitality, +an easy good nature towards all the people of her acquaintance. He would +not have supposed her capable of substantial sacrifices; least of all, +on behalf of strangers and inspired by a principle. She spoke with the +simplest sincerity; it was impossible to suspect her motives. The +careless liking with which he had always regarded her was now infused +with respect; he became gravely attentive, and answered in a softer +voice. + +'She was embittered at first, but is overcoming it. To tell you the +truth, I think she will benefit by this trial. I don't like the words +that are so often used in cant; I don't believe that misery does any +good to most people -- indeed, I know very well that it generally does +harm. But Mrs. Abbott seems to be an exception; she has a good deal of +character; and there were circumstances -- well, I will only say that +she faces the change in her life very bravely.' + +'I do wish I knew her. But I daren't ask that. It's too much to expect +that she could bear to see me and listen to what I have to say.' + +'The less she's reminded of the past the better, I think.' + +'But would it not be possible to do something? I am told that the sum +was about fifteen hundred pounds. The whole of that I couldn't restore; +but half of it -- I could afford so much. Could I offer to do so -- not +directly, in my own name, but through you?' + +Harvey reflected, his head and body bent forward, his hands folded +together. In the flat beneath, someone was jingling operetta on a piano +not quite in tune; the pertinacious vivacity of the airs interfered with +Harvey's desire to view things seriously. He had begun to wonder how +large a capital Mrs. Frothingham had at her command. Was it not probable +that she could as easily bestow fifteen hundred pounds as the half of +that sum? But the question was unworthy. If in truth she had set herself +to undo as much as possible of the wrong perpetrated by her husband, Mrs +Frothingham might well limit her benefactions, be her fortune what it +might. + +'I will do whatever you desire,' he said, with deliberation. 'I cannot +answer for Mrs. Abbott, but, if you wish it, she shall know what you have +in mind.' + +'I do wish it,' replied the lady earnestly. 'I beg you to put this +before her, and with all the persuasion you can use. I should be very, +very glad if she would allow me to free my conscience from a little of +this burden. Only that I dare not speak of it, I would try to convince +you that I am doing what my dear husband himself would have wished. You +can't believe it; no one will ever believe it; even Alma, I am afraid -- +and that is so cruel, so dreadful; but he did not mean to wrong people +in this way. It wasn't in his nature. Who knew him better than I, or so +well? I know -- if he could come back to us ----' + +Her voice broke. The piano below jingled more vivaciously than ever, and +a sound of shrill laughter pierced through the notes. Afraid to sit +silent, lest he should seem unsympathetic and sceptical, Rolfe murmured +a few harmless phrases, tending to nervous incoherence. + +'I am thinking so much about Alma,' pursued the widow, recovering +self-command. 'I am so uncertain about my duty to her. Of her own, she +has nothing; but I know, of course, that her father wished her to share +in what he gave me. It is strange, Mr. Rolfe, that I should be talking to +you as if you were a relative -- as if I had a right to trouble you with +these things. But if you knew how few people I dare speak to. Wasn't it +so much better for her to lead a very quiet life? And so I gave her only +a little money, only enough to live upon in the simplest way. I hoped +she would get tired of being among strangers, and come back. And now I +fear she thinks I have behaved meanly and selfishly. And we were always +so kindly disposed to each other, such thorough friends; never a word +that mightn't have passed between a mother and her own child.' + +'I gathered from her letter,' interposed Harvey, 'that she was well +contented and working hard at her music.' + +'Do you think so? I began to doubt -- she wrote in low spirits. Of +course, one can't say whether she would succeed as a violinist. Oh, I +don't like to think of it! I must tell you that I haven't said a word to +her yet of what I am doing; I mean, about the money. I know I ought to +consider _her_ as much as other people. Poor girl, who has suffered +more, and in so many ways? But I think of what I keep for myself as +hers. I was not brought up in luxury, Mr. Rolfe. It wouldn't seem to me +hard to live on a very little. But in this, too, I must consider Alma. I +daren't lose all my acquaintances. I must keep a home for Alma, and a +home she wouldn't feel ashamed of. Here, you see, she could have her +friends. I have thought of going to Leipzig; but I had so much rather +she came to London -- if only for us just to talk and understand each +other.' + +Harvey preserved the gravest demeanour. Of Alma he would not permit +himself to speak, save in answer to a direct question; and that was not +long in coming. + +'I am sure you think I should be quite open with her?' + +'That would seem to me the best.' + +'Yes; she shall know all my thoughts. But with regard to Mrs. Abbott, I +know so well what she would say. I beg you to do me that kindness, Mr +Rolfe.' + +'I will write to Mrs. Abbott at once.' + +The interview was at an end; neither had anything more to say. They +parted with looks of much mutual kindliness, Harvey having promised to +make another call when Mrs. Abbott's reply had reached him. + +After exchanging letters with Mrs. Abbott, Harvey went over to see her; +for the sake of both persons concerned, he resolved to leave no +possibility of misunderstanding. A few days passed in discussions and +reflections, then, at the customary hour for paying calls, he again +ascended the many stairs to Mrs. Frothingham's flat. It had rained all +day, and in this weather there seemed a certainty that the lady would be +at home. But, as he approached the door, Harvey heard a sound from +within which discomposed him. Who, save one person, was likely to be +playing on the violin in these rooms? He paused, cast about him a glance +of indecision, and finally pressed the electric bell. + +Mrs. Frothingham was not at home. She might return very shortly. + +'Is -- Miss Frothingham at home?' + +The servant did not straightway admit him, but took his name. On his +entering the drawing-room, three figures appeared before him. He saw +Alma; he recognised Miss Leach; the third lady was named to him as Miss +Leach's sister. + +'You knew I was in London?' Alma remarked rather than inquired. + +'I had no idea of it -- until I heard your violin.' + +'My violin, but not my playing. It was Miss Leach.' + +From the first word -- her 'Ah, how d'you do' as he entered -- Alma's +tone and manner appeared to him forced, odd, unlike anything he +remembered of her. In correcting him, she gave a hard, short laugh, +glancing at Dora Leach in a way verging upon the ill-bred. Her look had +nothing amiable, though she continuously smiled, and when she invited +the visitor to be seated, it was with off-hand familiarity very +unflattering to his ear. + +'You came to see Mamma, of course. I dare say she won't be long. She had +to go through the rain on business with someone or other -- perhaps you +know. Have you been in London all the summer? Oh no, I remember you told +me you had been somewhere in France; on the Loire, wasn't it?' + +Rolfe dropped a careless affirmative. His temper prompted him to ask +whether Miss Frothingham knew the difference between the Loire and the +Garonne; but on the whole he was more puzzled than offended. What had +come over this young woman? Outwardly she was not much altered -- a +little thinner in the face, perhaps; her eyes seeming a trifle darker +and deeper set; but in the point of demeanour she had appreciably +suffered. Her bearing and mode of speech were of that kind which, in a +man, would be called devil-may-care. Was it a result of student-life? If +her stinted allowance had already produced effects such as this, Mrs +Frothingham was justified in uneasiness. + +He turned to Miss Leach, and with her talked exclusively for some +minutes. As soon as civility permitted, he would rise and make his +escape. Alma, the while, chatted with the younger sister, whom she +addressed as 'Gerda'. Then the door opened, and Mrs. Frothingham came in, +wearing her out-of-doors and gave him cordial welcome, though in few and +nervous costume; she fixed her eyes on Rolfe with a peculiar intensity, +words. + +'I am no longer alone, you see.' She threw a swift side-glance at Alma. +'It is a great pleasure.' + +'Does it rain still, Mamma?' asked Alma in a high voice. + +'Not just now, my dear; but it's very disagreeable.' + +'Then I'll walk with you to the station.' She addressed the sisters. +'Dora and Gerda can't stay; they have an appointment at five o'clock. +They'll come again in a day or two.' + +After the leave-takings, and when Alma, with a remark that she would not +be long, had closed the door behind her, Mrs. Frothingham seated herself +and began to draw off her gloves. The bonnet and cloak she was wearing, +though handsome and in the mode, made her look older than at Rolfe's +last visit. She was now a middle-aged woman, with emphasis on the +qualifying term; in home dress she still asserted her sex, grace of +figure and freshness of complexion prevailing over years and sorrows. At +this moment, moreover, weariness, and perhaps worry, appeared in her +countenance. + +'Thank you so much for coming,' she said quietly. 'You must have been +surprised when you saw ----' + +'I was, indeed.' + +'And my surprise was still greater, when, without any warning, Alma +walked into the room two days ago. But I was so glad, so very glad.' + +She breathed a little sigh, looking round. + +'Hasn't Alma given her friends any tea? I must ring -- Thank you. -- Oh, +the wretched, wretched day! I seem to notice the weather so much more +than I used to. Does it affect you at all?' + +Not till the tea-tray was brought in, and she had sipped from her cup, +did Mrs. Frothingham lay aside these commonplaces. With abrupt gravity, +and in a subdued voice, she at length inquired the result of Rolfe's +delicate mission. + +'I think,' he replied, 'that I made known your wish as clearly and +urgently as possible. I have seen Mrs. Abbott, and written to her twice. +It will be best, perhaps, if I ask you to read her final letter. I have +her permission to show it to you.' + +He drew the letter from its envelope, and with a nervous hand Mrs +Frothingham took it for perusal. Whilst she was thus occupied, Rolfe +averted his eyes; when he knew that she had read to the end, he looked +at her. She had again sighed, and Harvey could not help imagining it an +involuntary signal of relief. + +'I am very glad to have read this, Mr. Rolfe. If you had merely told me +that Mrs. Abbott refused, I should have felt nothing but pain. As it is, +I understand that she _could_ only refuse, and I am most grateful for +all she says about me. I regret more than ever that I don't know her.' + +As she handed the letter back, it shook like a blown leaf. She was pale, +and spoke with effort. But in a few moments, when conversation was +resumed, her tone took a lightness and freedom which confirmed Rolfe's +impression that she had escaped from a great embarrassment; and this +surmise he inevitably connected with Alma's display of strange +ill-humour. + +Not another word passed on the subject. With frequent glances towards +the door, Mrs. Frothingham again talked commonplace. Harvey, eager to get +away, soon rose. + +'Oh, you are not going? Alma will be back in a moment.' + +And as her step-mother spoke, the young lady reappeared. + +'Why didn't you give your friends tea, dear?' + +'I forgot all about it. That comes of living alone. Dora has composed a +gavotte, Mamma. She was playing it when Mr. Rolfe came. It's capital! Is +Mr. Rolfe going?' + +Harvey murmured his peremptory resolve. Mrs. Frothingham, rising, said +that she was almost always at home in the afternoon; that it would +always give her so much pleasure ---- + +'You remain in England?' asked Harvey, barely touching the hand which +Alma cavalierly offered. + +'I really don't know. Perhaps I ought to, just to look after Mamma.' + +Mrs. Frothingham uttered a little exclamation, and tried to laugh. On the +instant, Harvey withdrew. + +By the evening's post on the following day he was surprised to receive a +letter addressed in Alma's unmistakable hand. The contents did not allay +his wonder. + +DEAR MR ROLFE, + +I am sure you will not mind if I use the privilege of a +fairly long acquaintance and speak plainly about +something that I regard as important. I wish to say +that I am quite old enough, and feel quite competent, +to direct the course of my own life. It is very kind of +you, indeed, to take an interest in what I do and what I +hope to do, and I am sure Mamma will be fittingly +grateful for any advice you may have offered with +regard to me. But I feel obliged to say quite distinctly +that I must manage my own affairs. Pray excuse this +freedom, and believe me, yours truly, + +He gasped, and with wide eyes read the missive again and again. As soon +as his nerves were quieted, he sat down and replied thus: ---- + +DEAR MISS FROTHINGHAM, + +Your frankness can only be deemed a compliment. It is +perhaps a triviality on my part, but I feel prompted to +say that I have at no time discussed your position or +prospects with Mrs. Frothingham, and that I have +neither offered advice on the subject nor have been +requested to do so. If this statement should appear to +you at all germane to the matter, I beg you will take it +into consideration. -- And I am, yours truly, + +HARVEY RADCLIFFE ROLFE + + +CHAPTER 10 + + +This reply despatched, Harvey congratulated himself on being quits with +Miss Frothingham. Her letter, however amusing, was deliberate +impertinence; to have answered it in a serious tone would have been to +encourage ill-mannered conceit which merited nothing but a snub. + +But what had excited her anger? Had Mrs. Frothingham been guilty of some +indiscretion, or was it merely the result of hotheaded surmises and +suspicions on the girl's part? Plainly, Alma had returned to England in +no amiable mood; in all probability she resented her step-mother's +behaviour, now that it had been explained to her; there had arisen +'unpleasantness' on the old, the eternal subject -- money. Ignoble +enough; but was it a new thing for him to discern ignoble possibilities +in Alma's nature? + +Nevertheless, his thoughts were constantly occupied with the girl. Her +image haunted him; all his manhood was subdued and mocked by her +scornful witchery. From the infinitudes of reverie, her eyes drew near +and gazed upon him -- eyes gleaming with mischief, keen with curiosity; +a look now supercilious, now softly submissive; all the varieties of +expression caught in susceptible moments, and stored by a too faithful +memory. Her hair, her lips, her neck, grew present to him, and lured his +fancy with a wanton seduction. In self-defence -- pathetic stratagem of +intellectual man at issue with the flesh -- he fell back upon the +idealism which ever strives to endow a fair woman with a beautiful soul; +he endeavoured to forget her body in contemplation of the spiritual +excellencies that might lurk behind it. To depreciate her was simpler, +and had generally been his wont; but subjugation had reached another +stage in him. He summoned all possible pleadings on the girl's behalf: +her talents, her youth, her grievous trials. Devotion to classical music +cannot but argue a certain loftiness of mind; it might, in truth, be +somehow akin to 'religion'. Remembering his own follies and vices at the +age of four-and-twenty, was it not reason, no less than charity, to see +in Alma the hope of future good? Nay, if it came to that, did she not +embody infinitely more virtue, in every sense of the word, than he at +the same age? + +One must be just to women, and, however paltry the causes, do honour to +the cleanliness of their life. Nothing had suggested to him that Alma +was unworthy of everyday respect. Even when ill-mannered, she did not +lose her sexual dignity. And after all she had undergone, there would +have been excuse enough for decline of character, to say nothing of a +lapse from the articles of good breeding. This letter of hers, what did +it signify but the revolt of a spirit of independence, irritated by all +manner of sufferings, great and small? Ought he not to have replied in +other terms? Was it worthy of him -- man of the world, with passions, +combats, experience multiform, assimilated in his long, slow growth -- +to set his sarcasm against a girl's unhappiness? + +He was vexed with himself. He had not behaved as a gentleman. And how +many a time, in how many situations, had he incurred this form of +self-reproach! + +When a week went by without anything more from Alma, Harvey ceased to +trouble. As the fates directed, so be it. He began to pack the books +which he would take with him into Wales. + +One day he found himself at Kensington High Street, waiting for a City +train. In idleness, he watched the people who alighted from carriages on +the opposite side of the platform, and among them he saw Alma. On her +way towards the stairs she was obliged to pass him; he kept his +position, and only looked into her face when she came quite near. She +bent her head with a half-smile, stopped, and spoke in a low voice, +without sign of embarrassment. + +'I was quite wrong. I found it out soon after I had written, and I have +wanted to beg your pardon.' + +'It is my part to do that,' Harvey replied. 'I ought not to have +answered as I did.' + +'Perhaps not -- all things considered. I'm rather in a hurry. +Good-morning!' + +As a second thought, she offered her hand. Harvey watched her trip up +the stairs. + +Next morning he had a letter from her. 'Dear Mr. Rolfe,' she wrote, 'did +you let Mamma know of my hasty and foolish behaviour? If not -- and I +very much hope you didn't -- please not to reply to this, but let us see +you on Wednesday afternoon, just in the ordinary way. If Mamma _has_ +been told, still don't trouble to write, and in that case I dare say you +will not care to come. If you are engaged this Wednesday, perhaps you +could come next.' And she signed herself his sincerely. + +He did not reply, and Wednesday saw him climbing once more to the little +flat; ashamed of being here, yet unable to see how he could have avoided +it, except by leaving London. For that escape he had no longer much +mind. Quite consciously, and with uneasiness which was now taking a new +form, he had yielded to Alma's fascination. However contemptible and +unaccountable, this was the state of things with him, and, as he waited +for the door to be opened, it made him feel more awkward, more foolish, +than for many a long year. + +Mrs. Frothingham and her step-daughter were sitting alone, the elder lady +occupied with fancy-work, at her feet a basket of many-coloured silks, +and the younger holding a book; nothing could have been quieter or more +home-like. No sooner had he entered than he overcame all restraint, all +misgiving; there was nothing here today but peace and good feeling, +gentle voices and quiet amiability. Whatever shadow had arisen between +the two ladies must have passed utterly away; they spoke to each other +with natural kindness, and each had a tranquil countenance. + +Alma began at once to talk of their common friends, the Carnabys, asking +whether Rolfe knew that they were in Australia. + +'I knew they had decided to go,' he answered. 'But I haven't heard for +at least two months.' + +'Oh, then I can give you all the news; I had a letter yesterday. When +Mrs. Carnaby wrote, they had spent a fortnight at Melbourne, and were +going on to Brisbane. Mr. Carnaby is going to do something in Queensland +-- something about mines. I'll read you that part.' + +The letter lay in the book she was holding. Sibyl wrote indefinitely, +but Harvey was able to gather that the mining engineer, Dando, had +persuaded Carnaby to take an active interest in his projects. Discussion +on speculative enterprises did not recommend itself to the present +company, and Rolfe could only express a hope that his friend had at last +found a pursuit in which he could interest himself. + +'But fancy Sibyl at such places!' exclaimed Alma, with amusement. 'How +curious I shall be to see her when she comes back! Before she left +England, I'm sure she hadn't the least idea in what part of Australia +Brisbane was, or Melbourne either. I didn't know myself; had to look at +a map. You'll think that a shameful confession, Mr. Rolfe.' + +'My own ideas of Australian geography are vague enough.' + +'Oh, but haven't you been there?' + +'Not to any of the new countries; I don't care about them. A defect, I +admit. The future of England is beyond seas. I would have children +taught all about the Colonies before bothering them with histories of +Greece and Rome. I wish I had gone out there myself as a boy, and grown +up a sheep-farmer.' + +Alma laughed. + +'That's one of the things you say just to puzzle people. It contradicts +all sorts of things I've heard you say at other times. -- Do _you_ +think, Mamma, that Mr. Rolfe missed his vocation when he didn't become a +sheep-farmer?' + +Mrs. Frothingham gently shook her head. No trace of nervousness appeared +in her today; manipulating the coloured silks, she only now and then put +in a quiet word, but followed the talk with interest. + +'But I quite thought you had been to Australia,' Alma resumed. 'You see, +it's very theoretical, your admiration of the new countries. And I +believe you would rather die at once in England than go to live in any +such part of the world.' + +'Weakness of mind, that's all.' + +'Still, you admit it. That's something gained. You always smile at other +people's confessions, and keep your own mind mysterious.' + +'Mysterious? I always thought one of my faults was over-frankness.' + +'That only shows how little we know ourselves.' + +Harvey was reflecting on the incompleteness of his knowledge of Alma. +Intentionally or not, she appeared to him at this moment in a perfectly +new light; he could not have pictured her so simple of manner, so +direct, so placid. Trouble seemed to have given her a holiday, and at +the same time to have released her from self-consciousness. + +'But you have never told us,' she went on, 'about your wanderings in +France this summer. English people don't go much to that part, do they?' + +'No. I happened to read a book about it. It's the old fighting-ground of +French and English -- interesting to any one pedantic enough to care for +such things.' + +'But not to people born to be sheep-farmers. And you had a serious +illness. -- Did Mr. Rolfe tell you, Mamma dear, that he nearly died at +some miserable roadside inn?' + +Mrs. Frothingham looked startled, and declared she knew nothing of it. +Harvey, obliged to narrate, did so in the fewest possible words, and +dismissed the matter. + +'I suppose you have had many such experiences,' said Alma. 'And when do +you start on your next travels?' + +'I have nothing in view. I half thought of going for the winter to a +place in North Wales -- Carnarvonshire, on the outer sea.' + +The ladies begged for more information, and he related how, on a ramble +with a friend last spring (it was Basil Morton), he had come upon this +still little town between the mountains and the shore, amid a country +shining with yellow gorse, hills clothed with larch, heathery moorland, +ferny lanes, and wild heights where the wind roars on crag or cairn. + +'No railway within seven miles. Just the place for a pedant to escape +to, and live there through the winter with his musty books.' + +'But it must be equally delightful for people who are not pedants!' +exclaimed Alma. + +'In spring or summer, no doubt, though even then the civilised person +would probably find it dull.' + +'That's your favourite affectation again. I'm sure it's nothing but +affectation when you speak scornfully of civilised people.' + +'Scornfully I hope I never do.' + +'Really, Mamma,' said Alma, with a laugh, 'Mr. Rolfe is in his very +mildest humour today. We mustn't expect any reproofs for our good. He +will tell us presently that we are patterns of all the virtues.' + +Mrs. Frothingham spoke in a graver strain. + +'But I'm sure it is possible to be too civilised -- to want too many +comforts, and become a slave to them. Since I have been living here, Mr +Rolfe, you can't think how I have got to enjoy the simplicity of this +kind of life. Everything is so easy; things go so smoothly. Just one +servant, who can't make mistakes, because there's next to nothing to do. +No wonder people are taking to flats.' + +'And is that what you mean by over-civilisation?' Alma asked of Rolfe. + +'I didn't say anything about it. But I should think many people in large +and troublesome houses would agree with Mrs. Frothingham. It's easy to +imagine a time when such burdens won't be tolerated. Our misfortune is, +of course, that we are not civilised enough.' + +'Not enough to give up fashionable nonsense. I agree with that. We're +wretched slaves, most of us.' + +It was the first sentence Alma had spoken in a tone that Rolfe +recognised. For a moment her face lost its placid smile, and Harvey +hoped that she would say more to the same purpose; but she was silent. + +'I'm sure,' remarked Mrs. Frothingham, with feeling, 'that most happiness +is found in simple homes.' + +'Can we be simple by wishing it?' asked Alma. 'Don't you think we have +to be born to simplicity?' + +'I'm not sure that I know what you mean by the word,' said Harvey. + +'I'm not sure that I know myself. Mamma meant poverty, I think. But +there may be a simple life without poverty, I should say. I'm thinking +of disregard for other people's foolish opinions; living just as you +feel most at ease -- not torturing yourself because it's the custom.' + +'That's just what requires courage,' Rolfe remarked. + +'Yes; I suppose it does. One knows people who live in misery just +because they daren't be comfortable; keeping up houses and things they +can't afford, when, if they only considered themselves, their income +would be quite enough for everything they really want. If you come to +think of it, that's too foolish for belief.' + +Harvey felt that the topic was growing dangerous. He said nothing, but +wished to have more of Alma's views in this direction. They seemed to +strike her freshly; perhaps she had never thought of the matter in this +way before. + +'That's what I meant,' she continued, 'when I said you must be born to +simplicity. I should think no one ever gave up fashionable extravagance +just because they saw it to be foolish. People haven't the strength of +mind. I dare say,' she added, with a bright look, 'anyone who _was_ +strong enough to do that kind of thing would be admired and envied.' + +'By whom?' Rolfe asked. + +'Oh, by their acquaintances who were still slaves.' + +'I don't know. Admiration and envy are not commonly excited by merely +reasonable behaviour.' + +'But this would be something more than merely reasonable. It would be +the beginning of a revolution.' + +'My dear,' remarked Mrs. Frothingham, smiling sadly, 'people would never +believe that it didn't mean loss of money.' + +'They might be made to believe it. It would depend entirely on the +persons, of course.' + +Alma seemed to weary of the speculation, and to throw it aside. Harvey +noticed a shadow on her face again, which this time did not pass +quickly. + +He was so comfortable in his chair, the ladies seemed so entirely at +leisure, such a noiseless calm brooded about them, unbroken by any new +arrival, that two hours went by insensibly, and with lingering +reluctance the visitor found it time to take his leave. On reviewing the +afternoon, Harvey concluded that it was probably as void of meaning as +of event. Alma, on friendly terms once more with her step-mother, felt +for the moment amiably disposed towards everyone, himself included; this +idle good humour and insignificant talk was meant, no doubt, for an +apology, all he had to expect. It implied, of course, thorough +indifference towards him as an individual. As a member of their shrunken +circle, he was worth retaining. Having convinced herself of his +innocence of undue pretensions, Alma would, as the children say, be +friends again, and everything should go smoothly. + +He lived through a week of the wretchedest indecision, and at the end of +it, when Wednesday afternoon came round, was again climbing the many +stairs to the Frothinghams' flat; even more nervous than last time, much +more ashamed of himself, and utterly doubtful as to his reception. The +maid admitted him without remark, and showed him into an empty room. +When he had waited for five minutes, staring at objects he did not see, +Alma entered. + +'Mamma went out to lunch,' she said, languidly shaking hands with him, +'and hasn't come back yet.' + +No greeting could have conveyed less encouragement. She seated herself +with a lifeless movement, looked at him, and smiled as if discharging a +duty. + +'I thought' -- he blundered into speech -- 'that Wednesday was probably +your regular afternoon.' + +'There is nothing regular yet. We haven't arranged our life. We are glad +to see our friends whenever they come. -- Pray sit down.' + +He did so, resolving to stay for a few minutes only. In the silence that +followed, their eyes met, and, as though it were too much trouble to +avert her look, Alma continued to regard him. She smiled again, and with +more meaning. + +'So you have quite forgiven me?' fell from her lips, just when Harvey +was about to speak. + +'As I told you at the station, I feel that there is more fault on my +side. You wrote under such a strange misconception, and I ought to have +patiently explained myself.' + +'Oh no! You were quite right in treating me sharply. I don't quite +remember what I said, but I know it must have been outrageous. After +that, I did what I ought to have done before, just had a talk with +Mamma.' + +'Then you took it for granted, without any evidence, that I came here as +a meddler or busybody?' + +His voice was perfectly good-humoured, and Alma answered in the same +tone. + +'I _thought_ there was evidence. Mamma had been talking about her +affairs, and mentioned that she had consulted you about something -- Oh, +about Mrs. Abbott.' + +'Very logical, I must say,' remarked Rolfe, laughing. + +'I don't think logic is my strong point.' + +She sat far back in the easy chair, her head supported, her hands +resting upon the chair arms. The languor which she hardly made an effort +to overcome began to invade her companion, like an influence from the +air; he gazed at her, perceiving a new beauty in the half-upturned face, +a new seductiveness in the slim, abandoned body. A dress of grey silk, +trimmed with black, refined the ivory whiteness of her flesh; its faint +rustling when she moved affected Harvey with a delicious thrill. + +'There's no reason, now,' she continued, 'why we shouldn't talk about it +-- I mean, the things you discussed with Mamma. You imagine, I dare say, +that I selfishly objected to what she was doing. Nothing of the kind. I +didn't quite see why she had kept it from me, that was all. It was as if +she felt afraid of my greediness. But I'm not greedy; I don't think I'm +more selfish than ordinary people. And I think Mamma is doing exactly +what she ought; I'm very glad she felt about things in that way.' + +Harvey nodded, and spoke in a subdued voice. + +'I was only consulted about one person, whom I happened to know.' + +'Yes -- Mrs. Abbott.' + +Her eyes were again fixed upon him, and he read their curiosity. Just as +he was about to speak, the servant appeared with tea. Alma slowly raised +herself, and, whilst she plied the office of hostess, Harvey got rid of +the foolish hat and stick that encumbered him. He had now no intention +of hurrying away. + +As if by natural necessity, they talked of nothing in particular whilst +tea was sipped. Harvey still held his cup, when at the outer door +sounded a rat-tat-tat, causing him silently to execrate the intruder, +whoever it might be. Unheeding, and as if she had not heard, Alma +chatted of trifles. Harvey's ear detected movements without, but no one +entered; in a minute or two, he again breathed freely. + +'Mrs. Abbott ----' + +Alma just dropped the name, as if beginning a remark, but lapsed into +silence. + +'Shall I tell you all about her?' said Rolfe. 'Her husband's death left +her in great difficulties; she had hardly anything. A friend of hers, a +Mrs. Langland, who lives at Gunnersbury, was very kind and helpful. They +talked things over, and Mrs. Abbott decided to take a house at +Gunnersbury, and teach children; -- she was a teacher before her +marriage.' + +'No children of her own?' + +'No. One died. But unfortunately she has the care of two, whose mother +-- a cousin of hers -- is dead, and whose father has run away.' + +'Run away?' + +'Literally. Left the children behind in a lodging-house garret to +starve, or go to the workhouse, or anything else. A spirited man; +independent, you see; no foolish prejudices.' + +'And Mrs. Abbott has to support them?' + +'No one else could take them. They live with her.' + +'You didn't mention that to Mamma.' + +'No. I thought it needless.' + +The silence that followed was embarrassing to Harvey. He broke it by +abruptly changing the subject. + +'Have you practised long today?' + +'No,' was the absent reply. + +'I thought you looked rather tired, as if you had been working too +hard.' + +'Oh, I don't work too hard,' said Alma impatiently. + +'Forgive me. I remember that it is a forbidden subject.' + +'Not at all. You may ask _me_ anything you like about myself. I'm not +working particularly hard just now; thinking a good deal, though. +Suppose you let me have your thoughts on the same subject. No harm. But +I dare say I know them, without your telling me.' + +'I hardly think you do,' said Rolfe, regarding her steadily. 'At all +events' -- his voice faltered a little -- 'I'm afraid you don't.' + +'Afraid? Oh' -- she laughed -- 'don't be afraid. I have plenty of +courage, and quite enough obstinacy. It rather does me good when people +show they have no faith in me.' + +'You didn't understand,' murmured Harvey. + +'Then make me understand,' she exclaimed nervously, moving in the chair +as if about to stand up, but remaining seated and bent forward, her eyes +fixed upon him in a sort of good-humoured challenge. 'I believe I know +what you mean, all the time. You didn't discuss me with Mamma, as I +suspected, but you think about me just as she does. -- No, let me go on, +then you shall confess I was right. You have no faith in my powers, to +begin with. It seems to you very unlikely that an everyday sort of girl, +whom you have met in society and know all about, should develop into a +great artist. No faith -- that's the first thing. Then you are so kind +as to have fears for me -- yes, it was your own word. You think that you +know the world, whilst I am ignorant of it, and that it's a sort of duty +to offer warnings.' + +Harvey's all but angry expression, as he listened and fidgeted, suddenly +stopped her. + +'Well! Can you deny that these things are in your mind?' + +'They are not in my mind at this moment, that's quite certain,' said +Harvey bluntly. + +'Then, what is?' + +'Something it isn't easy to say, when you insist on quarrelling with me. +Why do you use this tone? Do I strike you as a pedagogue, a preacher -- +something of that sort?' + +His energy in part subdued her. She smiled uneasily. + +'No. I don't see you in that light.' + +'So much the better. I wanted to appear to you simply a man, and one who +has -- perhaps -- the misfortune to see in _you_ only a very beautiful +and a very desirable woman.' + +Alma sat motionless. Her smile had passed, vanishing in a swift gleam of +pleasure which left her countenance bright, though grave. In the same +moment there sounded again a rat-tat at the outer door. Through his +whirling senses, Harvey was aware of the threatened interruption, and +all but cursed aloud. That Alma had the same expectation appeared in her +moving so as to assume a more ordinary attitude; but she uttered the +word that had risen to her lips. + +'The misfortune, you call it?' + +Harvey followed her example in disposing his limbs more conventionally; +also in the tuning of his voice to something between jest and earnest. + +'I said _perhaps_ the misfortune.' + +'It makes a difference, certainly.' She smiled, her eyes turned to the +door. '_Perhaps_ is a great word; one of the most useful in the +language. -- Don't you think so, Mamma?' + +Mrs. Frothingham had just entered. + + +CHAPTER 11 + + +The inconceivable had come to pass. By a word and a look Harvey had made +real what he was always telling himself could never be more than a +dream, and a dream of unutterable folly. Mrs. Frothingham's unconscious +intervention availed him nothing; he had spoken, and must speak again. +For a man of sensitive honour there could be no trilling in such a +matter as this with a girl in Alma Frothingham's position. And did he +not rejoice that wavering was no longer possible? + +This was love; but of what quality? He no longer cared, or dared, to +analyse it. Too late for all that. He had told Alma that he loved her, +and did not repent it; nay, hoped passionately to hear from her lips the +echoed syllable. It was merely the proof of madness. A shake of the head +might cure him; but from that way to sanity all his blood shrank. + +He must consider; he must be practical. If he meant to ask Alma to marry +him, and of course he did, an indispensable preliminary was to make +known the crude facts of his worldly position. + +Well, he could say, with entire honesty, that he had over nine hundred +pounds a year. This was omitting a disbursement of an annual fifty +pounds, of which he need not speak -- the sum he had insisted on paying +Mrs. Abbott that she might be able to maintain Wager's children. With all +the difficulty in the world had he gained his point. Mrs. Abbott did not +wish the children to go into other hands; she made it a matter of +conscience to keep them by her, and to educate them, yet this seemed +barely possible with the combat for a livelihood before her. Mrs. Abbott +yielded, and their clasp of hands cemented a wholesome friendship -- +frank, unsuspicious -- rarest of relations between man and woman. But +all this there was certainly no need of disclosing. + +At midnight he was penning a letter. It must not be long; it must not +strike the lyrical note; yet assuredly it must not read like a +commercial overture. He had great difficulty in writing anything that +seemed tolerable. Yet done it must be, and done it was; and before going +to bed he had dropped his letter into the post. He durst not leave it +for reperusal in the morning light. + +Then came torture of expectancy. The whole man aching, sore, with +impatience; reason utterly fled, intellect bemused and baffled; a +healthy, competent citizen of nigh middle age set all at once in the +corner, crowned with a fool's cap, twiddling his thumbs in nervous fury. +Dolorous spectacle, and laughable withal. + +He waited four-and-twenty hours, then clutched at Alma's reply. 'Dear Mr +Rolfe, -- Will you come again next Wednesday?' That was all. Did it +amuse her to keep him in suspense? The invitation might imply a +fulfilment of his hopes, but Alma's capriciousness allowed no certainty; +a week's reflection was as likely to have one result as another. For him +it meant a week of solitude and vacancy. + +Or would have meant it, but for that sub-vigorous element in his +character, that saving strain of practical rationality, which had +brought him thus far in life without sheer overthrow. An hour after +receiving Alma's enigmatical note, he was oppressed by inertia; another +hour roused him to self-preservation, and supplied him with a project. +That night he took the steamer from Harwich to Antwerp, and for the next +four days wandered through the Netherlands, reviving his memories of a +journey, under very different circumstances, fifteen years ago. The +weather was bright and warm; on the whole he enjoyed himself; he reached +London again early on Wednesday morning, and in the afternoon, with a +touch of weather on his cheek, presented himself at Alma's door. + +She awaited him in the drawing-room, alone. This time, he felt sure, no +interruption was to be feared; he entered with confident step and a +cheery salutation. A glance showed him that his common-sense had served +him well; it was Alma who looked pale and thought-worn, who betrayed +timidity, and could not at once command herself. + +'What have you been doing?' she asked, remarking his appearance. + +'Rambling about a little,' he replied good-humouredly. + +'Where? You look as if you had been a voyage.' + +'So I have, a short one.' + +And he told her how his week had passed. + +'So that's how you would like to spend your life -- always travelling?' + +'Oh no! I did it to kill time. You must remember that a week is +something like a year to a man who is waiting impatiently.' + +She dropped her eyes. + +'I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. But I never thought you very +impatient. You always seemed to take things philosophically.' + +'I generally try to.' + +There was a pause. Alma, leaning forward in her chair, kept her eyes +down, and did not raise them when she again spoke. + +'You have surprised and perplexed and worried me. I thought in a week's +time I should know what to say, but -- Doesn't it strike you, Mr. Rolfe, +that we're in a strange position towards each other? You know very +little of me -- very little indeed, I'm sure. And of you, when I come to +think of it, all I really know is that you hardly care at all for what +has always been my one great interest.' + +'That is putting it in a matter-of-fact way -- or you think so. I see +things rather differently. In one sense, I care very much indeed for +everything that really makes a part of your life. And simply because I +care very much about you yourself. I don't know you; who knows any other +human being? But I have formed an idea of you, and an idea that has +great power over my thoughts, wishes, purposes -- everything. It has +made me say what I thought I should never say to any woman -- and makes +me feel glad that I have said it, and full of hope.' + +Alma drew in her breath and smiled faintly. Still she did not look at +him. + +'And of course I have formed an idea of you.' + +'Will you sketch the outline and let me correct it?' + +'You think I am pretty sure to be wrong?' she asked, raising her eyes +and regarding him for a moment with anxiety. + +'I should have said "complete" it. I hope I have never shown myself to +you in an altogether false light.' + +'That is the one thing I have felt sure about,' said Alma, slowly and +thoughtfully. 'You have always seemed the same. You don't change with +circumstances -- as people generally do.' + +Harvey had a word on his lips, but checked it, and merely gazed at her +till her eyes again encountered his. Then Alma smiled more naturally. + +'There was something you didn't speak of in your letter. What kind of +life do you look forward to?' + +'I'm not sure that I understand. My practical aims -- you mean?' + +'Yes,' she faltered, with embarrassment. + +'Why, I'm afraid I have none. I mentioned the facts of my position, and +I said that I couldn't hope for its improvement ----' + +'No, no, no! You misunderstand me. I am not thinking about money. I hate +the word, and wish I might never hear it again!' She spoke with +impetuosity. 'I meant -- how and where do you wish to live? What +thoughts had you about the future?' + +'None very definite, I confess. And chiefly because, if what I desired +came to pass, I thought of everything as depending upon you. I have no +place in the world. I have no relatives nearer than cousins. Of late +years I have been growing rather bookish, and rather fond of quietness +-- but of course that resulted from circumstances. When a man offers +marriage, of course he usually says: My life is this and this; will you +enter into it, and share it with me? I don't wish to say anything of the +kind. My life may take all sorts of forms; when I ask you to share it, I +ask you to share liberty, not restraint.' + +'A gipsy life?' she asked, half playfully. + +'Is your inclination to that?' + +Alma shook her head. + +'No, I am tired of homelessness. -- And,' she added as if on an impulse, +'I am tired of London.' + +'Then we agree. I, too, am tired of both.' + +Her manner altered; she straightened herself, and spoke with more +self-possession. + +'What about my art -- my career?' + +'It is for me to ask that question,' replied Harvey, gazing steadfastly +at her. + +'You don't mean that it would all necessarily come to an end.' + +'Why? I mean what I say when I speak of sharing liberty. Heaven forbid +that I should put an end to any aim or hope of yours -- to anything that +is part of yourself. I want you to be yourself. Many people nowadays +revolt against marriage because it generally means bondage, and they +have much to say for themselves. If I had been condemned to a wearisome +occupation and a very small income, I'm sure I should never have asked +anyone to marry me; I don't think it fair. It may seem to you that I +haven't much right to call myself an independent man as it is ----' + +Alma broke in, impatiently. + +'Don't speak of money? You have enough -- more than enough.' + +'So it seems to me. You are afraid this might prevent you from becoming +a professional musician?' + +'I know it would,' she answered with quiet decision. + +'I should never dream of putting obstacles in your way. Do understand +and believe me. I don't want to shape you to any model of my own; I want +you to be your true self, and live the life you are meant for.' + +'All the same, you would rather I did not become a professional +musician. Now, be honest with me! Be honest before everything. You +needn't answer, I know it well enough; and if I marry you, I give up my +music.' + +Rolfe scrutinised her face, observed the tremulous mouth, the nervous +eyelid. + +'Then,' he said, 'it will be better for you not to marry me.' + +And silence fell upon the room, a silence in which Harvey could hear a +deep-drawn breath and the rustle of silk. He was surprised by a voice in +quite a new tone, softly melodious. + +'You give me up very easily.' + +'Not more easily than you give up your music.' + +'There's a difference. Do you remember what we were saying, last +Wednesday, about simplicity of living?' + +'Last Wednesday? It seems a month ago. Yes, I remember.' + +'I have thought a good deal of that. I feel how vulgar the life is that +most people lead. They can't help it; they think it impossible to do +anything else. But I should like to break away from it altogether -- to +live as I chose, and not care a bit what other people said.' + +Harvey had the same difficulty as before in attaching much significance +to these phrases. They were pleasant to hear, for they chimed with his +own thoughts, but he could not respond with great seriousness. + +'The wife of a man with my income won't have much choice, I fancy.' + +'How can you say that?' exclaimed Alma. 'You know that most people would +take a house in a good part of London, and live up to the last penny -- +making everyone think that their income must be two or three thousand +pounds. I know all about that kind of thing, and it sickens me. There's +the choice between vulgar display with worry, and a simple, refined life +with perfect comfort. You fancied I should want a house in London?' + +'I hardy thought anything about it.' + +'But it would ease your mind if I said that I would far rather live in a +cottage, as quietly and simply as possible?' + +'What does ease my mind -- or rather, what makes me very happy, is that +you don't refuse to think of giving me your companionship.' + +Alma flushed a little. + +'I haven't promised. After all my thinking about it, it came to this -- +that I couldn't make up my mind till I had talked over everything with +you. If I marry, I must know what my life is going to be. And it puzzles +me that you could dream of making anyone your wife before you had asked +her all sorts of questions.' + +In his great contentment, Harvey laughed. + +'Admirable, theoretically! But how is a man to begin asking questions? +How many would he ask before he got sent about his business?' + +'That's the very way of putting his chance to the test!' said Alma +brightly. 'If he _is_ sent about his business, how much better for him +than to marry on a misunderstanding.' + +'I agree with you perfectly. I never heard anyone talk better sense on +the subject.' + +Alma looked pleased, as she always did when receiving a compliment. + +'Will you believe, then, Mr. Rolfe, that I am quite in earnest in hating +show and pretences and extravagance, and wishing to live in just the +opposite way?' + +'I will believe it if you cease to address me by that formal name -- a +show and a pretence, and just a little extravagant.' + +Her cheeks grew warm again + +'That reminds me,' she said; 'I didn't know you had a second name -- +till I got that letter.' + +'I had almost forgotten it myself, till I answered a certain other +letter. I didn't know till then that _you_ had a second name. Your +"Florence" called out my "Radcliffe" -- which sounds fiery, doesn't it? +I always felt that the name over-weighted me. I got it from my mother.' + +'And your first -- Harvey?' + +'My first I got from a fine old doctor, about whom I'll tell you some +day -- Alma.' + +'I named your name. I didn't address you by it.' + +'But you will?' + +'Let us talk seriously. -- Could you live far away from London, in some +place that people know nothing about?' + +'With you, indeed I could, and be glad enough if I never saw London +again.' + +An exaltation possessed Alma; her eyes grew very bright, gazing as if at +a mental picture, and her hands trembled as she continued to speak.' + +'I don't mean that we are to go and be hermits in a wilderness. Our +friends must visit us -- our real friends, no one else; just the people +we really care about, and those won't be many. If I give up a public +career -- as of course I shall -- there's no need to give up music. I +can go on with it in a better spirit, for pure love of it, without any +wish for making money and reputation. You don't think this a mere +dream?' + +Harvey thought more than he was disposed to say. He marvelled at her +sudden enthusiasm for an ideal he had not imagined her capable of +pursuing. If he only now saw into the girl's true character, revealed by +the awakening of her emotions, how nobly was his ardour justified! All +but despising himself for loving her, he had instinctively chosen the +one woman whose heart and mind could inspire him to a life above his +own. 'I should think it a dream,' he answered, 'if I didn't hear it from +your lips.' + +'But it is so easy! We keep all the best things, and throw off only the +worthless -- the things that waste time and hurt the mind. No crowded +rooms, no wearying artificial talk, no worry with a swarm of servants, +no dressing and fussing. The whole day to one's self, for work and +pleasure. A small house -- just large enough for order and quietness, +and to keep a room for the friend who comes. How many people would like +such a life, but haven't the courage to live it!' + +'Where shall it be, Alma?' + +'I have given no promise. I only say this is the life that IJ should +like. Perhaps you would soon weary of it?' + +'I? Not easily, I think.' + +'There might be travel, too,' she went on fervently. 'We should be rich, +when other people, living in the ordinary vulgar way, would have nothing +to spare. No tours where the crowd goes; real travel in out-of-the-way +parts.' + +'You are describing just what I should choose for myself; but I +shouldn't have dared to ask it of you. + +'And why? I told you that you knew so little of me. We are only just +beginning to understand each other.' + +'What place have you in mind?' + +'None. That would have to be thought about Didn't you say you were going +to some beautiful spot in Wales?' + +Harvey reflected. + +'I wonder whether you would like that ----' + +'We are only supposing, you know. But show me where it is. If you wait a +moment, I'll fetch a map.' + +She rose quickly. He had just time to reach the door and open it for +her; and as she rapidly passed him, eyes averted, the faintest and +sweetest of perfumes was wafted upon his face. There he stood till her +return, his pulses throbbing. + +'This is my old school atlas,' she said gaily; 'I always use it still.' + +She opened it upon the table and bent forward. + +'North Wales, you said? Show me ----' + +He pointed with a finger that quivered. His cheek was not far from hers; +the faint perfume floated all about him; he could Imagine it the natural +fragrance of her hair, of her breath. + +'I see,' she murmured. 'That's the kind of place far off, but not too +far. And the railway station?' + +As he did not answer, she half turned towards him. + +'The station? -- Yes. -- Alma! ---- + + +CHAPTER 12 + + +Mrs. Frothingham was overjoyed. In private talk with Harvey she sang the +praises of her step-daughter, whom, she declared, any man might be proud +to have won. For Alma herself had so much pride; the characteristic, +said Mrs. Frothingham, which had put dangers in her path, and menaced her +prospects of happiness. + +'There's no harm in saying, Mr. Rolfe, that I never dared to hope for +this. I thought perhaps that you -- but I was afraid Alma wouldn't +listen to any one. Just of late, she seemed to feel her position so much +more than at first. It was my fault; I behaved so foolishly; but I'm +sure you'll both forgive me. For months I really wasn't myself. It made +the poor girl bitter against all of us. But how noble she is! How +high-minded! And how much, much happier she will be than if she had +struggled on alone -- whatever she might have attained to.' + +It was clear to Harvey that the well-meaning lady did not quite +understand Alma's sudden enthusiasm for the 'simple life', that she had +but a confused apprehension of the ideal for which Alma panted. But the +suggestion of 'economy' received her entire approval. + +'I feel sure you couldn't do better than to go and live in the country +for a time. There are so many reasons why Alma will be happier there, at +first, than in London. I don't know whether that place in North Wales +would be quite -- but I mustn't meddle with what doesn't concern me. And +you will be thoroughly independent; at any moment you can make a +change.' + +To a suggestion that she should run down into Carnarvonshire, and see +her proposed home before any practical step was taken, Alma replied that +she had complete faith in Harvey Rolfe's judgment. Harvey's only doubt +was as to the possibility of finding a house. He made the journey +himself, and after a few days' absence returned with no very hopeful +report; at present there was nothing to be had but a cottage, literally +a cotter's home, and this would not do. He brought photographs, and Alma +went into raptures over the lovely little bay, with its grassy cliffs, +its rivulet, its smooth sand, and the dark-peaked mountains sweeping +nobly to a sheer buttress above the waves. 'There must be a house! There +_shall_ be a house!' Of course, said Harvey, one could build, and +cheaply enough; but that meant a long delay. Regarding the date of the +marriage nothing was as yet decided, but Harvey had made up his mind to +be 'at home' for Christmas. When he ventured to hint at this, Alma +evaded the question. + +A correspondent would inform him if any house became tenantless. 'I +shall bribe someone to quit!' he cried. 'One might advertise that all +expenses would be paid, with one year's rent of a house elsewhere.' +Harvey was in excellent spirits, though time hung rather heavily on his +hands. + +On an appointed day the ladies paid him a visit at his rooms. Mrs +Handover, requested to prepare tea for a semi-ceremonious occasion, was +at once beset with misgivings, and the first sight of the strangers +plunged her into profound despondency. She consulted her indifferent +relative, Buncombe; had he any inkling of the possibility that Mr. Rolfe +was about to change his condition? Buncombe knew nothing and cared +nothing; his own domestic affairs were giving him more than usual +anxiety just now. 'I didn't think he was fool enough' -- thus only he +replied to Mrs. Handover's anxious questions. + +Alma surveyed the book-shelves, and took down volumes with an air of +interest; she looked over a portfolio of photographs, inspected +mementoes of travel from Cyprus, Palestine, Bagdad. Mrs. Frothingham +noted to herself how dusty everything was. + +'That woman neglects him scandalously,' she said afterwards to Alma. 'I +wish I had to look after her when she is at work.' + +'I didn't notice any neglect. The tea wasn't very well made, perhaps.' + +'My dear child! the room is in a disgraceful state -- never dusted, +never cleaned -- oh dear!' + +Alma laughed. + +'I'm quite sure, Mamma, you are much happier now -- in one way -- than +when you never had to think of such things. You have a genius for +domestic operations. When I have a house of my own I shall be rather +afraid of you.' + +'Oh, of course you will have good servants, my dear.' + +'How often have I to tell you, Mamma, that we're not going to live in +that way at all! The simplest possible furniture, the simplest possible +meals -- _everything_ subordinate to the higher aims and pleasures.' + +'But you must have servants, Alma! You can't sweep the rooms yourself, +and do the cooking?' + +'I'm thinking about it,' the girl answered gravely. 'Of course, I shall +not waste my time in coarse labour; but I feel sure we shall need only +one servant -- a competent, trustworthy woman, after your own heart. +It's snobbish to be ashamed of housework; there are all sorts of things +I should like to do, and that every woman is better for doing.' + +'That is very true indeed, Alma. I can't say how I admire you for such +thoughts. But ----' + +'The thing is to reduce such work to the strictly necessary. Think of +all the toil that is wasted in people's houses, for foolish display and +luxury. We sweep all that away at one stroke! Wait till you see. I'm +thinking it out, making my plans.' + +In the pleasant little drawing-room, by the fireside (for it was now +October and chilly), Harvey and Alma had long, long conversations. +Occasionally they said things that surprised each other and led to +explanations, debates, but harmony was never broken. Rolfe came away +ever more enslaved; more impressed by the girl's sweet reasonableness, +and exalted by her glowing idealism. Through amorous mists he still +endeavoured to discern the real Alma; he reflected ceaselessly upon her +character; yet, much as she often perplexed him, he never saw reason to +suspect her of disingenuousness. At times she might appear to excite +herself unduly, to fall into excess of zeal; it meant, no doubt, that +the imaginative fervour she had been wont to expend on music was turned +in a new quarter. Alma remained herself -- impulsive, ardent, +enthusiastic, whether yearning for public triumphs, or eager to lead a +revolution in domestic life. Her health manifestly improved; languor was +unknown to her; her cheeks had a warmer hue, a delicate carnation, +subtly answering to her thoughts. + +She abhorred sentimentality. This was one of her first intimate +declarations, and Harvey bore it in mind. He might praise, glorify, +extol her to the uttermost, and be rewarded by her sweetest smiles; but +for the pretty follies of amatory transport she had no taste. Harvey ran +small risk of erring in this direction; he admired and reverenced her +maidenly aloofness; her dignity he found an unfailing charm, the great +support of his own self-respect. A caress was not at all times +forbidden, but he asserted the privilege with trembling diffidence. It +pleased her, when he entered the room, to be stately and rather distant +of manner, to greet him as though they were still on formal terms; this +troubled Harvey at first, but he came to understand and like it. In Mrs +Frothingham's presence, Alma avoided every sign of familiarity, and +talked only of indifferent things. + +Early in November there came news that a certain family in the little +Welsh town would be glad to vacate their dwelling if a tenant could at +once be found for it. The same day Harvey travelled northwards, and on +the morrow he despatched a telegram to Alma. He had taken the house, and +could have possession in a week or two. Speedily followed a letter of +description. The house was stone-built and substantial, but very plain; +it stood alone and unsheltered by the roadside, a quarter of a mile from +the town, looking seaward; it had garden ground and primitive stabling. +The rooms numbered nine, exclusive of kitchen; small, but not +diminutive. The people were very friendly (Harvey wrote), and gave him +all aid in investigating the place, with a view to repairs and so on; by +remaining for a few days he would be able to consult with a builder, so +as to have necessary work set in train as soon as the present occupants +were gone. + +Alma's engagement had been kept strictly secret. When Harvey returned +after a week of activity, he found her still reluctant to fix a day, or +even the month, for their wedding. He did not plead, but wrote her a +little letter, saying that the house could be ready by -- at all events +-- the second week in December; that he would then consult with her +about furniture, and would go down to superintend the final putting in +order. 'After that, it rests with you to say when you will enter into +possession. I promise not to speak of it again until, on coming into the +room, I see your atlas lying open on the table; that shall be a sign +unto me.' + +On his return to London he received a note from Mrs. Frothingham, +requesting him to be at home at a certain hour, as she wished to call +and speak privately with him. This gave him an uneasy night; he imagined +all manner of vexatious or distracting possibilities; but Mrs +Frothingham brought no ill news. + +'Don't be frightened,' she began, reading his anxious face. 'All's well, +and I am quite sure Alma will soon have something to say to you. I have +come on a matter of business -- strictly business.' + +Harvey felt a new kind of uneasiness. + +'Let me speak in a plain way about plain things,' pursued the widow, +with that shadow on her face which always indicated that she was +thinking of the mournful past. 'I know that neither Alma nor you would +hear of her accepting money from me; I know I mustn't speak of it. All +the better that you have no need of money. But now that you are my +relative -- will be so very soon -- I want to tell you how my affairs +stand. Will you let me? Please do!' + +Impossible to refuse a hearing to the good little woman, who delighted +in confidential gossip, and for a long time had been anxious to pour +these details into Harvey's ear. So she unfolded everything. Her capital +at Bennet Frothingham's death amounted to more than sixteen thousand +pounds, excellently invested -- no 'Britannia' stocks or shares! Of +this, during the past six months, she had given away nearly six thousand +to sufferers by the great catastrophe. Her adviser and administrator in +this affair was an old friend of her husband's, a City man of honourable +repute. He had taken great trouble to discover worthy recipients of her +bounty, and as yet had kept the source of it unknown. + +'I mustn't give very much more,' she said, looking at Harvey with a +pathetic deprecation of criticism. 'I want to keep an income of three +hundred pounds. I could live on less, much less; but I should like still +to have it in my power to do a little good now and then, and I want to +be able to leave something to my sister, or her children. The truth is, +Mr. Rolfe -- no, I will call you Harvey, once for all -- the truth is, I +couldn't live now without giving a little help here and there to people +poorer than myself. Don't think it foolish.' Her voice quivered. 'I feel +that it will be done in the name of my poor husband as if he himself +were doing it, and making amends for a wrong he never, never intended. +If I had given up everything -- as some people say I ought to have done +-- it wouldn't have seemed the same to me. I couldn't earn my own +living, and what right had I to become a burden to my relatives? I hope +I haven't done very wrong. Of course, I shall give up the flat as soon +as Alma is married. In taking it I really thought more of her than of my +own comfort. I shall live with my sister, and come up to town just now +and then, when it is necessary.' + +The listener was touched, and could only nod grave approval. + +'There's another thing. Alma thinks with me in everything -- but she +says I ought to let it be known who has given that money. She says it +would make many people less bitter against her father's memory. Now, +what is your opinion? If she is right in that ----' + +Harvey would offer no counsel, and Mrs. Frothingham did not press him. +She must think about it. The disclosure, if wise, could be made at any +time. + +'That's all I had to say, Harvey. Now tell me about the house, and then +go arid see Alma. I have business in the City.' + +He went, but only to be disappointed; Alma was not at home. To make +amends, she sent him a note that evening, asking him to call at twelve +the next day, and to stay to luncheon. When he entered the room, the +first object his eye fell upon was the old school atlas, lying open on +the table at the map of England and Wales. + +And the day appointed was the twentieth of December. + +The wedding was to be the simplest conceivable. No costume, no +bridesmaid or hulking groomsman, no invitations; no announcement to +anyone until the day had passed, save only to Dora Leach, who would be +summoned as if for some ordinary occasion of friendship, and then be +carried off to the church. + +'It will insure my smiling all through the ordeal,' said Alma to her +step-mother; 'Dora's face will be such a study!' + +'My dear,' began Mrs. Frothingham very earnestly, 'you are _quite_ sure +----' + +'More than sure, if that's possible. And Harvey throws up his hat at +being let off so easily. He dreaded the ceremony.' + +Which was very true, though Rolfe had not divulged it. + +His personal possessions were now to be made ready for removal. The +books represented nearly all that he could carry away from his old +rooms, but they were a solid addendum to the garnishing of home. For a +moment he thought of selling a few score of volumes. Would he ever +really want those monumental tomes -- the six folios of Muratori, for +instance, which he liked to possess, but had never used? Thereby hung +the great, the unanswerable question: How was he going to spend his life +as a married man? Was it probable that he would be come a serious +student, or even that he would study as much as heretofore? No +foreseeing; the future must shape itself, even as the past had done. +After all, why dismember his library for the sake of saving a few +shillings on carriage? If he did not use the books himself ---- + +A thought flashed through him which made his brain, unsteady. If he did +not use the books himself, perhaps ---- + +He tried to laugh, but for five minutes was remarkably sober. No, no; of +course he would keep his library intact. + +And now there was a duty to perform: he must write to his friends, make +known his marriage; the letters to be posted only on the day of fate. +Dear old Basil Morton -- how he would stare! Morton should soon come +down into Wales, and there would be great quaffing and smoking and +talking into the small hours; a jolly anticipation! And Hugh Carnaby! +Hugh would throw up his great arms, clench his huge red fists, and roar +with mocking laughter. Good old boy! out there on the other side of the +world, perhaps throwing away his money, with the deft help of a +swindler. And the poor lad, Cecil Morphew! who assuredly would never pay +back that fifty pounds -- to which he was heartily welcome. Morphew had +kept his promise to quit the garret in Chelsea, but what was since +become of him Harvey knew not; the project of their going together into +Wales had, of course, fallen through. + +Lastly, Mary Abbott -- for so had Harvey come to name his friend's +widow. Mary Abbott! how would she receive this news? It would come upon +her as the strangest surprise; not the mere fact of his marrying, but +that he had chosen for a wife, out of the whole world, the daughter of +Bennet Frothingham. Would she be able to think kindly of him after this? +Of Mrs. Frothingham she could speak generously, seeming to have outlived +natural bitterness; but the name must always be unwelcome to her ears. +Alma would cease to bear that name, and perhaps, in days to come, Mary +Abbott might forget it. He could only hope so, and that the two women +might come together. On Alma's side, surely, no reluctance need be +feared; and Mary, after her ordeal, was giving proof of sense and +character which inspired a large trust. He would write to her in the +most open-hearted way; indeed, no other tone was possible, having regard +to the relations that had grown up between them. + +How the aspect of his little world was changing! A year ago, what things +more improbable than that he should win Alma Frothingham for a wife, and +become the cordial friend of Mary Abbott? + +When the revelation could be postponed no longer, he made known to Mrs +Handover that he was about to be married. It cost him an extraordinary +effort, for in a double sense he was shamed before the woman. Mrs +Handover, by virtue of her sex, instinctively triumphed over him. He saw +in her foolish eyes the eternal feminine victory; his head was bowed +before her slatternly womanhood. Then again, he shrank from announcing +to the poor creature that she could no longer draw upon him for her +livelihood. + +'I'm very sorry, Mr. Rolfe,' she began, in her most despondent voice. +'That is, of course, I'm very glad you're going to be married, and I'm +sure I wish you every happiness -- I do indeed. But we are sorry to lose +you -- indeed we are.' + +Of her sincerity herein there could be no sort of doubt. Harvey coughed, +and looked at the window -- which had not been cleaned for some months. + +'May I ask, without rudeness, whether it is the young lady who came +----' + +'Yes, Mrs, Handover.' + +He was uncommonly glad that Alma's name had never been spoken. There, +indeed, would have been matter for gossip. + +'A very handsome young lady, Mr. Rolfe, and I'm sure I wish her all +happiness, as well as yourself.' She fidgeted. 'Of course, I don't know +what your plans may be, sir, but -- perhaps there's no harm if I mention +it -- if ever you should be in need of a housekeeper -- you've known me +a long time, sir ----' + +'Yes -- yes -- certainly.' Harvey perspired. 'Of course, I should bear +you in mind.' + +Thereupon he had to listen whilst Mrs. Handover discoursed at large upon +her dubious prospects. At the close of the Interview, he gave her a +cheque for ten pounds, concealed in an envelope. 'A little present -- of +course, I shall be hearing of you -- every good wish ----' + +On the eve of his marriage day he stood in the dismantled rooms, at once +joyful and heavy at heart. His books were hidden in a score of +packing-cases, labelled, ready to be sent away. In spite of open +windows, the air was still charged with dust; since the packing began, +everyone concerned in it had choked and coughed incessantly; on the bare +floor, footsteps were impressed in a thick flocky deposit. These rooms +could have vied with any in London for supremacy of filthiness. Yet here +he had known hours of still contentment; here he had sat with friends +congenial, and heard the walls echo their hearty laughter; here he had +felt at home -- here his youth had died. + +Where all else was doubtful, speculative, contingent, that one thing he +certainly knew; he was no longer a young man. The years had passed like +a shadow, unnoted, uncounted, and had brought him to this point of +pause, of change momentous, when he must needs look before and after. In +all likelihood much more than half his life was gone. His mother did not +see her thirtieth year; his father died at little over forty; his +grandparents were not long-lived; what chance had he of walking the +earth for more than half the term already behind him? Did the life of +every man speed by so mockingly? Yesterday a school-boy; tomorrow -- +'Rolfe? you don't say so? Poor old fellow!' + +And he was going to be married. Incredible, laughter-moving, but a fact. +No more the result of deliberate purpose than any other change that had +come about in his life, than the flight of years and the vanishment of +youth. Fate so willed it, and here he stood. + +Someone climbed the stairs, breaking upon his reverie. It was Buncombe, +who smiled through a settled gloom. + +'All done? I shan't be much longer here myself. House too big for me.' + +'Ah! it is rather large.' + +'I'm thinking of changes. -- You know something about my affairs. -- Yes +-- changes ----' + +Rolfe had never seen the man so dismal before; he tried to inspirit him, +but with small result. + +'It's the kids that bother me,' said Buncombe. Then he dropped his +voice, and brought his head nearer. + +'You're going to get married.' His eyes glinted darkly. 'I'm -- going to +get divorced.' + +And with a grim nod the man moved away. + + + +Part the Second + + + +CHAPTER 1 + + +A morning of April, more than two years after his marriage, found Harvey +Rolfe in good health and very tolerable spirits. As his wont was, he +came down at half-past eight, and strolled in the open air before +breakfast. There had been rain through the night; a grey mist still +clung about the topmost larches of Cam Bodvean, and the Eifel summits +were densely wrapped. But the sun and breeze of spring promised to have +their way; to drive and melt the clouds, to toss white wavelets on a +blue sea, to make the gorse shine in its glory, and all the hills be +glad. + +A gardener was at work in front of the house; Harvey talked with him +about certain flowers he wished to grow this year. In the small +stable-yard a lad was burnishing harness; for him also the master had a +friendly word, before passing on to look at the little mare amid her +clean straw. In his rough suit of tweed and shapeless garden hat, with +brown face and cheery eye, Rolfe moved hither and thither as though +native to such a life. His figure had filled out; he was more robust, +and looked, indeed, younger than on the day when he bade farewell to Mrs +Handover and her abominations. + +At nine o'clock he entered the dining-room, where breakfast was ready, +though as yet no other person had come to table. The sun would not touch +this window for several hours yet, but a crackling fire made the air +pleasant, and brightened all within. Seats were placed for three. An +aroma of coffee invited to the meal, which was characterised by no +suggestion of asceticism. Nor did the equipment of the room differ +greatly from what is usual in middle-class houses. The clock on the +mantelpiece was flanked with bronzes; engravings and autotypes hung +about the walls; door and window had their appropriate curtaining; the +oak sideboard shone with requisite silver. Everything unpretentious; but +no essential of comfort, as commonly understood, seemed to be lacking. + +In a minute or two appeared Mrs. Frothingham; alert, lightsome, much +improved in health since the first year of her widowhood. She had been +visiting here for a fortnight, and tomorrow would return to her home in +the south. Movement, variety, intimate gossip, supported her under the +affliction which still seemed to be working for her moral good. Her +bounty (or restitution) had long ago ceased to be anonymous, but she did +not unduly pride herself upon the sacrifice of wealth; she was glad to +have it known among her acquaintances, because, in certain quarters, the +fact released her from constraint, and restored her to friendly +intercourse. For her needs and her pleasures a very modest income proved +quite sufficient. To all appearances, she found genuine and unfailing +satisfaction in the exercise of benevolent sympathies. + +'Alma will not come down,' was her remark, as she entered. 'A little +headache -- nothing. We are to send her some tea and dry toast.' + +'I thought she didn't seem quite herself last night,' said Harvey, as he +cut into a ham. + +Mrs. Frothingham made no remark, but smiled discreetly, taking a place at +the head of the table. + +'We shall have to go somewhere,' Harvey continued. 'It has been a long +winter. She begins to feel dull, I'm afraid.' + +'A little, perhaps. But she's quite well -- it's nothing ----' + +'Why won't she go on with her water-colours? She was beginning to do +really good things -- then all at once gives it up.' + +'Oh, she must! I think those last sketches simply wonderful. Anyone +would suppose she had worked at it all her life, instead of just a few +months. How very clever she is!' + +'Alma can do anything,' said Harvey, with genial conviction. + +'Almost anything, I really think. Now _don't_ let her lose interest in +it, as she did in her music. You have only to show that you think her +drawings good, and speak about them. She depends rather upon +encouragement.' + +'I know. But it wasn't for lack of _my_ encouragement that she dropped +her violin.' + +'So unfortunate! Oh, she'll come back to it, I'm sure.' + +When Mrs. Frothingham paid her first visit to the newly-married couple, +it amused her to find a state of things differing considerably from her +anxious expectations. True, they had only one servant within doors, the +woman named Ruth, but she did not represent the whole establishment. +Having bought a horse and trap, and not feeling called upon to act as +groom, Harvey had engaged a man, who was serviceable in various +capacities; moreover, a lad made himself useful about the premises +during the day. Ruth was a tolerable cook, and not amiss as a housemaid. +Then, the furnishing of the house, though undeniably 'simple', left +little to be desired; only such things were eschewed as serve no +rational purpose and are mostly in people's way. Alma, as could at once +be perceived, ran no risk of overexerting herself in domestic duties; +she moved about of mornings with feather-brush, and occasionally plied +an unskilful needle, but kitchenward she never turned her steps. +Imprudently, Mrs. Frothingham remarked that this life, after all, much +resembled that of other people; whereat Alma betrayed a serious +annoyance, and the well-meaning lady had to apologise, to admit the +absence of 'luxuries', the homeliness of their diet, the unmistakable +atmosphere of plain living and high thinking. + +She remained for nearly a month, greatly enjoying herself. Late in +autumn, Alma begged her to come again, and this time the visit lasted +longer; for in the first week of December the house received a new +inhabitant, whose arrival made much commotion. Alma did not give birth +to her son without grave peril. Day after day Harvey strode about the +wintry shore under a cloud of dread. However it had been with him a year +ago, he was now drawn to Alma by something other than the lures of +passion; the manifold faults he had discerned in her did not seriously +conflict with her peculiar and many-sided charm; and the birth of her +child inspired him with a new tenderness, an emotion different in kind +from any that he had yet conceived. That first wail of feeblest +humanity, faint-sounding through the silent night, made a revolution in +his thoughts, taught him on the moment more than he had learnt from all +his reading and cogitation. + +It seemed to be taken as a matter of course that Alma would not nurse +the baby; only to Harvey did this appear a subject for regret, and he +never ventured to speak of it. The little mortal was not vigorous; his +nourishment gave a great deal of trouble; but with the coming of spring +he took a firmer hold on life, and less persistently bewailed his lot. +The names given to him were Hugh Basil. When apprised of this, the +strong man out in Australia wrote a heart-warming letter, and sent with +it a little lump of Queensland gold, to be made into something, or kept +intact, as the parents saw fit. Basil Morton followed the old tradition, +and gave a silver tankard with name and date of the new world-citizen +engraved upon it. + +Upon her recovery, Harvey took his wife to Madeira, where they spent +three weeks. Alma's health needed nothing more than this voyage; she +returned full of vitality. During her absence Mrs. Frothingham +superintended the household, the baby being in charge of a competent +nurse. It occurred to Harvey that this separation from her child was +borne by Alma with singular philosophy; it did not affect in the least +her enjoyment of travel. But she reached home again in joyous +excitement, and for a few days kept the baby much in view. Mrs +Frothingham having departed, new visitors succeeded each other: Dora and +Gerda Leach, Basil Morton and his wife, one or two of Alma's relatives. +Little Hugh saw less and less of his mother, but he continued to thrive; +and Harvey understood by now that Alma must not be expected to take much +interest in the domestic side of things. It simply was not her forte. + +She had ceased to play upon her violin, save for the entertainment and +admiration of friends. After her return from Madeira she made the +acquaintance of a lady skilled in water-colour drawing, and herewith +began a new enthusiasm. Her progress was remarkable, and corresponded to +an energy not less than that she had long ago put forth in music. In the +pursuit of landscape she defied weather and fatigue; she would pass half +the night abroad, studying moonlight, or rise at an unheard-of hour to +catch the hues of dawn. When this ardour began to fail, her husband was +vexed rather than surprised. He knew Alma's characteristic weakness, and +did not like to be so strongly reminded of it. For about this time he +was reading and musing much on questions of heredity. + +In a moment of confidence he had ventured to ask Mrs. Frothingham whether +she could tell him anything of Alma's mother. The question, though often +in his mind, could hardly have passed his lips, had not Mrs. Frothingham +led up to it by speaking of her own life before she married: how she had +enjoyed the cares of country housekeeping; how little she had dreamt of +ever being rich; how Bennet Frothingham, who had known her in his early +life, sought her out when he began to be prosperous, therein showing the +fine qualities of his nature, for she had nothing in the world but +gentle birth and a lady's education. Alma was then a young girl of +thirteen, and had been motherless for eight years. Thus came Harvey's +opportunity. Alma herself had already imparted to him all she knew: that +her mother was born in England, emigrated early with her parents to +Australia, returned to London as a young woman, married, and died at +twenty-seven. To this story Mrs. Frothingham could add little, but the +supplement proved interesting. Bennet Frothingham spoke of his first +marriage as a piece of folly; it resulted in unhappiness, yet, the widow +was assured, with no glaring fault on either side. Alma's mother was +handsome, and had some natural gifts, especially a good voice, which she +tried to use in public, but without success. Her education scarcely went +beyond reading and writing. She died suddenly, after an evening at the +theatre, where, as usual, she had excited herself beyond measure. Mrs +Frothingham had seen an old report of the inquest that was held, the +cause of death being given as cerebral haemorrhage. In these details +Harvey Rolfe found new matter for reflection. + +Their conversation at breakfast this morning was interrupted by the +arrival of letters; two of them particularly welcome, for they bore a +colonial postmark. Hugh Carnaby wrote to his friend from an +out-of-the-way place in Tasmania; Sibyl wrote independently to Alma from +Hobart. + +'Just as I expected,' said Harvey, when he had glanced over a few lines. +'He talks of coming home: -- "There seems no help for it. Sibyl is much +better in health since we left Queens land, but I see she would never +settle out here. She got to detest the people at Brisbane, and doesn't +like those at Hobart much better. I have left her there whilst I'm doing +a little roaming with a very decent fellow I have come across, +Mackintosh by name. He has been everywhere and done everything -- not +long ago was in the service of the Indo-European Telegraph Company at +Tehran, and afterwards lived (this will interest you) at Badgered, where +he got a _date-boil_, which marks his face and testifies to his +veracity. He has been trying to start a timber business here; says some +of the hard woods would be just the thing for street paving. But now his +father's death is taking him back home, and I shouldn't wonder if we +travel together. One of his ideas is a bicycle factory; he seems to know +all about it, and says it'll be the most money-making business in +England for years to come. What do you think? Does this offer a chance +for _me_?"' + +Harvey interrupted himself with a laugh. Smelting of abandoned gold +ores, by the method of the ingenious Dando, had absorbed some of Hugh's +capital, with very little result, and his other schemes for money-making +were numerous. + +'"The fact is, I must get money somehow. Living has been expensive ever +since we left England, and it's madness to go on till one's resources +have practically run out. And Sibyl _must_ get home again; she's wasting +her life among these people. How does she write to your wife? I rather +wish I could spy at the letters. (Of course, I don't seriously mean +that.) She bears it very well, and, if possible, I have a higher opinion +of her than ever."' + +Again Harvey laughed. + +'Good old chap! What a pity he can't be cracking crowns somewhere!' + +'Oh! I'm sure I'd rather see him making bicycles.' + +''Tisn't his vocation. He ought to go somewhere and get up a little war +of his own -- as he once told me he should like to. We can't do without +the fighting man.' + +'Will you bring Hughie up to it, then?' + +Harvey fixed his eyes on a point far off. + +'I fear he won't have the bone and muscle. But I should like him to have +the pluck. I'm afraid he mayn't, for I'm a vile coward myself.' + +'I should like a child never to hear or know of war,' said Mrs +Frothingham fervently. + +'And so should I,' Harvey answered, in a graver tone. + +When Mrs. Frothingham went upstairs with the letter for Alma, he broke +open another envelope. It was from Mary Abbott, who wrote to him twice a +year, when she acknowledged the receipt of his cheque. She sent the +usual careful report concerning Wager's children -- the girl now seven +years old, and the boy nine. Albert Wager, she thought, was getting too +old for her; he ought to go to a boys' school. Neither he nor his sister +had as yet repaid the care given to them; never were children more +difficult to manage. Harvey read this between the lines; for Mary Abbott +never complained of the task she had undertaken. He rose and left the +room with a face of anxious thoughtfulness. + +The day was wont to pass in a pretty regular routine. From half-past +nine to half-past one Harvey sat alone in his study, not always +energetically studious, but on the whole making progress in his chosen +field of knowledge. He bought books freely, and still used the London +Library. Of late he had been occupying himself with the authorities on +education; working, often impatiently, through many a long-winded +volume. He would have liked to talk on this subject with Mary Abbott, +but had not yet found courage to speak of her paying them a visit. The +situation, difficult because of Alma's parentage, was made more awkward +by his reticence with Alma regarding the payment he made for those +luckless children. The longer he kept silence, the less easily could he +acquaint his wife with this matter -- in itself so perfectly harmless. + +This morning he felt indisposed for study, and cared just as little to +go out, notwithstanding the magnificent sky. From his windows he looked +upon the larch-clad slopes of Cam Bodvean; their beauty only reminded +him of grander and lovelier scenes in far-off countries. From time to +time the wanderer thus awoke in him, and threw scorn upon the pedantries +of a book-lined room. He had, moreover, his hours of regret for vanished +conviviality; he wished to step out into a London street, collect his +boon-companions, and hold revel in the bygone way. These, however, were +still but fugitive moods. All in all, he regretted nothing. Destiny +seemed to have marked him for a bookish man; he grew more methodical, +more persistent, in his historical reading; this, doubtless, was the +appointed course for his latter years. It led to nothing definite. His +life would be fruitless ---- + +Fruitless? There sounded from somewhere in the house a shrill little +cry, arresting his thought, and controverting it without a syllable. +Nay, fruitless his life could not be, if his child grew up. Only the +chosen few, the infinitesimal minority of mankind, leave spiritual +offspring, or set their single mark upon the earth; the multitude are +but parents of a new generation, live but to perpetuate the race. It is +the will of nature, the common lot. And if indeed it lay within his +power to shape a path for this new life, which he, nature's slave, had +called out of nothingness, -- to obviate one error, to avert one misery, +-- to ensure that, in however slight degree, his son's existence should +be better and happier than his own, -- was not this a sufficing purpose +for the years that remained to him, a recompense adequate to any effort, +any sacrifice? + +As he sat thus in reverie, the door softly opened, and Alma looked in +upon him. + +'Do I interrupt you?' + +'I'm idling. How is your headache?' + +She answered with a careless gesture, and came forward, a letter in her +hand. + +'Sibyl says she will certainly be starting for home in a few weeks. +Perhaps they're on the way by now. You have the same news, I hear.' + +'Yes. They must come to us straight away,' replied Harvey, knocking the +ash out of his pipe 'Or suppose we go to meet them? If they come by the +Orient Line, they call at Naples. How would it be to go overland, and +make the voyage back with them?' + +Alma seemed to like the suggestion, and smiled, but only for a moment. +She had little colour this morning, and looked cold, as she drew up to +the fire, holding a white woollen wrap about her shoulders. A slow and +subtle modification of her features was tending to a mature beauty which +would make bolder claim than the charm that had characterised her in +maidenhood. It was still remote from beauty of a sensual type, but the +outlines, in becoming a little more rounded, more regular, gained in +common estimate what they lost to a more refined apprehension. Her eyes +appeared more deliberately conscious of their depth and gleam; her lips, +less responsive to the flying thought, grew to an habitual expression -- +not of discontent, but something akin unto it; not of self-will, but +something that spoke a spirit neither tranquil nor pliant. + +'Had you anything else?' she asked, absently. + +'A letter from Mrs. Abbott.' + +Alma smiled, with a shade of pleasantry not usual upon her countenance. +Harvey generally read her extracts from these letters. Their allusion to +money imposed the reserve; otherwise they would have passed into Alma's +hands. From his masculine point of view, Harvey thought the matter +indifferent; nothing in his wife's behaviour hitherto had led him to +suppose that she attached importance to it. + +'The usual report of progress?' + +'Yes. I fancy those two children are giving her a good deal of trouble. +She'll have to send the boy to a boarding school.' + +'But can she afford it?' + +'I don't know.' + +'I've never understood yet why you take so much interest in those +children.' + +Her eyes rested upon him with a peculiarly keen scrutiny, and Harvey, +resenting the embarrassment due to his own tactics, showed a slight +impatience. + +'Why, partly because I wish to help Mrs. Abbott with advice, if I can: +partly because I'm interested in the whole question of education.' + +'Yes, it's interesting, of course. She has holidays, I suppose?' + +'It's holiday time with her now.' + +'Then why don't you ask her to come and see us?' + +'I would at once,' Harvey replied, with hesitation, 'if I felt sure that +----' He broke off, and altered the turn of his sentence. 'I don't know +whether she can leave those children.' + +'You were going to make a different objection. Of course there's a +little awkwardness. But you said long ago that all that sort of thing +would wear away, and surely it ought to have done by now. If Mrs. Abbott +is as sensible as you think, I don't see how she can have any unpleasant +feeling towards me.' + +'I can't suppose that she has.' + +'Then now is the opportunity. Send an invitation. -- Why shouldn't I +write it myself?' + +Alma had quite shaken off the appearance of lassitude; she drew herself +up, looked towards the writing-table, and showed characteristic +eagerness to carry out a project. Though doubtful of the result, Harvey +assented without any sign of reluctance, and forthwith she moved to the +desk. In a few minutes she had penned a letter, which was held out for +her husband's perusal. + +'Admirable!' he exclaimed. 'Couldn't be better. _Nihil quod tetigit non +ornavit_.' + +'And pray what does that mean?' asked Alma, her countenance a trifle +perturbed by the emotions which blended with her delight in praise. + +'That my wife is the most graceful of women, and imparts to all she +touches something of her own charm.' + +'All that?' + +'Latin, you must know, is the language of compression.' + +They parted with a laugh. As she left the study, Alma saw her little son +just going out; the nurse had placed him in his mail-cart, where he sat +smiling and cooing. Mrs. Frothingham, who delighted in the child, had +made ready for a walk in the same direction, and from the doorway called +to Alma to accompany them. + +'I may come after you, perhaps,' was the reply. 'Ta-ta, Hughie!' + +With a wave of her hand, Alma passed into the sitting-room, where she +stood at the window, watching till Mrs. Frothingham's sunshade had +disappeared. Then she moved about, like one in search of occupation; +taking up a book only to throw it down again, gazing vacantly at a +picture, or giving a touch to a bowl of flowers. Here, as in the +dining-room, only the absence of conventional superfluities called for +remark; each article of furniture was in simple taste; the result, an +impression of plain elegance. On a little corner table lay Alma's +colour-box, together with a drawing-board, a sketching-block, and the +portfolio which contained chosen examples of her work. Not far away, +locked in its case, lay her violin, the instrument she had been wont to +touch caressingly; today her eyes shunned it. + +She went out again into the little hall. The front door stood open; +sunshine flooded the garden; but Alma was not tempted to go forth. All +the walks and drives of the neighbourhood had become drearily familiar; +the meanest of London streets shone by contrast as a paradise in her +imagination. With a deep sigh of ennui, she turned and slowly ascended +the stairs. + +Above were six rooms; three of them the principal chambers (her own, +Harvey's, and the guest-room), then the day-nursery, the night nursery, +and the servant's bedroom. On her first coming, she had thought the +house needlessly spacious; now it often seemed to her oppressively +small, there being but one spare room for visitors. She entered her own +room. It could not be called disorderly, yet it lacked that scrupulous +perfection of arrangement, that dainty finish, which makes an atmosphere +for the privacy of a certain type of woman. Ruth had done her part, +preserving purity unimpeachable; the deficiency was due to Alma alone. +To be sure, she had neither dressing-room nor lady's-maid; and something +in Alma's constitution made it difficult for her to dispense with such +aids to the complete life. + +She stood before the mirror, and looked at herself, blankly, gloomily. +Her eyes fell a little, and took a new expression, that of anxious +scrutiny. Gazing still, she raised her arms, much as though she were +standing to be measured by a dressmaker; then she turned, so as to +obtain a view of her figure sideways. Her arms fell again, +apathetically, and she moved away. + +Somehow, the long morning passed. In the afternoon she drove with Harvey +and Mrs. Frothingham, conversing much as usual, giving no verbal hint of +her overwhelming ennui. No reference was made to Mrs. Abbott. Harvey had +himself written her a letter, supporting Alma's invitation with all +possible cordiality; but he gravely feared that she would not come. + +At tea, according to custom, little Hugh was brought into the room, to +be fondled by his mother, who liked to see him when he was prettily +dressed, and to sit upon his father's knee. Hugh, aged sixteen months, +began to have a vocabulary of his own, and to claim a share in +conversation; he had a large head, well formed, and slight but shapely +limbs; the sweet air of sea and mountain gave a healthful, though very +delicate, colouring to his cheeks; his eyes were Alma's, dark and +gleaming, but with promise of a keener intelligence. Harvey liked to +gaze long at the little face, puzzled by its frequent gravity, delighted +by its flashes of mirth. Syllables of baby-talk set him musing and +philosophising. How fresh and young, yet how wondrously old! Babble such +as this fell from a child's lips thousands of years ago, in the morning +of the world; it sounded on through the ages, infinitely reproduced; +eternally a new beginning; the same music of earliest human speech, the +same ripple of innocent laughter, renewed from generation to generation. +But he, listening, had not the merry, fearless pride of fathers in an +earlier day. Upon him lay the burden of all time; he must needs ponder +anxiously on his child's heritage, use his weary knowledge to cast the +horoscope of this dawning life. + +'Why are you looking at him in that way?' exclaimed Alma. 'You'll +frighten him.' + +'How did I look?' + +'As if you saw something dreadful.' + +Harvey laughed, and ran his fingers through the soft curls, and bade +himself be of good heart. Had he not thrown scorn upon people who make a +'fuss' about their children. Had he not despised and detested chatter +about babies? To his old self what a simpleton would he have seemed! + +On the morrow Mrs. Frothingham took her departure; leaving it, as usual, +uncertain when she would come again, but pleasantly assured that it +could not be very long. She thought Harvey the best of husbands; he and +Alma, the happiest of married folk. In secret, no doubt, she sadly +envied them. If her own lot had fallen in such tranquil places! + +Two more days, and Alma received a reply to her invitation. Yes, Mrs +Abbott would come, and be with them for a week; longer she could not. +Her letter was amiable and well-worded as Alma's own. Harvey felt a +great relief, and it pleased him not a little to see his wife's +unfeigned satisfaction. This was Monday; the visitor promised to arrive +on Tuesday evening. + +'Of course you'll drive over with me to meet her,' said Harvey. + +'I think not. I dislike making acquaintance at railway stations. If it +should rain, you'll have to have a covered carriage, and imagine us +three shut up together!' + +Alma laughed gaily at the idea. Harvey, though at a loss to interpret +her merriment, answered it with a smile, and said no more. Happily, the +weather was settled; the sun shone gallantly each morning; and on +Tuesday afternoon Harvey drove the seven miles, up hill and down, +between hedges of gorse and woods of larch, to the little market-town +where Mary Abbott would alight after her long journey. + + +CHAPTER 2 + + +Half an hour after sunset Alma heard the approach of wheels. She had +long been ready to receive her visitor, and when the horse stopped, she +stood by the open door of the sitting-room, commanding her nervousness, +resolute to make an impression of grace and dignity. It would have eased +her mind had she been able to form some idea of Mrs. Abbott's personal +appearance; Harvey had never dropped a hint on the subject, and she +could not bring herself to question him. The bell rang; Ruth hastened to +answer it; Harvey's voice sounded. + +'It turns chilly after the warm sunshine. I'm afraid we ought to have +had a covered carriage.' + +'Then I should have seen nothing,' was replied in softer tones. 'The +drive was most enjoyable.' + +There came into the lamplight a rather tall figure in plain, serviceable +travelling-costume. Alma discerned a face which gave her a shock of +surprise, so unlike was it to anything she had imagined; the features +regular and of intelligent expression, but so thin, pallid, worn, that +they seemed to belong to a woman of nearly forty, weighted by years of +extreme suffering. The demeanour which Alma had studiously prepared +underwent an immediate change; she stepped forward with an air of frank +kindliness, of cordial hospitality. + +'Wasn't your train late? How tired you must be -- and how cold! In these +fine spring days we have been living as if it were midsummer, but I'm +sure you oughtn't to have had that long drive in the open trap so late. +Harvey thinks everybody as robust as himself ----' + +But the guest was in very good spirits, though manifestly fatigued. She +spoke with pleasure of the beautiful wild country, glowing in sunset. A +little tired, yes; she had not travelled so far for a long time; hut the +air had braced her wonderfully, and after a night's rest ---- + +At dinner Alma behaved with the same friendliness, closely observing her +guest, and listening to all she said, as if anxious not to miss a word. +Mrs. Abbott conversed in a very low voice; her manner was marked by a +subdual which might partly be attributable to weariness, but seemed in a +measure the result of timidity under novel circumstances. If she looked +at either of her companions, her eyes were instantly withdrawn. A smile +never lingered on her features; it came and passed, leaving the set +expression of preoccupied gravity. She wore a dress of black silk, close +at the neck; and Alma perceived that it was by no means new. + +An hour after the meal she begged permission to retire to her room. The +effort to talk had become impossible; she was at the end of her +strength, and could hold up no longer. + +When Alma came down again, she stood for a minute before the fire, +smiling and silent. Harvey had picked up a newspaper; he said nothing. + +'How very nice she is!' fell at length from Mrs. Rolfe's lips. + +'Astonishingly altered,' was her husband's murmured reply. + +'Indeed? In what way?' + +'Looks so wretchedly ill, for one thing.' + +'We must take her about. What do you think of doing tomorrow?' + +By feminine device of indirect question, Alma obtained some +understanding of the change that had come upon Mrs. Abbott during the +past three years. Harvey's disclosures did not violate the reticence +imposed upon him by that hour in which he had beheld a woman's +remorseful anguish; he spoke only of such things as were manifest to +everyone who had known Mary Abbott before her husband's death; of her +social pleasures, her intellectual ambitions, suddenly overwhelmed by a +great sorrow. + +'I suppose she ought to be doing much better things than teaching +children,' said Alma. + +'Better things?' repeated Harvey, musing. 'I don't know. It all depends +how you regard it.' + +'Is she very clever?' + +'Not appallingly,' he answered, with a laugh. 'It's very possible she is +doing just what she ought to be -- neither more nor less. Her health +seems to be the weak point.' + +'Do you think she has enough to live upon?' + +Harvey knitted his brows and looked uneasy. + +'I hope so. Of course it must be a very small income; but I dare say +those friends of hers at Gunnersbury make life a little easier.' + +'I feel quite sorry for her,' said Alma, with cheerfulness. 'I hadn't +realised her position. We must make her stay as long as she can. Yes, if +it's fine again, we might drive to Tre'r Caeri. That would interest her, +no doubt. She likes history, doesn't she? -- the same things that you +are fond of.' + +At breakfast Mrs. Abbott appeared with a much brighter countenance; +refreshed in body and mind, she entered gladly into the plans that had +been made for the day, talked with less restraint, and showed an +interest in all her surroundings. But her demeanour still had the air of +self-subdual which seemed at moments to become a diffidence bordering on +humility. This was emphasised by its contrast with the bearing of her +hostess. Alma had never shown herself to more brilliant advantage; kind +interpretation might have thought that she had set herself to inspirit +the guest in every possible way. Her face was radiant with good humour +and vivacity; she looked the incarnation of joyous, healthy life. The +flow of her spirited talk seemed to aim at exhibiting the joys and +privileges of existence in places such as this. She represented herself +as glorying in the mountain heights, and in solitary tracts of shore. +Here were no social burdens, or restrictions, or extravagances; one +lived naturally, simply, without regrets for wasted time, and without +fear of the morrow. To all this Mary Abbott paid the tribute of her +admiration, perhaps of her envy; and Alma grew the more animated, the +more she felt that she had impressed her hearer. + +Harvey wondered at this sudden revival of his wife's drooping energies. +But he did not consider the phenomenon too curiously; enough that Alma +was brilliant and delightful, that she played her part of hostess to +perfection, and communicated to their guest something of her own +vitality. + +They had an exhilarating drive through the mountains to Tre'r Caeri, a +British fastness on a stern bare height; crumbled dwellings amid their +great protecting walls, with cairn and cromlech and mystic circles; +where in old time the noise of battle clanged amid these grey hills, now +sleeping in sunlight. And from Tre'r Caeri down into the rocky gloom of +the seaward chasm, Nant Gwrtheyrn, with its mound upon the desolate +shore, called by legend the burial-place of Vortigern. Here Mrs. Abbott +spoke of the prehistoric monuments she had seen in Brittany, causing +Alma to glance at her with a sudden surprise. The impulse was very +significant. Thinking of her guest only as a poverty-stricken teacher of +children, Alma forgot for the moment that this subdued woman had known +happier days, when she too boasted of liberty, and stored her mind in +travel. After all, as soon appeared, the travels had been of very modest +extent; and Alma, with her knowledge of many European countries, and her +recent ocean voyage, regained the confident superiority which kept her +in such admirable humour. + +Mary Abbott, reluctant to converse on things that regarded herself, +afforded Alma every opportunity of shining. She knew of Mrs. Rolfe's +skill as a musician, and this same evening uttered a hope that she might +hear her play. The violin came forth from its retirement. Playing, it +seemed at first, without much earnestness, as though it were but a +pastime, Alma presently chose one of her pageant pieces, and showed of +what she was capable. Lack of practice had told upon her hand, but the +hearers were uncritical, as she well knew. + +'That's magnificent,' said Harvey, with a mischievous smile. 'But do +condescend now to the primitive ear. Let us have something of less +severity.' + +Alma glanced at Mrs. Abbott, who had softly murmured her thanks; then +turned an eye upon her husband, saying wickedly, 'Home, Sweet Home?' + +'I've no doubt you could play it wonderfully -- as you would "Three +Blind Mice".' + +Alma looked good-natured disdain, and chose next a Tarantelle of +Schubert. The exertion of playing brought warm colour into her face; it +heightened her beauty, and she was conscious of it; so that when she +chanced to find Mrs. Abbott's look fixed upon her, a boundless +gratification flashed from her own dark eyes, and spoke in the quiver of +her lips. + +Next evening, when again requested to play, she sat down to the piano. +On this instrument Alma had not the same confidence as with the violin; +but she could not refrain from exhibiting such skill as she possessed, +Mrs. Abbott having declared that her own piano-playing was elementary. +Meantime, the portfolio of water-colours had of course been produced for +exhibition. In this art, though she did not admit it, Mrs. Abbott had +formerly made some progress; she was able to form a judgment of Alma's +powers, and heard with genuine surprise in how short a time this point +had been attained. Alma again glowed with satisfaction. + +She found a new source of pride in her motherhood. Not having been told, +or having forgotten, that Mrs. Abbott had lost a child, she playfully +offered assurance that the guest should not be worried with nursery +talk. + +'Children are anything but a delight to you, I'm afraid; you must have +too much of them.' + +'They often give me trouble,' Mrs. Abbott replied. 'But I wish I had one +more to trouble me. My little girl would have been six years old by now. + +Alma gave one of those looks which occasionally atoned for many less +amiable glances. + +'I'm so sorry -- I didn't know ----' + +Mrs. Abbott did not dwell on the subject. Her reserve was still unbroken, +though there never appeared the least coldness in her manner; she talked +with perfect freedom of everything that contained no allusion to +herself. The change was manifestly doing her good; even by the second +day she showed an increase of vigour, and no longer wore the +preoccupied, overstrained look. Becoming familiar with her face, Alma +thought it more attractive than at first, and decidedly younger. She +still had a great deal of curiosity to satisfy with regard to Mrs +Abbott; especially it seemed strange to her that Harvey and his friend +were so little inclined for conversation; they talked only of formal, +uninteresting things, and she wondered whether, after all, they really +had much in common. + +'Take Mrs. Abbott for a walk tomorrow morning,' she said in private; 'you +must have so many things to talk about -- by yourselves.' + +'I don't know that we have,' Harvey returned, looking at her with some +surprise. 'I want to hear a little more about those youngsters, that's +all.' + +Mrs. Abbott wished to climb Cam Bodvean the great hill, clad in tender +green of larch-woods, which overlooked the town. For the toil of this +ascent Alma had no mind; pleasantly excusing herself, she proposed at +breakfast that Harvey and Mrs. Abbott should go alone; they might descend +on the far side of the mountain, and there, at a certain point known to +her husband, she would meet them with the dogcart. Harvey understood +this to mean that the man would drive her; for Alma had not yet added +the art of driving to her various accomplishments; she was, indeed, +timid with the reins. He readily assented to the plan, which, for some +reason, appeared to amuse and exhilarate her. + +'Don't be in a hurry,' she said. 'There'll be a good view on a day like +this, and you can have a long rest at the top. If you meet me at +half-past one, we shall be back for lunch at two.' + +When they started, Alma came out to the garden gate, and dismissed them +with smiling benignity; one might have expected her to say 'Be good!' as +when children are trusted to take a walk without superintendence. On +re-entering, she ran quickly to an upper room, where from the window she +could observe them for a few minutes, as they went along in +conversation. Presently she bade her servant give directions for the +dogcart to be brought round at one o'clock. + +'Williams to drive, ma'am?' said Ruth, who had heard something of the +talk at breakfast. + +'No,' Alma replied with decision. 'I shall drive myself.' + +The pedestrians took their way along a winding road, between boulder +walls thick-set with the new leaves of pennywort; then crossed the one +long street of the town (better named a village), passing the fountain, +overbuilt with lichened stone, where women and children filled their +cans with sweet water, sparkling in the golden light. Rolfe now and then +received a respectful greeting. He had wished to speak Welsh, but soon +abandoned the endeavour. He liked to hear it, especially on the lips of +children at their play. An old, old language, symbol of the vitality of +a race; sounding on those young lips as in the time when his own +English, composite, hybrid, had not yet begun to shape itself. + +Beyond the street and a row of cottages, they began to climb; at first a +gentle ascent, on either hand high hedges of flowering blackthorn, banks +strewn with primroses and violets, and starred with the white +stitchwort; great leaves of foxglove giving promise for future days. The +air was bland, yet exquisitely fresh; scented from innumerable sources +in field and heath and wood. When the lane gave upon open ground, they +made a pause to look back. Beneath them lay the little grey town, and +beyond it the grassy cliffs, curving about a blue bay. Near by rose the +craggy slopes of a bare hill, and beyond it, a few miles to the north, +two lofty peaks, wreathed against the cloudless heaven with rosy mist. + +'Sure it won't be too much for you?' said Harvey looking upwards to the +wooded height. + +'I feel equal to anything,' answered his companion brightly. 'This air +has given me new life.' + +There was a faint colour on her cheeks, and for the first time Harvey +caught an expression which reminded him of the face he had known years +ago, when Mrs. Abbott looked upon life much as Alma did now. + +They entered upon a rising heath, green with mosses where the moisture +of a hidden stream drew downwards, brown with dead bracken on dry +slopes. Just above was a great thicket of flowering gorse; a blaze of +colour, pure, aerial, as that of the sky which illumined it. Through +this they made their way, then dropped into a green nook of pasture, +among sheep that raised their heads distrustfully, and loud-bleating +lambs, each running to its mother. + +'If you can scale this wall, it will save us a quarter of an hour.' + +'If you can, I can,' was the laughing reply. + +Protruding boulders made it an easy clamber. They were then at the base +of Cam Bodvean, and before them rose steep mountain glades. Mrs. Abbott +gazed upwards with unspoken delight. + +'There are no paths,' said Harvey. 'It's honest woodland. Some day it +will be laid out with roads and iron benches, with finger-posts, "To the +summit".' + +'You think so?' + +'Why, of course. It's the destiny of every beautiful spot in Britain. +There'll be a pier down yonder, and a switchback railway, and leagues of +lodging-houses, and brass bands.' + +'Let us hope we shall be dead.' + +'Yes -- but those who come after us? What sort of a world will it be for +Hugh? I often think I should be wrong if I taught him to see life as I +do. Isn't it only preparing misery for him? I ought to make him delight +in piers, and nigger minstrels, and switchbacks. A man should belong to +his time.' + +'But a man helps to make his time,' replied Mary Abbott. + +'True. You are hopeful, are you?' + +'I try very hard to be. What use am I, if I don't put a few thoughts +into children's heads which will help to make their lives a little +better?' + +Harvey nodded. + +Their feet sank in the mossy ruin of immemorial summers. Overhead, the +larch-boughs dangled green tresses, or a grove of beech shook sunlight +through branches decked with translucent gold. Now and then they came +out into open spaces, where trees rent from the soil, dead amid spring's +leafage, told of a great winter storm; new grass grew thickly about the +shattered trunks, and in the hollows whence the roots had been torn. One +moment they stood in shadow; the next, moved upward into a great splash +of sunshine, thrown upon moss that still glistened with the dews of the +night, and on splints of crag painted green and gold with lichen. Sun or +shadow; the sweet fir-scents breathed upon their faces, mingled with +many a waft of perfume from little woodland plants. + +More than once Mrs. Abbott had to pause. Midway she was tempted by a +singular resting-place. It was a larch tree, perhaps thirty feet high; +at the beginning of its growth, the stem had by some natural means been +so diverted as to grow horizontally for a yard or more at a couple of +feet above the ground; it had then made a curve downwards, and finally, +by way of a perfect loop across itself, had shot again in the true +direction, growing at last, with straight and noble trunk, like its +undistorted neighbours. Much wondering at so strange a deformity, Mrs +Abbott seated herself on the level portion, and Harvey, as he stood +before her, told a fancy that had come to him when for the first time he +chanced to climb this way. Might not the tree represent some human life? +A weak, dubious, all but hopeless beginning; a check; a return upon +itself; a laboured circling; last a healthful maturity, upright, +triumphing. He spoke with his eyes on the ground. Raising them at the +end, he was astonished to see that his companion had flushed deeply; and +only then it occurred to him that this parable might be applied by the +hearer to herself. + +'To make a confession,' he added at once, 'it forcibly reminded me of my +own life -- except that I can't pretend to be "triumphing".' + +His laugh did not cover the embarrassment with which he discovered that, +if anything, he had made matters worse. Here was an instance of his +incorrigible want of tact; much better to have offered no application of +the fable at all, and to have turned the talk. He had told a simple +truth, but with the result of appearing to glorify himself, and possibly +at his friend's expense. Vexed beyond measure, he crushed his heel into +the soft ground. + +'That is a very striking thought,' said Mary Abbott, her look still +downcast. 'I shall never forget it.' + +And she rose to move onward. They climbed in silence, the flank of the +mountain growing steeper. + +'I should have brought you my old alpenstock,' jested Harvey. 'Go +slowly; we have plenty of time.' + +'I like to exert myself. I feel so well, and it does me good!' + +He ventured to look at her again. All her confusion had passed away; she +had the light of enjoyment in her eyes, and returned his look with a +frankness hitherto lacking. + +'You must stay a second week. Alma won't let you go.' + +'Go, I must. The two children can't be left longer at Mrs. Langland's -- +it would be presuming upon her kindness.' + +'I want to talk about them, but one hasn't much breath here. When we get +to the top ----' + +Last of all came a slippery scramble on broken stones, to where a +shapeless cairn rose above tree-tops, bare to the dazzling sky. As they +issued from the shelter of the wood, a breeze buffeted about them, but +only for a moment; then the air grew still, and nothing was audible but +a soft whispering among the boughs below. The larches circling this +stony height could not grow to their full stature; beaten, riven, +stunted, by fierce blasts from mountain or from wave, their trunks were +laden, and their branches thickly matted, with lichen so long and hoary +that it gave them an aspect of age incalculable. Harvey always looked +upon them with reverence, if not with awe. + +In the sunny stillness their eyes wandered far and wide, around a vast +horizon. On two sides lay the sea; to the west, bounded only where it +met the blue sky above (though yonder line of cloud might perchance be +the hills of Wicklow); eastward, enfolded by the shores of a great bay, +with mountains on the far side, faintly visible through silvery vapour. +Northward rose a noble peak, dark, stern, beautiful in the swift fall of +curving rampart to the waves that broke at its foot; loftier by the +proximity of two summits, sharp-soaring like itself, but unable to vie +with it. Alone among the nearer mountains, this crest was veiled; +smitten by sea-gusts, it caught and held them, and churned them into +sunny cloudlets, which floated away in long fleecy rank, far athwart the +clear depths of sky. Farther inland, where the haze of the warm morning +hung and wavered, loomed at moments some grander form, to be imagined +rather than descried; a glimpse of heights which, as the day wore on, +would slowly reveal themselves and bask in the broad glow under crowning +Snowdon. + +'We have time! We can stay here!' said Mrs. Abbott, moved with a profound +delight. + +'We have an hour at least. The sun is too hot; you must sit on the +shadowed side of the cairn.' + +The great silence had nothing of that awesomeness which broods in the +mountain calm of wilder solitudes. Upon their ear fell the long low +hushing of the wood, broken suddenly from time to time by a fitful wind, +which flapped with hollow note around the great heap of stones, whirled +as if in sport, and was gone. Below, in leafy hollows, sounded the cry +of a jay, the laugh of a woodpecker; from far heath and meadow trembled +the bleat of lambs. Nowhere could be discovered a human form; but man's +dwellings, and the results of his labour, painted the wide landscape in +every direction. On mountain sides, and across the undulating lowland, +wall or hedge mapped his conquests of nature, little plots won by the +toil of successive generations for pasture or for tillage, won from the +reluctant wilderness, which loves its fern and gorse, its mosses and +heather. Near and far were scattered the little white cottages, each a +gleaming speck, lonely, humble; set by the side of some long-winding, +unfrequented road, or high on the green upland, trackless save for the +feet of those who dwelt there. + +From talk of the scenery they passed, by no agreeable transition, to the +subject which as yet they had not found an opportunity of discussing. It +was necessary to arrive at some new arrangement regarding Wager's +children; for the boy, Albert, would soon be nine years old, and, as Mrs +Abbott confessed, he had given her a great deal of trouble. Both the +children were intractable, hated lessons, and played alarming pranks; +Master Albert's latest feat might have cost him his life, for he struck +furiously through a pane of glass at a child mocking him from the other +side, and was all but fainting from loss of blood when Mrs. Abbott came +to his help. Plainly this youngster must be sent to a boarding-school. +Minnie, his sister, would be more easily managed after he had gone. + +'He'll grow up a fighter,' said Harvey. 'We can't do without fighters. +I'll make inquiry at once about a school for him, and in a year or two +we'll take counsel with his teachers. Perhaps he might go into the +navy.' + +'The cost of it all,' fell from his companion in a nervous undertone. + +'We had that out long ago. Don't think about it.' + +'Of course, you will send only half the money when Albert leaves me,' +said Mrs. Abbott earnestly. 'I shall be in no difficulty. I have had +letters from several people, asking me to take their little children to +live with me. Albert's place will be filled at once. I can't take more +into the house; there's no room. With them, and my kindergarten, and the +lessons I give in the evening, I can live very well.' + +Harvey mused. Wishing to feel himself in complete sympathy with his +friend, he knew that something of the old criticism still tempered his +liking. Mary Abbott had fine qualities, but lacked the simplicity, the +directness, which would have made her courage wholly admirable. He +suspected that she continually mourned over what seemed to her a waste +of life. Proud of her 'culture', remembering her distinction as a +teacher of grown-up girls, she had undertaken as a penitence the care of +little children, and persevered in it with obstinacy rather than with +inspired purpose. Mary Abbott, doubtless, had always regarded life as a +conflict; she had always fought for her own hand. When such a nature +falls into genuine remorse, asceticism will inevitably follow; with it +comes the danger of more or less conscious embitterment. Harvey had a +conviction of his friend's sincerity, and believed her in every way a +better woman than in the days before her great sorrow; but he could not +yet assure himself that she had found her true vocation. + +They spoke of the people who were so anxious to be relieved of their +children. + +'One lady wrote to me that she would pay almost anything if I would take +her little boy and keep him all the year round; she has only a small +house, and the child utterly upsets her life. Of course, I understand +her; I should have sympathised with her once.' + +'It's intelligible enough,' replied Harvey, with a laugh. 'Presently +there will be huge establishments for the young children of middle-class +people. Naturally, children are a nuisance; especially so if you live in +a whirlpool.' + +'Yes, I know it too well, the whirlpool way of life,' said Mrs. Abbott, +her eyes on the far mountains. 'I know how easily one is drawn into it. +It isn't only idle people.' + +'Of course not. There's the whirlpool of the furiously busy. Round and +round they go; brains humming till they melt or explode. Of course, they +can't bother with children.' + +'One loses all sense of responsibility.' + +'Rather, they have never had it, and it has no chance of developing. You +know, it isn't a matter of course for people to see that they are under +an enormous obligation to the children they bring into the world; except +in a parent here and there, that comes only with very favourable +circumstances. When there's no leisure, no meditation, no peace and +quietness, -- when, instead of conversing, people just nod or shout to +each other as they spin round and round the gulf, -- men and women +practically return to the state of savages in all that concerns their +offspring. The brats have come into existence, and must make the best of +it. Servants, governesses, schoolmasters -- anybody but the parents -- +may give thought to children. Well, it's a matter for the individual. I +shouldn't feel comfortable myself.' + +'It's a matter for the world, too,' said Mary. + +Harvey nodded. As he sat at the foot of the piled stones, his hand +touched a sprig of last year's heather; the stem was hung with dry, +rustling, colourless bells, which had clung there all through the cold, +stormy months, telling of beauty that was past, and of beauty that was +to come. He broke it off, and showed it to his companion. Until the time +for moving, they talked of simpler things, and Mary Abbott recovered her +spirits. + + +CHAPTER 3 + + +Turning regretfully from the place of rest, with its lulling sounds and +noble prospects, they began to descend the other side of the mountain, +which was more rugged than that by which they had come up. Harvey timed +the walk so well, that they reached the point of the road where Alma +would meet them, at a few minutes before the time agreed upon. No one +was in sight. The road in its inland direction could be scanned for a +quarter of a mile; the other way it curved rapidly, and was soon hidden +by gorse-bushes. + +'I hear nothing,' said Rolfe, when they had stood silent for a little. +'A mistake is impossible; the man has driven to meet us here before. +Shall we walk on?' + +They proceeded slowly, stopping from time to time. Harvey was puzzled by +this unpunctuality; it would soon be a quarter to two. He began to feel +hungry, and his companion looked tired. Of a sudden they heard the sound +of a vehicle approaching behind them. + +'It can't be Alma. She wouldn't have gone farther than ----' + +But the horse appeared round the curve of the road, and behind it was a +dogcart, and in the dogcart sat Alma, alone. At sight of them she pulled +up abruptly, so abruptly that the horse reared a little. Harvey walked +forward. + +'You've been driving yourself?' + +'Of course. Why not?' replied Alma in a strangely high key. + +'How have we missed you?' + +As he put this question he became aware of something very unusual in his +wife's appearance. Alma was pallid and shaking; her small felt hat had +got out of position, and her hair was disordered, giving her a wild, +rakish aspect. He saw, too, that the horse dripped with sweat; that it +glared, panted, trembled, and could not for a moment stand still. + +'What on earth have you been doing? She's run away with you!' + +'No, no!' cried Alma, laughing, as she looked at Mrs. Abbott, who had +just come up. 'She was rather fresh, and I gave her a good run, that's +all. I'm sorry I missed you at the place ----' + +'Why didn't Williams drive?' asked Harvey in a voice turning to anger. + +'Williams? Why should Williams drive?' Alma returned, her eyes flashing. +'I'm only a few minutes late; I don't see anything to make a fuss +about!' + +This temper was as strange in Alma as the personal appearance she +presented. Harvey said no more, but, after quickly examining the horse, +helped Mrs. Abbott to a seat at the back of the vehicle; he then jumped +up to his wife's side, and without a word took the reins from her hand. +Alma made no remark as she surrendered them. + +'Put your hat straight,' he said to her in a low voice. + +'My hat? What's the matter with it The wind, I suppose. Did you enjoy +it, Mrs. Abbott?' + +She turned, in speaking, so as to have her back towards Harvey, and kept +this position all the way, talking with her guest as if nothing had +happened. Rolfe, his face grimly set, uttered only a word or two. He had +to drive very slowly and with all caution, for the animal shied every +other minute, and he felt heartily glad when they all alighted. +Williams, who ran out from the stable, stood in astonishment at sight of +the horse's condition. + +'Rather fresh this morning,' said Harvey, as the ladies went in. 'Mrs +Rolfe had a little trouble with her.' + +This mild explanation by no means satisfied the coachman, though he +pretended to acquiesce. Seeing him give a look at the horse's knees, +Harvey did the same; nothing was wrong there. Williams pointed to marks +on one of the wheels; the cart had evidently grazed against a wall. Alma +must have lost control of the horse, and have been carried a +considerable distance before, somehow, it was stopped. Without doubt, +she had had a very narrow escape. Her anger seemed to be the result of +nerves upset and mortified vanity; she wished to show Mrs. Abbott that +she could drive -- the explanation of the whole matter. Harvey was vexed +at such a piece of childishness; irritated, too, by the outbreak of +temper with which Alma had replied to his very natural alarm. Of course, +he would say nothing more; it would be interesting to await the outcome +of his wife's mature reflection on her folly. + +As he stepped into the house, something like a cry for help sounded from +above stairs. He shouted, 'What's that?' and in the same moment Mary +Abbott called to him that Mrs. Rolfe had fainted. On rushing up, he found +Mary with difficulty supporting Alma's unconscious form. + +'I saw she could hardly get upstairs,' said Mrs. Abbott. 'Just here on +the landing she gave a moan and fell back. I was luckily close by her.' + +They carried her into her room, and gave what help they could whilst the +doctor was being summoned. In a few minutes Alma regained consciousness, +and declared herself quite well again; but when she tried to rise, +strength failed her; she began to moan in physical distress. Harvey went +downstairs, whilst Mrs. Abbott and Ruth tended the sufferer. + +Their ordinary medical man was far away among the hills; his assistant +had to be searched for, and came only after the lapse of two hours, by +which time Rolfe had worked himself into a fever. Whilst Mrs. Abbott, +faint with agitation and weariness, took a hurried meal, he went to the +bedside, and tried to learn whether Alma was suffering merely from +shock, or had sustained an actual injury; but she still nursed her +grievance against him, and would say very little. Why did not the doctor +come? She wished to see the doctor; no one else was of any use. + +'Go down and have lunch with Mrs. Abbott properly. Do go, please; I hate +all this fuss, and it's quite unnecessary. Let me be alone till the +doctor comes.' + +Before the arrival of Dr Evans's assistant she again fainted, and upon +that followed an attack of hysteria. When at length the medical man had +seen her, Harvey received an adequate, but far from reassuring, +explanation of the state of things. At nightfall Dr Evans came in +person, and was with the patient for a long time. He spoke less gravely +of the case, offered a lucid diagnosis, and thought that the services of +an ordinary nurse for a few days would meet every necessity. Williams +was sent with a hired vehicle to the market town, seven miles away, and +late at night returned with the woman recommended. Alma meanwhile had +lain quietly, and the household at length went to rest without renewal +of alarms. + +Twice before dawn Harvey left his room and stepped silently to Alma's +door. The first time, he heard low voices; the second, there was no +sound. When, about eight o'clock, he went down and out into the garden, +he was surprised to meet Mrs. Abbott. She had already seen the nurse this +morning, and reported that all was going well. Rolfe talked cheerfully +again, and would not listen to his guest's timid suggestion that she +should take leave today. Not a bit of it; she was to go down to the +seashore and enjoy the sunshine, and worry herself just as little as +possible. At breakfast-time came a message from Alma to the same effect. +Mrs. Abbott was on no account to cut short her visit, and Harvey was to +do his duty as host. She herself, said Mrs. Rolfe, would be as well as +ever in a day or two. + +For all that, when the appointed day for the guest's departure came, +Alma still lay blanched and feeble, not likely to leave her bed for +another week. She was, however, in a remarkably cheerful frame of mind. +Having to start on her journey as early as half-past eight, Mrs. Abbott +bade good-bye to her hostess the evening before, and nothing could have +been kinder or more amiable than Alma's behaviour. + +'Don't bear a grudge against me for spoiling your holiday,' she said, +holding her guest's hand and smiling brightly. 'If I say all is for the +best, perhaps you'll understand me, and perhaps you won't; it sounds +pious at all events, doesn't it? We must see each other again, you know +-- here or somewhere else. I'm quite sure we can be friends. Of course, +Harvey will go with you in the morning.' + +Mrs. Abbott begged he would do nothing of the kind, but Alma was +imperative. + +'Of course he will! If it rains, a covered carriage will be here in +time. And write to me -- mind you write to me; not only to say you've +got safe home, but in future. You promise?' + +In the morning it did rain, and heavily, so Harvey and his friend drove +to the station shut up together, with scarce a glimpse of anything +beyond the boulder walls and gorse hedges and dripping larch-trees. They +spoke a good deal of Alma. As soon as she was well again, said Rolfe, he +must take her for a thorough change. In truth, he was beginning, he +said, to doubt whether she could live in this out-of-the-world place +much longer. She liked it -- oh yes, she liked it -- but he feared the +solitude was telling upon her nerves. Mrs. Abbott admitted that there +might be something in this. + +'Should you return to London?' she asked. + +Whereupon Harvey stared before him, and looked troubled, and could only +answer that he did not know. + +When, two days after, the promised letter came from Mrs. Abbott, Harvey +took it up to the invalid's room, and sat by her whilst she read it. + +'She writes so nicely,' said Alma, who never in her life had showed such +sweetness of disposition as during this convalescence. 'Read it for +yourself, Harvey. Isn't it a nice letter? I feel so sorry we haven't +known each other before. But we're going to be friends now.' + +'I'm sure I'm very glad.' + +'Nothing from Mamma? I almost think I could write to her to-day. Of +course, she'll fall into a dreadful state of mind, and want to know why +she wasn't sent for, and lament over -- everything. But it's no use her +coming here now. When we go away we must manage to see her.' + +'Yes. Have you thought where you would like to go?' + +'Not yet. There's plenty of time.' + +Not a word had passed between them with reference to the perilous drive. +Alma spoke as if her illness were merely natural, due to nothing in +particular; but her husband fancied that she wished to atone, by sweet +and affectionate behaviour, for that unwonted ill-usage of him. He saw, +too, beyond doubt, that the illness seemed to her a blessing; its +result, which some women would have wept over, brought joy into her +eyes. This, in so far as it was unnatural, caused him some disturbance; +on the other hand, he was quite unable to take a regretful view of what +had happened, and why should he charge upon Alma as a moral fault that +which he easily condoned in himself? + +A few days more and the convalescent was allowed to leave her room. As +if to welcome her, there arrived that morning a letter from Melbourne, +with news that Sibyl and her husband would sail for England in a +fortnight's time after the date of writing, by the Orient Line steamer +_Lusitania_. + +'You know what you suggested?' cried Alma delightedly. 'Shall we go?' + +'What -- to Naples? We should have to be off immediately. If they come +by the next ship after the one that brought this letter, they are now +only a fortnight from the end of the voyage. That means -- allowing for +their nine days from Naples to London -- that we should have to be at +Naples in four or five days from now.' + +'Well? That's easily managed, isn't it?' + +'Not by anyone in your state of health,' replied Harvey gently. + +'I am perfectly well! I could travel night and day. Why not? One eats +and sleeps as usual. Besides, are you quite sure They may be longer than +you think. Telegraph to the London office and ask when the _Lusitania_ +will reach Naples.' + +'If you like. But, for one thing, it's quite certain you oughtn't to +travel in less than a week; and then -- what about Hughie?' + +Alma's face darkened with vexation. + +'It doesn't matter,' she said coldly. 'I had counted on it; but, of +course, that's nothing. There's the baby to be considered first.' + +Harvey had never been so near the point of answering his wife in rough, +masculine fashion. This illness of hers had unsettled his happy frame of +mind, perturbing him with anxious thoughts, and making confusion of the +quiet, reasonable prospect that lay before him only a week or two ago. +He, too, could much have enjoyed the run to Naples and the voyage back, +and disappointment taxed his patience. Irritated against Alma, and +ashamed of himself for not being better tempered, he turned and left the +room. A few minutes afterwards he walked to the post-office, where he +addressed a telegram of inquiry to the Orient Line people in London. It +was useless, of course; but he might as well satisfy Alma. + +The reply telegram was delivered to him as he sauntered about in the +garden. It merely confirmed his calculation; there might possibly be a +clear five days before the _Lusitania_ touched at Naples -- most likely +not more than four. He went into the sitting-room, but Alma was not +there; he looked into the study, and found it vacant. As Ruth happened +to pass, he bade her take the telegram to Mrs. Rolfe upstairs. + +He had no mind for reading or for any other occupation. He shut his +door, and began to smoke. In the whiffs curling from his pipe he +imagined the smoke of the great steamer as she drove northward from +Indian seas; he heard the throb of the engines, saw the white wake. +Naples; the Mediterranean; Gibraltar frowning towards the purple +mountains of Morocco; the tumbling Bay; the green shores of Devon; -- +his pulses throbbed as he went voyaging in memory. And he might start +this very hour, but for the child, who could not be left alone to +servants. With something like a laugh, he thought of the people who +implored Mary Abbott to relieve them of their burdensome youngsters. And +at that moment Alma opened the door. + +Her face, thinned a little by illness, had quite recovered its amiable +humour. + +'Of course you are quite right, Harvey. We can't rush across Europe at a +moment's notice.' + +He rose up, the lover's light in his eyes again, and drew her to him, +and held her in a laughing embrace. + +'What has been wrong between us? It's a new thing for you and me to be +scowling and snarling.' + +'I hope I neither scowled nor snarled, dear boy, though I'm not sure +that _you_ didn't. No doubt, Mrs. Abbott went away thinking we lead +rather a cat and dog life.' + +'Hang it, no! How could she have any such thoughts?' + +'Oh, the drive home that day.' + +'Why, whose fault was that? I should have been all right, except that I +couldn't understand why you had run the chance of killing yourself.' + +'I don't think I should have cared very much that morning,' said Alma +idly. 'I was more miserable than you can imagine.' + +'Why?' + +'Oh, I don't know -- foolishness. But you never gave me a word of +praise, and I'm sure I deserved it. Why, she galloped with me like mad +for nearly two miles, and I never lost hold of the reins, and I pulled +her up by myself and got her round, and drove back to meet you as if +nothing had happened. I told Mrs. Abbott all about it, and she was +astonished at my pluck.' + +'Must have been. So am I.' + +'I doubt it. I doubt whether you ever think much of anything I do.' + +'That's rather unkind, because you know it isn't true.' + +'I always thought very much the same, you know.' + +'Rubbish! But come, what are we going to do? Naples seems out of the +question; but there's no reason why we shouldn't go to meet them in +London.' + +'You would much rather wait here, and let them come,' said Alma. 'I +don't care particularly about going away. So long as we keep on good +terms with each other -- that's the chief thing.' + +'There has never been a dream of anything else. We are on good terms as +a matter of course. It's part of the order of the universe.' + +'I'm very sorry, dear, that I threatened the universe with catastrophe; +but I won't do it again -- indeed I won't. I will watch your face, and +be on my guard. And really, you know, under ordinary circumstances, I am +good-tempered enough.' + +'What's all this about?' cried Harvey. For she seemed to be in earnest, +and spoke with a soft humility, such as might have become the least +original of wives. 'Watch my face, and be on your guard? Since when have +I desired you to be a simpleton?' + +'I'm quite serious. It isn't foolish at all. I want to please you; +that's all I mean, dear.' + +He gazed at her, wondering, inclined to laugh, yet withheld from it by +an uneasy feeling. + +'This kind of talk means defective circulation, lost appetite, and so +on,' was his half-joking answer. 'The way to please me is to get some +colour into your cheeks again, and snub me for my ignorance of music, +and be your own arrogant self. But listen. You're quite mistaken in +thinking I want to stay here till Hugh and his wife come. It won't do. +You're getting far too sweet and docile, and everything detestable. I +had no idea of marrying an angel; it's too bad if you turn seraphic upon +my hands. I wonder, now, whether, by way of pleasing me, you would +answer a plain question?' + +'I'll try.' + +'Have you been wanting to get away from this place -- I mean, to live +somewhere else?' + +'I? What can have made you think so?' + +'That isn't trying to answer a question, you know.' + +Alma, after looking keenly at him, had turned her face to the window. +She kept silence, and wore a look of calm reflectiveness. + +'Have you been bored and wearied by this life?' Harvey asked in his most +good-natured tone. + +'I don't think I have ever for a moment shown a sign of it,' replied +Alma, with grave conviction. + +'So much the worse, if it meant that you concealed your thoughts.' + +'I shall always be content, Harvey, so long as I see you are living the +kind of life that suits you.' + +He uttered a shout of humorous, yet half-genuine, exasperation. + +'Do you want me to swear it's a long time since I lost the habit, but it +might strike you as manly, and perhaps I had better practise again. What +has it to do with _you_, the kind of life that suits _me_? Don't you +remember my talking about that before we were married? I've had a +suspicion that you were getting rather into that state of mind. You +dropped your music, and partly, I've no doubt, because you didn't find +enough intelligent sympathy in me. You went in for painting, and you've +dropped that ----' + +'It was winter, you see,' Alma interrupted. + +'Yes, but that wasn't the only reason. It meant general failure of +energy -- the kind of thing I've known myself, only too well.' + +'What -- here?' asked Alma, with some alacrity. + +'I meant now and again, all through my life. No; here I've gone on right +enough, with a tolerably even mind; and for that very reason I haven't +noticed any signs of the other thing in you -- till just now, when you +lost your head. Why haven't you been frank with me?' + +'You take it for granted that I had anything to be frank about,' Alma +remarked. + +'Yes -- and you don't contradict me.' + +'Then what were you going to say, Harvey?' + +She bent towards him, with that air of sweet reasonableness which showed +her features at their best: eye tranquil and intelligent, lips +ingenuously smiling; a countenance she wore not thrice in a twelvemonth, +but by Harvey well remembered amid all changes, and held to express the +true being of the woman he loved. + +'Why, I was going to say, dear,' he replied tenderly, 'that no good can +come of sacrificing your instincts. You have not to ask yourself whether +I am lazily comfortable -- for that's what it amounts to -- but what you +are making of your life. Remember, for one thing, that I am considerably +older ----' + +'Please!' She checked him with an extended hand. 'I don't want to +remember anything of the kind.' + +'There's no harm in it, I hope.' He laughed a little. 'The difference +isn't distressing, but just enough to be taken into account. At forty, +or near it, a man who is happily married gets used to his slippers and +his pipe -- especially if comfort, and all the rest of it, have come +after half a lifetime of homelessness. I might often say to myself that +I was wasting time, rusting, and so on; but the next day I should fall +back into the easy-chair again, and hate the thought of changes. But +you, with thirty still far ahead, slippers and pipe have no particular +attraction for you.' + +He saw a thought in her eyes, and paused. + +'Hughie will soon be able to talk,' fell from Alma, her look no longer +that of ingenuous sweetness, but of virtue just a trifle self-conscious. +And her husband, though he read this meaning in the change, was yet +pleased by the words that accompanied it. + +'Yes; and then there will be more for you to do, you were going to say. +But that won't occupy you entirely, and it doesn't bind you to any +particular spot.' + +'Perhaps not.' + +She had become almost demure. Harvey took his eyes away. + +'It comes to this -- you're not to subordinate your life to mine. That's +the old idea, and it still works well with some people. Yet I don't +know; perhaps it doesn't, really; one knows little enough about people's +lives. At all events, it won't work in our case, and remember that we +never thought it would. We talked it all over, with no humbug on either +side -- rather an unusual sort of talk, when one comes to think of it. I +liked you for the common-sense you showed, and I remember patting myself +on the back for a rational bit of behaviour at a time when I felt rather +crazy.' + +Alma laughed in her gayest key. + +'You were delicious. I didn't quite know what to make of you. And +perhaps that was the very reason ----' + +'Reason for what?' asked Harvey, when she broke off and looked not quite +so pale as a moment before. + +'I forget what I was going to say. But please go on. It's very +interesting -- as your talk always is.' + +'I've said about all. You're not to be dutiful and commonplace; that's +the matter in a nutshell.' + +'I don't think you can accuse me of ever being commonplace.' + +'Perhaps not,' said Harvey. + +'And as for dutiful, our duty is to be consistent, don't you think?' + +'Yes -- if by consistency you mean the steady resolve to make the most +of yourself. That's what you had in mind when you came here. As soon as +you begin to grow limp, it's time to ask what is the matter. I don't +offer any advice; you know yourself better than I can know you. It's for +you to tell me what goes on in your mind. What's the use of our living +together if you keep your most serious thoughts to yourself?' + +Harvey Rolfe glowed with a sense of his own generous wisdom. He had +never felt so keen a self-approval. Indeed, that emotion seldom came to +solace him; for the most part he was the severest critic of his own +doings and sayings. But for once it appeared to him that he uttered +golden words, the ripe fruit of experience and reflection. That personal +unrest had anything to do with the counsel he offered to his wife, he +did not for the moment even suspect. Alma had touched him with her +unfamiliar note of simple womanhood, and all at once there was revealed +to him a peril of selfishness, from which he strongly recoiled. He +seemed to be much older, and Alma much more youthful, than he was wont +to perceive. Very gently and sweetly she had put him in mind of this +fact; it behoved him to consider it well, and act upon the outcome of +such reflection. Heavens! was he in danger of becoming the typical +husband -- the man who, as he had put it, thinks first of his pipe and +slippers? From the outside, no man would more quickly or more +contemptuously have noted the common-sense moral of this present +situation. Being immediately concerned, he could see nothing in his +attitude but a wise and noble disinterestedness. And thus, at a moment +when he wittingly held the future in his hands, he prided himself on +leaving to Alma an entire responsibility -- making her, in the ordinary +phrase, mistress of her own fate, and waiting upon her decisions. + +'I will think a little longer,' said Alma, sighing contentedly, 'and +then we'll talk about it again. It's quite true I was getting a little +run down, and perhaps -- but we'll talk about it in a day or two.' + +'Could we decide anything for the present? Would you care to go and meet +the steamer at Plymouth?' + +'And take Hughie? Suppose I wrote very nicely to Mamma, and asked if we +might leave Hughie with her, in Hampshire, for a few days? I dare say +she would be delighted, and the other people too. The nurse could be +with him, I dare say. We could call there on our way. And Ruth would +look after the house very well.' + +'Write and ask.' + +'Then you and I' -- Alma began to talk joyously -- 'might ramble about +Devonshire till the ship comes. Let me see -- if we travelled on Monday, +that would give us several days, wouldn't it? And the Carnabys might +either land at Plymouth, or we go on with them in the ship to London. +That's a very good plan. But why lose time by writing? Send a telegram +to Mamma -- "Could we leave Hughie and nurse with you for a day or +two?"' + +Harvey again turned his steps to the post-office, and this message was +despatched. A few hours elapsed before the reply came, but it was +favourable. + +'Then we'll leave on Monday!' exclaimed Alma, whose convalescence was +visibly proceeding. 'Just send another telegram -- a word or two, that +they may be ready.' + +'Might as well have mentioned the day in the other,' said Harvey, though +glad to have something more to do. + +'Of course; how thoughtless!' + +And they laughed, and were in the best of tempers. + +On the morrow, Sunday, they walked together as they had used to do in +the first spring after their marriage; along the grassy cliffs, then +down to the nook where the sand is full of tiny shells, and round the +little headland into the next bay, where the quaint old fishing-village +stands upon the edge of the tide. And Alma was again in love, and held +her husband's hand, and said the sweetest things in the most wonderful +voice. She over-tired herself a little, so that, when they ascended the +cliff again, Harvey had to support her; and in the sunny solitude she +thanked him with her lips -- in two ways. + +It was a second honeymoon. + + +CHAPTER 4 + + +Mrs. Frothingham's sister, who lived near Basingstoke, gave a warm +welcome to little Hugh Rolfe; and Mrs. Frothingham, who had all but +forgotten that the child was not really her grandson, took charge of him +with pride and joy. He stayed a week; he stayed a fortnight; -- he +stayed two months. + +For when the Carnabys -- who landed at Plymouth and rested there for a +couple of days -- made known their intention of straightway taking a +flat in town, it seemed to Alma that the very best thing for her health +would be to spend a week or two in London, and see her old friends, and +go to a few concerts. The time was favourable, for June had only just +set in. Harvey, nothing loath, took his wife to a quiet hotel in the +Portman Square region, whither also went their friends from abroad; his +project being to look for furnished rooms, where child and nurse could +join them. But Mrs. Frothingham thought it a pity of pities to take +little Hugh into the town, when all was so pleasantly arranged for him +down in Hampshire; and, as Alma evidently inclined to the same view, the +uninviting thought of 'apartments' was laid aside. They might as well +remain at the hotel, said Harvey. Alma, with a pretty show of economical +hesitation, approved the plan, saying that she would be quite ready to +go home again when Sibyl had established herself in a flat. This event +came to pass in about three weeks; the Carnabys found a flat which +suited them very well at Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, and thither, +with the least possible delay, transferred a portion of their furniture, +which had lain in warehouse. Thereupon, sweetly reasonable, Mrs. Rolfe +made known that it was time to fetch her baby and return to +Carnarvonshire. She felt incalculably better; the change had been most +refreshing; now for renewed enjoyment of her dear home! + +But Harvey wore his wisest countenance; no owl could have surpassed it +for sage gravity. + +'You are very much better, and don't you think you would be better still +after another week or two? The concerts are in full swing; it seems a +pity -- now you are here ----' + +Alma looked gracefully reluctant. Were not the hotel expenses rather +heavy? + +'Pooh! You must remember that at home we live on half our income, or +less. If that's all that troubles you ----' + +'You are very kind, Harvey!' + +'Why, as for that, I'm enjoying myself. And I like to see you in such +capital spirits.' + +So, with a happy sigh, Alma gave up the packing of her trunk, and wrote +to Mrs. Frothingham that if baby _really_ was not a trouble, they might +stay for another fortnight. 'Harvey is in such capital spirits, and does +so enjoy himself, that I don't think he ought to go home whilst all the +life of the season is in full swing. Of course, I could leave him here, +but -- if you will credit it -- he seems really to wish to have me with +him. If I tried to say how thoroughly good and kind he is, I should make +you laugh. It amuses me to see him turned into a sort of bachelor again. +This is no contradiction; I mean that here, among his men friends, he +shows a new side of himself, seems younger (to tell the truth), and has +a kind of gaiety quite different from his good humour at home. You can't +think how he enjoys a dinner at the club, for instance, quite in a +boyish way; and then he comes back with all sorts of stories and bits of +character and I don't know what; we forget the time, and sit talking +till I daren't tell you when. But I am doing the same thing now, for it +is half-past twelve (noon), and I have promised to lunch with Sibyl at +half-past one. Her flat is just finished, and looks very pretty indeed. +A thousand kisses to my little darling! Try and make him understand that +_mum-mum_ has not gone for ever.' + +She dressed with care (her wardrobe had undergone a complete renewal), +and drove off in a hansom to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions. It was to be +a luncheon of intimacy, for Sibyl had not yet gathered her +acquaintances. When Alma entered, Mrs. Carnaby was sitting just as in the +days before her great migration, perfectly at ease, admirably +self-possessed, her beauty arrayed with all the chastity of effect which +distinguished her among idle and pleasure-loving women. She had found a +new way of doing her hair, a manner so young, so virginal, that Alma +could not but gaze with wonder and admiration. + +'You do look sweet today!' + +'Do I? I'm glad you think so. -- I want your opinion. Would you have the +piano there, or _there_?' + +This matter was discussed, and then they obeyed the tuneful gong that +summoned them to the dining-room. Alma surveyed everything, and felt a +secret envy. Here was no demonstration of the simple life; things +beautiful and luxurious filled all available space, and indeed +over-filled it, for Sibyl had tried to use as much as possible of the +furniture formerly displayed in Hamilton Terrace, with such alterations +and novelties as were imposed by the fashion of today. She offered her +guest a most dainty little meal; a luncheon such as Alma could not +possibly have devised, in spite of all her reminiscences. + +'Civilisation is a great thing,' Sibyl remarked. 'It's good to have been +in savagery, just to appreciate one's privileges.' + +'But you liked Honolulu?' + +'Honolulu -- yes. I was thinking of Queensland. There's no barbarism at +Honolulu, if you keep out of sight of the Americans and Europeans. Yes, +I enjoyed myself there. I think I could go back and live out my life at +Waikiki.' + +'It astonished me that you didn't make an effort to go with Hugh to that +great volcano. I have read about it since, and I'm sure I should have +faced anything.' + +'Kilauea,' murmured Sibyl, with a dreamy air, as she raised the +wine-glass to her lips. 'I was lazy, no doubt. The climate, you know; +and then I don't care much about bubbling lava. It was much nicer to +watch the gold-fish at Waikiki. -- Where is your husband today?' + +'Of all things in the world, gone to Lord's! He says he never saw a +cricket match in his life, and it struck him this morning that it really +was a defect in his education. Of course, he was thinking of Hughie. He +wants Hughie to be a cricketer and horseman and everything that's +robust.' + +'Just like Hugh,' replied Sibyl, laughing. 'I should feel the same if I +had a boy. I like open-air men -- though I shouldn't care always to live +among them.' + +'Hugh at Coventry still?' Alma inquired. + +Her hostess gave a nod, with a look intimating that she would say more +when the servant left them free to talk. She added ---- + +'Do you know Mrs. Strangeways?' + +'I seem to remember a Mr. Strangeways,' replied Alma, 'but I can't think +how or where.' + +'Yes, he's a man who goes about a good deal. His wife was the widow of +that artist who promised so well, and got into a scrape, and died +miserably -- Edward -- no, Egbert Dover. Don't you know that big +landscape that hangs in Mrs. Holt's boudoir? -- that was one of his. He +hid himself away, and died in a garret or a workhouse -- something +cheerful. I met Mrs. Strangeways at Brisbane; she and her husband were +globe-trotting. She might look in this afternoon. I don't know whether +you would care for her; she's rather -- rapid, you know. But she +remembers hearing you play somewhere -- spoke of you with great +admiration.' + +Alma's eyes shone. + +'Oh, I should be glad to meet her! Are you going to let me stay with you +all the afternoon, then?' + +'If you have nothing better to do. I suppose I shall be losing you +presently. I'm very sorry. I wish you lived in London.' + +'On this one account,' replied Alma, 'I wish I did. But I've got so out +of it. Don't you think I carry a rustic atmosphere about with me?' + +Sibyl laughed, in the tone her friend wished to hear. Alma would have +been profoundly mortified if Mrs. Carnaby had seemed ever so little to +agree with her. + +For all that, they were not quite so well attuned to each other as when +the young married woman, indifferent seemingly to social distinction, +patronised the ambitious girl, and, by the mere bestowal of confidence, +subtly flattered her. In those days Alma did not feel it as patronage, +for Sibyl's social position was perhaps superior to her own, and in +things of the intellect (apart from artistic endowment) she sincerely +looked up to her friend. Together they trod ground above the heads of +ordinary women in their world. But changes had been at work. Alma now +felt herself, to say the least, on equal terms with Mrs. Carnaby. +Economically, she was secure; whereas Sibyl, notwithstanding the show +she made, drew daily nearer to a grave crisis, and might before long +find herself in a very unpleasant situation. Intellectually, Alma saw +herself in a less modest light than before marriage; the daily +companionship of such a man as her husband had been to her as a second +education; she had quite overtaken Sibyl, if not gone a little beyond +her. The deference she still showed was no longer genuine, and this kind +of affectation, hard to support and readily perceived, is very perilous +to friendship. Conscious of thoughts she must not utter, Alma naturally +attributed to her friend the same sort of reticence. She feared that +Sibyl must often have in mind the loss she had suffered three years ago, +and would contrast her own precarious circumstances with the comfort of +Bennet Frothingham's daughter. Moreover, Mrs. Carnaby was not in all +respects her own self; she had lost something on her travels; was it a +shade of personal delicacy, of mental refinement? She seemed more +inclined to self-assertion, to aim somewhat at worldly success, to be +less careful about the friends she made. Alma felt this difference, +though not clear as to its nature, and insensibly it helped to draw them +apart. + +'Yes, Hugh is at Coventry,' said Sibyl, when the servant had withdrawn. +'He'll go backwards and forwards, you know. I don't think he'll have +very much to do practically with the business; but just at first he +likes to see what's going on.' + +'I hope it will prosper.' + +'Oh, no doubt it will. It was a very good idea.' + +Sibyl spoke as though she had never contemplated the possibilities which +were in Alma's mind. Her husband, as Alma knew from Rolfe, was in +anything but a sanguine mood; he saw his position in all its gravity, +and could hardly rest for fear that this latest enterprise should not +succeed. Sibyl, however, enjoyed her lunch with complete tranquillity. +She had the air of being responsible for nothing. + +'I'm not at all sorry we went away for a time. Travelling suits Hugh; it +has done him a great deal of good. I believe he would have liked to stay +in Tasmania; but he saw it wouldn't do for me, and the good fellow could +think of nothing else but my comfort. I have a great admiration for +Hugh,' she added, with a smile, not exactly of superiority or +condescension, but of approval distinct from tenderness. 'Of course, I +always had, and it has increased since I've travelled with him. He shows +to far more advantage on a ship than in a drawing-room. On this last +voyage we had some very bad weather, and then he was at his best. I +admired him immensely!' + +'I can quite imagine how he would be,' said Alma. + +'And how glad I was when I heard you had married his best friend! It had +crossed my mind more than once. Perhaps you don't remember -- you didn't +notice it at the time -- but I ventured a discreet hint before we +parted. You couldn't have done a more sensible thing, Alma.' + +Though quite willing to believe this, Alma, for some reason, did not +care to hear it thus asserted. The manner of the remark, for all its +friendliness, reminded her that marriage had signified her defeat, the +end of high promises, brave aspirations. + +'I couldn't tell you how it happened,' she said, with a little +awkwardness. 'And I dare say you would say the same about your own +marriage.' + +'Of course So would every woman. One never does know how it happens' + +And Sibyl laughed with quiet merriment which had a touch of cynicism. +Alma had not yet spoken of the impulse which carried her away to the +little house in Carnarvonshire, to the life of noble simplicity and calm +retirement, and she had no disposition now to touch on the matter. Even +in her early letters to Sybil not much was said of it, for she felt that +her friend might have a difficulty in sympathising with such enthusiasm. +She would have liked to make Sibyl understand that her rustication was +quite voluntary; but the subject embarrassed her, and she preferred to +keep silence. + +'I didn't hear very much about your time in Germany,' Mrs. Carnaby +resumed. 'Nothing much to tell, I suppose.' + +'Very little.' + +'Any -- any adventures?' + +'Oh no!' + +Alma felt herself grow warm, less at the thought of the adventures which +really had befallen her than from vexation at the feeling of +insignificance. She understood very well what Sibyl meant by her smiling +question, and it would almost have been a relief to tell certain +stories, in proof that she had not utterly fallen out of sight and mind +on her self-banishment from society. There was no reason, indeed, why +she should not make fun of Felix Dymes and his proposal; but the episode +seemed idle in comparison with another, on which she had never ceased to +reflect. Perhaps a certain glory attached to that second incident; Sibyl +might be impressed alike with the character of the temptation and with +her friend's nobility in scorning it. But the opportunity had gone by. + +On rising from table, Sibyl remarked that she wished to make one or two +purchases; would Alma accompany her to the shop? They went forth, and +drove as far as Regent Street. Mrs. Carnaby's requirements were one or +two expensive trifles, which she chose with leisurely gratification of +her taste. It surprised Alma to see this extravagance; one would have +thought the purchaser had never known restricted means, and dreamt of no +such thing; she bought what she happened to desire, as a matter of +course. And this was no ostentation for Alma's benefit. Evidently Sibyl +had indulged herself with the same freedom throughout her travels; for +she had brought back a museum of beautiful and curious things, which +must have cost a good deal. Perhaps for the first time in her life Alma +experienced a sense of indignation at the waste of money. She was +envious withal, which possibly helped to explain the other impulse. + +They returned in an hour's time. Sibyl then withdrew for a few minutes, +and reappeared in an exquisite tea-gown, which made her friend's frock, +though new and handsome, look something less than suitable to the +occasion. Alma, glancing about the room, spoke as if in pursuance of a +train of thought. + +'People _do_ make a lot of money out of bicycles, I think?' + +'I have heard so,' answered her hostess indifferently. 'Will you play me +something? The piano has been tuned; I should like to know if you think +it all right.' + +'I have quite given up playing the piano.' + +'Indeed? And the violin too?' + +'No, no; the violin is my instrument. Whose is that little water-colour, +Sibyl? I tried for just that effect of sun through mist not long ago.' + +'Oh yes, to be sure, you have gone in for water-colours; you told me in +a letter. I must see some of your things. Of course, I shall becoming +----' + +The door opened, and a small page, very smartly equipped, to Alma; she +had not as yet seen this functionary; but Mrs. announced Mrs. Herbert +Strangeways. The page was a surprise Strangeways drew her attention. A +lady of perhaps thirty-five, with keen, thin face, and an artificial +bloom on her hollow cheeks; rather overdressed, yet not to the point of +vulgarity; of figure very well proportioned, slim and lissom. Her voice +was a trifle hard, but pleasant; her manner cordial in excess. + +'So here you are, _chez vous_. Charming! Charming! The prettiest room I +have seen for a long time. Mrs. Rolfe? Oh, Mrs. Rolfe, the name put me out +for a moment; but I remember you perfectly, perfectly. It was at the +Wigrams'; you played the violin wonderfully!' + +Alma did not much care to be reminded of this. Mr. Wigram, one of her +father's co-directors, was lying at this moment in durance vile, and his +wife lived somewhere or other on charity. But Mrs. Strangeways uttered +the name without misgiving, and behaved as though nothing conceivable +could have afforded her more delight than to meet Alma again. It was her +habit to speak in superlatives, and to wear a countenance of +corresponding ecstasy. Any casual remark from either of the ladies she +received with a sort of rapture; her nerves seemed to be in a perpetual +thrill. If she referred to herself, it was always with depreciation, and +not at all the kind of depreciation which invites compliment, but a +tremulous self-belittlement, such as might be natural in a person who +had done something to be ashamed of, and held her place in society only +on sufferance. + +'You still play, of course?' she said to Mrs. Rolfe presently. 'I so hope +I may have the pleasure of hearing you again. I wonder whether I could +persuade you to come next Wednesday? We have a little house in +Porchester Terrace. Of course, I don't mean to ask you to play; I +shouldn't venture to. Just a few friends in the evening -- if you didn't +think it tiresome? I'll send you a card.' + +There entered a tall young man of consumptive features, accompanied by a +stout, florid woman, older than himself; and upon this couple followed +half-a-dozen miscellaneous callers, some of whom Alma knew. These old +acquaintances met her with a curiosity they hardly troubled to disguise; +she herself was reserved, and took no part in the general chatter. Mrs +Strangeways withdrew into a corner, as if wishing to escape observation. +When Mrs. Rolfe took a chair by her side, she beamed with gratitude, and +their gossip grew quite intimate. Alma could not understand why Sibyl +had stigmatised this woman as 'rapid' -- that is to say, 'fast'; she +gabbled, indeed, at a great rate, but revealed no startling habits of +life or thought, and seemed to have rather an inclination for childish +forms of amusement. Before they parted, Alma gave a promise that she +would go to Mrs. Strangeways 'at home' next Wednesday. + +'And your husband, if he would care to come. I should be so delighted to +know him. But perhaps he doesn't care about that kind of thing. I hate +to bore anyone -- don't you? But then, of course, you're never in danger +of doing it. So very, _very_ glad to have met you! And so exceedingly +kind of you to promise! -- so _very_ kind!' + +As Sibyl also was going to Porchester Terrace, they arranged to chaperon +each other and to start from Mrs. Rolfe's hotel. + +'It's no use making Harvey uncomfortable,' said Alma. 'He would go if I +asked him but sorely against the grain. He always detested 'at homes' -- +except when he came to admire _me_! And he likes to see me going about +independently.' + +'Does he?' said Sibyl, with an inquiring look. + +'Yes -- seriously. We do our best not to encumber each other. Don't you +think it's the best way?' + +'No doubt whatever.' + +Mrs. Carnaby smiled, and the smile grew to a laugh; but she would not +explain what she meant by it. + +On the Wednesday evening, they reached Mrs. Strangeways' house at ten +o'clock. Carriages and cabs made a queue up to the door, and figures +succeeded each other rapidly on the red cloth laid down across the +pavement. Alma was nervous. More than three years had passed since the +fatal evening when, all unconsciously, she said goodbye to social +splendours; from then till now she had taken part in no festivity. The +fact that her name was no longer Frothingham gave her some +encouragement; but she must expect to be recognised, perhaps to be +stared at. Well, and would it be so very disagreeable? An hour before, +the mirror had persuaded her that she need not shrink from people's +eyes; her dress defied criticism, and she had not to learn how to bear +herself with dignity. Sibyl was unusually lavish of compliments, and in +a matter such as this Sibyl's judgment had weight. As soon as she found +herself on the stairs, amid perfumes and brilliances, she breathed +freely; it was the old familiar atmosphere; her heart leaped with a +sudden joy, as in a paradise regained. + +Already the guests were very numerous, and they continued to arrive. The +drawing-rooms filled; a crowd of men smoked in the 'library' and the +billiard-room; women swarmed in passages and staircase. After welcoming +Mrs. Rolfe with the ardour of a bosom friend and the prostration of a +devotee, the hostess turned to the next comer with scarcely less +fervency. And Alma passed on, content for the present to be lost amid +thronging strangers. + +'Who are all these people?' she asked of Sibyl, who had moved along by +her side. + +'Nobodies, most of them, I should imagine. There's no need to stay very +long, you know. That's Mr. Strangeways, the little man with a red face +talking to that mountain of a woman in green. Mercy, what a dress! He's +coming this way; I'll introduce him to you.' + +The host had a jovial carriage and a bluff way of speaking, both +obviously affected. His eyes wandered as he talked, and never met anyone +else's with a steady look. Alma thought him offensively familiar, but he +did not inflict himself upon her for long. + +When the hostess began to go hither and thither, she pounced eagerly on +Mrs. Rolfe, and soon made her the centre of a group. Alma began to taste +the old delight of homage, though she perceived that her new +acquaintances were not of the world in which she had formerly shone. +About midnight, when she was a little tired of the crush, and thought of +going, there fell upon her ear a voice which startled and aroused her +like an unexpected grasp. On the instant she saw an open place in +Munich; the next, a lake and mountains. + +'I wasn't in town then. I got out of sorts, and ran away to a little +place I have on the Lake of Garda.' + +The speaker was immediately behind her. She all but turned her head, and +grew hot in the effort to command herself. Amid the emotions naturally +excited in her she was impressed by a quality in the voice, a refinement +of utterance, which at once distinguished it from that of the men with +whom she had been talking. It belonged to a higher social grade, if it +did not express a superiority of nature. For some moments she listened, +catching now and then a word; then other voices intervened. At length, +turning where she stood, she let her eyes range, expressionless, over +the faces near by. That which she sought was not discoverable, but at +the same moment the hostess came up to her. + +Mrs. Rolfe, do you know Mr. Cyrus Redgrave?' + +'Mr. Redgrave ----?' + +The confused, hesitating repetition of the name was taken by Mrs +Strangeways for a reply in the negative. + +'A charming man, and a great friend of mine -- oh, a very old friend. +Let me bring him.' + +She rustled away, and Mrs. Rolfe sank back on to the _causeuse_ from +which she had newly risen. Quickly the hostess returned, and, in the +track she made through crowded clusters of people who stood talking, +there followed a gentleman of easy carriage, with handsome features and +thin hair. He was looking for Alma, and as soon as his eyes perceived +her, they fell. Of what Mrs. Strangeways said, Alma heard not a syllable; +she bowed mechanically, clutching her fan as though in peril of a fall +and this the only thing within reach; she knew that Redgrave bent +solemnly, silently; and then, with sudden relief, she saw the hostess +retire. + +'I beg your pardon.' The voice was addressing her in a respectful +undertone. 'I had no choice. I did not feel justified in saying I knew +you.' + +'You were quite right,' she replied coldly, her fingers now relaxed upon +the fan. 'Mrs. Strangeways is a little impulsive; she gave me no +opportunity of preventing the introduction.' + +'Will you let me say, Mrs. Rolfe, that I am glad to have been presented +to you as a stranger? I should be happy indeed if our acquaintance might +begin anew.' + +It was polite in terms, but sounded to Alma very like the coolest +impertinence. She bent her head, ever so little. The second seat of the +_causeuse_ being unoccupied, Redgrave hereupon took possession of it. No +sooner had he done so than Alma rose, let a smile of indifference just +fall upon him, and lost herself amid the buzzing assembly. + +Ten minutes later, Redgrave and Mrs. Carnaby were lounging in these same +seats, conversing with perfect mutual intelligence. They had not met for +three years, but the interval signified very little in their lives, and +they resumed conversation practically at the point where it had broken +off in Mrs. Frothingham's drawing-room. A tactful question assured the +man of the world that Mrs. Carnaby knew nothing of certain passages at +Munich and Bregenz. + +'I'm afraid,' he added, 'Mrs. Rolfe has become a little reserved. +Natural, no doubt.' + +'She lives in a wild part of Wales,' Sibyl answered, smiling tolerantly. +'And her husband detests society.' + +'Indeed? Odd choice for her to have made, don't you think? -- And so +your Odyssey is over? We shall have some chance of seeing you again.' + +'But your own Odyssey is perpetually going on. Are you ever in town +except for a few weeks of the season?' + +'Oh, I go about very little now; I'm settling down. -- You never met my +sister, I think? She has a house at Wimbledon with a good-sized garden +-- sort of little park, in fact, -- and I have persuaded her to let me +build myself a bungalow among the trees.' + +'Splendid idea!' + +'Not bad, I think. One is free there; a member of the family whenever +one likes; domesticated; all that's respectable; and only a few steps +away, the bachelor snuggery, with all that's ----. No, no! I was _not_ +going to complete the antithesis, though by your smiling you seem to say +so.' + +'The suggestion was irresistible,' said Sibyl, with the composure, the +air of security, which always covered her excursions on to slippery +ground. + +'When the weather is good, I ask a few of my friends to come and sit +there in the shade. They may or may not be my sister's friends also; +that doesn't matter. I have a separate entrance from the road. -- But I +wish you knew Mrs. Fenimore. She lived a year or two at Stuttgart, for +her children to learn German. Her husband's in India. She tried it, but +couldn't stand the climate.' + +'And you really live in the bungalow?' inquired Mrs. Carnaby, +disregarding this information about Redgrave's sister. + +'Yes, it's my headquarters in England. Let me send you a card, will you, +when I have my next afternoon? It might amuse you, and I assure you it +_is_ perfectly respectable.' + +'How could I doubt it, if you invite me?' + +Alma drove home by herself in a hansom. She liked this disregard of +conventionalities; all the more because Harvey, who, of course, had sat +up for her, seemed a trifle anxious. Her spirits were exuberant; she +gave a merry, mocking account of the evening, but it included no mention +of Cyrus Redgrave. + +At the end of June her friends the Leaches moved from their old house in +Elgin Road to a new one out at Kingsbury-Neasden, and when the removal +was completed Alma went there to make a call, taking her husband. Harvey +had never been beyond Swiss Cottage on this extension of the +Metropolitan Railway; he looked with interest at the new districts +springing up towards Harrow, and talked of them with Mrs. Leach. A day or +two after, he travelled by himself to a greater distance on the same +line, making a survey of the country from Harrow to Aylesbury. At his +next meeting with Hugh Carnaby, which took place about the middle of +July, he threw out a suggestion that for anyone who wished to live +practically in London and yet away from its frenzy, the uplands towards +Buckinghamshire were convenient ground. + +'I wish you were thinking of it yourself,' replied Hugh. 'Your wife is +about the only woman Sibyl cares to see much of, and the only woman I +know that she'll get any good from.' + +The strong man did not look very cheerfully on the world just now, and +it was evident that he felt some sort of trouble with regard to his +wife. For her sake solely he had returned to England, where he was less +than ever at his ease. He wished Sibyl to live in her own way, grudged +her nothing, admired and cherished her with undiminished fervour; but in +Oxford and Cambridge Mansions it cost him a great effort to pretend to +be at home. The years of wandering had put him hopelessly out of touch +with what Sibyl called society. Little as he understood about +manufactures, or cared for the details of commerce, he preferred to stay +down at Coventry with his partner Mackintosh, living roughly, smoking +his pipe and drinking his whisky in the company of men who had at least +a savour of sturdy manhood. His days of sport were gone by; he was +risking the solid remnant of his capital; and if it vanished -- But of +that possibility he would not speak, even with Harvey Rolfe. As he +meditated, his teeth were set, his eyes darkened. And it appeared to +Harvey that the good fellow drank a little more whisky than was needful, +even in these warm days. + +'I want to see the little chap, my namesake,' he said. 'Why don't you +have him up here? Doesn't your wife feel she wants him?' + +'Alma will think more of him in a year or two,' Harvey replied. + +'Yes. I've noticed that women -- one sort of women -- don't care much +about babies nowadays. I dare say they're right. The fewer children +people have, the better. It's bad to see the poor little squalling brats +in the filth and smoke down yonder, and worse still in this damned +London. Great God! when there's so much of the world clean and sweet, +here we pack and swelter together, a million to the square mile! What +eternal fools we are!' + +Harvey growled his heartiest agreement. None the less, a day or two +after, he was holding a conversation with Alma which encouraged her +secret weariness of the clean and sweet places of the earth. They had +come home from a Richter concert, and Alma uttered a regret that she had +not her violin here. A certain _cadenza_ introduced by a certain player +into a certain violin solo did not please her; why, she could +extemporise a _cadenza_ far more in keeping with the spirit of the +piece. After listening, with small attention to the matter, but much to +the ardent speech and face of enthusiasm, Harvey made a quiet remark. + +'I want you to decide very soon what we are going to do.' + +'Going to do?' + +'About the future -- where we are to live.' + +Alma strummed lightly with her finger-tips upon the table, and smiled, +but did not look up. + +'Do you really think of making any change?' + +'I leave it entirely to you. You remember our last talk before we came +away. You have simply to ask yourself what your needs are. Be honest +with yourself and with me. Don't sacrifice life to a whim, one way or +the other. You have had plenty of time to think; you have known several +ways of life; you're old enough to understand yourself. Just make up +your mind, and act.' + +'But it's ridiculous, Harvey, to speak as if I had only myself to +consider.' + +'I don't want you to do so. But supposing that were your position, now, +after all your experience, where would you choose to live?' + +He constrained her to answer, and at length she spoke, with a girlish +diffidence which seemed to him very charming. + +'I like the concerts -- and I like to be near my musical friends -- and +I don't think it's at all necessary to give up one's rational way of +living just because one is in London instead of far away.' + +'Precisely. That means we ought to come back.' + +'Not if you do it unwillingly.' + +'I'll be frank in my turn. For Hughie's sake, I don't think we ought to +live in the town; but it's easy enough to find healthy places just +outside.' + +'I shouldn't wish to be actually in the town,' said Alma, her voice +tremulous with pleasure. 'You know where the Leaches are living?' + +'Yes. Or just a little farther away, on the higher ground. Very well, +let us regard _that_ as settled.' + +'But you, dear -- could you live there?' + +'Well enough. It's all the same to me if I have my books, and a field to +walk in -- and if you don't want me to see too many women.' + +Alma laughed gaily, and had done with semblance of hesitation. + +They began to search for a house, and in a week's time had found one, +newly built, which seemed to answer their requirements. It was at +Pinner, not many minutes by rail from Alma's friends at +Kingsbury-Neasden, and only about half an hour from Baker Street -- 'so +convenient for the concerts'. A new house might be damp, but the summer +months were hastening to dry it, and they would not enter into residence +before the end of autumn. 'We must go and enjoy our heather,' said Alma +brightly. The rent was twice what Harvey had been paying; there was no +stabling, but Alma agreed that they ought not to keep a horse, for +naturally there would be 'other expenses'. + +Other expenses, to be sure. But Harvey signed the three years' lease +without misgiving. A large surplus lay in hand after the 'simple life' +in Carnarvonshire, and his position was not that of men who have +extravagant wives. + + +CHAPTER 5 + + +The Leach family gave it to be understood by their friends that they had +moved out of town because of Mrs. Leach's health. Other explanations were +suspected; for the new establishment seemed to be on a more modest +footing than that in Elgin Road, and the odd arrangement whereby Mr +Leach came home only on Saturday could not be without significance. Mrs +Leach, it was true, suffered from some obscure affection of the nerves, +which throughout the whole of her married life had disabled her from +paying any continuous regard to domestic affairs; this debility had now +reached such a point that the unfortunate lady could do nothing but +collapse in chairs and loll on sofas. As her two daughters, though not +debilitated, had never dreamt of undertaking household management, all +such matters were left to a cook-housekeeper, changed every few months, +generally after a quarrel, wherein Mrs. Leach put forth, for an invalid, +very surprising energy. Mr. Leach, a solicitor, had no function in life +but to toil without pause for the support of his family in genteel +leisure; he was a mild man, dreading discord, and subservient to his +wife. For many years he had made an income of about L2000, every penny +of which, excepting a small insurance premium, had been absorbed by +expenses of the house. At the age of fifty, prematurely worn by +excessive labour, he was alarmed to find his income steadily +diminishing, with no corresponding diminution -- but rather the opposite +-- in the demands made upon him by wife and daughters. In a moment of +courage, prompted by desperation, he obtained the consent of Dora and +Gerda to this unwelcome change of abode. It caused so much +unpleasantness between himself and Mrs. Leach, that he was glad to fit up +a sleeping-room at his office and go home only once a week; whereby he +saved time, and had the opportunity of starving himself as well as of +working himself to death. + +Dora and Gerda, having grown up in such domestic circumstances, accepted +them with equanimity. When their father spoke nervously of retrenchment, +saying that he grew old and must save money to provide for their future, +they made no objection, but were as far as ever from perceiving the +sordid tragedy of his lot. Dora lived for her music; Gerda sang a +little, but was stronger on the social side, delighting in festivities +and open-air amusements. They were amiable and intelligent girls, and +would have been amazed had anyone charged them with selfishness; no less +if it had been suggested to them that they personally might rectify the +domestic disorder of which at times they were moved to complain. They +had no beauty, and knew it; neither had received an offer of marriage, +and they looked for nothing of the kind. That their dresses cost a great +deal, was taken as a matter of course; also that they should go abroad +when other people did, and have the best places at concert or theatre, +and be expansively 'at home'. With all sincerity they said of themselves +that they lived a quiet life. How could it be quieter? -- unless one +followed the example of Alma Rolfe; but Alma was quite an exceptional +person -- to be admired and liked, not to be imitated. + +Yet even Alma, it seemed, had got tired of her extraordinary freak. She +was back again within the circle of civilisation; or, as she put it in +her original, amusing way, 'on the outer edge of the whirlpool'. She had +a very nice little house, beautifully furnished; everyone knew Alma's +excellent taste. She came frequently to Kingsbury-Neasden, and ran up to +town at least as often as they (Dora and Gerda) did. Like them she found +it an annoyance to have to rush to the station before midnight; but, +being married, she could allow herself more freedom of movement than was +permissible to single young women, and having once missed the last +train, she simply went to a hotel where she was known, and quietly +returned to Pinner next morning. That Mrs. Rolfe had such complete +liberty and leisure seemed to them no subject for remark; being without +cares, she enjoyed life; a matter of course. And she was so very clever. +No wonder Mr. Rolfe (charming man) always had admiration in his eyes when +he looked at her. Some husbands (miserable churls) can see nothing in +their wives, and never think of encouraging what talent they may have. +But when Alma grew a little dissatisfied with her violin (a 'Vuillaume', +which poor Mr. Bennet Frothingham had given her in the days gone by), Mr +Rolfe did not hesitate to spend fifty pounds on an instrument more to +her liking; and the dear girl played on it divinely. + +There was no shadow of envy in Dora Leach. 'I don't play quite badly,' +she said to Alma. 'Goodness knows, I oughtn't to, after all the lessons +I've had and the pains I've given. But with you it's different, dear. +You know very well that, if you liked, you could become a professional, +and make a name. + +'I _might_ have done,' Alma admitted; 'but marriage put an end to that. +You have too much sense to think I mean that I repent it.' + +'I don't see why marriage should put an end to it,' urged Dora. 'I'm +quite sure your husband would be very proud if you came out and had a +great success.' + +'But if I came out and made a fiasco?' + +'You wouldn't.' + +That was in the summer of 1890, when the Rolfes had been living at +Pinner for eight months. The new violin (new to her, old and mellow in +itself) had inspired Alma to joyous exertions. Again she took lessons +from Herr Wilenski, who was sparing of compliment, but, by the mere fact +of receiving her at all, showed his good opinion. And many other people +encouraged her in a fine conceit of herself. Mrs. Strangeways called her +'an unrecognised genius', and worshipped at her feet. To be sure, one +did not pay much attention to Mrs. Strangeways, but it is sweet to hear +such phrases, and twice already, though against her better judgment, +Alma had consented to play at that lady's house. + +On both these occasions Cyrus Redgrave was present. Choosing his moment, +he approached her, looked in her face with a certain timidity to which +Alma was not insensible, and spoke as an ordinary acquaintance. There +was no helping it; the man had been formally introduced, and, as he +suggested, they had begun to know each other afresh. Alma liked to +remember how severely she had treated him at that first encounter; +perhaps that was enough for dignity. Mr. Redgrave would hardly forget +himself again. For the rest, she could not pretend, within herself, to +dislike him; and if he paid homage to her beauty, to her social charm, +to her musical gifts (all of which things Alma recognised and +tabulated), it might be only just to let him make amends for something +known to both of them. The insult Alma was far from forgiving. But when +she had talked twice with Redgrave distantly, as a stranger to all his +affairs -- it began to steal upon her mind that there would be a sweetly +subtle satisfaction in allowing the man to imagine that her coldness was +not quite what it seemed; that so, perchance, he might be drawn on and +become enslaved. She had never been able to congratulate herself on a +conquest of Cyrus Redgrave. The memory of Bregenz could still, at +moments, bring the blood to her face; for it was a memory of cool, +calculating outrage, not of passion that had broken bounds. To subdue +the man in good earnest would be another thing, and a peculiarly +delicious morsel of revenge. Was it possible? Not long ago she would +have scoffed at the thought, deeming Redgrave incapable of love in any +shape. But her mind was changing in an atmosphere of pleasure and +flattery, and under the influence of talk such as she heard in this +house and one or two others like it. + +To her husband, she represented Mrs. Strangeways as a very pleasant woman +with a passion for all the arts; formerly wife of a painter, and now +married to a wealthy man who shared her tastes. This satisfied Harvey; +but Alma had not deceived herself, and could not be quite comfortable +with Mrs. Strangeways. She no longer puzzled over the flow of guests to +the house in Porchester Terrace, having discovered not only that most of +these were people, as Sibyl said, of no account, who had few houses open +to them, but that several would not be admitted to any circle of +scrupulous respectability. The fact was that Mrs. Strangeways largely +entertained the _demi-monde_, to use in its true sense a term +persistently misapplied. Not impossibly she thought the daughter of +Bennet Frothingham might, from one point of view, be included among such +persons; on the other hand, her warmth proved that she regarded Mrs +Rolfe as a social acquisition, if indeed she was not genuinely attracted +to her. What circumstances had led, or forced, Mrs. Strangeways into this +peculiar position, Alma could not discover; it might be simply one +result of an unfortunate marriage, for undoubtedly there was something +sinister in the husband, a coarseness varnished with sham geniality, +which made Alma dislike to be near him. In the woman herself she found +little that was objectionable; her foolish effusiveness, and her +artificial complexion, seemed to indicate merely a weak character; at +times her talk was interesting, and she knew many people of a class +superior to that represented in her drawing-room. But for the +illumination she had received, Alma would have felt surprised at meeting +Cyrus Redgrave in these assemblies; formerly she had thought of him as +belonging to a sphere somewhat above her own, a quasi-aristocratic +world, in which Sibyl Carnaby, the daughter of Mrs. Ascott Larkfield, +also moved by right of birth and breeding. Sibyl, however, was not above +accepting Mrs. Strangeways' invitations, though she continued to speak of +her slightingly; and Redgrave had known the lady for a long time -- +even, it appeared, before her first marriage. + +In a year's time Alma had made and renewed a large number of +acquaintances. She spoke of herself as living 'in the country', and +still professed a dislike of mere gaiety, a resolve to maintain her +simple, serious mode of existence. At half-an-hour's journey from town, +she was protected against the time-wasting intrusion of five-o'clock +babblers; a luncheon or two in the season, and a modest dinner at long +intervals, would discharge her social liabilities; and she had the +precious advantage of being able to use London for all legitimate +purposes, without danger of being drawn into the vortex of its idle +temptations. Once more she was working earnestly at her music -- much, +it seemed, to Harvey's satisfaction. He wanted her to go on also with +water-colours, but she pointed out to him that one art was all she had +time for. + +'It's all very well for mere amateurs to take up half-a-dozen things. I +aim at more than that. You would like me, wouldn't you, to become really +_something_ as a violinist?' + +Harvey assented. + +'And you understand,' she pursued, regarding him with her bright smile, +'that the life of an artist can't be quite like that of other women?' + +'Of course, I understand it. You know I don't wish to put the least +restraint upon you.' + +'My one fear was, that you might think I went about rather too much -- +didn't pay enough attention to home ----' + +'We manage pretty well, I think. You needn't have any such fear.' + +'Of course, when Hughie gets older -- when I can really begin to teach +him ----' + +The child was now approaching the close of his third year, and, in +Harvey's opinion, needed more than the attention of an ordinary +nursemaid. They had recently engaged a nursery-governess, her name +Pauline Smith; a girl of fair education and gentle breeding, who lived +as a member of the family. It appeared to Rolfe that Hughie was quite +old enough to benefit by his mother's guidance and companionship; but he +had left himself no ground for objection to Alma's ordering of her life. +The Welsh servant, Ruth, still remained with them, acting to a great +extent as housekeeper, and having under her a maid and a boy. Ruth, a +trustworthy woman, was so well paid that they had not to fear her +desertion. Regularity and comfort prevailed to a much greater extent +than might have been looked for under the circumstances. Expenditure had +of course greatly increased, and now touched the limit of Harvey's +ordinary income; but this was a matter which did not immediately concern +Mrs. Rolfe. For domestic and private purposes she had a bank-account of +her own; an arrangement made on their removal to Pinner, when Harvey one +morning handed her a pass-book and a cheque-book, remarking that she +would find to her credit a couple of hundred pounds. Alma pretended to +think this unnecessary, but her countenance betrayed pleasure. When he +thought the fund must be nearly exhausted, he made a new payment to the +account, without saying anything; and Alma preserved an equally discreet +silence. + +One of her new acquaintances was Mrs. Rayner Mann, a lady who desired to +be known as the patroness of young people aiming at success on the stage +or as musicians. Many stories were told of Mrs. Mann's generosity to +struggling artists, and her house at Putney swarmed with the strangest +mingling of people, some undoubtedly in society others no less decidedly +out of it. Here Alma encountered Felix Dymes, whose reputation and +prosperity had much advanced since their meeting at Munich. The comic +opera of which he then spoke had been brought out at a provincial +theatre with considerable success, and was shortly to be produced in +London; his latest songs, 'The Light of Home', and 'Where the Willow +Dips', had caught the ear of the multitude. Alma ridiculed these +compositions, mocking at the sentimentalism of the words, and declaring +that the airs were mere popular tinkle; but people not inferior to her +in judgment liked the music, which certainly had a sweetness and pathos +not easy to resist. The wonder was how such a man as Felix Dymes could +give birth to such tender melody. The vivacity of his greeting when of a +sudden he recognised Alma, contrasted markedly with Cyrus Redgrave's +ill-concealed embarrassment in the like situation. Dymes had an easy +conscience, and in the chat that followed he went so far as to joke +about his ill-luck some four years ago. + +'You didn't think much of me. But I'm going ahead, you know. You have to +admit I'm going ahead.' + +Prosperity was manifest in his look and voice. He had made no advance in +refinement, and evidently thought himself above the necessity of +affecting suave manners; his features seemed to grow even coarser; his +self-assertion was persistent to the point of grotesque conceit. + +'Is your husband musical?' he asked. + +'Not particularly.' + +'Well, there's something to be said for that. One doesn't always want to +be talking shop. -- I can't help looking at you; you've altered in a +queer sort of way. You were awfully fetching, you know, in those days.' + +'You were awfully impertinent,' replied Alma, with a laugh. 'And I don't +see that you've altered at all in that respect.' + +'Do you play still?' + +'A good deal better than I used to.' + +'Really? If it's true, why don't you come out? I always believed in you +-- I did really. There's no better proof of it than what I said at +Munich; you were the only girl that could have brought me to that, you +know; it was quite against my principles. Have you heard of Ada +Wellington? -- a girl I'm going to bring out next spring -- a pianist; +and she'll make a hit. I should like you to know her.' + +'How do you mean you are going to bring her out?' + +'Do all the business for her, you know; run the show. Not as a +speculation; I don't want to make anything out of it, more than +expenses. I know her 'people; they're very badly off, and I shall be +glad if I can do them a good turn. There's nothing between us; just +friends, that's all. If ever you come out, put the business into my +hands, will you?' + +'I won't promise,' replied Alma, 'until I see how you succeed with Miss +Wellington.' + +'Shall it be an understanding? If I float Ada, you'll let me have a try +with you?' + +'We'll talk of it, Mr. Dymes, when you have learnt the elements of good +manners.' + +She nodded in a friendly way, and left him. + +Their next meeting was at a music-shop, where Dymes came in whilst Alma +was making purchases. The composer, clad in a heavy fur overcoat, +entered humming a tune loudly, by way of self-advertisement; he was at +home here, for the proprietors of the business published his songs. On +perceiving Alma, he dropped his blustering air, bowed with exaggerated +politeness, and professed himself overjoyed. + +'I looked in just to try over a thing I've got in my head. Do come and +listen to it -- will you? It would be so kind of you to give me your +opinion.' + +He pointed to a room at the back, visible between plush curtains. Alma, +wishing to refuse, murmured that she had very little time; but Dymes +prevailed, and she followed him. They passed into the pleasant warmth of +a blazing fire. The musician flung off his coat, and at once sat down at +the grand piano, open for the convenience of such favoured persons as +himself; whilst Alma seated herself in an easy-chair, which she had +pushed forward so as to allow of her being seen from the shop. After +some preliminary jingling, Dymes played an air which the listener could +not but like; a dainty, tripping melody, fit for a fairy song, with +strange little echoes as of laughter, and a half-feigned sadness in the +close. With hands suspended, Dymes turned to see the effect he had +produced. + +'Is that your own?' Alma asked. + +'I'm under that impression. Rather good, I think -- don't you?' + +'Very pretty.' + +She hardly believed his assurance, so strong was the contrast between +that lightsome lyric and the coarse vanity of the man himself. He played +it again, and she liked it still better, uttering a more decided word of +praise. + +'Dicky must write me patter for that!' Dymes exclaimed, when he saw that +she smiled with pleasure. 'You don't know Dicky Wellington? A cousin of +Ada's. By-the-bye, her concert will be at the end of May -- Prince's +Hall, most likely. You shall have a ticket.' + +'Very kind of you.' + +'You know that Mrs. Rayner Mann is giving a charity concert next week?' + +'I have been asked to take part in it,' said Alma quietly. + +'I'm awfully glad of that!' shouted Dymes. 'So I shall hear you again. +The fact is, you know, I don't think of you as an amateur. I can't stand +amateurs, except one or two. I've got it into my head that you've been +one of us, and retired. Queer thing, isn't it?' + +Alma enjoyed the flattery. Comfortable in her chair, she showed no +disposition to move. Dymes asked her what she thought of playing, and +she told him, Hauser's 'Rhapsodie Hongroise'. + +'I'm always being bored by amateurs,' he resumed. 'A silly woman who +belongs to a Symphony Society asked me yesterday to go and hear her play +in the C minor! I begged to be told what harm I had ever done her, and +she said I was very rude. But I always am to people of that sort; I +can't help it. Another of them asked me to tell her of a _nice_ piece +for the piano -- a really nice piece. At once I suggested Chopin's A +flat major Polonaise. Do you know it?' + +'Of course I do. Could you play it yourself?' + +'I? Of course not. You don't imagine that because one is a successful +composer he must be a brilliant virtuoso. I hardly ever touch a musical +instrument. Wagner was a very poor player, and Berlioz simply couldn't +play at all. I'm a musical dreamer. Do you know that I literally dreamt +"The Light of Home"? Now, that's a proof of genius.' + +Alma laughed. + +'But it is! Do you know how most songs get made nowadays? There's Sykes' +"Come when the Dawn" -- you remember it? I happen to know all about +that. A fellow about town somehow got hold of an idea for a melody; he +didn't know a note, but he whistled it to Sykes, and Sykes dotted it +down. Now, Sykes knows no more of harmony than a broomstick, so he got +another man to harmonise it, and then a fourth fellow wrote an +orchestral accompaniment. That's the kind of thing -- division of labour +in art.' + +'You're quite sure you do everything for yourself?' said Alma +mischievously, rising at length. + +'I forgive you, because you're really one of us -- you are, you know. +You haven't the look of an amateur. Now, when you've gone out, I'll ask +Sammy, behind the counter there, who he thinks you are, and I'll give +Mrs. Rayner Mann a guinea for her charity if he doesn't take you for a +professional musician.' + +'You will be good enough, Mr. Dymes,' said Alma severely, 'not to speak +of me at all to anyone behind a counter.' + +'It was only a joke. Of course, I shouldn't have done anything of the +kind. Goodbye; shall see you at Putney.' + +For all that, no sooner was Mrs. Rolfe gone than Dymes did talk of her +with the salesman, and in a way peculiar to his species, managing, with +leers and half-phrases, to suggest not only that the lady was a +performer of distinction, but that, like women in general, she had found +his genius and his person fatally attractive. Dymes had the little +weaknesses of the artistic temperament. + +As usual, Mrs. Rayner Mann's concert was well attended, and Alma's violin +solo, though an audience more critical than she had yet faced made her +very nervous to begin with, received much applause. Felix Dymes, not +being able to get a seat at her side, stood behind her, and whispered +his admiration. + +'You've gone ahead tremendously. That isn't amateur playing. All the +others are not fit to be heard in the same day. Really, you know, you +ought to think of coming out.' + +Many other persons were only less complimentary, and one, Mrs +Strangeways, was even more so; she exhausted herself in terms of glowing +eulogy. At the end of the concert this lady drew Alma apart. + +'Dear Mrs. Rolfe, I wonder whether I could ask you to do me a kindness? +Are you in any hurry to get home?' + +It was six o'clock, on an evening of January. Delighted with her +success, Alma felt very much like a young man whose exuberant spirits +urge him to 'make a night of it'. She declared that she was in no hurry +at all, and would be only too glad to do Mrs. Strangeways any kindness in +her power. + +'It will sound rather odd to you,' pursued the lady in a low voice, 'but +I would rather trust you than anyone else. You know that Mr. Redgrave and +I are very old friends -- such old friends that we are really almost +like brother and sister.' + +Alma nodded. + +'You've heard us speak of his bungalow at Wimbledon. Just now he is in +Paris, and he happens to want a portrait, a photograph, out of an album +in the bungalow. Naturally he would have asked his sister to look for it +and send it, but Mrs. Fenimore is also away from home; so he has written +to me, and begged me to do him the kindness. I know exactly where the +photo is to be looked for, and all I have to do is to drive over to +Wimbledon, and a servant will be waiting to admit me. Now, you will +think it childish, but I really don't like to go alone. Though Mr +Redgrave and I are such great friends, of course I have only been to the +bungalow when he had people there -- and -- of course it's very foolish +at my age -- but I'm sure you understand me ----' + +'You mean you would like me to go with you?' said Alma, with uncertain +voice. + +'Dare I ask it, dear Mrs. Rolfe? There will be _no_ one but the servant, +who is told to expect a friend of her master's. I am _very_ foolish, but +one cannot be too careful, you know, and with _you_ I shall feel +everything so simple and natural and straightforward. I'm sure you +understand me.' + +'Certainly,' faltered Alma. 'Yes -- I will go ----' + +'Oh, how sweet of you, dear! Need I say that I should never breathe a +word to Mr. Redgrave? He will think I went alone -- as of course I very +well might ----' + +'But -- if the servant should mention to him ----?' + +'My dear, keep your fall down. And then it is perfectly certain he will +never ask a question. He thinks it such a trivial matter ----' + +Alma did not entertain the least doubt of her friend's veracity, and the +desire to have a companion on such an expedition seemed to her natural +enough; yet she felt so uneasy at the thought of what she had consented +to do, that even whilst descending the stairs she all but stopped and +begged to be excused. The thought of stealing into Redgrave's bachelor +home, even with Mrs. Strangeways, startled and offended her self-respect; +it seemed an immodesty. She had never been invited to the bungalow; +though Mrs. Carnaby had received and accepted such an invitation for an +afternoon in the summer, when Mrs. Strangeways did the honours. Redgrave +was now scrupulously respectful; he would not presume so far on their +revived acquaintance as to ask her to Wimbledon. For this very reason -- +and for others -- she had a curiosity about the bungalow. Its exotic +name affected her imagination; as did the knowledge that Cyrus Redgrave, +whom she knew so particularly well, had built it for his retreat, his +privacy. Curiosity and fear of offending Mrs. Strangeways overcame her +serious reluctance. On entering the carriage she blushed hotly. It was +the first time in her life that she had acted with deliberate disregard +of grave moral compunction, and conscience revenged itself by lowering +her in her own eyes. + +Mrs. Strangeways talked all the way, but not once of Redgrave; her theme +was the excellence of Alma's playing, which, she declared, had moved +everyone with wonder and delight. + +'Several people took it for granted that you were a professional +violinist. I heard one man saying, "How is it I don't know her name?" Of +course, your playing in an amateur is altogether exceptional. Did it +ever occur to you to come forward professionally?' + +'I thought of it once, before my marriage.' + +'Ah! you really did? I'm not at all surprised. Would Mr. Rolfe look with +disapproval ----?' + +'I hardly know,' replied Alma, who was not mistress of herself, and paid +little attention to what she was saying. 'I dare say he wouldn't mind +much, one way or another.' + +'Indeed?' + +The intimate significance of this word warned Alma that she had spoken +too carelessly. She hastened to add that, of course, in such a matter, +her husband's wish would be final, and that she had never thought of +seeking his opinion on the subject. + +'If ever you _should_ take that step, my dear, it will mean a great +triumph for you -- oh! a great triumph! And there is room just now for a +lady violinist -- don't you think? One has to take into account other +things besides mastery of the instrument; with the public naturally, a +beautiful face and a perfect figure ----' + +This was too much even for Alma's greediness of flattery; she +interrupted the smooth, warm adulation with impatient protest and told +herself -- though she did not quite know the reason -- that after that +day she would see less of Mrs. Strangeways. + +The carriage stopped. Glancing to either side, Alma saw that they were +in a country road, its darkness broken at this spot by the rays of two +gas-lamps which flanked a gateway. The footman had alighted; the gate +was thrown open; the carriage passed through on to a gravel drive. Her +nerves strung almost beyond endurance, and even now seeking courage to +refuse to enter the house, Alma felt the vehicle turn on a sharp curve, +and stop. + +'We shall not be more than a minute,' said Mrs. Strangeways, just above +her breath, as though she spoke with effort. + +Involuntarily, Alma laid a hand on her arm + +'I will -- wait for you here -- please ----' + +'But, dear, your promise! Oh, you wouldn't fail me?' + +The carriage door had opened; the footman stood beside it. Scarce +knowing what she did, Alma stepped out after her companion, and in the +same moment found a glow of light poured suddenly about her; it came +from the entrance-hall of a house, where a female servant had presented +herself. A house of unusual construction, with pillars and a veranda; +nothing more was observable by her dazzled and confused senses. Mrs +Strangeways said something to the servant; they entered, crossed a floor +of smooth tiles, under electric light ruby-coloured by glass shades, and +were led into a room illumined only by a fire until the servant turned +on a soft radiance like that in the hall. + +Mrs. Strangeways glanced about her as if surprised. + +'You are riot expecting Mr. Redgrave?' she said quickly. + +'No, madam. We always have fires against the damp.' + +Thereupon the woman withdrew, closing the door, and Mrs. Strangeways, who +was very pale save for her rouge spots, said in a low tone of great +relief ---- + +'I began to fear there might be some mistake. Put up your veil for a +moment, dear, and glance at the pictures. Every one has cost a small +fortune. Oh, he is immensely rich -- and knows so well what to buy!' + + +CHAPTER 6 + + +Alma's agitation did not permit her to examine details. The interior of +Redgrave's house was very much what she had imagined; its atmosphere of +luxurious refinement, its colour, perfume, warmth, at once allured and +alarmed her. She wished to indulge her senses, and linger till she had +seen everything; she wished to turn at once and escape. Mrs. Strangeways, +meanwhile, seemed to be looking for the album of which she had spoken, +moving hither and thither, with a frequent pause as of one who listens, +or a glance towards the door. + +'You won't be long?' said Alma, turning abruptly to her. + +'It's my silly nervousness, dear. I thought I remembered perfectly where +the album lay. How foolish of me! I quite tremble -- anyone would think +we were burglars.' + +She laughed, and stood looking about the room. + +'Is that it?' asked Alma, pointing to a volume on a table near her. + +'Yes! -- no -- I'm not sure.' + +An album it was; Mrs. Strangeways unclasped it, and turned over a few +pages with quivering hand. + +'No, I thought not. It's a smaller one. Oh, what a good photo of Mrs +Carnaby! Have you seen this one?' + +Alma stepped forward to look, strangely startled by the name of her +friend; it was as though Sibyl herself had suddenly entered the room and +found her here. The photograph she already knew; but its eyes seemed to +regard her with the very look of life, and at once she drew back. + +'Do find the right one, Mrs. Strangeways,' she spoke imploringly. 'It +must be -- What bell was that?' + +An electric bell had rung within the house; it still trembled in her +ears, and she turned sick with fright. Mrs. Strangeways, flushing red, +stammered a reassurance. + +'There -- here is the right one -- in a minute ----' + +The door opened. As she saw it move, a dreadful certainty of what was +about to happen checked Alma's breath, and a sound like a sob escaped +her; then she was looking straight into the eyes of Cyrus Redgrave. He, +wearing an ulster and with a travelling-cap in his hand, seemed not to +recognise her, but turned his look upon her companion, and spoke with +mirthful friendliness. + +'What! I have caught you, Mrs. Strangeways? Police! Oh, I am so sorry I +didn't send you a wire. I thought you would come tomorrow, or the day +after. How very kind of you to take this trouble immediately. I had to +run over at a moment's notice. -- Mrs. Rolfe! Forgive me; for the moment +I didn't know you, coming out of the darkness. So glad to see you.' + +He had shaken hands with both of them, behaving as though Mrs. Rolfe's +presence were the most natural thing in the world. But Alma's strength +failed her; she trembled towards the nearest chair, and sank upon it. +Mrs. Strangeways, who had watched her with anxiety, took a step to her +side, speaking hurriedly. + +'Mr. Redgrave, I took the liberty to use your house as if it were my own. +Mrs. Rolfe has over-tired, over-excited herself. She has been playing +this afternoon at a concert at Mrs. Rayner Mann's. We were to drive back +together, and came this way that I might call here -- for the photo. But +Mrs. Rolfe became faint -- after her exertions ----' + +Redgrave surpassed himself in graceful courtesy. How could Mrs +Strangeways dream of offering excuses? Why had she not called for tea -- +or anything? He would give orders at once, and the ladies would permit +him to get rid of his travelling attire, whilst they rested. He was +turning to leave the room when Alma rose and commanded her voice. + +'I am perfectly well again -- thank you so much, Mr. Redgrave -- indeed I +mustn't stay ----' + +With admirable suavity Redgrave overcame her desire to be gone. +Pleading, he passed playfully from English into French, of which he had +a perfect command; then, in his own language, declared that French alone +permitted one to make a request without importunity, yet with adequate +fervour. Alma again seated herself. As she did so, her host and Mrs +Strangeways exchanged a swift glance of mutual intelligence. + +'How can I hope you will forgive me?' the lady murmured at Alma's ear as +soon as they were alone. + +'It's very annoying, and there's nothing more to be said,' was the cold +reply. + +'But it isn't of the least importance -- do believe me. We are such old +friends. And no one can ever know -- though it wouldn't matter if all +the world did.' + +'I dare say not. But, please, let our stay be as short as possible.' + +'We will go, dear, as soon as ever we have had a cup of tea. I am _so_ +sorry; it was all my foolishness.' + +The tea was brought, and Mrs. Strangeways, her nervousness having quite +passed away, began to talk as if she were in her own drawing-room. Alma, +too, had recovered control of herself, held the teacup in an all but +steady hand, and examined the room at her leisure. After ten minutes' +absence, Redgrave rejoined them, now in ordinary dress; his face warm +from rapid ablution, and his thin hair delicately disposed. He began +talking in a bright, chatty vein. So Mrs. Rolfe had been playing at a +concert; how he regretted not having been there! What had she played? +Then, leaning forward with an air of kindness that verged on tenderness +---- + +'I am sure it must be very exhausting to the nerves; you have so +undeniably the glow, the fervour, of a true artist; it is inspiring to +watch you as you play, no less than to hear you. You do feel better +now?' + +Alma replied with civility, but did not meet his look. She refused +another cup of tea, and glanced so meaningly at her friend that in a few +moments Mrs. Strangeways rose. + +'You won't leave me yet to my solitude?' exclaimed Redgrave. With a sigh +he yielded to the inevitable, inquired gently once more whether Mrs +Rolfe felt quite restored, and again overwhelmed Mrs. Strangeways with +thanks. Still the ladies had to wait a few minutes for their carriage, +which, at Redgrave's direction, had made a long detour in the adjacent +roads; and during this delay, as if the prospect of release inspirited +her, Alma spoke a few words in a more natural tone. Redgrave had asked +what public concerts she usually attended. + +'None regularly,' was her reply. 'I should often go on Saturdays to the +Crystal Palace, if it were not so far for me. I want to get there, if +possible, on Saturday week, to hear Sterndale Bennett's new concerto.' + +'Ah, I should like to hear that!' said Redgrave. 'We may perhaps see +each other.' + +This time she did not refuse to encounter his look, and the smile with +which she answered it was so peculiarly expressive of a self-confident +disdain that he could scarcely take his eyes from her. Cyrus Redgrave +knew as well as most men the signals of challenge on a woman's features; +at a recent meeting he had detected something of the sort in Alma's +behaviour to him, and at this moment her spirit could not be mistaken. +Quite needlessly she had told him where he might find her, if he chose. +This was a great step. To be defied so daringly meant to him no small +encouragement. + +'It's fortunate,' said Alma, as the carriage bore her away, 'that we had +this adventure with a _gentleman_.' + +The remark sounded surprising to Mrs. Strangeways. + +'I'm so glad you have quite got over your annoyance, dear,' she replied. + +'It was as bad for you as for me, under the circumstances. But I'm sure +Mr. Redgrave won't give it another thought.' + +And Alma chatted very pleasantly all the way back to town, where she +dined with Mrs. Strangeways. At eleven o'clock she reached home. Her +husband, who was recovering from a sore throat, sat pipeless and in no +very cheerful mood by the library fire; but the sight of Alma's radiant +countenance had its wonted effect upon him; he stretched his arms, as if +to rouse himself from a long fit of reverie, and welcomed her in a voice +that was a little husky. + +'Well, how did it go?' + +'Not badly, I think. And how have you been getting on, poor old boy?' + +'So so; swearing a little because I couldn't smoke. But Hughie has a +cold tonight; caught mine, I dare say, confound it! Miss Smith took +counsel with me about it, and we doctored him a little.' + +'Poor dear little man! I wish I had been back in time to see him. But +there was no getting away -- had to stay to dinner ----' + +Alma had not the habit of telling falsehoods to her husband, but she did +it remarkably well -- even better, perhaps, than when she deceived her +German friend, Fraulein Steinfeld, in the matter of Cyrus Redgrave's +proposal; the years had matured her, endowing her with superior +self-possession, and a finish of style in dealing with these little +difficulties. She was unwilling to say that she had dined in Porchester +Terrace, for Harvey entertained something of a prejudice against that +household. His remoteness nowadays from the world in which Alma amused +herself made it quite safe to venture on a trifling misstatement. + +'I have a note from Carnaby,' said Rolfe. 'He wants to see me in town +tomorrow. Says he has good news -- "devilish good news", to be accurate. +I wonder what it is.' + +'The lawsuit won, perhaps.' + +'Afraid not; that'll take a few more years. Odd thing, I have another +letter -- from Cecil Morphew, and he, too, says that he has something +hopeful to tell me about.' + +Alma clapped her hands, an unusual expression of joy for her. 'We are +cheering up all round!' she exclaimed. 'Now, if only _you_ could light +on something fortunate.' + +He gave her a quick look. + +'What do you mean by that?' + +'Only that you haven't seemed in very good spirits lately.' + +'Much as usual, I think. -- Many people at Putney?' + +'About a hundred and twenty. Compliments showered on me; I do so wish +you could have heard them. Somebody told me that some man asked her how +it was he didn't know my name -- he took me for a professional +violinist.' + +'Well, no doubt you are as good as many of them.' + +'You really think that?' said Alma, pulling her chair a little nearer to +the fire and looking eagerly at him. + +'Why shouldn't you be? You have the same opportunities, and make all +possible use of them.' + +Alma was silent for a few ticks of the clock. Once, and a second time, +she stole a glance at Harvey's face; then grasping with each hand the +arms of her chair, and seeming to string herself for an effort, she +spoke in a half-jesting tone. + +'What should you say if I proposed to come out -- to _be_ a +professional?' + +Harvey's eyes turned slowly upon her; he read her face with curiosity, +and did not smile. + +'Do you mean you have thought of it?' + +'To tell you the truth, it is so often put into my head by other people. +I am constantly being asked why I'm content to remain an amateur.' + +'By professional musicians?' + +'All sorts of people.' + +'It reminds me of something. You know I don't interfere; I don't pretend +to have you in surveillance, and don't wish to begin it. But are you +quite sure that you are making friends in the best class that is open to +you?' + +Alma's smile died away. For a moment she recovered the face of years +gone by; a look which put Harvey in mind of Mrs. Frothingham's little +drawing-room at Swiss Cottage, where more than once Alma had gazed at +him with a lofty coldness which concealed resentment. That expression +could still make him shrink a little and feel uncomfortable. But it +quickly faded, giving place to a look of perfectly amiable protest. + +'My dear Harvey, what has caused you to doubt it?' + +'I merely asked the question. Perhaps it occurred to me that you were +not exactly in your place among people who talk to you in that way.' + +'You must allow for my exaggeration,' said Alma softly. 'One or two have +said it -- just people who know most about music. And there's a _way_ of +putting things.' + +'Was Mrs. Carnaby there today?' + +'No.' + +'You don't see her very often now?' + +'Perhaps not _quite_ so often. I suppose the reason is that I am more +drawn to the people who care about music. Sibyl really isn't musical -- +though, of course, I like her as much as ever. Then -- the truth is, she +seems to have grown rather extravagant, and I simply don't understand +how she can keep up such a life -- if it's true that her husband is only +losing money. Last time I was with her I couldn't help thinking that she +ought to -- to deny herself rather more. It's habit, I suppose.' + +Harvey nodded -- twice, thrice; and kept a grave countenance. + +'And you don't care to see much of Mrs. Abbott?' he rather let fall than +spoke. + +'Well, you know, dear, I don't mean to be at all disagreeable, but we +have so little in common. Isn't it so? I am sure Mrs. Abbott isn't +anxious for my society.' + +Again Rolfe sat silent, and again Alma stole glances at him. + +'Shall I tell you something I have in mind?' he said at length, with +deliberation. 'Hughie, you know, is three years old. Pauline does very +well with him, but it is time that he had companions -- other children. +In half a year or so he might go to a kindergarten, and' -- he made an +instant's pause -- 'I know only of one which would be really good for +him. I think he will have to go to Mrs. Abbott.' + +Their eyes met, and the speaker's were steadily fixed. + +'But the distance?' objected Alma. + +'Yes. If we want to do that, we must go to Gunnersbury.' + +Alma's look fell. She tapped with her foot and meditated, slightly +frowning. But, before Harvey spoke again, the muscles of her face +relaxed, and she turned to him with a smile, as though some reflection +had brought relief. + +'You wouldn't mind the bother of moving?' + +'What is that compared with Hughie's advantage? And if one lives in +London, it's in the nature of things to change houses once a year or +so.' + +'But we don't live in London!' returned Alma, with a laugh. + +'Much the same thing. At Gunnersbury you would be nearer to everything, +you know.' + +'Then you would send away Pauline?' + +Harvey made a restless movement, and gave a husky cough. + +'Well, I don't know. You see, Hughie would be with Mrs. Abbott only a few +hours each day. Who is to look after the little man at other times? I +suppose I can't very well undertake it myself -- though I'm glad to see +as much of him as possible; and I won't let him be with a servant. So +----' + +Alma was gazing at the fire, and seemed to give only a divided attention +to what her husband said. Her eyes grew wide; their vision, certainly, +was of nothing that disturbed or disheartened her. + +'You have given me two things to think about, Harvey. Will you reflect +on the _one_ that I suggested?' + +'Then you meant it seriously?' + +'I meant that I should like to have your serious opinion about it. Only +we won't talk now. I am very tired, and you, I'm sure, oughtn't to sit +late with your bad throat. I promise to consider _both_ the things you +mentioned.' + +She held her hands to him charmingly, and kissed his cheek as she said +goodnight. + +Harvey lingered for another hour, and -- of all people in the world -- +somehow found himself thinking of Buncombe. Buncombe, his landlord in +the big dirty house by Royal Oak. What had become of Buncombe? It would +be amusing, some day to look at the old house and see if Buncombe still +lived there. + + +CHAPTER 7 + + +They never talked about money. Alma took it for granted that Harvey +would not allow their expenditure to outrun his income, and therewith +kept her mind at rest. Rolfe had not thought it necessary to mention +that he derived about three hundred pounds from debenture stock which +was redeemable, and that the date of redemption fell early in this +present year, 1891. He himself had all along scarcely regarded the +matter. When the stock became his, 1891 seemed very remote; and on +settling in North Wales he felt financially so secure that the question +of reinvestment might well be left for consideration till it was pressed +upon him. + +As now it was. He could no longer disregard percentages; he wanted every +penny that his capital would yield. Before marriage he would have paid +little heed to the fact that his canal shares (an investment which he +had looked upon as part of the eternal order of things) showed an +inclination to lose slightly in value; now it troubled him day and +night. As for the debenture stock, he might, if he chose, 'convert' it +without withdrawal, but that meant a lower dividend, which was hardly to +be thought of. Whither should he turn for a security at once sound and +remunerative? He began to read the money article in his daily paper, +which hitherto he had passed over as if it did not exist, or turned from +with contemptuous impatience. He picked up financial newspapers at +railway bookstalls, and in private struggled to comprehend their jargon, +taking care that they never fell under his wife's eyes. At the +Metropolitan Club -- of which he had resumed membership, after thinking +that he would never again enter clubland -- he talked with men who were +at home in City matters, and indirectly tried to get hints from them. He +felt like one who meddles with something forbidden -- who pries, +shamefaced, into the secrets of an odious vice. To study the +money-market gave him a headache. He had to go for a country walk, to +bathe and change his clothes, before he was at ease again. + +Two only of his intimates had any practical acquaintance with methods of +speculation, and their experiences hitherto were not such as to suggest +his seeking advice from them. Hugh Carnaby might or might not reap +profit from his cycle factory; as yet it had given him nothing but worry +and wavering hopes. Cecil Morphew had somehow got into better +circumstances, had repaid the loan of fifty pounds, and professed to +know much more about speculation than in the days when he made money +only to lose it again; but it was to be feared that Cecil associated +with people of shady character, and might at any moment come to grief in +a more or less squalid way. He confessed that there was a mystery in his +life -- something he preferred not to speak of even with an old friend. + +Oddly enough, Carnaby and Morphew wrote both at the same time, wishing +to see him, and saying that they had cheering news to impart. Amid his +perplexities, which were not concerned with money alone, Harvey welcomed +this opportunity of forgetting himself for a few hours. He agreed to +lunch with Hugh at a restaurant (Carnaby would have nothing to do with +clubs), and bade Morphew to dinner at the Metropolitan. + +It was a day of drizzle and slush, but Harvey had got over his sore +throat, and in ordinary health defied the elements. Unlike himself, +Carnaby came a little late for his appointment, and pleaded business +with a 'blackguard' in the City. Rheums and bronchial disorders were to +him unknown; he had never possessed an umbrella, and only on days like +this donned a light overcoat to guard himself against what he called +'the sooty spittle' of a London sky. Yet he was not the man of four or +five years ago. He had the same appearance of muscularity, the same red +neck and mighty fists; but beneath his eyes hung baggy flesh that gave +him a bilious aspect, his cheeks were a little sunken, and the tone of +his complexion had lost its healthy clearness. In temper, too, he had +suffered; perhaps in manners. He used oaths too freely; intermingled his +good bluff English -- the English of a country gentleman -- with recent +slang; tended to the devil-may-care rather than to the unconsciously +breezy and bold. + +'Let us find a corner,' he said, clutching his friend by the shoulder, +'out of the damned crowd.' + +'Lawsuit finished?' asked Harvey, when they had found a place and +ordered their meal. + +Hugh answered with a deep rolling curse. + +When he returned to England, in the summer of 1889, he entered at once +into partnership with the man Mackintosh, taking over an established +business at Coventry, with which his partner already had some +connection. Not a week passed before they found themselves at law with +regard to a bicycle brake -- a patent they had begun by purchasing, only +to find their right in it immediately contested. The case came on in +November; it occupied nine days, and was adjourned. Not until July of +the following year, 1890, was judgment delivered; it went for Mackintosh +& Co, the plaintiffs, whose claim the judge held to be proved. But this +by no means terminated the litigation. The defendants, who had all along +persisted in manufacturing and selling this patent brake, now obtained +stay of injunction until the beginning of the Michaelmas term, with the +understanding that, if notice of appeal were given before then, the +injunction would be stayed until the appeal was settled. And notice +_was_ given, and the appeal would doubtless be heard some day or other; +but meanwhile the year 1891 had come round, and Mackintosh & Co. saw +their rivals manufacturing and selling as gaily as ever. Hugh Carnaby +grew red in the face as he spoke of them; his clenched fist lay on the +tablecloth, and it was pretty clear how he longed to expedite the course +of justice. + +Still, he had good news to communicate, and he began by asking whether +Harvey saw much of Redgrave. + +'Redgrave?' echoed the other in surprise. 'Why, I hardly know him.' + +'But your wife knows him very well.' + +'Yes; I dare say she does.' + +Carnaby did not observe his friend's countenance; he was eating with +great appetite. 'Redgrave isn't at all a bad fellow. I didn't know him +much till lately. Used to see him at B. F.'s, you know, and one or two +other places where I went with Sibyl. Thought him rather a snob. But I +was quite mistaken. He's a very nice fellow when you get near to him.' + +Harvey's surprise was increased. For his own part, he still thought of +Redgrave with the old prejudice, though he had no definite charge to +bring against the man. He would have supposed him the last person either +to seek or to obtain favour with Hugh Carnaby. + +'Sibyl has known him for a long time,' Hugh continued. 'Tells me he did +all sorts of kindnesses for her mother at Ascott Larkfield's death; +fixed up her affairs -- they were in a devil of a state, I believe. Last +autumn we met him in Scotland; he was with his sister and her family -- +Mrs. Fenimore. Her husband's in India, and he seems to look after her in +a way that does him credit. In fact, I saw a new side of the fellow. We +got quite chummy, and I happened to speak about Mackintosh & Co. Well, +now, what do you think? Two days ago, at Coventry, I got a note from +him: he was coming through, and would like to see me; would I lunch with +him at a hotel? I did, and he surprised me by beginning to talk about +business. The fact was, he had some money lying loose, wanted to place +it somewhere, and had faith in cycles. Why shouldn't he make an offer to +a friend? Would Mackintosh & Co. care to admit a new partner? Or -- +anyhow -- could we make use of a few thousand pounds?' + +Rolfe had ceased to eat, and was listening intently. The story sounded +very strange to him; it did not fit at all with his conception of Cyrus +Redgrave. + +'I suppose a few thousands would come very handy?' he remarked. + +'Well, old man, to tell you the truth, -- I can do it now, -- for me it +means a jump out of a particularly black hole. You must understand that +we're not doing downright badly; we pay our way, but that was about all. +I, individually, shouldn't have paid my way for many months longer. God! +how I clutched at it! You don't know what it is, Rolfe, to see your +damned account at the bank slithering away, and not a cent to pay in. +I've thought of all sorts of things -- just stopping short of burglary, +and I shouldn't have stopped at that long.' + +'You mean that this new capital will give such a push to the business +----' + +'Of course! It was just what we wanted. We couldn't advertise -- +couldn't buy a new patent -- couldn't move at all. Now we shall make +things hum.' + +'Does Redgrave become a partner, then?' + +'A sleeping partner. But Redgrave is wide enough awake. Mackintosh says +he never met a keener man of business. You wouldn't have thought it, +would you? I should fancy he manages all his own property, and does it +devilish well, too. Of course, he has all sorts of ways of helping us +on. He's got ideas of his own, too, about the machines; I shouldn't +wonder if he hits on something valuable. I never half understood him +before. He doesn't shoot much, but knows enough about it to make +pleasant talk. And he has travelled a good deal. Then, of course, he +goes in for art, music -- all that sort of thing. There's really no +humbug about him. He's neither prig nor cad, though I used to think him +a little of both.' + +Harvey reflected; revived his mental image of the capitalist, and still +found it very unlike the picture suggested by Hugh. + +'Who _is_ Redgrave?' he asked. 'How did he get his money?' + +'I know nothing about that. I don't think he's a university man. He +hinted once that he was educated abroad. Seems to know plenty of good +people. Mrs. Fenimore, his sister, lives at Wimbledon. Sibyl and I were +over there not long ago, dining; one or two titled people, a parson, and +so on; devilish respectable, but dull -- the kind of company that makes +me want to stand up and yell. Redgrave has built himself what he calls a +bungalow, somewhere near the house; but I didn't see it.' + +'You're a good deal at Coventry?' asked Rolfe. + +'Off and on. Just been down for ten days. If it were possible, I should +go steadily at the business. I used to think I couldn't fit into work of +that sort, but a man never knows what he can do till he tries. I can't +stand doing nothing; that floors me. I smoke too much, and drink too +much, and get quarrelsome, and wish I was on the other side of the +world. But it's out of the question to live down yonder; I couldn't ask +Sibyl to do it.' + +'Do you leave her quite alone, then?' + +Carnaby made an uneasy movement. + +'She has been visiting here and there for the last month; now her mother +wants her to go to Ventnor. Much better she shouldn't; they hate each +other -- can't be together a day without quarrelling. Pretty plain on +which side the fault lies. I shouldn't think there are many women better +tempered than Sibyl. All the time we've been married, and all we've gone +through, I have never once seen an unpleasant look on her face -- to +_me_, that is. It's something to be able to say that. Mrs. Larkfield is +simply intolerable. She's always either whining or in a fury. Can't talk +of anything but the loss of her money.' + +'That reminds me,' interposed Harvey. 'Do you know that there seems to +be a chance of getting something out of the great wreck?' + +'What? Who says so?' + +'Mrs. Frothingham. The creditors come first, of course. Was your wife +creditor or shareholder?' + +'Why, both.' + +'Then she may hear something before long. I don't pretend to understand +the beastly affair, but Mrs. Frothingham wrote to us about it the day +before yesterday, with hints of eighteenpence in the pound, which she +seemed to think very glorious.' + +Carnaby growled in disgust. + +'Eighteenpence be damned! Well, perhaps it'll buy her a hat. I tell you, +Rolfe, when I compare Sibyl with her mother, I almost feel she's too +good for the world. Suppose she had turned out _that_ sort of woman! +What would have been the end of it? Murder, most likely. But she bore +the loss of all her money just as she did the loss of her jewellery and +things when our house was burgled -- never turned a hair. There's a girl +to be proud of, I tell you!' + +He insisted upon it so vehemently that one might have imagined him in +conflict with secret doubts as to his wife's perfection. + +'It's a very strange thing,' said Rolfe, looking at his wine, 'that +those thieves got clean away -- not a single thing they stole ever +tracked. There can't be many such cases.' + +'I have a theory about that.' Hugh half-closed his eyes, looking at once +shrewd and fierce. 'The woman herself -- the housekeeper -- is at this +moment going about in society, somewhere. She was no Whitechapel thief. +There's a gang organised among the people we live with. If I go out to +dine, as likely as not I sit next to a burglar or a forger, or anything +you like. The police never get on the scent, and it's the same in many +another robbery. Some day, perhaps, there'll be an astounding +disclosure, a blazing hell of a scandal -- a dozen men and women marched +from Belgravia and Mayfair to Newgate. I'm sure of it! What else can you +expect of such a civilisation as ours? Well, I should know that woman +again, and if ever I find myself taking her down to dinner ----' + +Harvey exploded in laughter. + +'I tell you I'm quite serious,' said the other angrily. 'I _know_ that's +the explanation of it! There are plenty of good and honest people still, +but they can't help getting mixed up among the vilest lot on the face of +the earth. That's why I don't like my wife to make new acquaintances. +_She_ won't get any harm, but I hate to think of the people she perhaps +meets. Mackintosh was telling me of a woman in London who keeps up a big +house and entertains all sorts of people -- and her husband knows where +the money comes from. He wouldn't mention her name, because, by Jove, he +had himself contributed to the expenses of the establishment! It was +three or four years ago, when he had his money and ran through it. For +all I know, Sibyl may go there -- I can't tell her about such things, +and she wouldn't believe me if I did. She's an idealist -- sees +everything through poetry and philosophy. I should be a brute if I +soiled her mind. And, I say, old man, why don't your wife and she see +more of each other? Is it just the distance?' + +'I'm afraid that has something to do with it,' Harvey replied, trying to +speak naturally. + +'I'm sorry. They're both of them too good for ordinary society. I wish +to God we could all four of us go out to a place I know in Tasmania, and +live honest, clean, rational lives! Can't be managed. Your wife has her +music; Sibyl has her books and so on ----' + +'By-the-bye, you know Mrs. Strangeways?' + +'I know _of_ her.' + +'And not much good?' + +'No particular harm. Sibyl saw a little of her, but I don't think they +meet now. Your wife know her?' 'She has met her here and there: you and +I are alike in that. We can't stand the drawing-room, so our wives have +to go about by themselves. The days are past when a man watched over his +wife's coming and going as a matter of course. We should only make fools +of ourselves if we tried it on. It's the new world, my boy; we live in +it, and must make the best of it.' + +Hugh Carnaby drank more wine than is usually taken at luncheon. It +excited him to boisterous condemnation of things in general. He +complained of the idleness that was forced upon him, except when he +could get down to Coventry. + +'I hang about for whole days doing literally nothing. What _should_ I +do? I'm not the man for books; I can't get much sport nowadays; I don't +care for billiards. I want to have an axe in my hand!' + +Gesticulating carelessly, he swept a wine-glass off the table. + +'There -- damn it! shows we've sat long enough. Come and talk to Sibyl, +and let her give you a cup of tea. You never see her -- never; yet she +thinks better of you than of any other man we know. Come, let's get out +of this beastly air. The place reeks of onions.' + +They went to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, where Rolfe spent the time +until he had to leave for his appointment with Cecil Morphew. Sibyl was +very kind, but gently reproachful. Why had Alma forsaken her? Why did +Harvey himself never drop in? + +'I'm often quite lonely, Mr. Rolfe, and as one result of it I'm getting +learned. Look at these books. Won't you give me a word of admiration?' + +There was a volume of Crowe and Cavalcaselle, one of Symonds's +'Renaissance', Benvenuto's 'Memoirs' in the original. + +'I can't help clinging to the old world,' she said sweetly. 'Hugh +forgives me, like a good boy; and you, I know, not only forgive, but +sympathise.' + +Of course, not a word passed with reference to Hugh Carnaby's business; +Redgrave's name was not mentioned. Sibyl, one felt, would decline to +recognise, in her own drawing-room, the gross necessities of life. Had +bankruptcy been impending, she would have ignored it with the same +perfection of repose. An inscrutable woman, who could look and smile at +one without conveying the faintest suggestion of her actual thoughts. + +On his way to the club, Harvey puzzled over what seemed to him +Redgrave's singular behaviour. Why should a man in that position +volunteer pecuniary aid to an obscure and struggling firm? Could it be +genuine friendship for Hugh Carnaby? That sounded most improbable. +Perhaps Redgrave, like the majority of people in his world, appeared +much wealthier than he really was, and saw in Mackintosh's business a +reasonable hope of profit. In that case, and if the concern began to +flourish, might not an older friend of Carnaby's find lucrative +employment for his capital? + +He had always thought with uttermost contempt of the man who allows +himself to be gripped, worried, dragged down, by artificial necessities. +Was he himself to become a victim of this social disease? Was he, +resistless, to be drawn into the muddy whirlpool, to spin round and +round among gibbering phantoms, abandoning himself with a grin of inane +conceit, or clutching in desperation at futile hopes? He remembered his +tranquil life between the mountains and the sea; his earlier freedom, +wandering in the sunlight of silent lands. Surely there needed but a +little common-sense, a little decision, to save himself from this +rushing current. One word to Alma -- would it not suffice? But of all +things he dreaded to incur the charge of meanness, of selfishness. That +had ever been his weak point: in youth, well-nigh a cause of ruin; in +later life, impelling him to numberless insincerities and follies. + +However, the danger as yet only threatened. He was solvent; he had still +a reserve. It behoved him merely to avoid the risks of speculation, and +to check, in natural, unobtrusive ways, that tendency to extravagance of +living which was nowadays universal. Could he not depend upon himself +for this moderate manliness? + +Cecil Morphew, though differing in all other respects from Hugh Carnaby, +showed a face which, like Hugh's, was growing prematurely old; a +fatigued complexion, sunken eyes; an expression mingled of discontent +and eagerness, now furtive, now sanguine, yet losing the worse traits in +a still youthful smile as he came forward to meet his friend. Year after +year he clung to the old amorous hope, but he no longer spoke of it with +the same impulsive frankness; he did not shun the subject -- brought it, +indeed, voluntarily forward, but with a shamefaced hesitance. His +declaration in a letter, not long ago, that he was unworthy of any good +woman's love, pointed to something which had had its share in the +obvious smirching of his character; something common enough, no doubt; +easily divined by Harvey Rolfe, though he could not learn how far the +man's future was compromised. Today Morphew began with talk of a hopeful +tenor. He had got hold of a little money; he had conceived a project for +making more. When the progress of their eating and drinking cleared the +way for confidential disclosures, Morphew began to hint at his scheme. + +'You've heard me speak of Denbow?' This was a man who had given him +lessons in photography; a dealer in photographic apparatus, with a shop +in Westminster Bridge Road. 'He's a very decent fellow, but it's all up +with him. His wife drinks, and he has lost money in betting, and now he +wants to clear out -- to sell his business and get away. He came to me +to apologise for spoiling some negatives -- he does a little printing +for me now and then and told me what he meant to do. Did I know of +anyone likely to take his shop?' + +Harvey laughed. + +'You're in with a queer lot of people, it seems to me.' + +'Oh, Denbow is all but a gentleman, I assure you. He was educated at +Charterhouse, but made a fool of himself, I believe, in the common way. +But about his business. I've seen a good deal of it, going in and out, +and talking with them, and I know as much about photography as most +amateurs -- you'll admit that, Rolfe?' + +It was true that he had attained more than ordinary skill with the +camera. Indeed, but for this resource, happily discovered in the days of +his hopelessness, he would probably have sunk out of sight before now. + +'Denbow's salesman is a thoroughly honest and capable fellow -- +Hobcraft, his name. He's been at the shop three or four years, and would +be only too glad to carry on the business, but he can't raise money, and +Denbow must have cash down. Now the fact is, I want to buy that business +myself.' + +'I see. What does the man ask for it?' + +Morphew fidgeted a little. + +'Well, just at present there isn't much stock -- nothing like what there +ought to be. Denbow has been coming down the hill; he's stopped himself +only just in time. When I first knew him he was doing reasonably well. +It's a good position for that kind of shop. Swarms of men, you know, go +backwards and forwards along the Westminster Bridge Road, and just the +kind of men, lots of them, that take up photography -- the better kind +of clerk, and the man of business who lives in the south suburbs. And +photography is going ahead so. I have all sorts of ideas. One might push +the printing branch of the business -- and have dark rooms for amateurs +-- and hit on a new hand-camera -- and perhaps even start a paper, call +it _Camera Notes_, or something of that kind. Don't smile and look +sceptical ----' + +'Not at all. It seems to me the best suggestion I've heard from you +yet.' + +'Think so? I'm awfully glad of that. You know, Rolfe, a fellow like +myself -- decent family, public school, and that kind of thing -- +naturally fights shy of shopkeeping. But I've got to the point that I +don't care what I do, if only it'll bring me a steady income in an +honest way. I ought to be able to make several hundreds a year, even at +starting, out of that business.' + +'Have you spoken of it in the usual quarter?' + +'No, I haven't.' Cecil's countenance fell. 'I should if I made a +successful start. But I've talked of so many things, I'm ashamed. And +she mightn't quite understand; perhaps she would think I was going down +-- down ----' + +'How is her father?' + +'Neither better nor worse. That man will take another ten years over his +dying -- see if he doesn't. Well, we've got used to it. We're neither of +us young any longer; we've lost the best part of our lives. And all for +what? Because we hadn't money enough to take a house three times bigger +than we needed! Two lives wasted because we couldn't feed fifty other +people for whom we didn't care a damn! Doesn't it come to that?' + +'No doubt. What does Denbow ask?' + +'For the stock, two hundred pounds; shop-fittings, fifty; business as it +stands, say three hundred. The rent is ninety-five. Floor above the shop +let to a family, who pay twenty-four shillings a week -- a substantial +set-off against the rent; but I should like to get rid of the people, +and use the whole house for business purposes. There's three years of +Denbow's lease to run, but this, he says, the landlord would be willing +to convert into a seven years' lease to a new tenant. Then one must +allow something for repairs and so on at the fresh start. Well, with +purchase of a little new stock, say another hundred and fifty pounds. +Roughly speaking, I ought to have about five hundred pounds to settle +the affair.' + +'And you have the money?' + +'Not quite; I've got -- well, I may say three hundred. I'm not speaking +of my own private income; of course, that goes on as usual, and isn't a +penny too much for -- for ordinary expenses..' He fidgeted again. 'Would +you care to know how I made this bit of capital?' + +'If you care to tell me.' + +'Yes, I will, just to show you what one is driven to do. Two years ago I +was ill -- congestion of the lungs -- felt sure I should die. You were +in Wales then. I sent for Tripcony, to get him to make my will -- he +used to be a solicitor, you know, before he started the bucket-shop. +When I pulled through, Trip came one day and said he had a job for me. +You'll be careful, by-the-bye, not to mention this. The job was to get +the City editor of a certain newspaper (a man I know very well) to print +a damaging rumour about a certain company. You'll wonder how I could +manage this. Well, simply because the son of the chairman of that +company was a sort of friend of mine, and the City editor knew it. If I +could get the paragraph inserted, Tripcony would -- not pay me anything, +but give me a tip to buy certain stock which he guaranteed would be +rising. Well, I undertook the job, and I succeeded, and Trip was as good +as his word. I bought as much as I dared -- through Trip, mind you, and +he wouldn't let me of the cover, which I thought suspicious, though it +was only habit of business. I bought at 75, and on settling day the +quotation was par. I wanted to go at it again, but Trip shook his head. +Well, I netted nearly five hundred. The most caddish affair I ever was +in; but I wanted money. Stop, that's only half the story. Just at that +time I met a man who wanted to start a proprietary club. He had the +lease of a house near Golden Square, but not quite money enough to +furnish it properly and set the club going. Well, I joined him, and put +in four hundred pounds; and for a year and a half we didn't do badly. +Then there was a smash; the police raided the place one night, and my +partner went before the magistrates. I trembled in my shoes, but my name +was never mentioned. It only ended in a fifty-pound fine, and of course +I went halves. Then we sold the club for two hundred, furniture and all, +and I found myself with -- what I have now, not quite three hundred.' + +'My boy, you've been going it,' remarked Rolfe, with a clouded brow. + +'That's what I tell you. I want to get out of all that kind of thing. +Now, how am I to get two or three hundred honestly? I think Denbow would +take less than he says for cash down. But the stock, I guarantee, is +worth two hundred.' + +'You have the first offer?' + +'Till day after tomorrow -- Monday.' + +'Tomorrow's Sunday -- that's awkward. Never mind. If I come over in the +morning, will you take me to the place, and let me look over it with +you, and see both Denbow and the shopman?' + +'Of course I will!' said Morphew delightedly. 'It's all aboveboard. +There's a devilish good business to be made; it depends only on the man. +Why, Denbow has made as much as two hundred in a year out of printing +for amateurs alone. It's his own fault that he didn't keep it up. I +swear, Rolfe, that with capital and hard work and acuteness, that place +can be made _the_ establishment of the kind south of the Thames. Why, +there's no reason why one shouldn't net a thousand a year in a very +short time.' + +'Is Denbow willing to exhibit his books?' + +'Of course he is. I've seen them. It isn't speculative, you know; +honest, straightforward business.' + +'What part do you propose to take in it yourself?' + +'Why, Denbow's part -- without the betting. I shall go in for the +business for all I'm worth; work day and night. And look here, Rolfe. It +isn't as if I had no security to offer. You see, I have my private +income; that gives me a pull over the ordinary man of business just +starting. Suppose I borrow three -- four -- five hundred pounds; why, I +can afford to make over stock or receipts -- anything in that way -- to +the lender. Four per cent, that's what I offer, if it's a simple loan.' + +'You would keep the man -- what's his name?' + +'Hobcraft. Decidedly. Couldn't do without him. He has been having +thirty-five shillings a week.' + +Harvey rose, and led the way to the smoking-room. His companion had +become a new man; the glow of excitement gave him a healthier look, and +he talked more like the Cecil Morphew of earlier days, whom Rolfe had +found and befriended at the hotel in Brussels. + +'There's nothing to be ashamed of in a business of this kind. If only +her father was dead, I'm sure _she_ wouldn't mind it. -- Ah, Rolfe, if +only she and I, both of us, had had a little more courage! Do you know +what I think? It's the weak people that do most harm in the world. They +suffer, of course, but they make others suffer as well. If I were like +_you_ -- ah, if I were like _you_!' Harvey laughed. + + +CHAPTER 8 + + +To Alma, on his return, he gave a full account of all he had heard and +done. The story of Hugh Carnaby's good fortune interested her greatly. +She elicited every detail of which Harvey had been informed; asked +shrewd questions; and yet had the air of listening only for her +amusement. + +'Should you have thought Redgrave likely to do such a thing?' Rolfe +inquired. + +'Oh, I don't know him at all well. He has been a friend of Sibyl's for a +long time -- so, of course ----' + +Her voice dropped, but in a moment she was questioning again. + +'You say that Mr. Redgrave went to see him at Coventry?' + +'Yes. Redgrave must have heard he was there, from Sibyl, I suppose.' + +'And that was two days ago?' + +'So Carnaby said -- Why?' + +'Somebody -- oh, I think it was Mrs. Rayner Mann, yesterday -- said Mr +Redgrave was in Paris.' + +Cecil Morphew's affairs had much less interest for her; but when Harvey +said that he was going to town again tomorrow, to look at the shop in +Westminster Bridge Road, she regarded him with an odd smile. + +'You surely won't get mixed up in things of that kind?' + +'It might be profitable,' he answered very quietly; 'and -- one doesn't +care to lose any chance of that kind -- just now ----' + +He would not meet her eyes; but Alma searched his face for the meaning +of these words, so evidently weighted. + +'Are you at all uneasy, Harvey?' + +'Not a bit -- not a bit,' answered the weak man in him. 'I only meant +that, if we are going to remove ----' + +They sat for more than five minutes in silence. Alma's brain was working +very rapidly, as her features showed. When he entered, she looked rather +sleepy; now she was thrilling with vivid consciousness; one would have +thought her absorbed in the solution of some exciting problem. Her next +words came unexpectedly. + +'Harvey, if you mean what you say about letting me follow my own +instincts, I think I shall decide to try my fortune -- to give a public +recital.' + +He glanced at her, but did not answer. + +'We made a sort of bargain -- didn't we?' she went on, quickly, +nervously, with an endeavour to strike the playful note. 'Hughie shall +go to Mrs. Abbott's, and I will attend to what you said about the choice +of acquaintances.' + +'But surely neither of those things can be a subject of bargaining +between us? Isn't your interest in both at least equal to my own?' + +'Yes -- I know -- of course. It was only a joking way of putting it.' + +'Tell me plainly' -- he looked at her now -- 'have you the slightest +objection, on any ground, to Hughie's being taught by Mrs. Abbott? If so, +do let us clear it up.' + +'Dear, I have not a shadow of objection,' replied Alma, straightening +herself a little, and answering his gaze with excessive frankness. 'How +could I have? You think Mrs. Abbott will teach him much better than I +could, and in that you are quite right. I have no talent for teaching. I +haven't much patience -- except in music. It's better every way, that he +should go to Mrs. Abbott. I feel perfect confidence in her, and I +shouldn't be able to in a mere stranger.' + +Harvey gave a slow nod, and appeared to have something more of +importance to say; but he only asked how the child's cold had been +tonight. Alma replied that it was neither better nor worse; she spoke +absently. + +'On whose encouragement do you principally rely?' was Rolfe's next +question. + +'On that of twenty people!' + +'I said "principally".' + +'Herr Wilenski has often praised me; and he doesn't throw his praise +away. And you yourself, Harvey, didn't you say last might that I was +undoubtedly as good as most professionals?' + +'I don't think I used quite those words; and, to tell you the truth, it +had never entered my head that you would take them for encouragement to +such a step as this.' + +Alma bent towards him, smiling. + +'I understand. You don't think me good enough. Now the truth, the +truth!' and she held up a finger -- which she could not succeed in +keeping steady. + +'Yes, you shall have the truth. It's too serious a matter for making +pretences. My own judgment is worthless, utterly; it should neither +offend nor encourage you. But it's very plain to me that you shouldn't +dream of coming before the public unless Wilenski, and perhaps some one +else of equal or better standing, actually urges you to it. Now, has he +done anything like that?' + +She reddened, and hardly tried to conceal her vexation. + +'This only means, Harvey, that you don't want me to come out.' + +'Come now, be more reasonable. It does not _only_ mean that; in fact, I +can say honestly it doesn't mean that at all. If Wilenski tells you +plainly that you ought to become a professional violinist, there's no +one will wish you luck half so heartily as I. But if it's only the +encouragement of "twenty people" -- that means nothing. I'm speaking +simply as the best friend you have. Don't run the risk of a horrible +disappointment. I know you wouldn't find that easy to bear -- it would +be bad for you, in every way. + +Impelled by annoyance -- for the project seemed to him delusive, and his +sense of dignity rose against it -- Harvey had begun with unwonted +decision, but he was soon uncomfortably self-conscious and +self-critical; he spoke with effort, vainly struggling against that +peculiar force of Alma's personality which had long ago subdued him. +When he looked at her, saw her distant smile, her pose of the head as in +one who mildly rebukes presumption, he was overcome with a feeling of +solemn ineptitude. Quite unaware that his last sentence was to Alma the +most impressive -- the only impressive -- part of his counsel, suddenly +he broke off, and found relief in unexpected laughter. + +'There now, I've done my duty -- I've discharged the pedagogue. Get rid +of your tragic mask. Be yourself; do as you wish. When the time comes, +just tell me what you have decided.' + +So, once more, did he oust common-sense with what he imagined a riper +wisdom. One must not take things funereally. Face to face with a woman +in the prime of her beauty, he heard a voice warning him against the +pedantic spirit of middle age, against formalism and fogeyishness. + +'Now I know you again,' said Alma, softening, but still reserved; for +she did not forget that he had thrown doubt upon her claims as an artist +-- an incident which would not lose its importance as she pondered it at +leisure. + +Harvey sat late. On going upstairs, instead of straightway entering his +own room, he passed it with soft step and paused by another door, that +of the chamber in which Hughie slept under the care of Miss Smith. The +child had coughed in the night during this last week. But at present all +was quiet, and with comfortable reassurance the father went to rest. + +Alma had matters to occupy her more important than a child's passing +ailment. As she slowly unrobed herself by the fire, combed out her warm, +fragrant, many-rippled tresses, or held mute dialogue with her eyes in +the glass, from a ravel of uneasy thoughts there detached itself, first +and foremost, the discovery that Redgrave had not been in Paris when Mrs +Strangeways said he was. What was the meaning of this contradiction? +Thereto hung the singular coincidence of Redgrave's return home exactly +at the time when she and Mrs. Strangeways happened to be there. She had +thought of it as a coincidence and nothing more; but if Redgrave had +deceived Mrs. Strangeways as to his movements, the unlooked-for arrival +took a suspicious significance. There remained a dark possibility: that +Mrs. Strangeways knew what was about to happen. Yet this seemed +inconceivable. + +Was it inconceivable? Why should a woman of that age, and of so much +experience, feel nervous about going alone to her friend's house on such +a simple mission? It appeared odd at the time, and was more difficult to +understand the more she thought of it. And one heard such strange +stories -- in society of a certain kind -- so many whispered hints of +things that would not bear to be talked about. + +Redgrave had not been in Paris, but at Coventry. There again was a +puzzling circumstance. Harvey himself declared his surprise at hearing +that Redgrave had entered into partnership with Hugh Carnaby. Had Sibyl +anything to do with this? Could she have hinted to her friend the +millionaire that her husband's financial position was anything but +satisfactory, and had Redgrave, out of pure friendship -- of course, out +of pure friendship -- hastened to their succour? + +This perplexity was almost as disturbing as that which preceded it. +Knowing the man of money as she did, Alma found it disagreeable to +connect his name thus closely with Sibyl's. Disagreeable in a +complicated sense; for she had begun to think of Cyrus Redgrave as +intimately associated with her own ambitions, secret and avowed. He was +to aid her in winning fame as a violinist; and, to this end, all +possible use (within certain limits) was to be made of the power she had +over him. Alma viewed the position without the least attempt at +disguising its true nature. She was playing with fire; knew it; enjoyed +the excitement of it; trusted herself with the completest confidence to +come out of the game unscorched. But she felt assured that other women, +in similar circumstances, had engaged in much the same encounter with +Cyrus Redgrave; and could it be imagined that Sibyl Carnaby was one of +them -- Sibyl, the woman of culture, of high principle, the critic of +society -- Sibyl, to whom she had so long paid homage, as to one of the +chosen of her sex? That Redgrave might approach Sibyl with lawless +thought, she could well believe, and such a possibility excited her +indignation; that Sibyl would meet him on his own terms, she could not +for a moment have credited, but for a traitor-voice that spoke in her +for the first time, the voice of jealousy. + +Where and how often did they meet? To ask this question was to touch +another motive of discontent. Ever since the return to London life, Alma +had felt dissatisfied with her social position. She was the wife of a +gentleman of independent means; in theory, all circles should be open to +her. Practically, she found herself very much restricted in the choice +of acquaintances. Harvey had hinted that she should be careful where she +went, and whom she knew; that she recognised the justice of this warning +served merely to irritate her against its necessity. Why, then, did not +her husband exert himself to obtain better society for her? Plainly, he +would never take a step in that direction; he had his two or three +friends, and found them sufficient; he would have liked to see her very +intimate with Mrs. Abbott -- perhaps helping to teach babies on the +kindergarten system! Left to her own resources, she could do little +beyond refusing connections that were manifestly undesirable. Sibyl, she +knew, associated with people of much higher standing, only out of +curiosity taking a peep at the world to which her friend was restricted. +There had always been a slight disparity in this respect between them, +and in former days Alma had accepted it without murmuring; but why did +Sibyl, just when she could have been socially helpful, show a +disposition to hold aloof? 'Of course, you care nothing for people of +that kind,' Mrs. Carnaby had said, after casually mentioning some 'good' +family at whose country house she had been visiting. It was intended, +perhaps, as a compliment, with allusion to Alma's theories of the +'simple life'; but, in face of the very plain fact that such theories +were utterly abandoned, it sounded to Alma a humiliating irony. + +Could it be that Sibyl feared inquiries, shrank from having it known +that she was on intimate terms with the daughter of the late Bennet +Frothingham -- a name still too often mentioned in newspapers and +elsewhere? The shadow of this possibility had ere now flitted over +Alma's mind; she was in the mood to establish it as a certainty, and to +indulge the resentment that naturally ensued. For on more than one +occasion of late, at Mrs. Rayner Mann's or in some such house, she had +fancied that one person and another had eyed her in a way that was not +quite flattering, and that remarks were privately exchanged about her. +Perhaps Harvey himself saw in the fact of her parentage a social +obstacle, which made him disinclined to extend their circle of common +acquaintances. Was that what he meant by his grave air this evening? Was +he annoyed at the thought of a publicity which would reveal her maiden +name? + +These currents of troubled feeling streamed together and bore her +turbidly onwards whither her desires pointed. In one way, and one way +only, could she hope to become triumphantly conspicuous, to raise +herself quite above petty social prejudices, to defeat ill-wishers and +put to shame faint-hearted friends. She had never been able to endure +the thought of mediocrity. One chance there was; she must grasp it +energetically and without delay. And she must make use of all subsidiary +means to her great conquest -- save only the last dishonour. + +That on her own merit she might rise to the first rank of musicians, +Alma did not doubt. Her difficulty lay in the thought that it might +require a long time, a wearisome struggle, to gain the universal +recognition which alone would satisfy her. Therefore must Cyrus Redgrave +be brought to the exertion of all his influence, which she imagined +would assist her greatly. Therefore, too, must Felix Dymes be retained +as her warm friend, probably (his own suggestion) as her man of +business. + +It was January. Her 'recital' must take place in the coming season, in +May or June. She would sketch a programme at once -- tomorrow morning -- +and then work, work, work terrifically! + +Saved by the fervour of this determination from brooding over mysteries +and jealousies, Alma lay down with a contented sigh, and was soon +asleep, thanks to the health she still enjoyed. Her excitability was of +the imagination rather than of the blood, and the cool, lymphatic flow, +characteristically feminine, which mingled with the sanguine humour, +traceable perhaps to a paternal source, spared her many an hour of +wakefulness, as it guarded her against much graver peril. + +On Sunday morning she generally went to church -- not because of any +spiritual impulse, but out of habit. In Wales, Harvey often accompanied +her; at Pinner he ceased to do so; but neither then nor now had any talk +on the subject passed between them. Alma took it for granted that her +husband was very 'broad' in matters of faith. She gathered from her +reading that every man of education nowadays dispensed with dogmas, and, +for her own part, it was merely an accident that she had not sought to +attract attention by pronounced freethinking. Sibyl Carnaby went to +church as a matter of course, and never spoke for or against orthodoxy. +Had Sibyl been more 'advanced' in this direction, undoubtedly Alma would +long ago have followed her example. Both of them, in girlhood, had +passed through a great deal of direct religious teaching -- and both +would have shrunk amazed if called upon to make the slightest sacrifice +in the name of their presumed creed. + +This morning, however, Alma remained at home, and one of the first +things she did was to write to Sibyl, asking when it would be convenient +for her friend to give her half-an-hour's private talk. Then she wrote +to Felix Dymes, addressing the letter to the care of his publishers. At +midday, as Harvey had gone to town on his business with Cecil Morphew, +she decided to run over to Kingsbury-Neasden and ask her friends for +lunch, in return for which she would make known to them her startling +project. It was a wretched day; Hughie must not go out, and Pauline -- +good creature -- would amuse him in one way and another all the +afternoon. + +As it chanced, her surprise visit could not have been worse timed, for +Mrs. Leach was in a state of collapse after a violent quarrel, the day +before, with her cook-housekeeper, who quitted the house at a moment's +notice. Luncheon, in the admissible sense of the word, there was none to +be had. Mr. Leach, finding the house intolerable when he arrived on +Saturday afternoon, had gone back to his bachelor quarters, and the +girls, when Alma presented herself, were just sitting down alone to what +the housemaid chose to give them. But such an old friend could not be +turned away because of domestic mishap. + +Not until they had despatched the unsatisfactory meal, and were cosy in +the drawing-room, did Alma reveal her great purpose. Dora Leach happened +to have a slight acquaintance with a professional pianist who had +recently come before the public, and Alma began by inquiring whether her +friend could obtain information as to the expenses of the first +'recital' given by that lady. + +'I'm afraid I don't know her quite well enough,' replied Miss Leach. +'What's it for? Are you thinking ----? Really? You _really_ are?' + +The sisters became joyously excited. Splendid idea! They had feared it +was impossible. Oh, she might count with certainty upon a brilliant +success! They began to talk about the programme. And what professionals +would she engage to take part in the concert? When Alma mentioned that +the illustrious Felix Dymes had offered to undertake the management of +her business, interest rose to the highest point. Felix Dymes would of +course be a tower of strength. Though tempted to speak of the support +she might expect from another great man, Alma refrained; her reason +being that she meant to ask Dora to accompany her to the Crystal Palace +next Saturday. If, as was almost certain, Redgrave met them there, it +would be unpleasant to let Dora surmise that the meeting was not by +chance. + +They chattered for two or three hours, and, among other things, made +merry over a girl of their acquaintance (struggling with flagrant +poverty), who aimed at a professional career. + +'It really would be kindness,' said Dora, 'to tell her she hasn't the +least chance; but one can't do that. She was here the other day playing +to us -- oh, for _such_ a time! She said her bow would have to be +rehaired, and when I looked at it, I saw it was all greasy and black +near the frog, from her dirty fingers; it only wanted washing. I just +managed to edge in a hint about soap and water. But she's very touchy; +one has to be so careful with her.' + +'It's dreadfully awkward, you know,' put in Gerda, 'to talk to people +who are so _poor_ -- isn't it? It came out one day that she had been +peeling potatoes for their dinner! It makes one so uncomfortable -- she +really need not have mentioned it.' + +The public halls were discussed. Which would Alma select? Then again the +programme. Would she play the Adagio? -- meaning, of course, that in +Spohr's Concerto 9. No, _no_; not the Adagio -- not on any account the +Adagio! Something of Bach's? -- yes; perhaps the Chaconne. And Brahms? +There was the Sonata in A for violin and piano. A stiff piece, but one +must not be too popular -- Heaven forbid that one should catch at cheap +applause! How about a trio? What was that thing of Dvorak's, at St +James's Hall not long ago? Yes, the trio in B flat -- piano, violin, and +'cello. At least a score of pieces were jotted down, some from memory, +some picked out of old programmes, of which Dora produced a great +portfolio. Interruption came at length -- a servant entering to say that +Mrs. Leach felt so ill, she wished the doctor to be summoned. + +'Oh, bother Mamma and her illnesses!' exclaimed the vivacious Gerda when +the intruder was waved off. 'It's all nonsense, you know. She will +quarrel with servants and get herself into a state. It'll have to be a +boarding-house; I see it coming nearer every day.' + +Having made an appointment with Dora for next Saturday, Alma took leave, +and went home in excellent spirits. Everything seemed to plan itself; +the time had come, the moment of destiny. Doubtless she had been wise in +waiting thus long. Had she come forward only a year or so after her +father's tragedy, people might have said she was making profit of a +vulgar sensation; it would have seemed in bad taste; necessity would +have appeared to urge her. Now, such remarks were impossible. Mrs. Harvey +Rolfe sounded much better than Miss Alma Frothingham. By-the-bye, was it +to be 'Mrs.', or ought she to call herself 'Madame'? People did use the +Madame, even with an English name. Madame Rolfe? Madame Harvey Rolfe? +That made her laugh; it had a touch of the ridiculous; it suggested +millinery rather than music. Better to reject such silly affectations +and use her proper name boldly. + +It was to be expected, of course, that people in general would soon +discover her maiden name. Whispers would go round; facts might even get +into the newspapers. Well? She herself had done nothing to be ashamed +of, and if curiosity helped her to success, why, so much the better. In +all likelihood it _would_ help her; but she did not dwell upon this +adventitious encouragement. A more legitimate source of hope revealed +itself in Mrs. Strangeways' allusion to her personal advantages. She was +not ill-looking; on that point there needed no flatterer's assurance. +Her looks, if anything, had improved, and possibly she owed something to +her experiment in 'simplicity', to the air of mountain and of sea. Felix +Dymes, Cyrus Redgrave, not to speak of certain other people -- no +matter. For all that, she must pay grave attention to the subject of +dress. Her recital would doubtless be given in the afternoon, according +to custom; so that it was not a case of _grande tenue_; but her attire +must be nothing short of perfection in its kind. Could she speak about +it with Sibyl? Perhaps -- yet perhaps not. She was very anxious to see +Sibyl, and felt that a great deal depended upon their coming interview. + +This took place on Tuesday; for Sibyl replied at once to the note, and +begged her to come without delay. 'Tuesday at twelve. I do little in +these gloomy days but read -- am becoming quite a bookworm. Why have you +been silent so long? I was on the very point of writing to you, for I +wish to see you particularly.' + +And, when the servant opened her door, Sibyl was discovered in the +attitude of a severe student, bending over a table on which lay many +volumes. She would not have been herself had there appeared any neglect +or unbecomingness in her costume, but she wore the least pretentious of +morning gowns, close at throat and wrist, which aided her look of mental +concentration and alertness. She rose with alacrity, and the visitor, +using her utmost keenness in scrutiny of countenance, found that her own +eyes, not Sibyl's, were the first to fall. + +'Yes -- working as if I had an examination to pass. It's the best thing +in weather such as this -- keeps one in health, I believe. You, of +course, have your music, which answers the same purpose. I'm going in +for the Renaissance; always wished to make a thorough study of it. Hugh +is appalled; he never imagined I had so much energy. He says I shall be +writing a book next -- and why not?' + +'Of course you could,' replied Alma. 'You're clever enough for +anything.' + +Her suspicions evaporated in this cosy cloister. She wondered how she +could have conceived such a thought of Sibyl, who, dressed so simply, +had a girlish air, a beauty as of maidenhood. Exhilarated by her +ambitious hopes, she turned in heart to the old friendship, felt her +admiration revive, and spoke it freely. + +'I know I'm not stupid,' said Sibyl, leaning back as if a little weary; +'and there's the pity of it, that I've never made more use of my brains. +Of course, those years abroad were lost, though I suppose I got to know +a little more of the world. And since we came back I have had no peace +of mind. Did you guess that? Perhaps your husband knew about things from +Hugh?' + +'I was afraid you might be getting rather anxious; but as you never said +anything yourself ----' + +'I never should have done -- I hate talking about money. And you know +that things are looking better?' + +Sibyl's confident smile drew one of like meaning from Alma. + +'Your husband had good news, I know, when Harvey met him on Saturday.' + +'It sounds good,' said Sibyl, 'and I take it for granted it will be as +good as it sounds. If that's complicated, well, so is business, and I +don't profess to understand the details. I can only say that Hugh seems +to be a good deal shrewder and more practical than I thought him. He is +always making friends with what I consider the wrong kind of people; now +at last he has got hold of just the right man, and it very much puzzles +me how he did it. I have known Mr. Redgrave -- you've heard it's Mr +Redgrave? -- I've known him for several years now, and, between +ourselves, I never expected to benefit by the acquaintance.' + +Her laugh was so significant that Alma had much ado to keep a steady +face. + +'I know -- things are said about him,' she murmured. + +'Things _are_ said about him, as you discreetly put it, my dear Alma.' +The voice still rippled with laughter. 'I should imagine Hugh has heard +them, but I suppose a man of the world thinks nothing of such trifles. +And after all' -- she grew serious -- 'I would rather trust Hugh's +judgment than general gossip. Hugh thinks him a "very good fellow". They +were together a little in Scotland last autumn, you know, and -- it's +very wrong to make fun of it, and I shouldn't repeat the story to anyone +but you -- Mr. Redgrave confided to him that he was a blighted being, the +victim of an unhappy love in early life. Can you quite picture it?' + +'It has an odd sound,' replied Alma, struggling with rather tense +nerves. 'Do you believe the story?' + +'I can't see why in the world such a man should invent it. It seems he +wanted to marry someone who preferred someone else; and since then he +has ----' + +Sibyl rippled off again. + +'He has -- what?' + +'Been blighted, my dear! Of course, people have different ways of +showing blight. Mr. Redgrave, it is rumoured, hides his head in a +hermitage, somewhere in the north of Italy, by one of the lakes. No +doubt he lives on olives and macaroni, and broods over what _might_ have +been. Did you ever hear of that hermitage?' + +Alma's colour heightened ever so little, and she kept her eyes on the +questioner with involuntary fixedness. The last shadow of doubt +regarding Sibyl having disappeared (no woman with an uneasy conscience, +she said to herself, could talk in this way), she had now to guard +herself against the betrayal of suspicious sensibilities. Sibyl, of +course, meant nothing personal by these jesting allusions -- how could +she? But it was with a hard voice that Alma declared her ignorance of Mr +Redgrave's habits, at home, or in retreat by Italian lakes. + +'It doesn't concern us,' agreed her friend. 'He has chosen to put his +money into Hugh's business, and, from one point of view, that's a +virtuous action. Hugh says he didn't suggest anything of the kind, but I +fancy the idea must have been led up to at some time or other. The poor +fellow has been horridly worried, and perhaps he let fall a word or two +he doesn't care to confess. However it came about, I'm immensely glad, +both for his sake and my own. My mind is enormously relieved -- and +that's how I come to be working at the Renaissance.' + +Alma took the first opportunity of giving the conversation a turn. It +was not so easy as she had anticipated to make her announcement; for, to +her own mind, Cyrus Redgrave and the great ambition were at every moment +suggestive of each other, and Sibyl, in this peculiar mood, might throw +out disturbing remarks or ask unwelcome questions. Only one recent +occurrence called for concealment. Happily, Sibyl no longer met Mrs +Strangeways (whose character had taken such a doubtful hue), and +Redgrave himself could assuredly be trusted for discretion, whatever his +real part in that perplexing scene at he bungalow. + +'I feel the same want as you do,' said Alma, after a little transitional +talk, 'of something to keep me busy. Of course, it must be music; but +music at home, and at other people's homes, isn't enough. You know my +old revolt against the bonds of the amateur. I'm going to break out -- +or try to. What would you give for my chances?' + +'My dear, I am no capitalist,' replied her friend, with animation. 'For +such a bargain as that you must go among the great speculators. Hugh's +experience seems to point to Mr. Redgrave.' + +'Sibyl, please be serious.' + +'So I am. I should like to have the purchase of your chances for a +trifle of a few thousand pounds.' + +Alma's flush of discomposure (more traitorous than she imagined) +transformed itself under a gratified smile. + +'You really think that I might do something worth the trouble? -- I +don't mean money-making -- though, of course, no one despises money -- +but a real artistic success?' + +Sibyl made no half-hearted reply. She seemed in thorough agreement with +those other friends of Alma's who had received the project +enthusiastically. A dozen tickets, at least a dozen, she would at once +answer for. But, as though an unwelcome word must needs mingle with her +pleasantest talk today, she went on to speak of Alma's husband; what did +he think of the idea? + +'He looks on, that's all,' Alma replied playfully. 'If I succeed, he +will be pleased; if I don't, he will have plenty of consolation to +offer. Harvey and I respect each other's independence -- the great +secret of marriage, don't you think? We ask each other's advice, and +take it or not, as we choose. I fancy he doesn't quite like the thought +of my playing for money. But if it were _necessary_ he would like it +still less. He finds consolation in the thought that I'm just amusing +myself.' + +'I wish you would both come over and dine with us quietly,' said Sibyl, +after reflecting, with a smile. 'It would do us all good. I don't see +many people nowadays, and I'm getting rather tired of ordinary society; +after all, it's great waste of time. I think Hugh is more inclined to +settle down and be quiet among his friends. What day would suit you?' + +Alma, engrossed in other thoughts, named a day at random. Part of her +scheme was still undisclosed: she had a special reason for wishing Sibyl +to know of her relations with Felix Dymes, yet feared that she might not +hit exactly the right tone in speaking of him. + +'Of course, I must have a man of business -- and who do you think has +offered his services?' + +Sibyl was not particularly impressed by the mention of Dymes's name; she +had only a slight personal acquaintance with him, and cared little for +his reputation as a composer. + +'I had a note from him this morning,' Alma continued. 'He asks me to see +him today at the Apollo -- the theatre, you know. They're going to +produce his comic opera, "Blue Roses" -- of course, you've heard of it. +I shall feel rather nervous about going there -- but it'll be a new +experience. Or do you think it would be more discreet if I got him to +come to Pinner?' + +'I didn't think artists cared about those small proprieties,' answered +Sibyl, laughing. + +'No -- of course, that's the right way to regard it. Let me show you his +letter.' She took it from her little seal-skin bag. 'A trifle impudent, +don't you think? Mr. Dymes has a great opinion of himself, and absolutely +no manners.' + +'Well -- if you can keep him in hand ----' + +They exchanged glances, and laughed together. + +'No fear of that,' said Alma 'And he's just the kind of man to be very +useful. His music -- ah well! But he has popularity, and a great many +people take him at his own estimate. Impudence does go a long way.' + +Sibyl nodded, and smiled vaguely. + +Dymes had suggested a meeting at three o'clock, and to this Alma had +already given her assent by telegraph. She lunched with Mrs. Carnaby, -- +who talked a great deal about the Renaissance, -- left immediately +after, to visit a few shops, and drove up to the Apollo Theatre at the +appointed time. Her name sufficed; at once she was respectfully +conducted to a small electric-lighted room, furnished only with a table +and chairs, and hung about with portraits of theatrical people, where +Dymes sat by the fire smoking a cigarette. The illustrious man +apologised for receiving her here, instead of in the manager's room, +which he had hoped to make use of. + +'Littlestone is in there, wrangling about something with Sophy Challis, +and they're likely to slang each other for an hour or two. Make yourself +comfortable. It's rather hot; take off those furry things.' + +'Thank you,' replied Alma, concealing her nervousness with malapert +vivacity, 'I shall be quite comfortable in my own way. It _is_ rather +hot, and your smoke is rather thick, so I shall leave the door a little +open.' + +Dymes showed his annoyance, but could offer no objection. + +'We're getting into shape for this day week. Littlestone calls the opera +"Blue Noses" -- it has been so confoundedly cold at rehearsals.' + +Alma was seized by the ludicrous suggestion, and laughed without +restraint; her companion joined in, his loud neigh drowning her more +melodious merriment. This put them on natural terms of comradeship, and +then followed a long, animated talk. Dymes was of opinion that the +hiring of a hall and the fees of supplementary musicians might be +defrayed out of the sale of tickets; but there remained the item of +advertisement, and on this subject he had large ideas. He wanted 'to do +the thing properly'; otherwise he wouldn't do it at all. But Alma was to +take no thought for the cost; let it all be left to him. + +'You want to succeed? All right; let your fiddling be up to the mark, +and I answer for the public. It's all between you and me; you needn't +say who is doing the job for you. Ada Wellington comes off on May the +10th; I shall put you down for a fortnight later. That gives you nearly +four months to prepare. Don't overdo it; keep right in health; take +plenty of exercise. You look very well now; keep it up, and you'll +_knock 'em_. I only wish it was the stage instead of the platform -- but +no use talking about that, I suppose?' + +'No use whatever,' Alma replied, flushing with various emotions. + +In the course of his free talk, it happened that he addressed her as +'Alma'. She did not check him; but when the name again fell from his +lips, she said quietly, with a straight look ---- + +'I think not. The proper name, if you please.' + +Dymes took the rebuke good-humouredly. When their conversation was over, +he wished her to go with him to a restaurant for tea; but Alma insisted +on catching a certain train at Baker Street, and Dymes had to be +satisfied with the promise of another interview shortly. + + +CHAPTER 9 + + +A visit was due from Mrs. Frothingham, who had not been seen at Pinner +for more than six months. She would have come at New Year, but an attack +of influenza upset her plans. Now she wrote to announce her arrival on +Saturday. + +'I wish it had been Monday,' said Alma; 'I have to go to the Crystal +Palace.' + +'Is it imperative?' asked her husband. + +'Yes; there's something new of Sterndale Bennett's, and I've asked +Dora.' + +It seemed to Harvey that this arrangement might have been put aside +without great inconvenience, but, as usual, he made no comment. As he +would be in town on Saturday, he promised to meet their visitor at +Waterloo. Alma, he thought, had never shown much gratitude for her +step-mother's constant kindness; during the past half-year she had now +and then complained of the trouble of answering Mrs. Frothingham's +letters, and the news of illness at Basingstoke drew from her only a few +words of conventional sympathy. To Hughie, who frequently received +presents from 'Grandmamma', she rarely spoke of the affectionate giver. +A remark of hers recently on some piece of news from Mrs. Frothingham +bore an obvious suggestion. + +'I wonder,' she said, 'if a single person has been really benefited by +all the money Mamma has given away? Isn't it likely she has done much +more harm than good?' + +There was truth in his surmise that Alma sometimes thought with jealousy +of Mrs. Frothingham's having had control of a fortune, whilst she, the +only child of him who made the money, possessed nothing of her own. The +same trend of feeling appeared in a word or two of Alma's, when a daily +paper, in speaking of a paltry dividend offered at last to the creditors +in one branch of Bennet Frothingham's speculations, used a particularly +bitter phrase. + +'I should have felt that once; now ----' + +In these days Alma suffered from a revival of the indignation which had +so perturbed her in the time just before her marriage. If now she had +possessed even a little money, it would have made her independent in a +sense far more tangible than that of the friendly understanding with her +husband. She strongly disliked the thought of making Harvey responsible +for the expenses of her 'recital'. Had it been possible to procure a +small sum by any honest means, she would eagerly have turned to it; but +no method seemed discoverable. On her journey homeward after the +interview with Felix Dymes, her mind was full of the money question. +What did Dymes mean by bidding her take no thought for expenses? Could +it have occurred to his outrageous vanity that she might be persuaded to +become his debtor, with implied obligation of gratitude? + +Not with impunity could her thought accustom itself to stray in regions +forbidden, how firm soever her resolve to hold bodily aloof. Alma's +imagination was beginning to show the inevitable taint. With Cyrus +Redgrave she had passed from disdainful resentment, through phases of +tolerance, to an interested flirtation, perilous on every side. In Felix +Dymes she easily, perhaps not unwillingly, detected a motive like to +Redgrave's, and already, for her own purposes, she was permitting him to +regard her as a woman not too sensitive, not too scrupulous. These +tactics might not be pleasant or strictly honourable, but she fancied +they were forced upon her. Alma had begun to compassionate herself -- a +dangerous situation. Her battle had to be fought alone; she was going +forth to conquer the world by her mere talents, and can a woman +disregard the auxiliary weapons of beauty? If Dymes chose to speculate +in hopes ludicrously phantasmal, was that her affair? She smiled at the +picture of two men, her devoted servants, exerting themselves t9 the +utmost for her advantage, yet without a syllable of express +encouragement, and foredoomed to a disappointment which would be +perfectly plain to them could they but use their common-sense. + +Throughout this week Harvey did not behave quite as usual to her; or so +Alma thought. He had not the customary jocoseness when they met at the +close of day; he asked no questions about how she had spent her time; +his manner was preoccupied. One evening she challenged him. + +'You are worrying about what you think my foolishness.' + +'Foolishness? Of what folly are you guilty?' + +'My ambition, then.' + +'Oh no!' He laughed as if the thought genuinely amused him. 'Why should +I worry about it? Don't work too hard, that's all. No, I was thinking of +a squalid little ambition of my own. I have an idea Morphew may make +something of that business; and I want him to, for the fellow's own +good. It's wonderful how near he has been to going to the devil, once +for all. I fancy I've got him now by the coat-tail; I may hold him.' + +'You can't call that a squalid ambition,' said Alma, wishing to be +amiable. + +'Not that side of it -- no. But I've decided to put a little money into +the business -- nothing that matters, but it may just as well be made +safe, if a little trouble will do it. I was wondering how it would be if +I worked a little down yonder -- kept Morphew in sight. Distance is the +chief objection.' + +'But you think of moving to Gunnersbury?' + +'Yes, I do. I'm thinking of it seriously. Will you go over with me one +day next week! Better be Saturday -- Mrs. Abbott will be free.' + +It was unfortunate that Alma had not been able to establish an intimacy +with Mary Abbott. They saw each other very rarely, and, as Harvey +perceived, made no progress in friendship. This did not surprise him; +they were too unlike in temper, intellect, and circumstances. Whether to +these obstacles should be added another more serious, Harvey could not +quite assure himself. He had suspected that Alma entertained a slight +jealousy -- natural, perhaps, though utterly without substantial cause. +He even reckoned with this when proposing to put the child under Mrs +Abbott's care, thinking that, in revolt against such an alternative, +Alma might be impelled to take the duty upon herself. That nothing of +the kind had resulted, seemed to prove that, whatever feeling might +occasionally have arisen in Alma, she did not regard his friend with any +approach to hostility. For his own part, he had always felt that the +memory of Bennet Frothingham must needs forbid Mrs. Abbott to think with +unrestrained kindliness of Alma, and, but for Alma herself, he would +scarce have ventured to bring them together. That they were at least on +amiable terms must be held as much as could be hoped for. With regard to +Mary's efficiency as a teacher, his opinion had grown more favourable +since he had seen her in her own home. Time and experience were moulding +her, he thought, to a task undertaken first of all in a spirit of +self-discipline. She appeared to be successful in winning the confidence +of parents, and she no longer complained of inability to make herself +liked by her little pupils. Best of all, she was undoubtedly devoting +herself to the work with all the powers of her mind, making it the sole +and sufficient purpose of her life. Harvey felt no misgiving; he spoke +his true thought when he said that he would rather trust Hughie to Mrs +Abbott than to any other teacher. It was with surprise, therefore, and +some annoyance, that he received Alma's reply to his proposal for their +going over to Gunnersbury next week. + +'Are you quite sure,' she said, rather coldly, 'that Mrs. Abbott will +teach better than Pauline?' + +'It isn't only that. Hughie must have companions. I thought we had +agreed about it.' + +'Have you inquired who his companions will be?' + +'Oh -- the ordinary children of ordinary people,' he replied, with some +impatience. 'I don't know that babies are likely to corrupt each other. +But, of course, you will ask Mrs. Abbott all about that kind of thing -- +or anything else you wish.' + +Alma shook her head, laughing carelessly. + +'No, no. That is all in _your_ hands. You have discussed it with her, +haven't you?' + +'I haven't so much as mentioned it. But, of course, I am quite willing +to relieve you of all trouble in the matter.' + +His tone seemed to startle Alma, for she looked up at him quickly, and +spoke in a more serious voice. + +'I don't think we quite understand each other about Hughie. Why should +you be so anxious? He seems to me to be doing very well. Remember, he's +only a little more than three years old -- quite a baby, as you say. I +don't think he would feel the want of companions for another year at +least.' + +Harvey met her look, and replied quietly. + +'It isn't that I'm anxious about him. I have to plan for his education, +that's all.' + +'You're beginning rather early. Fathers don't generally look after their +children so young.' + +'Unfortunately, they don't,' said Harvey, with a laugh. 'Mothers do, +here and there.' + +'But surely you don't mean that I am neglectful, Harvey?' + +'Not at all. Teaching isn't your metier, Alma.' + +'I have always confessed that. But, then, the time for teaching Hughie +has hardly come. What can Pauline do but just see that he doesn't get +into mischief?' + +'That's the very reason why he would be better for two or three hours a +day with some one who knows _how_ to teach a child of his age. It isn't +as unimportant as you think. Pauline does very well, but Mrs. Abbott will +do better.' + +Vexed at his own cowardliness -- for he could not utter the words that +leaped to his tongue -- Harvey fell into a perverse insistence on Mrs +Abbott's merits. He had meant to confine himself within the safe excuse +that the child needed companionship. Forbidden the natural relief of a +wholesome, hearty outburst of anger -- which would have done good in +many ways -- his nerves drove him into smothered petulance, with the +result that Alma misread him, and saw in his words a significance quite +apart from their plain meaning. + +'I have not the least intention of interfering, Harvey,' she said, with +her distant smile. 'For the next few months I shall be very busy indeed. +Only one thing I would ask -- you don't think of leaving this house +before midsummer?' + +'No.' + +'Because I shall probably give my recital in May, and it would be rather +inconvenient ----' + +'Everything shall be arranged to suit you.' + +'Not at all, not at all!' she exclaimed cheerfully. 'I don't ask so much +as that; it would be unreasonable. We are neither of us to stand in the +other's way -- isn't that the agreement? Tell me your plans, and you +shall know mine, and I'm sure everything will be managed very well.' + +So the conversation ended, satisfactorily to neither. Harvey, aware of +having spoken indiscreetly, felt that he was still more to blame for +allowing his wife a freedom of which she threatened to make absurd use; +and Alma, her feelings both as wife and mother sensibly perturbed, +resented the imputation which seemed to have been thrown upon her +conduct. This resentment was of course none the less enduring because +conscience took her husband's side. She remembered her appointment +tomorrow (practically an appointment) with Cyrus Redgrave at the Crystal +Palace; would not that be more difficult to confess than anything she +could reasonably suppose to have happened between Harvey and Mary +Abbott? Yet more than ever she hoped to meet Redgrave, to hold him by a +new link of illusory temptation, that he might exert himself to the +utmost in promoting her success. For among the impulses which urged her +forward, her reasons for desiring a public triumph, was one which Harvey +perhaps never for a moment imagined -- a desire to shine gloriously in +the eyes of her husband. Harvey would never do her justice until +constrained by the voice of the world. Year after year he held her in +less esteem; he had as good as said that he did not think her capable of +taking a place among professional violinists. Disguise it how he might, +he secretly wished her to become a mere domestic creature, to abandon +hopes that were nothing better than a proof of vanity. This went to +Alma's heart, and rankled there. He should see! He should confess his +error, in all its injurious and humiliating extent! At whatever cost -- +at all _but_ any cost -- the day of her triumph should come about! +Foreseeing it, she had less difficulty in keeping calm when the +excellencies of Mrs. Abbott were vaunted before her, when Harvey simply +ignored all that in herself compensated the domestic shortcoming. Of +course, she was not a model of the home-keeping virtues; who expected an +artist to be that? But Harvey denied this claim; and of all the motives +contributing to her aspiration, none had such unfailing force as the +vehement resolve to prove him wrong. + +Next morning the weather was so bad that Harvey asked whether she had +not better give up her expedition to the Crystal Palace. Alma smiled and +shook her head. + +'You think I go only for amusement. It's so difficult to make you +understand that these things are serious.' + +'Congestion of the lungs is serious. I don't think Mrs. Frothingham will +face it. There'll probably be a telegram from her.' + +But by midday the fierce wind and driving sleet had abated, though the +outlook remained cheerless enough. After an early lunch, Alma set forth. +Dora Leach joined her in the train, and thus they travelled, through +sooty gloom, under or above ground, from the extreme north to the +farthest south of London; alighting at length with such a ringing of the +ears, such an impression of roar and crash and shriek, as made the +strangest prelude to a feast of music ever devised in the world's +history. Their seats having been taken in advance, they entered a few +moments before the concert began, and found themselves amid a scanty +audience; on either side of them were vacant places. Alma did not dare +to glance round about. If Redgrave were here, and looked for her, he +would have no difficulty in discovering where she sat; probably, too, he +could manage to take possession of the chair at her side. And this was +exactly what happened, though not until the first piece had been +performed. + +'I congratulate you on your zeal,' spoke the voice which always put her +in mind of sunny mountains and a blue lake. + +'Inviting a compliment in return,' said Alma, with a sudden illumination +of her features. 'Are you one of the regular attendants?' + +'Don't you remember?' His voice dropped so low that he hardly seemed to +address her. 'I promised myself the pleasure ----' + +Alma pretended not to hear. She turned to her companion, spoke a word, +and renewed the very slight acquaintance which had existed a few years +ago between Redgrave and Miss Leach. Then the sound of an instrument +imposed silence. + +It was not the first time that Alma affected to be absorbed in music +when not consciously hearing it at all. Today the circumstances made +such distraction pardonable; but often enough she had sat thus, with +countenance composed or ecstatic, only seeming to listen, even when a +master played. For Alma had no profound love of the art. Nothing more +natural than her laying it completely aside when, at home in Wales, she +missed her sufficient audience. To her, music was not an end in itself. +Like numberless girls, she had, to begin with, a certain mechanical +aptitude, which encouraged her through the earlier stages, until vanity +stepped in and urged her to considerable attainments. Her father's +genuine delight in music of the higher kind served as an encouragement +whenever her own energies began to fail; and when at length, with +advancing social prospects, the thought took hold of her that, by means +of her violin, she might maintain a place of distinction above ordinary +handsome girls and heiresses, it sufficed to overcome her indolence and +lack of the true temper. She founded her Quartet Society, and queened it +over amateurs, some of whom were much better endowed than herself. +Having set her pride on winning praise as a musician, of course she took +pains, even working very hard from time to time. She had first-rate +teachers, and was clever enough to profit by their lessons. With it all, +she cared as little for music as ever; to some extent it had lost even +that power over her sensibilities which is felt by the average hearer. +Alma had an emotional nature, but her emotions responded to almost any +kind of excitement sooner than to the musical. So much had she pretended +and posed, so much had she struggled with mere manual difficulties, so +much lofty cant and sounding hollowness had she talked, that the name of +her art was grown a weariness, a disgust. Conscious of this, she was +irritated whenever Harvey begged her to play simple things; for indeed, +if she must hear music at all, it was just those simple melodies she +would herself have preferred. And among the self-styled musical people +with whom she associated, were few, if any, in whom conceit did not +sound the leading motive. She knew but one true musician, Herr Wilenski. +That the virtuoso took no trouble to bring her in touch with his own +chosen circle, was a significant fact which quite escaped Alma's notice. + +Between the pieces Redgrave chatted in a vein of seductive familiarity, +saying nothing that Dora Leach might not have heard, but frequently +softening his voice, as though to convey intimate meanings. His manner +had the charm of variety; he was never on two occasions alike; today he +seemed to relax in a luxurious mood, due in part to the influence of +sound, and in part, as his eyes declared, to the sensuous pleasure of +sitting by Alma's side. + +'What an excellent fellow Carnaby is!' he remarked unexpectedly. 'I have +been seeing a good deal of him lately -- as you know, I think?' + +'So I have heard.' + +'I like him all the better because I am rather sorry for him.' + +'Why?' + +'Don't you feel that he is very much out of place? He doesn't belong to +our world at all. He ought to be founding a new civilisation in some +wild country. I can sympathise with him; I have something of the same +spirit.' + +'I never observed it,' said Alma, allowing her glance to skim his +features. + +'Perhaps because you yourself represent civilisation in its subtlest +phase, and when I am with you I naturally think only of that. I don't +say I should have thriven as a backwoodsman; but I admire the type in +Carnaby. That's one of _our_ privileges, don't you think? We live in +imagination quite as much as in everyday existence. You, I am sure, are +in sympathy with infinite forms of life -- and,' he added, just above +his breath, 'you could realise so many of them.' + +'I shall be content with one,' replied Alma. + +'And that ----?' + +She nodded towards the concert platform, where, at the same moment, a +violinist stepped forward. Redgrave gazed inquiringly at her, but she +kept silence until the next interval. Then, in reply to his direct +question, she told him, with matter-of-fact brevity, what her purpose +was. He showed neither surprise nor excessive pleasure, but bent his +head with a grave approving smile. + +'So you feel that the time has come. Of course I knew that it would. Are +any details arranged? -- or perhaps I mustn't ask?' + +'I wanted to talk it over with you,' she answered graciously. + +After the concert they had tea together. Redgrave was very attentive to +Miss Leach, whom his talk amused and flattered. Alma's enterprise was +discussed with pleasant freedom, and Redgrave learnt that she had +decided to employ Mr. Felix Dymes as her agent. The trio set forth at +length on their homeward journey in a mood of delightful animation, and +travelled together as far as Victoria. + +'I haven't said that you can rely on me for all possible assistance,' +Redgrave remarked, as he walked along the roaring platform by Alma's +side. 'That is a matter of course. We shall meet again before long?' + +'No doubt.' + +'In Porchester Terrace perhaps?' + +'Perhaps.' + +Alma met his eyes, and took away with her the consciousness of having +dared greatly. But the end was a great one. + +In spite of the bad weather, Mrs. Frothingham had travelled up from +Basingstoke. Alma found her in the drawing-room, and saw at a glance +that there had been conversation on certain subjects between her and +Harvey; but not until the next day did Mrs. Frothingham speak of what she +had heard, and make her private comments for Alma's benefit. + +'I thought Harvey was joking, dear. Have you reflected how many reasons +there are why you _shouldn't_ ----?' + +The pathetic gaze of appeal produced no effect. + +'Did Harvey ask you to talk about it, Mamma?' + +'No. He takes it in the kindest way. But, Alma, you surely see that it +pains him?' + +'Pains him? That shows you don't understand us, dear Mamma. We could +neither of us possibly do anything that would pain the other. We are in +perfect harmony, yet absolutely independent. It has all been talked over +and settled. You must have misunderstood Harvey altogether.' + +From this position Alma could not be moved, and Mrs. Frothingham, too +discreet to incur the risk of interference, spoke no more of the matter +as it concerned man and wife. But another objection she urged with +almost tearful earnestness. Did Alma forget that her appearance in +public would give occasion to most disagreeable forms of gossip? And +even if she disregarded the scandal of a few years ago, would not many +of her acquaintances say and believe that necessity had driven her into +a professional career? + +'They may say what they like, and think what they like,' was Alma's +lofty reply. 'If artists had always considered such trivial +difficulties, where should we have been? Suppose gossip does its worst +-- it's all over in a few months; then I stand by my own merit. Dear +Mamma, _don't_ be old fashioned! You look so young and so charming -- +indeed you do -- that I can't bear to hear you talk in that early +Victorian way. Art is art, and all these other things have nothing +whatever to do with it. There, it's all over. Be good, and amuse +yourself whilst you are with us. I assure you we are the most reasonable +and the happiest people living.' + +Mrs. Frothingham smiled at the compliment to herself; then sighed, and +held her peace. + + +CHAPTER 10 + + +So day by day Alma's violin sounded, and day after day Harvey heard it +with a growing impatience. As is commonly the case with people of +untrained ear, he had never much cared for this instrument; he preferred +the piano. Not long ago he would have thought it impossible that he +could ever come to dislike music, which throughout his life had been to +him a solace and an inspiration; but now he began to shrink from the +sound of it. As Alma practised in the morning, he was driven at length +to alter his habits, and to leave home after breakfast. Having no other +business, he went to Westminster Bridge Road, met Cecil Morphew at the +shop, watched the progress of alterations that seemed advisable, picked +up a little knowledge of photography, talked over prices, +advertisements, and numerous commercial matters of which he had hitherto +been contentedly ignorant. Before long, his loan to Morphew was +converted into an investment; he became a partner in the concern, which, +retaining the name of the old proprietor, they carried on as Den bow & +Co. + +The redemption of his debentures kept him still occupied with a furtive +study of the money-market. He did not dare to face risk on a large +scale; the mere thought of a great reduction of income made him tremble +and perspire. So in the end he adopted the simple and straightforward +expedient of seeking an interview with his banker, by whom he was +genially counselled to purchase such-and-such stock, a sound security, +but less productive than that he had previously held. An unfortunate +necessity, seeing that his expenses increased and were likely to do so. +But he tried to hope that Westminster Bridge Road would eventually +reimburse him. With good luck, it might do more. + +His days of quietude were over. He, too, was being drawn into the +whirlpool. No more dreaming among his books; no more waking to the +ordinary duties and cares of a reasonable life. As a natural consequence +of the feeling of unsettlement, of instability, he had recourse more +often than he wished to the old convivial habits, gathering about him +once again, at club or restaurant, the kind of society in which he +always felt at ease -- good, careless, jovial, and often impecunious +fellows, who, as in days gone by, sometimes made a demand upon his purse +which he could not resist, though he had now such cause for rigid +economy. Was it that he grew old? -- he could no longer take his wine +with disregard of consequence. The slightest excess, and too surely he +paid for it on the morrow, not merely with a passing headache, but with +a whole day's miserable discomfort. Oh, degeneracy of stomach and of +brain! Of will, too; for he was sure to repeat the foolish experience +before a week had passed. + +It was not till Mrs. Frothingham had left them after a fortnight's visit +that he reminded Alma of her promise to go with him to Gunnersbury. + +'Did I promise?' she said. 'I thought we agreed that you should settle +all that yourself.' + +'I had rather you came with me to see Mrs. Abbott. Shall it be Saturday?' + +'Can't,' replied Alma, with a shake of the head and a smile. 'I have to +see Mr. Dymes.' + +'Dymes? Who is he?' + +'My agent.' + +'Oh! very well; then I'll go alone.' + +He would not permit himself any further inquiry. Alma had never spoken +to him of Dymes, her 'agent'. Harvey pictured an ill-shaven man in a +small office, and turned from the thought with disgust. Too late to +interpose, to ask questions; anything of that kind would but make him +seem small, ridiculous, fussy. He had chosen his course, and must pursue +it. + +Not that Alma behaved in such a way as to suggest estrangement; anything +but so. Her manner was always amiable, frequently affectionate. When +they spent an evening together -- it did not often happen -- she talked +delightfully; avoiding, as did Harvey himself, the subjects on which +they were not likely to agree. Her gaze had all the old directness, her +smile was sweet as ever, and her laugh as melodious. If ever he felt +uneasy during her long absences in town, one of these evenings sufficed +to reassure him. Alma was Alma still, and could he but have reconciled +himself to the thought of her playing in public, she would have been yet +the wife he chose, frankly self-willed, gallantly independent. + +Until a certain day at the end of March, when something happened of +which Harvey had no suspicion, but which affected Alma in a way he soon +perceived. + +That morning he had left home early, and would not return till late. +Alma practised as usual, had luncheon alone, and was thinking of going +out, when the post delivered two letters -- one for herself from Dymes, +the other for her husband. A glance showed her that Harvey's +correspondent was Mrs. Abbott, and never till today had one of Mrs +Abbott's letters come into her hand. She regarded it with curiosity, and +the longer she looked the stronger her curiosity became. Harvey would of +course tell her what his friend wrote about -- as he always did; but the +epistle itself she would not be asked to read. And did she, as a matter +of fact, always know when Harvey heard from Mrs. Abbott? A foolish +question, probably; for if the correspondence were meant to be secret, +it would be addressed to Harvey at his club, not to the house. All the +same, a desire of years concentrated itself in this moment. Alma wished +vehemently to read one of Mary Abbott's letters with her own eyes. + +She turned the envelope. It was of very stout paper, and did not look +quite securely gummed. Would not a touch of the finger -- almost ----? +Why, there, just as she thought; a mere touch, and the envelope came +open. 'Now, if I ever wrote a dangerous word,' mused Alma -- 'which I +don't, and never shall -- this would be a lesson to me.' + +Well, it was open, and, naturally enough, the letter came forth. What +harm? There could be nothing in it that Harvey would wish to hide from +her. So, with hands that trembled, and cheeks that felt warm, she began +to read. + +The letter was Mrs. Abbott's acknowledgment of the quarterly cheque she +received from Rolfe. Alma was surprised at the mention of money in the +first line, and read eagerly on. As Mary Abbott and her friend had seen +each other so recently, there was no need of a full report concerning +Minnie Wager (her brother had long since gone to a boarding-school), but +the wording allowed it to be understood that Harvey paid for the child, +and, what was more, that he held himself responsible for her future. +What could this mean? Alma pondered it in astonishment; gratified by the +discovery, but disturbed beyond measure by its mysterious +suggestiveness. The letter contained little more, merely saying, towards +the end, how very glad the writer would be to give her utmost care to +little Hugh when presently he came into her hands. Last of all -- +'Please remember me kindly to Mrs. Rolfe.' + +At this point of her life Alma had become habitually suspicious of any +relation between man and woman which might suggest, however remotely, +dubious possibilities. Innocence appeared to her the exception, +lawlessness the rule, where man and woman were restrained by no obvious +barriers. It was the natural result of her experience, of her +companionship, of the thoughts she deliberately fostered. Having read +the letter twice, having mused upon it, she leaped to a conclusion which +seemed to explain completely the peculiar intimacy subsisting between +Harvey and Mary Abbott. These two children, known as Albert and Minnie +Wager, were Harvey's offspring, the result of some _liaison_ before his +marriage; and Mrs. Abbott, taking charge of them for payment, had +connived at the story of their origin, of their pitiful desertion. What +could be clearer? + +She did not go further in luminous conjectures. Even with her present +mind, Alma could not conceive of Mary Abbott as a wanton, of Harvey +Rolfe as a shameless intriguer; but it stung her keenly to think that +for years there had been this secret between them. Probably the matter +was known to Mrs. Abbott's husband, and so, at his death, it had somehow +become possible for Harvey to suggest this arrangement, whereby he +helped the widow in her misfortunes, and provided conscientiously for +his own illegitimate children. Harvey was so very conscientious about +children! + +Did they resemble him? She had seen the little girl, but only once, and +without attention. She would take an early opportunity of going over to +Gunnersbury, to observe. But no such evidence was necessary; the facts +stared one in the face. + +That Harvey should have kept this secret from her was intelligible +enough; most men, no doubt, would have done the same. But it seemed to +Alma only another proof of her husband's inability to appreciate her. He +had no faith in her as artist; he had no faith in her as woman. Had she +not felt this even from the very beginning of their intimate +acquaintance? Perhaps the first thing that awakened her interest in +Harvey Rolfe was the perception that he did not, like other men, admire +her unreservedly, that he regarded her with something of criticism. She +could attract him; she could play upon his senses; yet he remained +critical. This, together with certain characteristics which +distinguished him from the ordinary drawing-room man, suggestions of +force and individuality, drew her into singular relations with him long +before she dreamt that he would become her husband. And his attitude +towards her was unchanged, spite of passionate love-making, spite of the +tenderness and familiarity of marriage; still he viewed her with eyes of +tolerance, rather than of whole-hearted admiration. He compared, +contrasted her with Mary Abbott, for whose intellect and character he +had a sincere respect. Doubtless he fancied that, if this secret became +known to her, she would sulk or storm, after the manner of ordinary +wives. What made him so blind to her great qualities? Was it that he had +never truly loved her? Had it been owing to mere chance, mere drift of +circumstances, that he offered her marriage, instead of throwing out a +proposal such as that of Cyrus Redgrave at Bregenz? + +Though but darkly, confusedly, intermittently conscious of the feeling, +Alma was at heart dissatisfied with the liberty, the independence, which +her husband seemed so willing to allow her. This, again, helped to +confirm the impression that Harvey held her in small esteem. He did not +think it worth while to oppose her; she might go her frivolous way, and +he would watch with careless amusement. At moments, it was true, he +appeared on the point of ill-humour; once or twice she had thought +(perhaps had hoped) that he could lay down the law in masculine fashion; +but no -- he laughed, and it was over. When, at the time of her misery +in Wales -- her dim jealousy of Mrs. Abbott, and revolt against the +prospect of a second motherhood -- she had subdued herself before him, +spoken and behaved like an everyday dutiful wife, Harvey would have none +of it. He wished -- was that the reason? -- to be left alone, not to be +worried with her dependence upon him. That no doubt of her fidelity ever +seemed to enter his mind, was capable of anything but a complimentary +interpretation; he simply took it for granted that she would be faithful +-- in other words, that she had not spirit or originality enough to defy +conventional laws. To himself, perhaps, he reserved a much larger +liberty. How could she tell where, in what company, his evenings were +spent? More than once he had been away from home all night -- missed the +last train, he said. Well, it was nothing to her; but his incuriousness +as to her own movements began to affect her sensibly, now that she +imagined so close a community of thoughts and interests between Harvey +and Mary Abbott. + +Before his return tonight other letters had arrived for him, and all lay +together, as usual, upon his desk. Alma, trying to wear her customary +face, waited for him to mention that he had heard from Gunnersbury, but +Harvey said nothing. He talked, instead, of a letter from Basil Morton, +who wanted him to go to Greystone in the spring, with wife and child. + +'You mustn't count on me,' said Alma. + +'But after your concert -- recital -- whatever you call it; it would be +a good rest.' + +'Oh, I shall be busier than ever. Mr. Dymes hopes to arrange for me at +several of the large towns.' + +Harvey smiled, and Alma observed him with irritation she could scarcely +repress. Of course, his smile meant a civil scepticism. + +'By-the-bye,' he asked, 'is Dymes the comic opera man?' + +'Yes. I rather wondered, Harvey, whether you would awake to that fact. +He will be one of our greatest composers.' + +She went on with enthusiasm, purposely exaggerating Dymes's merits, and +professing a warm personal regard for him. In the end, Harvey's eye was +upon her, still smiling, but curiously observant. + +'Why hasn't he been here? Doesn't he think it odd that you never ask +him?' + +'Oh, you know that I don't care to ask people. They are aware' -- she +laughed -- 'that my husband is not musical.' + +Harvey's countenance changed. + +'Do you mean that you tell them so?' + +'Not in any disagreeable way, of course. It's so natural, now, for +married people to have each their own world.' + +'So it is,' he acquiesced. + +Alma would have gone to Gunnersbury the very next day, but she feared to +excite some suspicion in her husband's mind. He little imagined her +capable of opening his letters, and to be detected in such a squalid +misdemeanour would have overwhelmed her with shame. In a day or two she +would be going to Mrs. Rayner Mann's, to meet a certain musical critic +'of great influence', and by leaving home early she could contrive to +make a call upon Mrs. Abbott before lunching at Putney. This she did. She +saw little Minnie Wager, scrutinised the child's features, and had no +difficulty whatever in discerning Harvey's eyes, Harvey's mouth. Why +should she have troubled herself to come? It was very hard to control +her indignation. If Mrs. Abbott thought her rather strange, rather +abrupt, what did it matter? + +At Mrs. Rayner Mann's she passed into a soothing and delicious +atmosphere. The influential critic proved to be a very young man, +five-and-twenty at most; he stammered with nervousness when first +addressing the stranger, but soon gave her to understand, more or less +humorously, that his weekly article was 'quite' the most important thing +in latter-day musical criticism, and that he panted for the opportunity +of hearing a new violinist of real promise. But Alma had not brought her +violin; lest she should make herself cheap, she never played now at +people's houses. The critic had to be satisfied with hearing her talk +and gazing upon her beauty. Alma was become a very fluent talker, and +her voice had the quality which fixes attention. At luncheon, whilst +half-a-dozen persons lent willing ear, she compared Sarasate's playing +of Beethoven's Concerto with that of Joachim, and declared that +Sarasate's _cadenza_ in the first movement, though marvellous for +technical skill, was not at all in the spirit of the work. The +influential writer applauded, drawing her on to fresh displays of +learning, taste, eloquence. She had a great deal to say about somebody's +'technique of the left hand', of somebody else's 'tonal effects', of a +certain pianist's 'warmth of touch'. It was a truly musical gathering; +each person at table had some exquisite phrase to contribute. The +hostess, who played no instrument, but doted upon all, was of opinion +that an executant should 'aim at mirroring his own nature in his +interpretation of a tone-poem'; whereupon another lady threw out remarks +on 'subjective interpretation', confessing her preference for a method +purely 'objective'. The influential critic began to talk about Liszt, +with whom he declared that he had been on intimate terms; he grew +fervent over the master's rhapsodies, with their 'clanging rhythm and +dithyrambic fury'. + +'I don't know when I enjoyed myself so much,' said Alma gaily, as the +great young man pressed her hand at parting and avowed himself her +devoted admirer. + +'My dear Mrs. Rolfe,' said the hostess privately, 'you were simply +brilliant! We are all looking forward so eagerly!' + +And as soon as Alma was gone, the amiable lady talked about her to the +one remaining guest. + +'_Isn't_ she delightful! I do so hope she will be a success. I'm afraid +so much depends upon it. Of course, you know that she is the daughter of +Bennet Frothingham? Didn't you know? Yes, and left without a farthing. I +suppose it was natural she should catch at an offer of marriage, poor +girl, but it seems to have been _most_ ill-advised. One never sees her +husband, and I'm afraid he is anything but kind to her. He _may_ have +calculated on her chances as a musician. I am told they have little or +nothing to depend upon. Do drum up your friends -- will you? It is to be +at Prince's Hall, on May the 16th -- I think. I feel, don't you know, +personally responsible; she would never have come out but for my +persuasion, and I'm so anxious for a success!' + +The day drew near for Ada Wellington's debut. Alma met this young lady, +but they did not take to each other; Miss Wellington was a trifle +'loud', and, unless Alma mistook, felt fiercely jealous of any one +admired by Felix Dymes. As she could not entertain at their own house +(somewhere not far south of the Thames), Mrs. Wellington borrowed Dymes's +flat for an afternoon, and there, supported by the distinguished +composer, received a strange medley of people who interested themselves +in her daughter's venture. Alma laughed at the arrangement, and asked +Dymes if he expected her congratulations. + +'Don't make fun of them,' said Felix. 'Of course, they're not _your_ +sort, Alma. But I've known them all my life, and old Wellington did me +more than one good turn when I was a youngster. Ada won't make much of +it, but she'll squeeze in among the provincial pros after this send +off.' + +'You really are capable of generosity?' asked Alma. + +'I swear there's nothing between us. There's only one woman living that +I have eyes for -- and I'm afraid she doesn't care a rap about me; at +all events, she treats me rather badly.' + +This dialogue took place in a drawing-room the evening before Miss +Wellington's day. Alma had declined to meet her agent a second time at +the Apollo Theatre; they saw each other, by arrangement, at this and +that house of common friends, and corresponded freely by post, Dymes's +letters always being couched in irreproachable phrase. Whenever the +thing was possible, he undisguisedly made love, and Alma bore with it +for the sake of his services. He had obtained promises from four +musicians of repute to take part in Alma's concert, and declared that +the terms they asked were lower than usual, owing to their regard for +him. The expenses of the recital, without allowing for advertisements, +would amount to seventy or eighty pounds; and Dymes guaranteed that the +hall should produce at least that. Alma, ashamed to appear uneasy about +such paltry sums, always talked as though outlay mattered nothing. + +'Don't stint on advertisements,' she said. + +'No fear! Leave that to me,' answered Felix, with a smile of infinite +meaning. + +Ada Wellington could not afford to risk much money, and Alma thought her +announcements in the papers worth nothing at all. However, the pianist +was fairly successful; a tolerable audience was scraped together (at +Steinway Hall), and press notices of a complimentary flavour, though +brief, appeared in several quarters. With keen anxiety Alma followed +every detail. She said to herself that if _her_ appearance in public +made no more noise than this, she would be ready to die of +mortification. There remained a fortnight before the ordeal; had they +not better begin to advertise at once? Thus she wrote to Dymes, who +replied by sending her three newspapers, in each of which a paragraph of +musical gossip informed the world that Mrs. Harvey Rolfe was about to +give her first public violin recital at Prince's Hall. Mrs. Rolfe, added +the journalists in varying phrase, was already well known to the best +musical circles as an amateur violinist, and great interest attached to +her appearance in public, a step on which she had decided only after +much persuasion of friends and admirers. Already there was considerable +demand for tickets, and the audience would most certainly be both large +and distinguished. Alma laughed with delight. + +The same day, by a later post, she received a copy of a 'society' +journal, addressed in a hand unknown to her. Guided by a red pencil +mark, she became aware of no less than a quarter of a column devoted to +herself. From this she might learn (if she did not already know it) that +Mrs. Harvey Rolfe was a lady of the utmost personal and social charm; +that her beauty was not easily described without the use of terms that +would sound extravagant; that as a violinist she had stood for a year or +two _facile princeps_ amid lady amateurs; that she had till of late +lived in romantic seclusion 'amid the noblest scenery of North Wales', +for the sole purpose of devoting herself to music; and that only with +the greatest reluctance had she consented to make known to the public a +talent -- nay, a genius -- which assuredly was 'meant for mankind'. She +was the favourite pupil of that admirable virtuoso, Herr Wilenski. At +Prince's Hall, on the sixteenth of May, all lovers of music would have, +&c, &c. + +This batch of newspapers Alma laid before dinner on Harvey's desk, and +about an hour after the meal she entered the library. Her husband, +smoking and meditating, looked up constrainedly. + +'I have read them,' he remarked, in a dry tone. + +Alma's coldness during the last few weeks he had explained to himself as +the result of his failure to take interest in her proceedings. He knew +that this behaviour on his part was quite illogical; Alma acted with +full permission, and he had no right whatever to 'turn grumpy' just +because he disliked what she was doing. Only today he had rebuked +himself, and meant to make an effort to restore goodwill between them; +but these newspaper paragraphs disgusted him. He could not speak as he +wished. + +'This is your agent's doing, I suppose?' + +'Of course. That is his business.' + +'Well, I won't say anything about it. If _you_ are satisfied, I have no +right to complain.' + +'Indeed, I don't think you have,' replied Alma, putting severe restraint +upon herself to speak calmly. Thereupon she left the room. + +Harvey rose to follow her. He took a step forward -- stood still -- +returned to his chair. And they did not see each other again that night. + +In the morning came a letter from Dymes. He wrote that a certain +newspaper wished for an 'interview' with Mrs. Rolfe, to be published next +week. Should the interviewer call upon her, and, if so, when? Moreover, +an illustrated paper wanted her portrait with the least possible delay. +Were her new photographs ready? If so, would she send him a dozen? +Better still if he could see her today, for he had important things to +speak of. Might he look for her at Mrs. Littlestone's at about four +o'clock? + +At breakfast Alma was chatty, but she directed her talk almost +exclusively to Pauline Smith and to little Hugh, who now had his place +at table -- a merry, sunny-haired little fellow, dressed in a sailor +suit. Harvey also talked a good deal -- he, too, with Pauline and the +child. When Alma rose he followed her, and asked her to come into the +library for a moment. + +'I'm a curmudgeon,' he began, facing her with nervous abruptness. +'Forgive me for that foolery last night, will you?' + +'Of course,' Alma replied distantly. + +'No, but in the same spirit, Alma. I'm an ass! I know that if you do +this thing at all, you must do it in the usual way. I wish you success +heartily, and I'll read with pleasure every scrap of print that praises +you.' + +'I'm hurrying to town, Harvey. I have to go to the photographer, and see +Mr. Dymes, and all sorts of things.' + +'The photographer? I hope they'll be tolerable; I know they won't do you +justice. Will you sit to a painter if I arrange it? Unfortunately, I +can't afford Millais, you know; but I want a good picture of you.' + +'We'll talk about it,' she replied, smiling more pleasantly than of +late. 'But I really haven't time now.' + +'And you forgive me my idiotics?' + +She nodded and was gone. + +In the afternoon she met Dymes at Mrs. Littlestone's, a house of much +society, for the most part theatrical. When they had moved aside for +private talk, he began by asking a brusque question. + +'Who got that notice for you into the _West End_?' + +'Why, didn't you?' + +'Know nothing about it. Come, who was it?' + +'I have no idea. I took it for granted ----' + +'Look here, Alma, I think I'm not doing badly for you, and the least you +can do is to be straight with me.' + +Alma raised her head with a quick, circuitous glance, then fixed her +eyes on the man's heated face, and spoke in an undertone: 'Please, +behave yourself, or I shall have to go away. + +'Then you won't tell me? Very well. I chuck up the job. You can run the +show yourself.' + +Alma had never looked for delicacy in Felix Dymes, and his motives had +from the first been legible to her, but this revelation of brutality +went beyond anything for which she was prepared. As she saw the man move +away, a feeling of helplessness and of dread overcame her anger. She +could not do without him. The only other man active on her behalf was +Cyrus Redgrave, and to seek Redgrave's help at such a juncture, with the +explanation that must necessarily be given, would mean abandonment of +her last scruple. Of course, the paragraph in the _West End_ originated +with him; since Dymes knew nothing about it, it could have no other +source. Slowly, but very completely, the man of wealth and social +influence had drawn his nets about her; at each meeting with him she +felt more perilously compromised; her airs of command served merely to +disguise defeat in the contest she had recklessly challenged. Thrown +upon herself, she feared Redgrave, shrank from the thought of seeing +him. Not that he had touched her heart or beguiled her senses; she hated +him for his success in the calculated scheme to which she had +consciously yielded step by step; but she was brought to the point of +regarding him as inseparable from her ambitious hopes. Till quite +recently her thought had been that, after using him to secure a +successful debut, she could wave him off, perhaps tell him in plain +words, with a smile of scorn, that they were quits. She now distrusted +her power to stand alone. To the hostility of such a man as Dymes -- +certain, save at intolerable cost -- she must be able to oppose a higher +influence. Between Dymes and Redgrave there was no hesitating on +whatever score. This advertisement in the fashionable and authoritative +weekly paper surpassed Dymes's scope; his savage jealousy was sufficient +proof of that. All she could do for the moment was to temporise with her +ignobler master, and the humiliation of such a necessity seemed to +poison her blood. + +She rose, talked a little of she knew not what with she knew not whom, +and moved towards the hostess, by whom her enemy was sitting. A glance +sufficed. As soon as she had taken leave, Dymes followed her. He came up +to her side at a few yards from the house, and they walked together, +without speaking, until Alma turned into the first quiet street. + +'I give you my word,' she began, 'that I know nothing whatever about +that paper.' + +'I believe you, and I'm sorry I made a row,' Dymes replied. 'There's no +harm done. I dare say I shall be hearing more about it.' + +'I have some photographs here,' said Alma, touching her sealskin bag. +'Will you take them?' + +'Thanks. But there's a whole lot of things to be arranged. We can't talk +here. Let's go to my rooms.' + +He spoke as though nothing were more natural. Alma, the blood throbbing +at her temples, saw him beckon a crawling hansom. + +'I can't come -- now. I have a dreadful headache.' + +'You only want to be quiet. Come along.' + +The hansom had pulled up. Alma, ashamed to resist under the eyes of the +driver, stepped in, and her companion placed himself at her side. As +soon as they drove away he caught her hand and held it tightly. + +'I can't go to your rooms,' said Alma, after a useless resistance. 'My +head is terrible. Tell me whatever you have to say, and then take me to +Baker Street Station. I'll see you again in a day or two.' + +She did not feign the headache. It had been coming on since she left +home, and was now so severe that her eyes closed under the torture of +the daylight. + +'A little rest and you'll be all right,' said Dymes. + +Five minutes more would bring them to their destination. Alma pulled +away her hand violently. + +'If you don't stop him, I shall.' + +'You mean it? As you please. You know what I ----' + +Alma raised herself, drew the cabman's attention, and bade him drive to +Baker Street. There was a short silence, Dymes glaring and muttering +inarticulately. + +'Of course, if you really have a bad headache,' he growled at length. + +'Indeed I have -- and you treat me very unkindly.' + +'Hang it, Alma, don't speak like that! As if I _could_ be unkind to +you!' + +He secured her hand again, and she did not resist. Then they talked of +business, settled one or two matters, appointed another meeting. As they +drew near to the station, Alma spoke impulsively, with a bewildered +look. + +'I shouldn't wonder if I give it up, after all.' + +'Rot!' was her companion's amazed exclamation. + +'I might. I won't answer for it. And it would be your fault.' + +Stricken with alarm, Dymes poured forth assurances of his good +behaviour. He followed her down to the platform, and for a quarter of an +hour she had to listen, in torment of mind and body, to remonstrances, +flatteries, amorous blandishments, accompanied by the hiss of steam and +the roar of trains. + +On reaching home she could do nothing but lie down in the dark. Her head +ached intolerably; and hour after hour, as often happens when the brain +is over-wearied, a strain of music hummed incessantly on her ear, till +inability to dismiss it made her cry in half-frenzied wretchedness. + +With sleep she recovered; but through the next day, dull and idle, her +thoughts kept such a gloomy colour that she well-nigh brought herself to +the resolve with which she had threatened Felix Dymes. But for the +anticipation of Harvey's triumph, she might perhaps have done so. + + +CHAPTER 11 + + +For several days she had not touched the violin. There was no time for +it. Correspondence, engagements, intrigues, whirled her through the +waking hours and agitated her repose. The newspaper paragraphs resulted +in a shower of letters, inquiring, congratulating, offering good wishes, +and all had to be courteously answered, lest the writers should take +offence. Invitations to luncheon, to dinner, to midnight 'at homes', +came thick and fast. If all this resulted from a few preliminary 'puffs' +what, Alma asked herself, would be the consequence of an actual success? +How did the really popular musicians contrive to get an hour a day for +the serious study of their art? Her severe headache had left behind it +some nervous disorder, not to be shaken off by any effort -- a new +distress, peculiarly irritating to one who had always enjoyed good +health. When she wrote, her hand was unsteady, and sometimes her eyes +dazzled. This would be alarming if it went on much longer; the day +approached, the great day, the day of fate, and what hope was there for +a violinist who could not steady her hand? + +The 'interviewer' called, and chatted for half an hour, and took his +leave with a flourish of compliments. The musicians engaged to play with +her at Prince's Hall's came down to try over pieces, a trio, a duet; so +that at last she was obliged to take up her instrument -- with results +that did not reassure her. She explained that she was not feeling quite +herself; it was nothing; it would pass in a day or two. Sibyl Carnaby +had asked her and Harvey to dine next week, to meet several people; Mrs +Rayner Mann had arranged a dinner for another evening; and now Mrs +Strangeways, whom she had not seen for some weeks, sent an urgent +request that she would call in Porchester Terrace as soon as possible, +to speak of something 'very important'. + +This summons Alma durst not disregard. Between Mrs. Strangeways and Cyrus +Redgrave subsisted an intimacy which caused her frequent uneasiness. It +would not have surprised her to discover that this officious friend knew +of all her recent meetings with Redgrave -- at the Crystal Palace and +elsewhere; and, but for her innocence, she would have felt herself at +the woman's mercy. That she had not transgressed, and was in no danger +of transgressing, enabled her to move with head erect among the things +unspeakable which always seemed to her to be lurking in the shadowed +corners of Mrs. Strangeways' house. The day was coming when she might +hope to terminate so undesirable an acquaintance, but for the present +she must show a friendly face. + +She made this call at three o'clock, and was received in that +over-scented, over-heated boudoir, which by its atmosphere invariably +turned her thoughts to evil. The hostess rose languidly, with a pallid, +hollow-eyed look of illness. + +'Only my neuralgic something or other,' she said, in reply to a +sympathetic inquiry. 'It's the price one pays for civilisation. I've had +two terrible days and nights, but it's over for the present. But for +that I should have written to you before. Why, _you_ don't look quite so +well as usual. Be careful -- do be careful!' + +'I mean to be, if people will let me.' + +'You have eight days, haven't you? Yes, just eight days. You ought to +keep as quiet as possible. We are all doing our best; but, after all, +success depends greatly upon yourself, you know.' + +The voice, as always, seemed to fondle her, but Alma's ear detected the +usual insincerity. Mrs. Strangeways spoke in much the same way to numbers +of people, yet not quite so caressingly. Some interest she undoubtedly +had to serve by this consistent display of affection, and with all but +certainty Alma divined it. She shrank from the woman; it cost her an +unceasing effort not to betray dislike, or even hostility. + +'Of course, you saw last week's _West End_?' pursued the hostess, +smiling. 'You know whose doing that was?' + +'I only guessed that it _might_ be Mr. Redgrave's kindness.' + +'I have the same suspicion. He was here the other day -- we talked about +you. You haven't seen him since then?' + +'No.' + +'He hinted to me -- just a little anxiety. I hardly know whether I ought +to speak of it.' + +Alma looked an interrogation as unconcerned as she could make it, but +did not open her lips. + +'It was with reference to -- your man of business. It seems he has heard +something -- I really don't know what -- not quite favourable to Mr +Dymes. I shall not offend you, dear?' + +'I don't take offence, Mrs. Strangeways,' Alma answered, with a slight +laugh to cover her uneasiness. 'It's so old-fashioned.' + +The hostess uttered a thin trill of merriment. + +'One is always safe with people who have humour, dear. It _does_ make +life easier, doesn't it? Oh, the terrible persons who take everything +with tragic airs! Well, there's not a bit of harm in it. Between +ourselves, it struck me that our friend was just a little inclined to be +-- yes, you understand.' + +'I'm afraid I don't.' + +'I hate the word -- well, just a trifle jealous.' + +Alma leaned back in her chair, glanced about her, and said nothing. + +'Of course, he would never allow _you_ to suspect anything of the kind. +It will make no difference. You can count upon his utmost efforts. But +when one thinks how very much he has it in his power to do ----. That +bit of writing in the _West End_, you know -- only the highest influence +can command that kind of thing. The _West End_ can't be bought, I assure +you. And one has to think of the future. A good beginning is much, but +how many musicians are able to follow it up? My dear Alma, let me +implore you not to imagine that you will be able to dispense with this +kind of help.' + +'Do you mean that Mr. Redgrave is likely to withdraw it?' + +'Impossible for me to say, dear. I am only telling you how his +conversation struck me. He appeared to think -- to be apprehensive that +you might in future look to Mr. Dymes rather than to him. Of course, I +could say nothing -- I would not venture a syllable.' + +'Of course not,' Alma murmured mechanically, her eyes wandering. + +'Are you likely, I wonder, to see him in the next few days?' + +'I hardly know -- I think not.' + +'Then let me -- will you? -- let me contrive a _chance_ meeting here.' + +Loathing herself, and burning with hatred of the woman, in whose hands +she felt powerless, Alma gave an assenting nod. + +'I am sure it will be a measure of prudence, dear. I thought possibly +you might be seeing him at Mrs. Carnaby's. He is there sometimes, I +believe?' + +Alma looked at the speaker, detecting some special significance in her +inquiry. She replied that Redgrave of course called upon Mrs. Carnaby -- +but not often, she thought. + +'No?' threw out Mrs. Strangeways. 'I fancied he was there a good deal; I +don't quite know why.' + +'Have you met him there?' + +'No. It's quite a long time since I called -- one has so many people to +see.' + +Alma knew that Sibyl was now holding aloof from Mrs. Strangeways, and it +seemed not improbable that this had excited some ill-feeling in the +latter. But her own uneasiness regarding Sibyl's relations with +Redgrave, uneasiness never quite subdued; made her quick to note, and +eager to explore, any seeming suspicion on that subject in another's +mind. Mrs. Strangeways was a lover of scandal, a dangerous woman, +unworthy of confidence in any matter whatsoever. Common prudence, to say +nothing of loyalty to a friend, bade Alma keep silence; but the +subtly-interrogating smile was fixed upon her; hints continued to fall +upon her ear, and an evil fascination at length compelled her to speak. + +'You know,' she said, as if mentioning an unimportant piece of news, +'that Mr. Redgrave has joined Mr. Carnaby in business?' + +The listener's face exhibited a surprise of which there was no mistaking +the sincerity. Her very features seemed to undergo a change as the smile +vanished from them; they became on the instant hard and old, lined with +sudden wrinkles, the muscles tense, every line expressive of fierce +vigilance. + +'In business? -- what business?' + +'Oh, I thought you would have heard of it. Perhaps Mr. Redgrave doesn't +care to have it known.' + +'My dear, I am discretion itself.' + +Everything was told, down to the last detail of which Alma had any +knowledge. As she listened and questioned, Mrs. Strangeways resumed her +smiling manner, but could not regain the perfect self-command with which +she had hitherto gossiped. That she attached great importance to this +news was evident, and the fact of its being news to her brought fresh +trouble into Alma's thoughts. + +'How very interesting!' exclaimed Mrs. Strangeways at length. 'Another +instance of Mr. Redgrave's kindness to his friends. Of course, it was +done purely out of kindness, and that is why he doesn't speak of it. +Quite amusing, isn't it, to think of him as partner in a business of +that kind. I wonder whether ----' + +She broke off with a musing air. + +'What were you wondering?' asked Alma, whose agitation increased every +moment, though the seeming tendency of her companion's words was to +allay every doubt. + +'Oh, only whether it was _Mr_ Carnaby who first made known his +difficulties.' + +'I am told so.' + +'By Mrs. Carnaby? Yes, no doubt it was so. I don't think Mrs. Carnaby +could quite have -- I mean she is a little reserved, don't you think? +She would hardly have spoken about it to -- to a comparative stranger.' + +'But Mr. Redgrave can't be called a stranger,' said Alma. 'They have been +friends for a long time. Surely you know that.' + +'Friends in _that_ sense? The word has such different meanings. You and +Mr. Redgrave are friends, but I don't think you would care to tell him if +your husband were in difficulties of that kind -- would you?' + +'But Sibyl -- Mrs. Carnaby didn't tell him,' replied Alma, with nervous +vehemence. + +'No, no; we take that for granted. I don't think Mr. Carnaby is -- the +kind of man ----' + +'What kind of man?' + +'I hardly know him; we have met, that's all. But I should fancy he +wouldn't care to know that his wife talked about such things to Mr +Redgrave or any one else. There _are_ men' -- her voice sank, and the +persistent smile became little better than an ugly grin -- 'there _are_ +men who don't mind it. One hears stories I shouldn't like to repeat to +you, or even to hint at. But those are very different people from the +Carnabys. Then, I suppose,' she added, with abrupt turn, 'Mr. Carnaby is +very often away from home?' + +Trying to reply, Alma found her voice obstructed. + +'I think so.' + +'How very kind of Mr. Redgrave, wasn't it! Has he spoken about it to +_you_?' + +'Of course not.' + +'Naturally, he wouldn't. -- Oh, don't go yet, dear. Why, we have had no +tea; it isn't four o'clock. Must you really go? Of course, you are +overwhelmed with engagements. But do -- do take care of your health. And +remember our little scheme. If Mr. Redgrave could look in -- say, the day +after tomorrow? You shall hear from me in time. I feel -- I really feel +-- that it wouldn't be wise to let him think -- you understand me.' + +With scarce a word of leave-taking, Alma hastened away. The air of this +room was stifling her, and the low cooing voice had grown more +intolerable than a clanging uproar. From Porchester Terrace she walked +into Bayswater Road, her eyes on the pavement. It was a sunny afternoon, +but there had been showers, and now again large spots of rain began to +fall. As she was opening her umbrella, a cabman's voice appealed to her, +and fixed her purpose. She bade him drive her to Oxford and Cambridge +Mansions. + +Sibyl was not at home. The maid-servant could not say when she might +return; she had been absent since yesterday morning. Unable to restrain +herself, Alma inquired whether Mr. Carnaby was in town. He was not; he +had been away for several days. + +On the morrow a letter from Sibyl came to Pinner. She was grieved to +hear that Alma had called during her absence. Was it anything of +importance, or would it keep till she and Harvey came to dine on +Saturday? 'I have been down to Weymouth -- not to enjoy myself, but to +see my mother. She _says_ she is very ill, and thinks it monstrous that +I don't feel inclined to devote myself to the care of her. Her illness, +I am sure, is nothing but discontent and bad temper, just because she +feels herself dropping out of society. She must get used to it. In any +case, we could never endure each other; and how can I be expected to +make any sacrifice for a mother who never gave me an hour of motherly +care from the day of my birth? But you know all about this, and don't +want to hear of it again just when you are so busy. If there is anything +in the world I can do for you, let me know at once.' + +But for her conversation with Mrs. Strangeways, it would not have +occurred to Alma to doubt the truth of what Sibyl wrote; as it was, she +tortured herself with dark surmises. Jealousy without love, a passion +scarcely intelligible to the ordinary man, is in woman common enough, +and more often productive of disaster than the jealousy which originates +in nobler feeling. To suspect that she was the plaything of Sibyl's +subtlety, and that Redgrave smiled at her simplicity in never having +discovered an obvious rival, fired her blood to the fever point. She +could no longer balance probabilities; all the considerations which +hitherto declared for Sibyl's innocence lost their weight. Her +overexcited mind, her impaired health, were readily receptive of such +poison as distilled from the lips of Mrs. Strangeways. What she now +desired was proof. Only let evidence be afforded her, cost what it +might! After that, she saw her way. + +No! Hugh Carnaby was assuredly not one of the men who wink at their +wives' dishonour, nor one of the men who go slinking for a remedy to +courts of law -- or she mistook him strangely + +At receipt of the expected note from Porchester Terrace -- it said +merely, 'Pray be here, if possible, at three tomorrow afternoon' -- she +quivered with anticipation of seeing Redgrave. How it was to come about, +she did not ask, but Redgrave should not part from her before she had +obtained light upon his relations with Sibyl. She believed herself +irresistible if she chose to put forth all her power. With two men, +dangerous both of them, she had played the game of her own interests, +played it safely, and for a long time; she made them her instruments, +mocking at their hopes, holding them at arm's-length, in spite of all +their craft and their vehemence. Only a very clever woman could do this. +In giddiness of self-admiration, she felt everything to be possible. +Boldness was necessary -- far more boldness than she had yet dared to +use. The rivalry of such a woman as Sibyl could not be despised; it +threatened her ambitions. But in the struggle now to be decided she had +a supreme advantage; for Sibyl, having gained her object, assuredly had +paid its price. Hence her pretended absorption in study, hence the +revival of her friendliness; what were these things but blinds to +mislead the only woman whose observation she had much reason to fear? + +How astonishing it now seemed to her that she could have accepted such +shallow explanations of Redgrave's partnership with Hugh Carnaby! Why, +Harvey himself, least suspicious of men, was perplexed, and avowed his +inability to understand it. As for Mrs. Strangeways -- a woman of the +world, if there was one -- the fact had but to be mentioned to her, and +on the moment she saw its meaning. No wonder the matter had been kept so +quiet. But for the honesty of the duped husband no one at all would have +heard of it. + +Arriving at the house a little before her time, she found her hostess a +prey to vexation. + +'My dear, he can't come. It's most annoying. Only an hour ago I had a +telegram -- look ----' + +The despatch was from Coventry: 'Don't expect me. Detained on business. +Redgrave.' It rustled in Alma's hand, and she had much ado to keep +herself from tears of angry chagrin. + +'He had promised to be here,' went on Mrs. Strangeways. 'I thought +nothing would have kept him away.' + +'Do you mean,' asked Alma bluntly, 'that he knew I was coming?' + +'I had said that I half expected you. Don't be vexed, dear. I did so +wish you to meet.' + +'If he's at Coventry,' Alma continued, 'it must be on _that_ business.' + +'It seems likely. Do sit down. You still look anything but yourself. +Pray, pray remember that you have only a day or two ----' + +'Don't worry me, please,' said Alma, with a contemptuous gesture. + +She had thrown off reserve, caring only, now the first step was taken, +to make all possible use of this woman whom she detested. Her voice +showed the change that had been wrought in her; she addressed her +hostess almost as though speaking to an inferior. + +'What do you think it means, his keeping away?' + +'Business, possibly. More likely -- the other thing I spoke of.' + +In this reply Mrs. Strangeways modified her tone, discarding mellifluous +tenderness, yet not going quite so far as Alma in neglect of +appearances. She was an older woman, and had learnt the injudiciousness +of impulsive behaviour. + +'Speak plainly -- it saves time. You think he won't care to meet me at +all again?' + +'I don't say that. I should be very sorry indeed to think it. But -- to +speak as plainly as you wish, dear -- I know that someone must have said +unpleasant things to him about your -- your friendship with Mr. Dymes.' + +'Are you hinting at anyone in particular?' Alma asked, salving her +self-respect with a poor affectation of haughtiness. + +'Ask yourself, my dear, who is at all likely to give him such +information.' + +'Information?' Alma's eyes flashed. 'That's a strange word to use. Do +you imagine there is any information of that kind to be given?' + +'I spoke carelessly,' answered the other, smiling. 'Do sit down, dear +Mrs. Rolfe. I'm sure you will overtax your strength before Tuesday. I +meant nothing whatever, I assure you.' + +Reluctantly Alma became seated, and the conversation was prolonged. +Without disguise they debated the probability that Redgrave was being +estranged from Alma by Sibyl Carnaby; of course, taking for granted +Sibyl's guilt, and presuming that she feared rivalry. From time to time +Alma threw out scornful assertion of her own security; she was bold to +the point of cynicism, and recklessly revealed herself. The other +listened attentively, still smiling, but without constraint upon her +features; at moments she appeared to feel something of admiration. + +'There are several things in your favour,' she remarked deliberately, +when Alma had declared a resolve to triumph at all hazards. 'Above all +-- but one need not mention it.' + +'What? I don't understand.' + +'Oh, I'm sure you do! You alluded to it the other day. Some women have +such tiresome husbands.' + +The look which accompanied this struck Alma cold. She sat motionless, +staring at the speaker. + +'What do you mean? You think that my husband ----?' + +'I meant only to encourage you, my dear.' + +'You think that my husband has less sense of honour than Mr. Carnaby?' + +Mrs. Strangeways looked wonderingly at her. + +'How strange you are! Could I have dreamt of saying anything so +ill-mannered?' + +'You implied it!' exclaimed Alma, her voice thrilling on the note of +indignation. 'How dare you so insult me! Is it possible that you have +such thoughts?' + +Overcome by what seemed to her the humour of the situation, Mrs +Strangeways frankly laughed. + +'I beg your pardon a thousand times, my dear Mrs. Rolfe! I have +misunderstood, I am afraid. You _are_ quite serious? Yes, yes, there has +been a misunderstanding. Pray forgive me.' + +Alma rose from her chair. 'There _has_ been a misunderstanding. If you +knew my husband -- if you had once met him -- such a thought could never +have entered your mind. You compare him to his disadvantage with Mr +Carnaby? What right have you to do that? I believe in Mr. Carnaby's +honesty, and do you know why? -- because he is my husband's friend. But +for _that_, I should suspect him.' + +'My dear,' replied Mrs. Strangeways, 'you are wonderful. I prophesy great +things for you. I never in my life met so interesting a woman.' + +'You may be as sarcastic as you please,' Alma retorted, in a low, +passionate voice. 'I suppose you believe in no one?' + +'I have said, dear, that I believe in _you_; and I shall think it the +greatest misfortune if I lose your friendship for a mere indiscretion. +Indeed, I was only trying to understand you completely.' + +'You do -- now.' + +They did not part in hostility. Mrs. Strangeways had the best of reasons +for averting this issue, at any cost to her own feelings, which for the +moment had all but escaped control. Though the complications of Alma's +character puzzled her exceedingly, she knew how to smooth over the +trouble which had so unexpectedly arisen. Flattery was the secret of her +influence with Mrs. Rolfe, and it still availed her. With ostentation of +frankness, she pointed a contrast between Alma and her presumed rival. +Mrs. Carnaby was the corrupt, unscrupulous woman, who shrank from nothing +to gratify a base selfishness. Alma was the artist, pursuing a +legitimate ambition, using, as she had a perfect right to do, all her +natural resources, but pure in soul. + +'Yes, I understand you at last, and I admire you more than ever. You +will go far, my dear. You have great gifts, and, more than that, you +have principle. It is character that tells in the long run. And depend +upon me. I shall soon have news for you. Keep quiet; prepare yourself +for next Tuesday. As for all _that_ -- leave it to me.' + +Scarcely had Alma left the house, when she suddenly stood still, as +though she had forgotten something. Indeed she had. In the flush of +loyal resentment which repelled an imputation upon her husband's honour, +she had entirely lost sight of her secret grievance against Harvey. +Suddenly revived, the memory helped her to beat down that assaulting +shame which took advantage of reaction in mind and blood. Harvey was not +honest with her. Go as far as she might, short of the unpardonable, +there still remained to her a moral superiority over the man she +defended. And yet -- she was glad to have defended him; it gave her a +sense of magnanimity. More than that, the glow of an honest thought was +strangely pleasant. + +She had sundry people to see and pieces of business to transact. What a +nuisance that she lived so far from the centre of things! It was this +perpetual travelling that had disordered her health, and made everything +twice as troublesome as it need be. Today, again, she had a headache, +and the scene with Mrs. Strangeways had made it worse. + +In Regent Street she met Dymes. She was not afraid of him now, for she +had learnt how to make him keep his distance; and after the great day, +if he continued to trouble her, he might be speedily sent to the +right-about. He made an inspiriting report: already a considerable +number of tickets had been sold -- enough, he said, or all but enough, +to clear expenses. + +'What, advertising and all?' asked Alma. + +'Oh, leave that to me. Advertising is a work of art. If you like just to +come round to my rooms, I'll ----' + +'Haven't time today. See you at the Hall on Monday.' + +A batch of weekly newspapers which arrived next morning, Saturday, +proved to her that Dymes was sufficiently active. There were more +paragraphs; there were two reproductions of her portrait; and as for +advertisements, she tried, with some anxiety, to conjecture the cost of +these liberal slices of page, with their eye-attracting type. Naturally +the same question would occur to her husband, but Harvey kept his word; +whatever he thought, he said nothing. And Alma found it easier to be +good-humoured with him than at any time since she had read Mary Abbott's +letter; perhaps yesterday's event accounted for it. + +They dined at the Carnabys', the first time for months that they had +dined from home together. Harvey would have shirked the occasion, had it +been possible. With great relief, he found that the guests were all +absolute strangers to him, and that they represented society in its +better sense, with no suggestion of the 'half-world' -- no Mrs +Strangeways or Mrs. Rayner Mann. Alma, equally conscious of the fact, +viewed it as a calculated insult. Sibyl had brought her here to +humiliate her. She entered the doors with jealous hatred boiling in her +heart, and fixed her eyes on Sibyl with such fire of malicious scrutiny +that the answer was a gaze of marked astonishment. But they had no +opportunity for private talk. Sibyl, as hostess, bore herself with that +perfect manner which no effort and no favour of circumstance would ever +enable Mrs. Rolfe to imitate. Envying every speech and every movement, +knowing that her own absent behaviour and forced talk must produce an +unpleasant impression upon the well-bred strangers, she longed to expose +the things unspeakable that lay beneath this surface of social +brilliancy. What was more, she would do it when time was ripe. Only this +consciousness of power to crush her enemy enabled her to bear up through +the evening. + +At the dinner-table she chanced to encounter Sibyl's look. She smiled. +There was disquiet in that glance -- furtive inquiry and apprehension. + +No music. Alma would have doubted whether any of these people were aware +of her claim to distinction, had not a lady who talked with her after +dinner hinted, rather than announced, an intention of being present at +Prince's Hall next Tuesday. None of the fuss and adulation to which she +was grown accustomed; no underbred compliments; no ambiguous glances +from men. It angered her to observe that Harvey did not seem at all +wearied; that he conversed more naturally than usual in a mixed company, +especially with the hostess. One whisper -- and how would Harvey look +upon his friend's wife? But the moment had not come. + +She left as early as possible, parting from Sibyl as she had met her, +with eyes that scarce dissembled their malignity. + +When Hugh and his wife were left together, Sibyl abstained from remark +on Alma; it was Carnaby who introduced the subject. 'Don't you think Mrs +Rolfe looked seedy?' + +'Work and excitement,' was the quiet answer. 'I think it more than +likely she will break down.' + +'It's a confounded pity. Why, she has grown old all at once. She's +losing her good looks. Did you notice that her eyes were a little +bloodshot?' + +'Yes, I noticed it. I didn't like her look at all.' + +Hugh, as his custom was, paced the floor. Nowadays he could not keep +still, and he had contracted an odd habit of swinging his right arm, +with fist clenched, as though relieving his muscles after some unusual +constraint. + +'By Jove, Sibyl, when I compare her with you! -- I feel sorry for Rolfe; +can't help it. Why didn't you stop this silly business before it went so +far?' + +'That's a characteristic question, dear boy,' Sibyl replied merrily. +'There are more things in life -- particularly woman's life -- than your +philosophy ever dreamt of. Alma has quite outgrown me, and I begin to +suspect that she won't honour me with her acquaintance much longer.' + +'Why?' + +'For one thing, we belong to different worlds, don't you see; and the +difference, in future, will be rather considerable.' + +'Well, I'm sorry. Rolfe isn't half the man he was. Why on earth didn't +_he_ stop it? He hates it, anyone can see. Why, if I were in his place +----' + +Sibyl interrupted with her mellow laughter. + +'You wouldn't be a bit wiser. It's the fate of men -- except those who +have the courage to beat their wives. You know you came back to England +at my heels when you didn't want to. Now, a little energy, a little +practice with the horsewhip ----' + +Carnaby made pretence of laughing. But he turned away his face; the jest +had too serious an application. Yes, yes, if he had disregarded Sibyl's +wishes, and stayed on the other side of the world! It seemed to him +strange that she could speak of the subject so lightly; he must have +been more successful than he thought in concealing his true state of +mind. + +'Rolfe tells me he has got a house at Gunnersbury.' + +'Yes; he mentioned it to me. Why Gunnersbury? There must be some reason +they don't tell us.' + +'Ask his wife,' said Hugh, impatiently. 'No doubt the choice is hers.' + +'No doubt. But I don't think,' added Sibyl musingly, 'I shall ask Alma +that or anything else. I don't think I care much for Alma in her new +development. For a time I shall try leaving her alone.' + +'Well, I'm sorry for poor old Rolfe,' repeated Hugh. + + +CHAPTER 12 + + +On Monday morning Hugh Carnaby received a letter from Mrs. Ascott +Larkfield. It was years since Sibyl's mother had written to him, and the +present missive, scrawled in an unsteady hand, gave him some concern. +Mrs. Larkfield wrote that she was very ill, so ill that she had abandoned +hope of recovery. She asked him whether, as her son-in-law, he thought +it right that she should be abandoned to the care of strangers. It was +the natural result, no doubt, of her impoverished condition; such was +the world; had she still been wealthy, her latter days would not have +been condemned to solitude. But let him remember that she still had in +her disposal an income of about six hundred pounds, which, under +ordinary circumstances, would have passed to Sibyl; by a will on the +point of being executed, this money would benefit a charitable +institution. To him this might be a matter of indifference; she merely +mentioned the fact to save Sibyl a possible disappointment. + +Hugh and his wife, when both had read the letter, exchanged uneasy +glances. + +'It isn't the money,' said Carnaby. 'Hang the money! But -- after all, +Sibyl, she's your mother.' + +'And what does _that_ mean?' Sibyl returned coldly. 'Shall I feel the +least bit of sorrow if she dies? Am I to play the hypocrite just because +this woman brought me into the world? We have always hated each other, +and whose fault? When I was a child, she left me to dirty-minded, +thieving servants; they were my teachers, and it's wonderful enough that +-- that nothing worse came of it. When I grew up, she left me to do as I +pleased -- anything so that I gave her no trouble. Do you wish me to go +and pretend ----' + +'I tell you what -- I'll run down to Weymouth myself, shall I? Perhaps I +might arrange something -- for her comfort, I mean.' + +Sibyl carelessly assented. Having business in town, Hugh could not start +till afternoon, but he would reach Weymouth by half-past six, and might +manage to be back again in time for Mrs. Rolfe's concert tomorrow. + +'I shouldn't put myself to any inconvenience on that account,' said +Sibyl, smiling. + +'Out of regard for Rolfe, that's all.' + +He left home at eleven, transacted his business, and at half-past one +turned in for lunch at a Strand restaurant before proceeding to +Waterloo. As he entered, he saw Mrs. Rolfe, alone at one of the tables; +she was drawing on her gloves, about to leave. They met with friendly +greeting, though Hugh, from the look with which Mrs. Rolfe recognised +him, had a conviction that his growing dislike of her was fully +reciprocated. In the brief talk before Alma withdrew, he told her that +he was going down into the country. + +'To Coventry?' she asked, turning her eyes upon him. + +'No; to Weymouth. Mrs. Larkfield is no better, I'm afraid, and -- Sibyl +wants me to see her.' + +'Then you won't be back ----' + +'For tomorrow? -- oh yes, I shall certainly be back in time, unless +anything very serious prevents me. There's a good train from Weymouth at +10.10 -- gets in about half-past two. I shall easily get to Prince's +Hall by three.' + +Alma again regarded him, and seemed on the point of saying something, +but she turned her head, rose, and rather hastily took leave. Hugh +remarked to himself that she looked even worse by daylight than in the +evening; decidedly, she was making herself ill -- perhaps, he added, the +best thing that could happen. + +For his luncheon he had small appetite. The journey before him was a +nuisance, and the meeting at the end of it more disagreeable than +anything he had ever undertaken. What a simple matter life would be, but +for women! That Sibyl should detest her mother was perhaps natural +enough, all things considered; but he heartily wished they were on +better terms. He felt that Sibyl must have suffered in character, to +some extent, by this abnormal antipathy. He did not blame her; her +self-defence this morning proved that she had ground for judging her +mother sternly; and perhaps, as she declared, only by her own strength +and goodness had she been saved from the worst results of parental +neglect. Hugh did not often meditate upon such things, but just now he +felt impatience and disgust with women who would not care properly for +their children. Poor old Rolfe's wife, for instance, what business had +she to be running at large about London, giving concerts, making herself +ill and ugly, whilst her little son was left to a governess and +servants! He had half a mind to write a letter to old Rolfe. But no; +that kind of thing was too dangerous, even between the nearest friends. +Men must not quarrel; women did more than enough of that. Sibyl and Alma +had as good as fallen out; the less they saw of each other the better. +And now he had to face a woman, perhaps dying, who would doubtless rail +by the hour at her own daughter. + +O heaven! for a breath of air on sea or mountain or prairie! Could he +stand this life much longer? + +Driving to Waterloo, he thought of Mrs. Larkfield's bequest to the +charitable institution. Six hundred pounds might be a paltry income, but +one could make use of it. A year ago, to be sure, he would have felt +more troubled by the loss; at present he had reason to look forward +hopefully, so far as money could represent hope. The cycle business was +moving; as likely as not, it would ultimately enrich him. There was +news, too, from that fellow Dando in Queensland, who declared that his +smelting process, gradually improved, had begun to yield results, and +talked of starting a new company. Hugh's business of the morning had +been in this connection: by inquiry in the City he had learnt that +Dando's report might be relied upon, and that capital which had +seemingly vanished would certainly yield a small dividend this year. He +was thankful that he could face Mrs. Larkfield without the shame of +interested motives. Let her do what she liked with her money; he went to +see the woman merely out of humane feeling, sense of duty; and assuredly +no fortune-hunter had ever imposed upon himself a more distasteful +office. + +On alighting at the station, he found that the only coin, other than +gold, which he had in his pocket was a shilling. In accordance with +usage, he would have given the cabman an extra sixpence, had he +possessed it. When the man saw a tender of his legal fare, he, also in +accordance with usage, broadened his mouth, tossed the coin on his palm, +and pointedly refrained from thanks. At another time Hugh might have +disregarded this professional suavity, but a little thing exasperated +his present mood. + +'Well?' he exclaimed, in a voice that drew the attention of everyone +near. 'Is it your fare or not? Learn better manners, vicious brute!' + +Before the driver could recover breath to shout a primitive insult, Hugh +walked into the station. Here, whilst his wrath was still hot, a man +tearing at full speed to catch a train on another platform bumped +violently against him. He clenched his fist, and, but for the gasped +apology, might have lost himself in blind rage. As it was, he inwardly +cursed railway stations, cursed England, cursed civilisation. His +muscles were quivering; sweat had started to his forehead. A specialist +in nervous pathology would have judged Hugh Carnaby a dangerous person +on this Monday afternoon. + +He took his ticket, and, having some minutes to wait, moved towards the +bookstall. By his side, as he scanned the papers, stood a lady who had +just made a purchase; the salesman seemed to have handed her +insufficient change, for she said to him, in a clear, business-like +voice, 'It was half-a-crown that I gave you.' + +At the sound of these words, Hugh turned sharply and looked at the +speaker. She was a woman of thirty-five, solidly built, well dressed +without display of fashion; the upper part of her face was hidden by a +grey veil, through which her eyes shone. Intent on recovering her money, +she did not notice that the man beside her was looking and listening +with the utmost keenness; nor, on turning away at length, was she aware +that Hugh followed. He pursued her, at a yard's distance, down the +platform, and into the covered passage which leads to another part of +the station. Here, perhaps because the footstep behind her sounded +distinctly, she gave a backward glance, and her veiled eyes met +Carnaby's. At once he stepped to her side. 'I don't think I can be +mistaken,' were his low, cautiously-spoken words, whilst he gazed into +her face with stern fixedness. 'You remember me, Mrs. Maskell, no doubt.' + +'I do not, sir. You certainly _are_ mistaken.' + +She replied in a voice which so admirably counterfeited a French accent +that Hugh could not but smile, even whilst setting his teeth in anger at +her impudence. + +'Oh! that settles it. As you have two tongues, you naturally have two +names -- probably more. I happened to be standing by you at the +bookstall a moment ago. It's a great bore; I was just starting on a +journey; but I must trouble you to come with me to the nearest police +station. You have too much sense to make any fuss about it.' + +The woman glanced this way and that. Two or three people were hurrying +through the passage, but they perceived nothing unusual. + +'You have a choice,' said Carnaby, 'between my companionship and that of +the policeman. Make up your mind.' + +'I don't think you will go so far as that, Mr. Carnaby,' said the other, +with self-possession and in her natural voice. + +'Why not?' + +'Because I can tell you something that will interest you very much -- +something that nobody else can.' + +'What do you mean?' he asked roughly. + +'It refers to your wife; that's all I need say just now.' + +'You are lying.' + +'As you please. Let us go.' + +She moved on with unhurried step, and turned towards the nearest +cab-rank. Pausing within sight of the vehicles, she looked again at her +companion. + +'Would you rather have a little quiet talk with me in a four-wheeler, or +drive straight to ----?' + +Hugh's brain was in commotion. The hint of secrets concerning his wife +had not its full effect in the moment of utterance; it sounded the +common artifice of a criminal. But Mrs. Maskell's cool audacity gave +significance to her words; the two minutes' walk had made Hugh as much +afraid of her as she could be of him. He stared at her, beset with +horrible doubts. + +'Won't it be a pity to miss your train?' she said, with a friendly +smile. 'I can give you my address.' + +'No doubt you can. Look here -- it was a toss-up whether I should let +you go or not, until you said _that_. If you had begged off, ten to one +I should have thought I might as well save myself trouble. But after +that cursed lie ----' + +'That's the second time you've used the word, Mr. Carnaby. I'm not +accustomed to it, and I shouldn't have thought you would speak in that +way to a lady.' + +He was aghast at her assurance, which, for some reason, made him only +the more inclined to listen to her. He beckoned a cab. + +'Where shall we drive to?' + +'Say Clapham Junction.' + +They entered the four-wheeler, and, as soon as it began to move out of +the station, Mrs. Maskell leaned back. Her claim to be considered a lady +suffered no contradiction from her look, her movements, or her speech; +throughout the strange dialogue she had behaved with remarkable +self-command, and made use of the aptest phrases without a sign of +effort. In the years which had elapsed since she filled the position of +housekeeper to Mrs. Carnaby, she seemed to have gained in the externals +of refinement; though even at that time her manners were noticeably +good. + +'Raise your veil, please,' said Hugh, when he had pulled up the second +window. + +She obliged him, and showed a face of hard yet regular outline, which +would have been almost handsome but for its high cheek-bones and coarse +lips. + +'And you have been going about all this time, openly?' + +'With discretion. I am not perfect, unfortunately. Rather than lose +sixpence at the bookstall, I forgot myself. That's a woman's weakness; +we don't easily get over it.' + +'What put it into your head to speak of my wife?' + +'I had to gain time, had I not?' + +In a sudden burst of wrath, Hugh banged the window open; but, before he +could call to the cabman, a voice sounded in his ear, a clear quick +whisper, the lips that spoke all but touching him. + +'Do you know that your wife is Mr. Redgrave's mistress?' + +He fell back. There was no blood in his face; his eyes stared hideously. + +'Say that again, and I'll crush the life out of you!' + +'You look like it, but you won't. My information is too valuable.' + +'It's the vilest lie ever spoken by whore and thief.' + +'You are not polite, Mr. Carnaby.' + +She still controlled herself, but in fear, as quick glances showed. And +her fear was not unreasonable; the man glared murder. + +'Stop that, and tell me what you have to say.' + +Mrs. Maskell raised the window again. + +'You have compelled me, you see. It's a pity. I don't want to make +trouble.' + +'What do you know of Redgrave?' + +'I keep house for him at Wimbledon.' + +'You?' + +'Yes. I have done so for about a year.' + +'And does he know who you are?' + +'Well -- perhaps not quite. He engaged me on the Continent. A friend of +his (and of mine) recommended me, and he had reason to think I should be +trustworthy. Don't misunderstand me. I am housekeeper -- _rien de plus_. +It's a position of confidence. Mr. Redgrave -- but you know him.' + +The listener's face was tumid and discoloured, his eyes bloodshot. With +fearful intensity he watched every movement of Mrs. Maskell's features. + +'How do you know I know him?' + +'You've been at his place. I've seen you, though you didn't see me; and +before I saw you I heard your voice. One remembers voices, you know.' + +'Go on. What else have you seen or heard?' + +'Mrs. Carnaby has been there too.' + +'I know that!' Hugh shouted rather than spoke. 'She was there with Mrs +Fenimore -- Redgrave's sister -- and several other people.' + +'Yes; last summer. I caught sight of her as she was sitting in the +veranda, and it amused me to think how little she suspected who was +looking at her. But she has been there since.' + +'When?' + +Mrs. Maskell consulted her memory, and indicated a day in the past +winter. She could not at this moment recall the exact date, but had a +note of it. Mrs. Carnaby came at a late hour of the evening, and left +very early the next day. + +'How are you going to make this lie seem probable?' asked Hugh, a change +of voice betraying the dread with which he awaited her answer; for the +time of which she spoke was exactly that when Redgrave had offered +himself as a partner in the firm of Mackintosh & Co. 'Do you want me to +believe that she came and went so that every one could see her?' + +'Oh no. I was new to the place then, and full of curiosity. I have my +own ways of getting to know what I wish to know. Remember, once more, +that it's very easy to recognise a voice. I told you that I was in a +position of confidence. Whenever Mr. Redgrave wishes for quietness, he +has only to mention it; our servants are well disciplined. I, of course, +am never seen by visitors, whoever they may be, and whenever they come; +but it happens occasionally that I see _them_, even when Mr. Redgrave +doesn't think it. Still, he is sometime very careful indeed, and so he +was on that particular evening. You remember that his rooms have French +windows -- a convenient arrangement. The front door may be locked and +bolted, but people come and go for all that.' + +'That's the bungalow, is it?' muttered Carnaby. 'And how often do you +pretend you have heard _her_ voice?' + +'Only that once.' + +It was worse than if she had answered 'Several times.' Hugh looked long +at her, and she bore his gaze with indifference. + +'You don't pretend that you _saw_ her?' + +'No, I didn't see her.' + +'Then, if you are not deliberately lying, you have made a mistake.' + +Mrs. Maskell smiled and shook her head. + +'What _words_ did you hear?' + +'Oh -- talk. Nothing very particular.' + +'I want to know what it was.' + +'Well, as far as I could make out, Mrs. Carnaby was going to get a +bicycle, and wanted to know what was the best. Not much harm in that,' +she added, with a silent laugh. + +Hugh sat with his hands on his knees, bending forward. He said nothing +for a minute or two, and at length looked to the window. + +'You were going back to Wimbledon?' + +'Yes. I have only been in town for an hour or two.' + +'Is Redgrave there?' + +'No; he's away.' + +'Very well; I am going with you. You will find out for me on what date +that happened.' + +'Certainly. But what is the understanding between us?' + +Hugh saw too well that any threat would be idle. Whether this woman had +told the truth or not, her position in Redgrave's house, and the fact of +Redgrave's connection with the firm of Mackintosh -- of which she +evidently was not aware -- put it in her power to strike a fatal blow at +Sibyl. He still assured himself that she was lying -- how doubt it and +maintain his sanity? -- but the lie had a terrible support in +circumstances. Who could hear this story without admitting the +plausibility of its details? A man such as Redgrave, wealthy and a +bachelor; a woman such as Sibyl, beautiful, fond of luxurious living; +her husband in an embarrassed position -- how was it that he, a man of +the world, had never seen things in this light? Doubtless his anxiety +had blinded him; that, and his absolute faith in Sibyl, and Redgrave's +frank friendliness. Even if he obtained (as he would) complete evidence +of Sibyl's honesty, Mrs. Maskell could still dare him to take a step +against her. How many people were at her mercy? He might be sure that +she would long ago have stood in the dock but for her ability to make +scandalous and ruinous revelations. Did Redgrave know that he had a +high-class criminal in his employment? Possibly he knew it well enough. +There was no end to the appalling suggestiveness of this discovery. Hugh +remembered what he had said in talk with Harvey Rolfe about the +rottenness of society. Never had he felt himself so much a coward as in +face of this woman, whose shameless smile covered secrets and infamies +innumerable. + +The cabman was bidden drive on to Wimbledon, and, with long pauses, the +dialogue continued for an hour. Hugh interrogated and cross-examined his +companion on every matter of which she could be induced to speak, yet he +learned very little in detail concerning either her own life or +Redgrave's; Mrs. Maskell was not to be driven to any disclosure beyond +what was essential to her own purpose. By dint of skilful effrontery she +had gained the upper hand, and no longer felt the least fear of him. + +'If I believed you,' said Carnaby, at a certain point of their +conversation, 'I should have you arrested straight away. It wouldn't +matter to me how the thing came out; it would be public property before +long.' + +'Where would you find your witnesses?' she asked. 'Leave me alone, and I +can be of use to you as no one else can. Behave shabbily, and you only +make yourself look foolish, bringing a charge against your wife that +you'll never be able to prove. You would get no evidence from me. +Whether you want it kept quiet or want to bring it into court, you +depend upon my goodwill.' + +They reached the end of the road in which was the approach to Redgrave's +house. + +'You had better wait here,' said the woman. 'I shall be ten minutes or a +quarter of an hour. You needn't feel uneasy; I haven't the least +intention of running away. Our interests are mutual, and if you do your +part you can trust me to do mine.' + +She stopped the cab, alighted, told the driver to wait, and walked +quickly down the by-road. Hugh, drawn back into a corner, sat with head +drooping; for a quarter of an hour he hardly stirred. Twenty minutes, +thirty minutes, passed, but Mrs. Maskell did not show herself. At length, +finding it impossible to sit still any longer, he sprang out, and paced +backwards and forwards. Vastly to his relief, the woman at length +appeared. + +'He is there,' she said. 'I couldn't get away before.' + +'Is he alone?' + +'Yes. Don't do anything foolish.' Carnaby had looked as if he would move +towards the house. 'The slightest imprudence, and you'll only harm +yourself.' + +'Tell me that date.' + +She named it. + +'I can't stay longer, and I advise you to get away. If you want to write +to me, you can do so without fear; my letters are quite safe. Address to +Mrs. Lant. And remember ----!' + +With a last significant look she turned and left him. Hugh, mentally +repeating the date he had learnt, walked back to the cab, and told the +man to drive him to the nearest railway station, whichever it was. + +When he reached home, some four hours had elapsed since his encounter +with Mrs. Maskell (or Mrs. Lant) at Waterloo; it seemed to him a whole +day. He had forgotten all about his purposed journey to Weymouth. One +sole desire had possession of him to stand face to face with Sibyl, and +to _see_ her innocence, rather than hear it, as soon as he had brought +his tongue to repeat that foul calumny. He would then know how to deal +with the creature who thought to escape him by slandering his wife. + +He let himself in with his latchkey, and entered the drawing-room; it +was vacant. He looked into other rooms; no one was there. He rang, and a +servant came. + +'Has Mrs. Carnaby been out long?' + +She had left, was the reply, at half-past two. Whilst she sat at +luncheon a telegram arrived for her, and, soon after, she prepared to go +out, saying that she would not return tonight. + +Not return tonight? Hugh scarcely restrained an exclamation, and had +much ado to utter his next words. + +'Did she mention where she was going?' + +'No, sir. I took the dressing-bag down to the cab, and the cabman was +told to drive to the post-office.' + +'Very well. That will do.' + +'Shall you dine at home, sir?' + +'Dine? No.' + +Sibyl gone away for the night? Where could she have gone to? He began to +look about for the telegram she had received; it might be lying +somewhere, and possibly would explain her departure. In the waste-paper +basket he found the torn envelope lying at the top; but the despatch +itself was not to be discovered. + +Gone for the night? and just when he was supposed to have left town? The +cabman told to drive to the post-office? This might be for the purpose +of despatching a reply. Yet no; the reply would have been written at +once and sent by the messenger in the usual way. Unless -- unless Sibyl, +for some reason, preferred to send the message more privately? Or again, +she might not care to let the servant know whither the cab was really to +convey her. + +Sheer madness, all this. Had not Sibyl fifty legitimate ways of spending +a night from home? Yet there was the fact that she had never before done +so unexpectedly. Never before ----? + +He looked at his watch; half-past six. He rang the bell again. + +'Has any one called since Mrs. Carnaby left home?' + +'Yes, sir; there have been three calls. Mrs. Rolfe ----' + +'Mrs. Rolfe?' + +'Yes, sir. She seemed very disappointed. I told her Mrs. Carnaby would +not be back tonight.' + +'And the others?' + +Two persons of no account. Hugh dismissed them, and the servant, with a +wave of the hand. + +He felt a faintness such as accompanies extreme hunger, but had no +inclination for food. The whisky bottle was a natural resource; a +tumbler of right Scotch restored his circulation, and in a few minutes +gave him a raging appetite. He could not eat here; but eat he must, and +that quickly. Seizing his hat, he ran down the stairs, hailed a hansom, +and drove to the nearest restaurant he could think of. + +After eating without knowledge of the viands, and drinking a bottle of +claret in like unconsciousness, he smoked for half an hour, his eyes +vacantly set, his limbs lax and heavy, as though in the torpor of +difficult digestion. When the cigar was finished, he roused himself, +looked at the time, and asked for a railway guide. There was a train to +Wimbledon at ten minutes past eight; he might possibly catch it. +Starting into sudden activity, he hastily left the restaurant, and +reached Waterloo Station with not a moment to spare. + +At Wimbledon he took a cab, and was driven up the hill. Under a clouded +sky, dusk had already changed to darkness; the evening was warm and +still. Impatient with what he thought the slow progress of the vehicle, +Hugh sat with his body bent forward, straining as did the horse, on +which his eyes were fixed, and perspiring in the imaginary effort. The +address he had given was Mrs. Fenimore's; but when he drew near he +signalled to the driver: 'Stop at the gate. Don't drive up.' + +From the entrance to Mrs. Fenimore's round to the by-road which was the +direct approach to Redgrave's bungalow would be a walk of some ten +minutes. Hugh had his reasons for not taking this direction. Having +dismissed his cab, he entered by the lodge-gate, and walked up the +drive, moving quickly, and with a lighter step than was natural to him. +When he came within view of the house, he turned aside, and made his way +over the grass, in the deep shadow of leafy lime-trees, until the +illumined windows were again hidden from him. He had seen no one, and +heard no sound. A path which skirted the gardens would bring him in a +few minutes to Redgrave's abode; this he found and followed. + +The bungalow was built in a corner of the park where previously had +stood a gardener's cottage; round about it grew a few old trees, and on +two sides spread a shrubbery, sheltering the newly-made lawn and +flower-beds. Here it was very dark; Hugh advanced cautiously, stopping +now and then to listen. He reached a point where the front of the house +became visible. A light shone at the door, but there was no movement, +and Hugh could hear only his own hard breathing. + +He kept behind the laurels, and made a half-circuit of the house. On +passing to the farther side, he would come within view of those windows +which opened so conveniently, as Mrs. Maskell had said -- the windows of +Redgrave's sitting-room, drawing-room, study, or whatever he called it. +To this end it was necessary to quit the cover of the shrubs and cross a +lawn. As he stepped on to the mown grass, his ear caught a sound, the +sound of talking in a subdued tone; it came, he thought, from that side +of the building which he could not yet see. A few quick silent steps, +and this conjecture became a certainty: someone was talking within a few +yards of him, just round the obstructing corner, and he felt sure the +voice was Redgrave's. It paused; another voice made reply, but in so low +a murmur that its accents were not to be recognised. That it was the +voice of a woman the listener had no doubt. Spurred by a choking +anguish, he moved forward. He saw two figures standing in a dim light +from the window-door -- a man and a woman; the man bareheaded, his +companion in outdoor clothing. At the same moment he himself was +perceived. He heard a hurried 'Go in!' and at once the woman +disappeared. + +Face to face with Redgrave, he looked at the window; but the curtain +which dulled the light from within concealed everything. + +'Who was that?' + +'Why -- Carnaby? What the deuce ----?' + +'Who was _that_?' + +'Who? -- what do you mean?' + +Carnaby took a step; Redgrave laid an arresting hand upon him. There +needed but this touch. In frenzied wrath, yet with the precision of +trained muscle, Hugh struck out; and Redgrave went down before him -- +thudding upon the door of the veranda like one who falls dead. + + +CHAPTER 13 + + +He forced the window; he rushed into the room, and there before him, +pallid, trembling, agonising, stood Alma Rolfe. + +'You?' + +She panted incoherent phrases. She was here to speak with Mr. Redgrave on +business -- about her concert tomorrow. She had not entered the house +until this moment. She had met Mr. Redgrave in the garden ---- + +'What is that to me?' broke in Hugh, staring wildly, his fist still +clenched. 'I am not your husband.' + +'Mr. Carnaby, you _will_ believe me? I came for a minute or two -- to +speak about ----' + +'It's nothing to me, Mrs. Rolfe,' he again interrupted her, in a hoarse, +faint voice. 'What have I done?' He looked to the window, whence came no +sound. 'Have I gone mad? By God, I almost fear it!' + +'You believe me, Mr. Carnaby?' She moved to him and seized his hand. 'You +know me too well -- you know I couldn't -- say you believe me! Say one +kind, friendly word!' + +She looked distracted. Clinging to his hand, she burst into tears. But +Hugh hardly noticed her; he kept turning towards the window, with eyes +of unutterable misery. + +'Wait here; I'll come back.' + +He stepped out from the window, and saw that Redgrave lay just where he +had fallen -- straight, still, his face turned upwards. Hugh stooped, +and moved him into the light; the face was deathly -- placid, but for +its wide eyes, which seemed to look at his enemy. No blood upon the +lips; no sign of violence. + +'Where did I hit him? He fell with his head against something, I +suppose.' + +From the parted lips there issued no perceptible breath. A fear, which +was more than half astonishment, took hold upon Carnaby. He looked up -- +for the light was all at once obstructed -- and saw Alma gazing at him. + +'What is it?' she asked in a terrified whisper. 'Why is he lying there?' + +'I struck him -- he is unconscious.' + +'Struck him?' + +He drew her into the room again. + +'Mrs. Rolfe, I shall most likely have to send for help. You mustn't be +seen here. It's nothing to me why you came -- yes, yes, I believe you -- +but you must go at once.' + +'You won't speak of it?' + +Her appeal was that of a child, helpless in calamity. Again she caught +his hand, as if clinging for protection. Hugh replied in thick, hurried +tones. + +'I have enough trouble of my own. This is no place for you. For your own +sake, if not for your husband's, keep away from here. I came because +someone was telling foul lies -- the kind of lies that drive a man mad. +Whatever happens -- whatever you hear -- don't imagine that _she_ is to +blame. You understand me?' + +'No word shall ever pass my lips!' + +'Go at once. Get home as soon as you can.' + +Alma turned to go. Outside, she cast one glance at the dark, silent, +unmoving form, then bowed her head, and hastened away into the darkness. + +Again Hugh knelt by Redgrave's side, raised his head, listened for the +beating of his heart, tried to feel his breath. He then dragged him into +the room, and placed him upon a divan; he loosened the fastenings about +his neck; the head drooped, and there was not a sign of life. Next he +looked for a bell; the electric button caught his eye, and he pressed +it. To prevent any one from coming in, he took his stand close by the +door. In a moment there was a knock, the door opened, and he showed his +face to the surprised maid-servant. + +'Is Mrs. Lant in the house?' + +'Yes, sir.' + +'Mr. Redgrave wants her at once; he is ill.' + +The servant vanished. Keeping his place at the door, and looking out +into the hall, Hugh, for full two minutes, heard no movement; then he +was startled by a low voice immediately behind him. + +'What are you doing here?' + +The housekeeper, who had entered from the garden, and approached in +perfect silence, stood gazing at him; not unconcerned, but with full +command of herself. + +'Look!' he replied, pointing to the figure on the divan. 'Is he only +insensible -- or dead?' + +She stepped across the room, and made a brief examination by the methods +Carnaby himself had used. + +'I never saw any one look more like dead,' was her quiet remark. 'What +have you been up to? A little quiet murder?' + +'I met him outside. We quarrelled, and I knocked him down.' + +'And why are you here at all?' asked the woman, with fierce eyes, though +her voice kept its ordinary level. + +'Because of you and your talk -- curse you! Can't you do something? Get +some brandy; and send someone for a doctor.' + +'Are you going to be found here?' she inquired meaningly. + +Hugh drew a deep breath, and stared at the silent figure. For an instant +his face showed irresolution; then it changed, and he said harshly -- +'Yes, I am. Do as I told you. Get the spirits, and send someone -- +sharp!' + +'Mr. Carnaby, you're a great blundering thickhead -- if you care for my +opinion of you. You deserve all you've got and all you'll get.' + +Hugh again breathed deeply. The woman's abuse was nothing to him. + +'Are you going to do anything!' he said. 'Or shall I ring for someone +else?' + +She left the room, and speedily returned with a decanter of brandy. All +their exertions proved useless; the head hung aside, the eyes stared. In +a few minutes Carnaby asked whether a doctor had been sent for. + +'Yes. When I hear him at the door I shall go away. You came here against +my advice, and you've made a pretty job of it. Well, you'll always get +work at a slaughter-house.' + +Her laugh was harder to bear than the words it followed. Hugh, with a +terrible look, waved her away from him. + +'Go -- or I don't know what I may do next. Take yourself out of my +sight! --out!' + +She gave way before him, backing to the door; there she laughed again, +waved her hand in a contemptuous farewell, and withdrew. + +For half an hour Carnaby stood by the divan, or paced the room. Once or +twice he imagined a movement of Redgrave's features, and bent to regard +them closely; but in truth there was no slightest change. Within doors +and without prevailed unbroken silence; not a step, not a rustle. The +room seemed to grow intolerably hot. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, +Hugh went to the window and opened it a few inches; a scent of +vegetation and of fresh earth came to him with the cool air. He noticed +that rain had begun to fall, large drops pattering softly on leaves and +grass and the roof of the veranda. Then sounded the rolling of carriage +wheels, nearer and nearer. It was the doctor's carriage, no doubt. + +Uncertainty soon came to an end. Cyrus Redgrave was beyond help: he must +have breathed his last -- so said the doctor -- at the moment when he +fell. Not as a result of the fall; the blow of Carnaby's fist had killed +him. There is one stroke which, if delivered with sufficient accuracy +and sufficient force, will slay more surely than any other: it is the +stroke which catches an uplifted chin just at the right angle to drive +the head back and shatter the spinal cord. This had plainly happened. +The man's neck was broken, and he died on the spot. + +Carnaby and the doctor stood regarding each other. They spoke in subdued +voices. + +'It was not a fight, you say?' + +'One blow from me, that was all. He said something that maddened me.' + +'Shall you report yourself?' + +'Yes. Here is my card.' + +'A sad business, Mr. Carnaby, Can I be of any use to you?' + +'You can -- though I hesitate to ask it. Mrs. Fenimore should be told at +once. I can't do that myself.' + +'I know Mrs. Fenimore very well. I will see her -- if she is at home.' + +On this errand the doctor set forth. As soon as he was gone, Hugh rang +the bell; the same domestic as before answered it, and again he asked +for Mrs. Lant. He waited five minutes; the servant came back, saying that +Mrs. Lant was not in the house. This did not greatly surprise him, but he +insisted on a repetition of the search. Mrs. Lant could not be found. +Evidently her disappearance was a mystery to this young woman, who +seemed ingenuous to the point of simple-mindedness. + +'You are not to go into that room,' said Hugh. (They were talking in the +hall.) 'The doctor will return presently.' + +And therewith he left the house. But not the grounds; for in rain and +darkness he stood watching from a place of concealment, watching at the +same time Redgrave's curtained window and the front entrance. His +patience was not overtaxed. There sounded an approaching vehicle; it +came up the drive and stopped at the front door, where at once alighted +the doctor and a lady. Hugh's espial was at an end. As the two stepped +into the house he walked quickly away. + +Yes, he would 'report himself', but not until he had seen Sibyl. To that +end he must go home and wait there. The people at Wimbledon, who +doubtless would communicate with the police, might cause him to be +arrested before his wife's return. He feared this much more than what +was to follow. Worse than anything that could befall him would be to +lose the opportunity of speaking in private with Sibyl before she knew +what had happened. + +In the early hours of the morning he lay down upon his bed and had +snatches of troubled sleep. Knowing that he was wrong in the particular +surmise which led him to Redgrave's house, Sibyl's absence no longer +disturbed him with suspicions; a few hours would banish from his mind +the last doubt of her, if any really remained. He had played the madman, +bringing ruin upon himself and misery incalculable upon his wife, just +because that thieving woman lied to him. She, of course, had made her +speedy escape; and was it not as well? For, if the whole story became +known, what hope was there that Sibyl would come out of it with +untarnished fame? Merely for malice' sake, the woman would repeat and +magnify her calumnies. If she successfully concealed herself, it might +be possible to avoid a mention of Sibyl's name. He imagined various +devices for this purpose, his brain plotting even when he slept. + +To Alma Rolfe he gave scarcely a thought. If the worst were true of her, +Rolfe had only to thank his own absurdity, which allowed such a +conceited simpleton to do as she chose. The case looked black against +her. Well, she had had her lesson, and in _that_ quarter could come to +no more harm. What sort of an appearance was she likely to make at +Prince's Hall today? -- feather-headed fool! + +Before five o'clock the sunlight streamed into his bedroom. Sparrows +twittered about the window, and somewhere close by, perhaps in a +neighbour's flat, a caged throstle piped as though it were in the +fields. Then began the street noises, and Hugh could lie still no +longer. Remembering that at any moment his freedom might come to an end, +he applied himself to arranging certain important matters. The housemaid +came upon him with surprise; he bade her get breakfast, and, when the +meal was ready, partook of it with moderate appetite. + +The postman brought letters; nothing of interest for him, and for Sibyl +only an envelope which, as one could feel, contained a mere card of +invitation. But soon after nine o'clock there arrived a telegram. It was +from Sibyl herself, and -- from Weymouth. + +'Why are you not here? She died yesterday. If this reaches you, reply at +once.' + +He flung the scrap of paper aside and laughed. Of all natural +explanations, this, of course, had never occurred to him. Yesterday's +telegram told of Mrs. Larkfield's serious condition, and Sibyl had +started at once for Weymouth, expecting to meet him there. One word of +hers to the servant and he would simply have followed her. But Sibyl saw +no necessity for that word. She was always reserved with domestics. + +By the messenger, he despatched a reply. He would be at Weymouth as soon +as possible. + +He incurred the risk of appearing to run away; but that mattered little. +Sibyl could hardly return before her mother's burial, and by going +yonder to see her he escaped the worse danger, probably the certainty, +of arrest before any possible meeting with her in London. Dreading this +more than ever, he made ready in a few minutes; the telegraph boy had +hardly left the building before Hugh followed. A glance at the +timetables had shown him that, if he travelled by the Great-Western, he +could reach Weymouth at five minutes past four; whereas the first train +he could catch at Waterloo would not bring him to his destination until +half an hour later; on the other hand, he could get away from London by +the South-Western forty minutes sooner than by the other line, and this +decided him. Yesterday, Waterloo had been merely the more convenient +station on account of his business in town; today he chose it because he +had to evade arrest on a charge of homicide. So comforted was he by the +news from Sibyl, that he could reflect on this joke of destiny, and +grimly smile at it. + +At the end of his journey he betook himself to an hotel, and immediately +sent a message to Sibyl. Before her arrival he had swallowed meat and +drink. He waited for her in a private room, which looked seaward. The +sight of the blue Channel, the smell of salt breezes, made his heart +ache. He was standing at the window, watching a steamer that had just +left port, when Sibyl entered; he turned and looked at her in silence. + +'What are these mysterious movements?' she asked, coming forward with a +smile. 'Why did you alter your mind yesterday?' + +'I wasn't well.' + +He could say nothing more, yet. Sibyl's face was so tranquil, and she +seemed so glad to rejoin him, that his tongue refused to utter any +alarming word; and the more he searched her countenance, the more +detestable did it seem that he should insult her by the semblance of a +doubt. + +'Not well? Indeed, you look dreadfully out of sorts. How long had I been +gone when you got home again?' + +'An hour or two. But tell me first about your mother. She died before +you came?' + +'Very soon after they sent the telegram.' + +Gravely, but with no affectation of distress, she related the +circumstances; making known, finally, that Mrs. Larkfield had died +intestate. + +'You are quite sure of that?' asked Hugh, with an eagerness which +surprised her. + +'Quite. Almost with her last breath she talked about it, and said that +she _must_ make her will. And she had spoken of it several times lately. +The people there knew all about her affairs. She kept putting it off -- +and as likely as not she wished the money to be mine, after all. I am +sure she must have felt that she owed me something.' + +Carnaby experienced a profound relief. Sibyl was now provided for, +whatever turn his affairs might take. She had seated herself by the +window, and, with her gloved hands crossed upon her lap, was gazing +absently towards the sea. How great must be _her_ relief! thought Hugh. +And still he looked at her smooth, pure features; at her placid eyes, in +which, after all, he seemed to detect a little natural sadness; and the +accusation in his mind assumed so grotesque an incredibility that he +asked himself how he should dare to hint at it. + +'Sibyl ----' + +'Isn't there something you haven't told me?' she said, regarding him +with anxiety, when he had just uttered her name and then averted his +look. 'I never saw you look so ill.' + +'Yes, dear, there is something.' + +It was not often he spoke so gently. Sibyl waited, one of her hands +clasping the other, and her lips close set. + +'I was at Wimbledon last night -- at Redgrave's.' + +He paused again, for the last word choked him. Unless it were a tremor +of the eyelids, no movement betrayed itself in Sibyl's features; yet +their expression had grown cold, and seemed upon the verge of a +disdainful wonder. The pupils of her eyes insensibly dilated, as +though to challenge scrutiny and defy it. + +'What of that?' she said, when his silence urged her to speak. + +'Something happened between us. We quarrelled.' + +Her lips suddenly parted, and he heard her quick breath; but the look +that followed was of mere astonishment, and in a moment, before she +spoke, it softened in a smile. + +'This is your dreadful news? You quarrelled -- and he is going to +withdraw from the business. Oh, my dear boy, how ridiculous you are! I +thought all sorts of horrible things. Were you afraid I should make an +outcry? And you have worried yourself into illness about _this_? Oh, +foolish fellow!' + +Before she ceased, her voice was broken with laughter -- a laugh of +extravagant gaiety, of mocking mirth, that brought the blood to her face +and shook her from head to foot. Only when she saw that her husband's +gloom underwent no change did this merriment cease. Then, with abrupt +gravity, which was almost annoyance, her eyes shining with moisture and +her cheeks flushed, she asked him ---- + +'Isn't that it?' + +'Worse than that,' Hugh answered. + +But he spoke more freely, for he no longer felt obliged to watch her +countenance. His duty now was to soften the outrage involved in +repeating Mrs. Maskell's fiction by making plain his absolute faith in +her, and to contrive his story so as to omit all mention of a third +person's presence at the fatal interview. + +'Then do tell me and have done!' exclaimed Sibyl, almost petulantly. + +'We quarrelled -- and I struck him -- and the blow was fatal.' + +'Fatal? -- you mean he was killed?' + +The blood vanished from her face, leaving pale horror. + +'A terrible accident -- a blow that happened to -- I couldn't believe it +till the doctor came and said he was dead.' + +'But tell me more. What led to it? How could you strike Mr. Redgrave?' + +Sibyl had all at once subdued her voice to an excessive calmness. Her +hands were trembling; she folded them again upon her lap. Every line of +her face, every muscle of her body, declared the constraint in which she +held herself. This, said Hugh inwardly, was no more than he had +expected; disaster made noble proof of Sibyl's strength. + +'I'll tell you from the beginning.' + +He recounted faithfully the incidents at Waterloo Station, and the +beginning of Mrs. Maskell's narrative in the cab. At the disclosure of +her relations with Redgrave, he was interrupted by a short, hard laugh. + +'I couldn't help it, Hugh. That woman! -- why, you have always said you +were sure to meet her somewhere. Housekeeper at Mr. Redgrave's! We know +what the end of that would be!' + +Sibyl talked rapidly, in an excited chatter -- the kind of utterance +never heard upon her lips. + +'It was strange,' Hugh continued. 'Seems to have been mere chance. Then +she began to say that she had learnt some of Redgrave's secrets -- about +people who came and went mysteriously. And then -- Sibyl, I can't speak +the words. It was the foulest slander that she could have invented. She +meant to drive me mad, and she succeeded -- curse her!' + +Drops of anguish stood upon his forehead. He sprang up and crossed the +room. Turning again, he saw his wife gazing at him, as if in utmost +perplexity. + +'Hugh, I don't in the least understand you. What _was_ the slander? +Perhaps lam stupid -- but ----' + +He came near, but could not look her in the eyes. + +'My dearest' -- his voice shook -- 'it was an infamous lie about _you_ +-- that _you_ had been there ----' + +'Why, of course I have! You know that I have.' + +'She meant more than that. She said you had been there secretly -- at +night ----' + +Hugh Carnaby -- the man who had lived as high-blooded men do live, who +had laughed by the camp-fire or in the club smoking-room at many a +Rabelaisian story and capped it with another, who hated mock modesty, +was all for honest openness between man and woman -- stood in guilty +embarrassment before his own wife's face of innocence. It would have +been a sheer impossibility for him to ask her where and how she spent a +certain evening last winter; Sibyl, now as ever, was his ideal of chaste +womanhood. He scorned himself for what he had yet to tell. + +Sibyl was gazing at him, steadily, inquiringly. + +'She made you believe this?' fell upon the silence, in her softest, +clearest tones. + +'No! She couldn't make me _believe_ it. But the artful devil had such a +way of talking ----' + +'I understand. You didn't know whether to believe or not. Just tell me, +please, what proof she offered you.' + +Hugh hung his head. + +'She had heard you talking -- in the house -- on a certain ----' + +He looked up timidly, and met a flash of derisive scorn. + +'She heard me talking? Hugh, I really don't see much art in this. You +seem to have been wrought upon rather easily. It never occurred to you, +I suppose, to ask for a precise date?' + +He mentioned the day, and Sibyl, turning her head a little, appeared to +reflect. + +'It's unfortunate; I remember nothing whatever of that date. I'm afraid, +Hugh, that I couldn't possibly prove an alibi.' + +Her smiling sarcasm made the man wince. His broad shoulders shrank +together; he stood in an awkward, swaying posture. + +'Dear, I told her she lied!' + +'That was very courageous. But what came next? You had the happy idea of +going to Wimbledon to make personal inquiries?' + +'Try to put yourself in my place, Sibyl,' he pleaded. 'Remember all the +circumstances. Can't you see the danger of such a lie as that? I went +home, hoping to find you there. But you had gone, and nobody knew where +-- you wouldn't be back that night. A telegram had called you away, I +was told. When I asked where you told the cabman to drive you to -- the +post-office.' + +'Oh, it looked very black! -- yes, yes, I quite understand. The facts +are so commonplace that I'm really ashamed to mention them. At +luncheon-time came an urgent telegram from Weymouth. I sent no reply +then, because I thought I knew that you were on your way. But when I was +ready to start, it occurred to me that I should save you trouble by +wiring that I should join you as soon as possible -- so I drove to the +post-office before going to Paddington. -- Well, you rushed off to +Wimbledon?' + +'Not till later, and because I was suffering damnably. If I hadn't -- +been what would it have meant? When a man thinks as much of his wife as +I do of you ----' + +'He has a right to imagine anything of her,' she interrupted in a +changed tone, gently reproachful, softening to tenderness. A Singularity +of Sibyl's demeanour was that she seemed utterly forgetful of the dire +position in which her husband stood. One would have thought that she had +no concern beyond the refutation of an idle charge, which angered her +indeed, but afforded scope for irony, possibly for play of wit. For the +moment, Hugh himself had almost forgotten the worst; but he was bidden +to proceed, and again his heart sank. + +'I went there in the evening. Redgrave happened to be outside -- in that +veranda of his. I saw him as I came near in the dark, and I fancied that +-- that he had been talking to someone in the room -- through the +folding windows. I went up to him quickly, and as soon as he saw me he +pulled the window to. After that -- I only remember that I was raving +mad. He seemed to want to stop me, and I struck at him -- and that was +the end.' + +Sibyl shuddered. + +'You went into the room?' + +'Yes. No one was there.' + +Both kept silence. Sibyl had become very grave, and was thinking +intently. Then, with a few brief questions, vigilant, precise, she +learnt all that had taken place between Hugh and Mrs. Maskell, between +Hugh and the doctor; heard of the woman's disappearance, and of Mrs +Fenimore's arrival on the scene. + +'What shall you do now?' + +'Go back and give myself up. What else _can_ I do?' + +'And tell everything -- as you have told it to me?' + +Hugh met her eyes and moved his arms in a gesture of misery. + +'No! I will think of something. He is dead, and can't contradict; and +the woman will hide -- trust her. Your name shan't come into it at all. +I owe you that, Sibyl. I'll find some cause for a quarrel with him. Your +name shan't be spoken.' + +She listened, her eyes down, her forehead lined in thought. + +'I know what!' Hugh exclaimed, with gloomy resolve. 'That woman -- of +course, there'll be a mystery, and she'll be searched for. Why' -- he +blustered against his shame -- 'why shouldn't she be the cause of it? +Yes, that would do.' + +His hoarse laugh caused a tremor in Sibyl; she rose and stepped close to +him, and laid a hand upon his shoulder. + +'So far you have advised yourself. Will you let me advise you now, +dear?' + +'Wouldn't that seem likely?' + +'I think not. And if it _did_ -- what is the result? You will be dealt +with much more severely. Don't you see that?' + +'What's that to me? What do I care so long as you are out of the vile +business? You will have no difficulties. Your mother's money; and then +Mackintosh ----' + +'And is that all?' asked Sibyl, with a look which seemed to wonder +profoundly. 'Am I to think only of my own safety?' + +'It's all my cursed fault -- just because I'm a fierce, strong brute, +who ought to be anywhere but among civilised people. I've killed the man +who meant me nothing but kindness. Am I going to drag _your_ name into +the mud -- to set people grinning and winking ----' + +'Be quiet, Hugh, and listen. I have a much clearer head than yours, poor +boy. There's only one way of facing this scandal, and that is to tell +everything. For one thing, I shall not let you shield that woman -- we +shall catch her yet. I shall not let you disgrace yourself by inventing +squalid stories. Don't you see, too, that the disgrace would be shared +by -- by the dead man? Would that be right? And another thing -- if +shame comes upon you, do you think I have no part in it? We have to face +it out with the truth.' + +'You don't know what that means,' he answered, with a groan. 'You don't +know the world.' + +Sibyl did not smile, but her lips seemed only to check themselves when +the smile was half born. + +'I know enough of it, Hugh, to despise it; and I know you much better +than you know yourself. You are not one of the men who can tell lies and +make them seem the truth. I don't think my name will suffer. I shall +stand by you from first to last. The real true story can't possibly be +improved upon. That woman had every motive for deceiving you, and her +disappearance is all against her. You have to confess your +hot-headedness -- that can't be helped. You tell everything -- even down +to the mistake about the telegram. I shall go with you to the +police-station; I shall be at the inquest; I shall be at the court. It's +the only chance.' + +'Good God! how can I let you do this?' + +'You had rather, then, that I seemed to hide away? You had rather set +people thinking that there is coldness between us? We must go up +tonight. Look out the trains, quick.' + +'But your mother, Sibyl ----' + +'She is dead; she cares nothing. I have to think of my husband.' + +Hugh caught her and crushed her in his arms. + +'My darling, worse than killing a man who never harmed me was to think +wrong of you!' + +Her face had grown very pale. She closed her eyes, smiled faintly as she +leaned her head against him, and of a sudden burst into tears. + + +CHAPTER 14 + + +'It shows one's ignorance of such matters,' said Harvey Rolfe, with +something of causticity in his humour, when Alma came home after +midnight. 'I should have thought that, by way of preparing for tomorrow, +you would have quietly rested today.' + +He looked round at her. Alma had entered the study as usual, and was +taking off her gloves; but the effort of supporting herself seemed too +great, she trembled towards the nearest chair, and affected to laugh at +her feebleness as she sank down. + +'Rest will come _after_,' she said, in such a voice as sounds from a +parched and quivering throat. + +'I'll take good care of that,' Harvey remarked. 'To look at you is +almost enough to make me play the brutal husband, and say that I'll be +hanged if you go out tomorrow at all.' + +She laughed -- a ghostly merriment. + +'Where have you been?' + +'Oh, at several places. I met Mr. Carnaby at lunch,' she added quickly. +'He told me he was going somewhere -- I forget -- oh, to Weymouth, to +see Mrs. Larkfield.' + +Harvey was watching her, and paid little attention to the news. + +'Do you know, it wouldn't much surprise me if you couldn't get up +tomorrow morning, let alone play at a concert. Well, I won't keep you +talking. Go to bed.' + +'Yes.' + +She rose, but instead of turning to the door, moved towards where Harvey +was sitting. + +'Don't be angry with me,' she murmured in a shamefaced way. 'It wasn't +very wise -- I've over-excited myself but I shall be all right tomorrow; +and afterwards I'll behave more sensibly -- I promise ----' + +He nodded; but Alma bent over him, and touched his forehead with her +lips. + +'You're in a fever, I suppose you know?' + +'I shall be all right tomorrow. Goodnight, dear.' + +In town, this morning, she had called at a chemist's, and purchased a +little bottle of something in repute for fashionable disorder of the +nerves. Before lying down she took the prescribed dose, though with +small hope that it would help her to a blessed unconsciousness. Another +thing she did which had not occurred to her for many a night: she knelt +by the bedside, and half thought, half whispered through tearless sobs, +a petition not learnt from any book, a strange half-heathen blending of +prayer for moral strength, and entreaty for success in a worldly desire. +Her mind shook perilously in its balance. It was well for Alma that the +fashionable prescription did not fail her. In the moment of despair, +when she had turned and turned again upon her pillow, haunted by a +vision in the darkness, tortured by the never-ending echo of a dreadful +voice, there fell upon her a sudden quiet; her brain was soothed by a +lulling air from dreamland; her limbs relaxed, and forgot their aching +weariness; she sighed and slept. + +'I am much better this morning,' she said at breakfast. 'Not a trace of +fever -- no headache.' + +'And a face the colour of the table-cloth,' added Harvey. + +There was a letter from Mrs. Frothingham, conveying good wishes not very +fervently expressed. She had decided not to come up for the concert, +feeling that the excitement would be too much for her; but Alma +suspected another reason. + +She had not asked her husband whether he meant to have a seat in +Prince's Hall this afternoon; she still waited for him to speak about +it. After breakfast he asked her when she would start for town. At noon, +she replied. Every arrangement had been completed; it would be enough if +she reached the Hall half an hour before the time of the recital, and +after a light luncheon at a neighbouring restaurant. + +'Then we may as well go together,' said her husband. + +'You mean to come, then?' she asked dreamily. + +'I shall go in at the last moment -- a seat at the back.' + +Anything but inclined for conversation, Alma acquiesced. For the next +hour or two she kept in solitude, occasionally touching her violin, but +always recurring to an absent mood, a troubled reverie. She could not +fix her thoughts upon the trial that was before her. In a vague way she +feared it; but another fear, at times amounting to dread, dimmed the +day's event into insignificance. The morning's newspapers were before +her, sent, no doubt, by Dymes's direction, and she mused over the +eye-attracting announcements of her debut. 'Mrs. Harvey Rolfe's First +Violin Recital, Prince's Hall, this afternoon, at 3.' It gave her no +more gratification than if the name had been that of a stranger. + +The world had grown as unreal as a nightmare. People came before her +mind, people the most intimately known, and she seemed but faintly to +recognise them. They were all so much changed since yesterday. Their +relations to each other and to her were altered, confused. Scarce one of +them she could regard without apprehension or perplexity. + +What faces would show before her when she advanced upon the platform? +Would she behold Sibyl, or Hugh Carnaby, or Cyrus Redgrave? Their +presence would all but convince her that she had passed some hours of +yesterday in delirium. They might be present; for was not she -- she +herself -- about to step forward and play in public? Their absence -- +what would it mean? Where were they at this moment? What had happened in +the life of each since last she saw them? + +When it was time to begin to dress, she undertook the task with effort, +with repugnance. She would have chosen to sit here, in a drowsy +idleness, and let the hours go by. On her table stood the little vial +with its draught of oblivion. Oh to drink of it again, and to lay her +head upon the pillow and outsleep the day! + +Nevertheless, when she had exerted herself, and was clad in the fresh +garments of spring, the mirror came to her help. She was pale yet; but +pallor lends distinction to features that are not commonplace, and no +remark of man or woman had ever caused her to suspect that her face was +ordinary. She posed before the glass, holding her violin, and the +picture seemed so effective that she began to regain courage. A dreadful +thing had happened -- perhaps more dreadful than she durst imagine -- +but her own part in it was nothing worse than folly and misfortune. She +had no irreparable sin to hide. Her moment of supreme peril was past, +and would not return. If now she could but brace her nerves, and pass +successfully through the ordeal of the next few hours, the victory for +which she had striven so hard, and had risked so much, would at length +be won. Everything dark and doubtful she must try to forget. Success +would give her new strength; to fail, under any circumstances +ignominious, would at this crisis of her life he a disaster fraught with +manifold and intolerable shame. + +She played a few notes. Her hand was steady once more; she felt her +confidence revive. Whenever she had performed before an audience, it had +always seemed to her that she must inevitably break down; yet at the +last minute came power and self-control. So it would be today. The +greater the demand upon her, so much the surer her responsive energy. +She would not see faces. When all was over, let the news be disclosed, +the worst that might be waiting; between now and then lay an infinity of +time. + +So, when she went downstairs to meet Harvey, the change in her +appearance surprised him. He had expected a bloodless countenance, a +tremulous step; hut Alma came towards him with the confident carriage of +an earlier day, with her smile of superiority, her look that invited or +demanded admiration. + +'Well? You won't be ashamed of me?' + +'To tell the truth,' said Harvey, 'I was going because I feared someone +would have to look after you in the middle of the affair. If there's no +danger of that, I think I shall not go into the place at all.' + +'Why?' + +'I don't care for it. I prefer to hear you play in private.' + +'You needn't have the least fear for me,' said Alma loftily. + +'Very well. We'll lunch together, as we arranged, and I'll be at the +door with a cab for you after the people have gone.' + +'Why should you trouble?' + +'I had rather, if you don't mind.' + +They drove from Baker Street to the Hall, where Alma alighted for a +minute to leave her instrument, and thence to a restaurant not far away. +Alma felt no appetite, but the necessity of supporting her strength +obliged her to choose some suitable refreshment. When their order had +been given, Harvey laid his hand upon an evening newspaper, just +arrived, which the waiter had thrown on to the next table. He opened it, +not with any intention of reading, but because he had no mind to talk; +Alma's name, exhibited in staring letters at the entrance of the public +building, had oppressed him with a sense of degradation; he felt +ignoble, much as a man might feel who had consented to his own +dishonour. As his eyes wandered over the freshly-printed sheet, they +were arrested by a couple of bold headlines: 'Sensational Affair at +Wimbledon -- Mysterious Death of a Gentleman'. He read the paragraph, +and turned to Alma with a face of amazement. + +'Look there -- read that ----' + +Alma took the paper. She had an instantaneous foreboding of what she was +to see; her heart stood still, and her eyes dazzled, but at length she +read. On the previous evening (said the report), a gentleman residing at +Wimbledon, and well known in fashionable circles, Mr. Cyrus Redgrave, had +met his death under very strange and startling circumstances. Only a few +particulars could as yet be made public; but it appeared that, about +nine o'clock in the evening, a medical man had been hastily summoned to +Mr. Redgrave's house, and found that gentleman lying dead in a room that +opened upon the garden. There was present another person, a friend of +the deceased (name not mentioned), who made a statement to the effect +that, in consequence of a sudden quarrel, he had struck Mr. Redgrave with +his fist, knocking him down, and, as it proved, killing him on the spot. +Up to the present moment no further details were obtainable, but it was +believed that the self-accused assailant had put himself in +communication with the police. There was a rumour, too, which might or +might not have any significance, that Mr. Redgrave's housekeeper had +suddenly left the house and could not be traced. + +'Dead?' + +The word fell from her lips involuntarily. + +'And who killed him?' said Harvey, just above his breath. + +'It isn't known -- there's no name ----' + +'No. But I had a sudden thought. Absurd -- impossible ----' + +As Harvey whispered the words, a waiter drew near with the luncheon. It +was arranged upon the table, but lay there disregarded. Alma took up the +newspaper again. In a moment she leaned towards her husband. + +'What did you think?' + +'Nothing -- don't talk about it.' + +Two glasses of wine had been poured out; Harvey took his and drank it +off. + +'It's a pity I saw this,' he said; 'it has shaken your nerves. I ought +to have kept it to myself.' + +Alma dipped a spoon in the soup before her, and tried to swallow. Her +hand did not tremble; the worst had come and gone in a few seconds; but +her palate refused food. She drank wine, and presently became so +collected, so quiet, that she wondered at herself. Cyrus Redgrave was +dead -- dead! -- the word kept echoing in her mind. As soon as she +understood and believed the fact of Redgrave's death, it became the +realisation of a hope which she had entertained without knowing it. Only +by a great effort could she assume the look of natural concern; had she +been in solitude, her face would have relaxed like that of one who is +suddenly relieved from physical torment. She gave no thought to wider +consequences: she saw the event only as it affected herself in her +relations with the dead man. She had feared him; she had feared herself; +now all danger was at an end. Now -- now she could find courage to front +the crowd of people and play to them. Her conscience ceased from +troubling; the hope of triumph no longer linked itself with dread of a +fatal indebtedness. No touch of sorrow entered into her mood; no anxiety +on behalf of the man whose act had freed her. He, her husband's friend, +would keep the only secret which could now injure her. Cyrus Redgrave +was dead, and to her it meant a renewal of life. + +Harvey was speaking; he reminded her of the necessity of taking food. + +'Yes, I am going to eat something.' + +'Look here, Alma,' -- he regarded her sternly, -- 'if you have any fear, +if you are unequal to this, let me go and make an excuse for you.' + +'I have not the _least_ fear. Don't try to make me nervous.' + +She ate and drank. Harvey, the while, kept his eyes fixed on the +newspaper. + +'Now I must go,' she said in a few minutes, after looking at her watch. +'Don't come out with me. Do just as you like about going into the Hall +and about meeting me afterwards. You needn't be the least bit anxious, I +assure you; I'm not going to make myself ridiculous.' + +They stood up. + +'I shall be at the door with a cab,' said Harvey. + +'Very well; I won't keep you waiting.' + +She left him, and walked from the restaurant with a quick step. Harvey +drank a little more wine, and made a pretence of tasting the dish before +him, then paid his bill and departed. He had now no intention whatever +of going to hear Alma play; but he wished to know whether certain +persons were among her audience, and, as he could not stand to watch the +people entering, he took the only other means of setting his mind at +rest -- this was to drive forthwith to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions. + +On his knocking at the Carnabys' door, a servant informed him that +neither her master nor her mistress was at home. Something unusual in +the girl's manner at once arrested his attention; she was evidently +disinclined to say anything beyond the formula of refusal, but with this +Harvey would not be satisfied. He mentioned his name, and urged several +inquiries, on the plea that he had urgent business with his friends. All +he could gather was that Carnaby had left home early this morning, and +that Mrs. Carnaby was out of town; it grew more evident that the girl +shrank from questions. + +'Has anyone been here before me, anxious to see them?' + +'I don't know, sir; I can't tell you anything else.' + +'And you have no idea when either of them will be back?' + +'I don't know at all; I don't know anything about it.' + +He turned away, as if to descend the stairs; but, as there was no sound +of a closing door, he glanced back, and caught a glimpse of the servant, +who stood looking after him. No sooner did their eyes meet than the girl +drew hastily in and the door was shut. + +Beset by a grave uneasiness, he walked into Edgware Road, and followed +the thoroughfare to its end at the Marble Arch. One thing seemed +certain: neither Carnaby nor his wife could be at Prince's Hall. It was +equally certain that only a serious cause could have prevented their +attendance. The servant manifestly had something to conceal; under +ordinary circumstances she would never have spoken and behaved in that +strange way. + +At the Marble Arch boys were crying newspapers. He bought two, and in +each of them found the sensational headlines; but the reports added +nothing to that he had already seen; all, it was clear, came from the +same source. + +He turned into the Park, and walked aimlessly by crosspaths hither and +thither. Time had to be killed; he tried to read his papers, but every +item of news or comment disgusted him, and he threw the sheets away. +When he came out at Knightsbridge, there was still half an hour to be +passed, so he turned eastward, and walked the length of Piccadilly. Now +at length Alma's fate was decided; the concert drew to its close. In +anxiety to learn how things had gone with her, he all but forgot Hugh +Carnaby, until, just as he was about to hail a cab for the purpose of +bringing Alma from the Hall, his eye fell on a fresh newspaper placard, +which gave its largest type to the Wimbledon affair, and promised a +'Startling Revelation'. He bought the paper, and read. It had become +known, said the reporter, that the gentleman who, on his own avowal, had +caused Mr. Redgrave's death, was Mr. H. Carnaby, resident at Oxford and +Cambridge Mansions. The rumour that Mr. Carnaby had presented himself to +the authorities was unfounded; as a matter of fact, the police had heard +nothing from him, and could not discover his whereabouts. As to the +mysterious disappearance of Mr. Redgrave's housekeeper -- Mrs. Lant by +name -- nothing new could be learnt. Mrs. Lant had left all her personal +belongings, and no one seemed able to conjecture a reason for her +conduct. + +Harvey folded up the paper, and crushed it into his pocket. He felt no +surprise; his brooding on possibilities had prepared him for this +disclosure, and, from the moment that his fears were confirmed, he +interpreted everything with a gloomy certainty. Hugh's fatal violence +could have but one explanation, and that did not come upon Harvey with +the shock of the incredible. Neither was he at any loss to understand +why Hugh had failed to surrender himself. Ere-long the newspapers would +rejoice in another 'startling revelation', which would make the tragedy +complete. + +In this state of mind he waited for Alma's coming forth. She was +punctual as she had promised. At the first sight of her he knew that +nothing disagreeable had befallen, and this was enough. As soon as the +cab drove off with them he looked an inquiry. + +'All well,' she answered, with subdued exultation. 'Wait till you see +the notices.' + +Her flushed face and dancing eyes told that she was fresh from +congratulation and flattery. Harvey could not spoil her moment of +triumph by telling what he had just learnt. She wished to talk of +herself, and he gave her the opportunity. + +'Many people?' + +'A very good hall. They say such an audience at a first recital has +hardly ever been known.' + +'You weren't nervous?' + +'I've often been far more when I played in a drawing-room; and I never +played so well -- not half so well!' + +She entered upon a vivid description of her feelings. On first stepping +forward, she could see nothing but a misty expanse of faces; she could +not feel the boards she trod upon; yet no sooner had she raised her +violin than a glorious sense of power made her forget everything but the +music she was to play. She all but laughed with delight. Never had she +felt so perfect a mastery of her instrument. She played without effort, +and could have played for hours without weariness. Her fellow-musicians +declared that she was 'wonderful'; and Harvey, as he listened to this +flow of excited talk, asked himself whether he had not, after all, +judged Alma amiss. Perhaps he had been the mere dull Philistine, unable +to recognise the born artist, and doing his paltry best to obstruct her +path. Perhaps so; but he would look for the opinion of serious critics +-- if any such had been present. + +At Baker Street they had to wait for a train, and here it happened that +Alma saw the evening placards. At once she changed; her countenance was +darkened with anxiety. + +'Hadn't you better get a paper?' she asked in a quick undertone. + +'I have one. Do you wish to see it now?' + +'Is there anything more?' + +'Yes, there is. You don't know, I suppose, whether Carnaby and his wife +were at the Hall?' + +'I could hardly distinguish faces,' she replied, with tremor. 'What is +it? Tell me.' + +He took out his newspaper and pointed to the paragraph which mentioned +Carnaby's name. Alma seemed overcome with painful emotion; she moved +towards the nearest seat, and Harvey, alarmed by her sudden pallor, +placed himself by her side. + +'What does it mean?' she whispered. + +'Who can say?' + +'They must have quarrelled about business matters.' + +'Perhaps so.' + +'Do you think he -- Mr. Carnaby -- means to hide away -- to escape?' + +'He won't hide away,' Harvey answered. 'Yet he may escape.' + +'What do you mean? Go by ship? -- get out of the country?' + +'I don't think so. He is far more likely to be found somewhere -- in a +way that would save trouble.' + +Alma flashed a look of intelligence. + +'You think so,' she panted. 'You really think he has done that?' + +'I feel afraid of it.' + +Alma recovered breath; and, but that her face was bent low over the +newspaper, Harvey must have observed that the possibility of his +friend's suicide seemed rather to calm her agitation than to afflict her +with fresh dismay. + +But she could speak no more of her musical triumph. With the colour of +her cheeks she had lost all animation, all energy; she needed the +support of Harvey's arm in stepping to the railway carriage; and on her +arrival at home, yielding, as it seemed, to physical exhaustion, she lay +pallid, mute, and nerveless. + + +CHAPTER 15 + + +At night she had recourse to the little bottle, but this time it was +less efficacious. Again and again she woke from terrifying dreams, +wearied utterly, unable to rest, and longing for the dawn. Soon after +daybreak she arose and dressed; then, as there was yet no sound of +movement in the house, she laid her aching head upon the pillow again, +and once more fell into a troubled sleep. The usual call aroused her; +she went to the door and bade the servant bring her some tea and the +morning paper as soon as it was delivered. + +In a few minutes the tea and the newspaper were both brought. First she +glanced at the paragraphs relating to the Wimbledon tragedy; there was +nothing added to yesterday's news except that the inquest would be held +this morning. Then she looked eagerly for the report of her recital, and +found it only after much searching, barely a dozen lines, which spoke of +her as 'a lady of some artistic promise', said that much allowance must +be made for her natural nervousness, and passed on to the other +performers, who were unreservedly praised. Anger and despondency +struggled within her as she read the lines over and over again. Nervous! +Why, the one marvellous thing was her absolute conquest of nervousness. +She saw the hand of an enemy. Felix Dymes had warned her of the envy she +must look for in certain quarters, and here appeared the first instance +of it. But the post would bring other papers. + +It brought half a dozen and a number of letters. At the sound of the +knock, Alma hurried downstairs, seized upon her budget, and returned to +the bedroom. Yes; as it happened, she had seen the least favourable +notice first of all. The other papers. devoted more space to her (though +less than she had expected), and harmonised in their tone of compliment; +one went so far as to congratulate those who were present on 'an +occasion of undoubted importance'. Another found some fault with her +choice of pieces, but hoped soon to hear her again, for her 'claims to +more than ordinary attention' were 'indubitable'. There was a certain +lack of 'breadth', opined one critic; but 'natural nervousness', &c. +Promise, promise -- all agreed that her 'promise' was quite exceptional. + +Tremulous from these lines of print, she turned to the letters, and here +was full-fed with flattery. 'Your most brilliant debut' -- 'How shall we +thank you for such an artistic treat?' -- 'Oh, your divine rendering +of,' &c. -- 'You have taken your place, at once and _sans phrase_, in +the very front rank of violinists.' She smiled once more, and lost a +little of her cadaverous hue. Felix Dymes, scribbling late, repeated +things that he had heard since the afternoon. He added: 'I'm afraid +you'll be awfully upset about your friends the Carnabys. It's very +unfortunate this should have happened just now. But cheer up, and let me +see you as soon as possible. Great things to come!' + +She went down to breakfast with shaking limbs, scarce able to hold up +her head as she sat through the meal. Harvey ran his eye over the +papers, but said nothing, and kept looking anxiously at her. She could +not touch food; on rising from table she felt a giddiness which obliged +her to hold the chair for support. At her husband's beckoning she +followed him into the library. + +'Hadn't you better go back to bed?' + +'I shall lie down a little. But perhaps if I could get out ----' + +'No, that you won't. And if you feel no better by afternoon I shall send +for the doctor.' + +'You see what the papers say ----?' + +'Yes.' + +'Wouldn't it be graceful to own that you are surprised?' + +'We'll talk about that when you look less like a corpse. Would you like +me to send any message to Mrs. Carnaby?' + +Alma shook her head. + +'I'll write -- today or tomorrow -- there's no hurry ----' + +'No hurry?' said Rolfe, surprised by something in her tone. 'What do you +mean by that?' + +'Are you going to see Mr. Carnaby?' was her answer. + +'I don't know where to find him, unless I go to the inquest.' + +'I had rather you stayed here today,' said Alma; 'I feel far from well.' + +'Yes, I shall stay. But I ought to let him hear from me. Best, perhaps, +if I send a telegram to his place.' + +The morning passed miserably enough. Alma went to her bedroom and lay +there for an hour or two, then she strayed to the nursery and sat a +while with Hugh and his governess. At luncheon she had no more appetite +than at breakfast, though for very faintness her body could scarce +support itself. After the meal Harvey went out to procure the earliest +evening papers, and on his way he called at the doctor's house. Not till +about five o'clock was a report of the Wimbledon inquest obtainable. +Having read it, Harvey took the paper home, where he arrived just as the +doctor drove up to the door. + +Alma was again lying down; her eyes showed that she had shed tears. On +Harvey's saying that the doctor was in the house, she answered briefly +that she would see him. The result of the interview was made known to +Rolfe. Nervous collapse; care and quiet; excitement of any kind to be +avoided; the patient better in bed for a few days, to obtain complete +rest. Avoidance of excitement was the most difficult of all things for +Alma at present. Newspapers could not be kept from her; she waited +eagerly for the report of the inquest. + +'Carnaby tells an astonishing story,' said Rolfe, as he sat down by her +when the doctor was gone. + +'Let me read it for myself.' + +She did so with every sign of agitation; but on laying the paper aside +she seemed to become quieter. After a short silence a word or two fell +from her. + +'So Sibyl was at Weymouth.' + +Harvey communed with his thoughts, which were anything but pleasant. He +did not doubt the truth of Hugh Carnaby's narrative, but he had a gloomy +conviction that, whether Hugh knew it or not, an essential part of the +drama lay unrevealed. + +'Will they find that woman, do you think?' were Alma's next words. + +'It doesn't seem very likely.' + +'What is the punishment for manslaughter?' + +'That depends. The case will go for trial, and -- in the meantime ----' + +'What?' asked Alma, raising herself. + +'The woman _may_ be found.' + +There was another silence. Then Alma asked ---- + +'Do you think I ought to write to Sibyl?' + +'No,' he answered decisively. 'You must write to no one. Put it all out +of your mind as much as possible.' + +'Shall you see Mr. Carnaby?' + +'Only if he sends for me.' + +And this was just what happened. Admitted to bail by the magistrate, +Hugh presently sent a note from Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, asking +his friend to see him there. Harvey did not let Alma know of it. He +found some difficulty in getting away from home for a couple of hours, +so anxious had she become to keep him within call, and, when he of +necessity went out, to be informed of his movements. He attributed this +to her morbid condition; for, in truth, Alma was very ill. She could +take only the lightest food, and in the smallest quantities; she fell +repeatedly into fits of silent weeping; she had lost all strength, and +her flesh had begun to waste. On this same day Harvey heard that Mrs +Frothingham was making ready to come, and the news relieved him. + +On reaching the Carnabys', he was admitted by the same servant whose +behaviour had excited his suspicions a day or two ago. Without a word +she conducted him to Hugh's room. + +'Well, old man,' said the familiar voice, though in the tone of one who +is afraid of being overheard, 'it has come to this, you see. You're not +surprised? What else could be expected of a fellow like me, sooner or +later?' + +His face had the marks of sleeplessness; his hand was hot. He pressed +Harvey into a chair, and stood before him, making an obvious effort to +look and speak courageously. + +'It never struck me before how devilish awkward it is for a man in his +own home when he gets into a public scrape -- I mean the servants. One +has to sit under them, as usual, you know, and feel their eyes boring +into one's back. Did you ever think of it?' + +'How long have you to wait?' asked Rolfe. + +'Only a fortnight. But there may be bother about that woman. I wish to +God they could catch her!' + +Harvey made no reply, and his eyes wandered. In a moment he became aware +that Hugh was looking at him with peculiar intentness. + +'I wish I could do anything for you, Carnaby.' + +'You can,' replied the other, with emphasis, his face growing stern. + +'What is it?' + +'Get rid of that ugly thought I see you have in your mind.' + +Hugh's voice, though still cautious, had risen a little; he spoke with +severity that was almost harshness. Their eyes met. + +'What ugly thought?' + +'Don't be dishonest with me, Rolfe. It's a queer-sounding tale, and +you're not the only man, I warrant, who thinks there's something behind +it. But I tell you there isn't -- or nothing that concerns _me_.' He +paused for an instant. 'I shouldn't have dared to tell it, but for my +wife. Yes, my wife,' he repeated vehemently. 'It was Sibyl forced me to +tell the truth. Rather than have _her_ mixed up in such a thing as this, +I would have told any lie, at whatever cost to myself; but she wouldn't +let me. And she was right; I see now that she was, though it a been hard +enough, I tell you, to think of what people might be saying -- damn +them! Don't you be one, Rolfe. My wife is as pure and innocent as any +woman living. I tell you that. I ask you to believe that; and it's the +one thing, the only thing, you can do for me.' + +His voice quivered, and he half-choked upon the passionate words. Moved, +though not to conviction, Harvey made the only possible reply. + +'I believe you; and if ever I have the chance I will repeat what you +say.' + +'Very well. But there's something else. I don't ask you to see anything +of Sibyl, or to let your wife see her; it will be much better not. I +don't know whether she will stay here, or in London at all; but she will +see as few people as possible. Don't think it necessary to write to her; +don't let your wife write. If we all live through it -- and come out +again on the other side -- things may be all right again; but I don't +look forward to anything. All I can think of now is that I've killed a +man who was a good friend to me, and have darkened all the rest of +Sibyl's life. And I only wish someone had knocked my brains out ten +years ago, when nobody would have missed such a blackguard and ruffian.' + +'Is it on your wife's account, or on ours that you want us to keep +apart?' asked Rolfe gravely. + +'Both, my dear fellow,' was the equally grave reply. 'I'm saying only +what I mean; it's no time for humbug now. Think it over, and you'll see +I'm right.' + +'Alma won't see any one just yet awhile,' said Harvey. 'She has made +herself ill, of course.' + +'Ill? How?' + +'The concert, and the frenzy that went before it.' + +'The concert ----.' Carnaby touched his forehead. 'I remember. If I were +you, Rolfe ----' + +'Well?' + +'I don't want to take advantage of my position and be impertinent but do +you think that kind of thing will do her any good in the end?' + +'It's going to stop,' replied Harvey, with a meaning nod. + +'I'm glad to hear you say so -- very glad. Just stick to that. You're +more civilised than I am, and you'll know how to go about that kind of +thing as a man should.' + +'I mean to try.' + +'She is not seriously ill, I hope?' Hugh inquired, after reflecting for +a moment. + +'Oh, the nerves -- breakdown -- nothing dangerous, I believe.' + +'Life ought to be easy enough for you, Rolfe,' said the other. 'You're +at home here.' + +'It depends what you mean by "here". I'm at home in England, no doubt; +but it's very uncertain whether I shall hold out in London. You know +that we're going west to Gunnersbury. That's on the child's account; I +want him to go to school with a friend of ours. If we can live there +quietly and sanely, well and good; if the whirlpool begins to drag us in +again -- then I have another idea.' + +'The whirlpool!' muttered Carnaby, with a broken laugh. 'It's got hold +of _me_, and I'm going down, old man -- and it looks black as hell.' + +'We shall see the sunlight again together,' replied Rolfe, with forced +cheerfulness. + +'You think so? I wish I could believe it.' + +In less than half an hour Harvey was back at the station, waiting for +his train. He suffered pangs of self-rebuke; it seemed to him that he +ought to have found some better way, in word or deed, for manifesting +the sympathy of true friendship. He had betrayed a doubt which must for +ever affect Hugh's feeling towards him. But this was his lot in life, to +blunder amid trying circumstances, to prove unequal to every grave call +upon him. He tried vainly to see what else he could have done, yet felt +that another man would have faced the situation to better purpose. One +resolve, at all events, he had brought out of it: Hugh Carnaby's +reference to Alma declared the common-sense view of a difficulty which +ought to be no difficulty at all, and put an end to vacillation. But in +return for this friendly service he had rendered nothing, save a few +half-hearted words of encouragement. Rolfe saw himself in a mean, +dispiriting light. + +On the next day Mrs. Frothingham arrived at Pinner, and Harvey's +anxieties were lightened. The good, capable woman never showed to such +advantage as in a sick-room; scarcely had she entered the house when +Alma's state began to improve. They remarked that Alma showed no great +concern on Sibyl's account, but was seemingly preoccupied with thought +of Carnaby himself. This being the case, it was with solicitude that +Harvey and Mrs. Frothingham awaited the result of Hugh's trial for +manslaughter. Redgrave's housekeeper could not be found; the +self-accused man stood or fell by his own testimony; nothing was +submitted to the court beyond the fact of Redgrave's death, and Hugh +Carnaby's explanation of how it came about. Nothing of direct evidence; +indirect, in the shape of witness to character, was abundantly +forthcoming, and from 'people of importance. But the victim also was a +person of importance, and justice no doubt felt that, under whatever +provocation, such a man must not be slain with impunity. It sentenced +the homicide to a term of two years' imprisonment, without hard labour. + +Alma heard the sentence with little emotion. Soon after she fell into a +deeper and more refreshing sleep than any she had known since her +illness began. + +'It is the end of suspense,' said Mrs. Frothingham. + +'No doubt,' Harvey assented. + +A few days more and Mrs. Frothingham took Alma away into Hampshire. +Little Hugh went with them, his mother strongly desiring it. As for +Rolfe, he escaped to Greystone, to spend a week with Basil Morton before +facing the miseries of the removal from Pinner to Gunnersbury. + + + +Part the Third + + + +CHAPTER 1 + + +The house had stood for a century and a half, and for eighty years had +been inhabited by Mortons. Of its neighbours in the elm-bordered road, +one or two were yet older; all had reached the age of mellowness. 'Sicut +umbra praeterit dies' -- so ran the motto of the dial set between porch +and eaves; to Harvey Rolfe the kindliest of all greetings, welcoming him +to such tranquillity as he knew not how to find elsewhere. + +It was in the town, yet nothing town-like. No sooty smother hung above +the house-tops and smirched the garden leafage; no tramp of crowds, no +clatter of hot-wheel traffic, sounded from the streets hard by. But at +hours familiar, bidding to task or pleasure or repose, the music of the +grey belfries floated overhead; a voice from the old time, an admonition +of mortality in strains sweet to the ear of childhood. Harvey had but to +listen, and the days of long ago came back to him. Above all, when at +evening rang the curfew. Stealing apart to a bowered corner of the +garden, he dreamed himself into the vanished years, when curfew-time was +bed-time, and a hand with gentle touch led him from his play to that +long sweet slumber which is the child's new birth. + +Basil Morton was one of three brothers, the youngest. His father, a +corn-factor, assenting readily to his early inclination for the Church, +sent him from Greystone Grammar-School to Cambridge, where Basil passed +creditably through the routine, but in no way distinguished himself. +Having taken his degree, he felt less assured of a clerical vocation, +and thought that the law might perhaps be more suitable to him. Whilst +he thus wavered, his father died, and the young man found that he had to +depend upon himself for anything more than the barest livelihood. He +decided, after all, for business, and became a partner with his eldest +brother, handling corn as his father and his grandfather had done before +him. At eight and twenty he married, and a few years afterwards the +elder Morton's death left him to pursue commerce at his own discretion. +Latterly the business had not been very lucrative, nor was Basil the man +to make it so; but he went steadily on in the old tracks, satisfied with +an income which kept him free from care. + +'I like my trade,' he said once to Harvey Rolfe; 'it's clean and sweet +and useful. The Socialist would revile me as a middleman; but society +can't do without me just yet, and I ask no more than I fairly earn. I +like turning over a sample of grain; I like the touch of it, and the +smell of it. It brings me near to the good old Mother Earth, and makes +me feel human.' + +His house was spacious, well built, comfortable. The furniture, in great +part, was the same his parents had used; solid mahogany, not so +beautiful as furniture may be made, but serviceable, if need be, for +another fifty years. He had a library of several thousand volumes, +slowly and prudently collected, representing a liberal interest in all +travail of the mind, and a special taste for the things of classical +antiquity. Basil Morton was no scholar in the modern sense, but might +well have been described by the old phrase which links scholar with +gentleman. He lived by trade, but trade did not affect his life. The +day's work over, he turned, with no feeling of incongruity, to a page of +Thucydides, of Tacitus, or to those less familiar authors who lighted +his favourite wanderings through the ruins of the Roman Empire. Better +grounded for such studies than Harvey Rolfe, he pursued them with a +steadier devotion and with all the advantages of domestic peace. In his +mental habits, in his turns of speech, there appeared perhaps a leaning +to pedantry; but it was the most amiable of faults, and any danger that +might have lurked in it was most happily balanced and corrected by the +practical virtues of his life's companion. + +Mrs. Morton had the beauty of perfect health, of health mental and +physical. To describe her face as homely was to pay it the highest +compliment, for its smile was the true light of home, that never failed. +_Filia generosi_, daughter of a house that bred gentlewomen, though its +ability to dower them had declined in these latter days, she conceived +her duty as wife and mother after the old fashion, and was so fortunate +as to find no obstacle in circumstance. She rose early; she slept early; +and her day was full of manifold activity. Four children she had borne +-- the eldest a boy now in his twelfth year, the youngest a baby girl; +and it seemed to her no merit that in these little ones she saw the end +and reason of her being. Into her pure and healthy mind had never +entered a thought at conflict with motherhood. Her breasts were the +fountain of life; her babies clung to them, and grew large of limb. From +her they learnt to speak; from her they learnt the names of trees and +flowers and all things beautiful around them; learnt, too, less by +precept than from fair example, the sweetness and sincerity wherewith +such mothers, and such alone, can endow their offspring. Later she was +their instructress in a more formal sense; for this also she held to be +her duty, up to the point where other teaching became needful. By method +and good-will she found time for everything, ruling her house and +ordering her life so admirably, that to those who saw her only in hours +of leisure she seemed to be at leisure always. She would have felt it an +impossible thing to abandon her children to the care of servants; +reluctantly she left them even for an hour or two when other claims +which could not be neglected called her forth. In play-time they desired +no better companion, for she was a child herself in gaiety of heart and +lissom sportiveness. No prettier sight could be seen at Greystone than +when, on a summer afternoon, they all drove in the pony carriage to call +on friends, or out into the country. Nowadays it was often her eldest +boy who held the reins, a bright-eyed, well-built lad, a pupil at the +old Grammar-School, where he used the desk at which his father had sat +before him. Whatever fault of boyhood showed itself in Harry Morton, he +knew not the common temptation to be ashamed of his mother, or to flout +her love. + +For holiday they never crossed the sea. Morton himself had been but once +abroad, and that in the year before his father's death, when he was +trying to make up his mind what profession he should take up; he then +saw something of France and of Italy. Talking with travelled friends, he +was wont to praise himself in humorous vein for the sober fixity of his +life, and to quote, in that mellow tone which gave such charm to his +talk, the line from Claudian, '_Erret et extremos alter scrutetur +Iberos_; for he had several friends to whom a Latin or a Greek quotation +was no stumbling-block. Certain of his college companions, men who had +come to hold a place in the world's eye, were glad to turn aside from +beaten tracks and smoke a pipe at Greystone with Basil Morton -- the +quaint fellow who at a casual glance might pass for a Philistine, but +was indeed something quite other. His wife had never left her native +island. 'I will go abroad,' she said, 'when my boys can take me.' And +that might not be long hence; for Harry, who loved no book so much as +the atlas, abounded in schemes of travel, and had already mapped the +grand tour on which the whole family was to set forth when he stood +headboy at the Grammar-School. + +In this household Harvey Rolfe knew himself a welcome guest, and never +had he been so glad as now to pass from the noisy world into the calm +which always fell about him under his friend's roof. The miseries +through which he had gone were troubling his health, and health +disordered naturally reacted upon his mind, so that, owing to a gloomy +excitement of the imagination, for several nights he had hardly slept. +No sooner had he lain down in darkness than every form of mortal anguish +beset his thoughts, passing before him as though some hand unfolded a +pictured scroll of life's terrors. He seemed never before to have +realised the infinitude of human suffering. Hour after hour, with brief +intervals of semi-oblivion, from which his mind awoke in nameless +horror, he travelled from land to land, from age to age; at one moment +picturing some dread incident of a thousand years ago; the next, +beholding with intolerable vividness some scene of agony reported in the +day's newspaper. Doubtless it came of his constant brooding on +Redgrave's death and Hugh Carnaby's punishment. For the first time, +tragedy had been brought near to him, and he marvelled at the +indifference with which men habitually live in a world where tragedy is +every hour's occurrence. + +He told himself that this was merely a morbid condition of the brain, +but could not bring himself to believe it. On the contrary, what he now +saw and felt was the simple truth of things, obscured by everyday +conditions of active life. And that History which he loved to read -- +what was it but the lurid record of woes unutterable? How could he find +pleasure in keeping his eyes fixed on century after century of +ever-repeated torment -- war, pestilence, tyranny; the stake, the +dungeon; tortures of infinite device, cruelties inconceivable? He would +close his books, and try to forget all they had taught him. + +Tonight he spoke of it, as he sat with Morton after everyone else had +gone to bed. They had talked of Hugh Carnaby (each divining in the other +a suspicion they were careful not to avow), and their mood led naturally +to interchange of thoughts on grave subjects. + +'Everyone knows that state of mind, more or less,' said Morton, in his +dreamy voice -- a voice good for the nerves. 'It comes generally when +one's stomach is out of order. You wake at half-past two in the morning, +and suffer infernally from the blackest pessimism. It's morbid -- yes; +but for all that it may be a glimpse of the truth. Health and good +spirits, just as likely as not, are the deceptive condition.' + +'Exactly. But for the power of deceiving ourselves, we couldn't live at +all. It's not a question of theory, but of fact.' + +'I fought it out with myself,' said Basil, after a sip of whisky, 'at +the time of my "exodus from Houndsditch". There's a point in the life of +every man who has brains, when it becomes a possibility that he may kill +himself. Most of us have it early, but it depends on circumstances. I +was like Johnson's friend: be as philosophical as I might, cheerfulness +kept breaking in. And at last I let cheerfulness have its way. As far as +I know' -- he gurgled a laugh -- 'Schopenhauer did the same.' + +Harvey puffed at his pipe before answering. + +'Yes; and I suppose we may call that intellectual maturity. It's bad for +a man when he _can't_ mature -- which is my case. I seem to be as far +from it as ever. Seriously, I should think few men ever had so slow a +development. I don't stagnate: there's always movement; but -- putting +aside the religious question -- my stage at present is yours of twenty +years ago. Yet, not even that; for you started better than I did. You +were never a selfish lout -- a half-baked blackguard ----' + +'Nor you either, my dear fellow.' + +'But I was! I've got along fairly well in self-knowledge; I can follow +my course in the past clearly enough. If I had my rights, I should live +to about a hundred and twenty, and go on ripening to the end. That would +be a fair proportion. It's confoundedly hard to think that I'm a good +deal past the middle of life, yet morally and intellectually am only +beginning it.' + +'It only means, Rolfe, that we others have a pretty solid conceit of +ourselves. -- Listen! "We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master +Shallow." I don't apply the name to you; but you'll be none the worse +for a good night's sleep. Let us be off.' + +Harvey slept much better than of late. There was an air of comfort in +this guest-chamber which lulled the mind. Not that the appointments were +more luxurious than in his own bedroom, for Morton had neither the means +nor the desire to equip his house with perfections of modern upholstery; +but every detail manifested a care and taste and delicacy found only in +homes which are homes indeed, and not mere dwelling-places fitted up +chiefly for display. Harvey thought of the happiness of children who are +born, and live through all their childhood, in such an atmosphere as +this. Then he thought of his own child, who had in truth no home at all. +A house in Wales -- a house at Pinner -- a house at Gunnersbury -- +presently a house somewhere else. He had heard people defend this nomad +life -- why, he himself, before his marriage, had smiled at the +old-fashioned stability represented by such families as the Mortons; had +talked of 'getting into ruts', of 'mouldering', and so on. He saw it +from another point of view now, and if the choice were between rut and +whirlpool ---- + +When he awoke, and lay looking at the sunlit blind, in the stillness of +early morning he heard a sound always delightful, always soothing, that +of scythe and whetstone; then the long steady sweep of the blade through +garden grass. Morton, old stick-in-the-mud, would not let his gardener +use a mowing machine, the scythe was good enough for him; and Harvey, +recalled to the summer mornings of more than thirty years ago, blessed +him for his pig-headedness. + +But another sound he missed, one he would have heard even more gladly. +Waking thus at Pinner (always about six o'clock), he had been wont to +hear the voice of his little boy, singing. Possibly this was a doubtful +pleasure to Miss Smith, in whose room Hughie slept; but, to her credit, +she had never bidden the child keep quiet. And there he lay, singing to +himself, a song without words; singing like a little bird at dawn; a +voice of innocent happiness, greeting the new day. Hughie was far off; +and in a strange room, with other children, he would not sing. But +Harvey heard his voice -- the odd little bursts of melody, the liquid +rise and fall, which set to tune, no doubt, some childish fancy, some +fairy tale, some glad anticipation. Hughie lived in the golden age. A +year or two more, and the best of life would be over with him; for +boyhood is but a leaden time compared with the borderland between it and +infancy; and manhood -- the curse of sex developed ---- + +It was a merry breakfast-table. The children's sprightly talk, their +mother's excellent spirits, and Morton's dry jokes with one and all, +made Harvey feel ashamed of the rather glum habit which generally kept +him mute at the first meal of the day. Alma, too, was seldom in the mood +for breakfast conversation; so that, between them, they imposed silence +upon Hughie and Miss Smith. One might have thought that the postman had +brought some ill news, depressing the household. Yet things were not +wont to be so bad in Wales; at that time, the day, as a rule, began +cheerfully enough. Their life had darkened in the shadow of London; just +when, for the child's sake, everything should have been made as bright +as possible. And he saw little hope of change for the better. It did not +depend upon him. The note of family life is struck by the +house-mistress, and Alma seemed fallen so far from her better self that +he could only look forward with anxiety to new developments of her +character. + +'School?' he exclaimed, when Harry, with satchel over shoulder, came to +bid him good morning. 'I wish I could go in your place! It's just +thirty-one years since I left the old Grammar-School.' + +The boy did not marvel at this. He would not have done so if the years +had been sixty-one; for Mr. Rolfe seemed to him an old man, very much +older than his own father. + +As usual when at Greystone, Harvey took his first walk to the spots +associated with his childhood. He walked alone, for Morton had gone to +business until midday. On the outskirts of the town, in no very pleasant +situation, stood the house where he was born; new buildings had risen +round about it, and the present tenants seemed to be undesirable people, +who neglected the garden and were careless about their window curtains. +Here he had lived until he was ten years old -- till the death of his +father. His mother died long before that; he just, and only just, +remembered her. He knew from others that she was a gentle, thoughtful +woman, always in poor health; the birth of her second child, a girl, led +to a lingering illness, and soon came the end. To her place as mistress +of the house succeeded Harvey's aunt, his father's sister. No one could +have been kinder to the children, but Harvey, for some reason yet +obscure to him, always disliked her. Whom, indeed, did he not dislike, +of those set over him? He recalled his perpetual rebellion against her +authority from the first day to the last. What an unruly cub! And his +father's anger when he chanced to overhear some boyish insolence -- +alas! alas! + +For he saw so little of his father. Mr. Rolfe's work as a railway +engineer kept him chiefly abroad; he was sometimes absent for twelve +months at a time. Only in the last half-year of his life did he remain +constantly at home, and that because he was dying. Having contracted a +fever in Spain, he came back to recruit; but his constitution had +suffered from many hardships, and now gave way. To the last day (though +he was ten years old) Harvey never dreamt of what was about to happen. +Self-absorbed in a degree unusual even with boys, he feared his father, +but had not learnt to love him. And now, looking back, he saw only too +well why the anxious parent treated him with severity more often than +with gentleness and good humour. A boy such as he must have given sore +trouble to a father on his death-bed. + +When it was too late, too late by many a year, he mourned the loss which +had only startled him, which had seemed hardly a loss at all, rather an +emancipation. As a man of thirty, he knew his father much better than +when living with him day after day. Faults he could perceive, some of +them inherited in his own character; but there remained the memory of a +man whom he could admire and love -- whom he did admire and love more +sincerely and profoundly the older he grew. And he held it the supreme +misfortune of his life that, in those early years which count so much +towards the future, he had been so rarely under his father's influence. + +Inevitable, it seemed. Yet only so, perhaps, because even a good and +conscientious man may fail to understand the obligation under which he +lies towards his offspring. + +He and his sister Amy passed into the guardianship of Dr Harvey, Mr +Rolfe's old friend, the boy's godfather, who had done his best to soothe +the mind of the dying man with regard to his children's future. There +were no pecuniary difficulties; the children's education was provided +for, and on coming of age each would have about two thousand pounds. Dr +Harvey, a large-hearted, bright-witted Irishman, with no youngsters of +his own, speedily decided that the boy must be sent away to a +boarding-school, to have some of the self-will knocked out of him. Amy +continued to live with her aunt for two years more; then the good woman +died, and the Doctor took Amy into his own house, which became Harvey's +home during holidays. + +The ivy-covered house, in the best residential street of Greystone. +Harvey paused before it. On the railings hung a brass plate with another +name; the good old Doctor had been in his grave for many a year. + +What wonder that he never liked the boy? Harvey, so far as anyone could +perceive, had no affection, no good feeling, no youthful freshness or +simplicity of heart; moreover, he exhibited precocious arrogance, +supported by an obstinacy which had not even the grace of quickening +into fieriness; he was often a braggart, and could not be trusted to +tell the truth where his self-esteem was ever so little concerned. How +unutterably the Harvey Rolfe of today despised himself at the age of +fifteen or so! Even at that amorphous age, a more loutish, ungainly boy +could scarcely have been found. Bashfulness cost him horrid torments, of +course exasperating his conceit. He hated girls; he scorned women. Among +his school-fellows he made a bad choice of comrades. Though muscular and +of tolerable health, he was physically, as well as morally, a coward. +Games and sports had I no attraction for him; he shut himself up in +rooms, and read a great deal, yet even this, it seemed, not without an +eye to winning admiration. + +Brains he had -- brains undeniably; but for a long time there was the +greatest doubt as to what use he could make of them. Harvey remembered +the day when it was settled that he should study medicine. He resolved +upon it merely because he had chanced to hear the Doctor say that he was +not cut out for _that_. + +He saw himself at twenty, a lank, ungainly youth, with a disagreeable +complexion and a struggling moustache. He was a student at Guy's; he had +'diggings'; he tasted the joy of independence. As is the way with young +men of turbid passions and indifferent breeding, he rapidly signalised +his independence by plunging into sordid slavery. A miserable time to +think of; a wilderness of riot, folly, and shame. Yet it seemed to him +that he was enjoying life. Among the rowdy set of his fellow-students he +shone with a certain superiority. His contempt of money, and his large +way of talking about it, conveyed the impression that abundant means +awaited him. He gave away coin as readily as he spent it on himself; not +so much in a true spirit of generosity (though his character had gleams +of it), as because he dreaded above all things the appearance of +niggardliness and the suspicion of a shallow purse. + +Then came the memorable interview with his guardian on his twenty-first +birthday. Harvey flinched and grew hot in thinking of it. What an +ungrateful cur! What a self-sufficient young idiot! The Doctor had borne +so kindly with his follies and vices, had taken so much trouble for his +good, was it not the man's right and duty to speak grave words of +counsel on such an occasion as this? But to counsel Mr. Harvey Rolfe was +to be guilty of gross impertinence. With lofty spirit the young +gentleman proclaimed that he must no longer be treated as a school-boy! +Whereupon the Doctor lost his temper, and spoke with a particularly +strong Hibernian accent -- spoke words which to this moment stung the +hearer's memory. He saw himself marching from the room -- that room +yonder, on the ground-floor. It was some small consolation to remember +that he had been drinking steadily for a week before that happened. +Indeed, he could recall no scene quite so discreditable throughout the +course of his insensate youth. + +Well, he had something like two thousand pounds. Whether he had looked +for more or less he hardly knew, or whether he had looked for anything +at all. At one-and-twenty he was the merest child in matters of the +world. Surely something must have arrested the natural development of +his common-sense. Even in another ten years he was scarcely on a level, +as regards practical intelligence, with the ordinary lad who is leaving +school. + +He at once threw up his medical studies, which had grown hateful to him. +He took his first taste of foreign travel. He extended his reading and +his knowledge of languages. And insensibly a couple of years went by. + +The possession of money had done him good. It clarified his passions, or +tended that way. A self-respect, which differed appreciably from what he +had formerly understood by that term, began to guard him against +grossness; together with it there developed in him a new social pride +which made him desire the acquaintance of well-bred people. Though he +had no longer any communication with the good old Doctor, Amy frequently +wrote to him, and in one of her letters she begged him to call on a +family in London, one of whose younger members lived at Greystone and +was Amy's friend. After much delay, he overcame his bashfulness, and +called upon the worthy people -- tailored as became a gentleman at +large. The acquaintance led to others; in a short time he was on +pleasant terms with several well-to-do families. He might have suspected +-- but at the time, of course, did not -- that Dr Harvey's kindly +influence had something to do with his reception in these houses. +Self-centred, but painfully self-distrustful, he struggled to overcome +his natural defects of manner. Possibly with some success; for did not +Lily Burton, who at first so piqued him by her critical smile, come to +show him tolerance, friendliness, gracious interest? + +Lily Burton! -- how emptily, how foolishly the name tinkled out of that +empty and foolish past! Yet what a power it had over him when he was +three and twenty! Of all the savage epithets which he afterwards +attached to its owner, probably she merited a few. She was a flirt, at +all events. She drew him on, played upon his emotions, found him, no +doubt, excellent fun; and at last, when he was imbecile enough to +declare himself, to talk of marriage, Lily, raising the drollest eyes, +quietly wished to know what his prospects were. + +The intolerable shame of it, even now! But he laughed, mocking at his +dead self. + +His mind's eye beheld the strange being a year later. Still in good +clothes, but unhealthy, and at his last half-crown; four and twenty, +travelled, and possessed of the elements of culture, he had only just +begun to realise the fact that men labour for their daily bread. Was it +the peculiar intensity of his egoism that so long blinded him to common +anxieties? Even as the last coins slipped between his fingers, he knew +only a vaguely irritable apprehension. Did he imagine the world would +beg for the honour of feeding and clothing Mr. Harvey Rolfe? + +It came back to him, his first experience of hunger -- so very different +a thing from appetite. He saw the miserable bedroom where he sat on a +rainy day. He smelt the pawnshop. His heart sank again under the weight +of awful solitude. Then, his illness; the letter he wrote to Amy; her +visit to him; the help she brought. But she could not persuade him to go +back with her to Greystone to face the Doctor. Her money was a loan; he +would bestir himself and find occupation. For a wonder, it was found -- +the place at the Emigration Agency; and so, for a good many years, the +notable Mr. Harvey Rolfe sank into a life of obscure routine. + +Again and again his sister Amy besought him to visit Greystone. Dr +Harvey was breaking up; would he not see the kind old man once more? +Yes, he assured himself that he would; but he took his time about it, +and Dr Harvey, who at threescore and ten could not be expected to wait +upon a young man's convenience, one day very quietly died. To Amy Rolfe, +who had become as a daughter to him, he left the larger part of his +possessions, an income of nine hundred a year. Not long after this, +Harvey met his sister, and was astonished to find her looking thin, +pale, spiritless. What did it mean? Why did she gaze at him so sadly? +Come, come, he cried, she had been leading an unnatural life, +cloistered, cheerless. Now that she was independent, she must enjoy +herself, see the world! Brave words; and braver still those in which he +replied to Amy's entreaty that he would share her wealth. Not he, +indeed! If, as she said, the Doctor meant and hoped it, why did he not +make that plain in his will? Not a penny would he take. He had all he +wanted. And he seemed to himself the most magnanimous of men. + +Amy lived on at Greystone; amid friends, to be sure, but silent, +melancholy; and he, the brother whom she loved, could spare her only a +day or two once a year, when he chattered his idle self-conceit. Anyone +else would have taken trouble to inquire the cause of her pallor, her +sadness. He, forsooth, had to learn with astonishment, at last, that she +wished to see him -- on her deathbed. + +He had often thought of her, and kindly. But he knew her not at all, +took no interest in her existence. She, on the other hand, had treasured +every miserable little letter his idleness vouchsafed; she had hoped so +for his future, ever believing in him. When Amy lay dead, he saw the +sheet of paper on which she had written the few lines necessary to endow +him with all she left -- everything 'to my dear brother'. What words +could have reproached him so keenly? + +His steps turned to the churchyard, where on a plain upright stone he +read the names of his mother, of his father. Amy's grave was hard by. +He, too, if he had his wish, would some day rest here; and here his own +son would stand, and read his name, and think of him. Ah, but with no +such remorse and self-contempt! That was inconceivable. The tenderness +which dimmed his eyes would have changed to misery had be dreamed it +possible that his own boy could palter so ignobly with the opportunities +of life. + +Upon these deep emotions intruded the thought of Alma. Intruded; for he +neither sought nor welcomed his wife's companionship at such a moment, +and he was disturbed by a perception of the little claim she had to be +present with him in spirit. He could no longer pretend to himself that +he loved Alma; whatever the right name for his complex of feelings -- +interest, regard, admiration, sexual attachment -- assuredly it must be +another word than that sacred to the memory of his parents, to the +desires and hopes centring in his child. For all that, he had no sense +of a hopeless discord in his wedded life; he suffered from no +disillusion, with its attendant bitterness. From this he was saved by +the fact, easy at length to recognise, that in wooing Alma he had obeyed +no dictate of the nobler passion; here, too, as at every other crisis of +life, he had acted on motives which would not bear analysis, so large +was the alloy of mere temperament, of weak concession to circumstance. +Rather than complain that Alma fell short of the ideal in wifehood, +should he not marvel, and be grateful that their marriage might still be +called a happy one? Happiness in marriage is a term of such vague +application: Basil Morton, one in ten thousand, might call himself +happy; even so, all things considered, must the husband who finds it +_just_ possible to endure the contiguity of his wife. Midway between +these extremes of the definition stood Harvey's measure of matrimonial +bliss. He saw that he had no right to grumble. + +He saw, moreover, and reflected constantly upon it in these days, how +largely he was himself to blame for the peril of estrangement which +threatened his life with Alma. Meaning well, and thinking himself a +pattern of marital wisdom, he had behaved, as usual, with gross lack of +discretion. The question now was, could he mend the harm that he had +done? Love did not enter into the matter; his difficulty called for +common-sense -- for rational methods in behaviour towards a wife whom he +could still respect, and who was closely bound to him by common interest +in their child. + +He looked up, and had pleasure once more in the sunny sky. After all, +he, even he, had not committed the most woeful of all blunders; though +it was a mystery how he had escaped it. The crown of his feeble, futile +career should, in all fitness, have been marriage with a woman worse +than himself. And not on his own account did he thank protecting +fortune. One lesson, if one only, he had truly learnt from nature: it +bade him forget all personal disquietude, in joy that he was not guilty +of that crime of crimes, the begetting of children by a worthless +mother. + + +CHAPTER 2 + + +Mrs. Morton felt a lively interest in Mrs. Rolfe's musical enterprise, and +would have liked to talk about it, but she suspected that the topic was +not very agreeable to her guest. In writing to Morton, Harvey had just +mentioned the matter, and that was all. On the second day of his visit, +when he felt much better, and saw things in a less troubled light, he +wished to remove the impression that he regarded Alma's proceedings with +sullen disapproval; so he took the opportunity of being alone with his +hostess, and talked to her of the great venture with all the good humour +he could command. Mrs. Morton had seen two notices of Alma's debut; both +were so favourable that she imagined them the augury of a brilliant +career. + +'I doubt that,' said Harvey; 'and I'm not sure that it's desirable. She +has made herself miserably ill, you see. Excitement is the worst +possible thing for her. And then there's the whole question of whether +professional life is right and good for a married woman. How do you +think about it?' + +The lady instanced cases that naturally presented themselves. She seemed +to have no prejudice. Mrs. Rolfe appeared to her a person of artistic +temper; but health was of the first importance; and then ---- + +Harvey waited; but only a thoughtful smile completed the remark. + +'What other consideration had you in mind?' + +'Only a commonplace -- that a married woman would, of course, be guided +by her husband's wish.' + +'You think that equivalent to reason and the will of God?' said Harvey +jocosely. + +'If we need appeal to solemn sanction.' + +Rolfe was reminded, not unpleasantly, that he spoke with a woman to whom +'the will of God' was something more than a facetious phrase. + +'I beg your pardon; let us say reason alone. But is it reasonable for +the artist to sacrifice herself because she happens to have married an +everyday man?' + +Mrs. Morton shook her head and laughed. + +'If only one know what is meant by the everyday man! My private view of +him is rather flattering, perhaps. I'm inclined to think him, on the +whole, not inferior to the everyday woman; and _she_ -- she isn't a bad +sort of creature, if fairly treated. I don't think the everyday man will +go very far wrong, as a rule, in the treatment of his wife.' + +'You really believe that?' asked Harvey, with a serious smile. + +'Why, is it such a heresy?' + +'I should rather have thought so. One is so accustomed to hear the other +view I mean, it's in the air. Don't think I'm asking your sympathy. I +have always wished Alma to act on her own judgment; she has been left +quite free to do so. But if the results seem worse than doubtful, then +comes the difficulty.' + +'To be settled, surely, like all other difficulties between sensible +people.' + +Mrs. Morton's faith was of enviable simplicity. She knew, as a matter of +fact, that husbands and wives often found their difficulties +insuperable; but why this should be so, seemed to her one of the dark +and mournful enigmas of life. It implied such a lack not only of good +sense, but of right feeling. In her own experience she had met with no +doubt, no worry, which did not yield to tact, or generous endeavour, or, +at worst, to the creed by which she lived. One solicitude, and one only, +continued to affect her as wife and mother; that it could not overcome +her happy temper was due to the hope perpetually inspired by her +husband's love -- a hope inseparable from her profoundest convictions. +She and Morton differed in religious views, and there had come a grave +moment when she asked whether it would be possible to educate her +children in her own belief without putting a distance between them and +their father. The doubt had disappeared, thanks to Morton's breadth of +view, or facility of conscience; there remained the trouble in which it +had originated, but she solaced herself with the fond assurance that +this also would vanish as time went on. In the same mood of kindly +serenity she regarded the lives of her friends, always hoping for the +best, and finding it hard to understand that anyone could deliberately +act with unkindness, unreasonableness, or any other quality opposed to +the common good. + +Rolfe had no desire of talking further about his private affairs. He had +made up his mind on the points at issue, and needed no counsel, but the +spirit of Mrs. Morton's conversation helped him to think tranquilly. The +great danger was that he might make things worse by his way of regarding +them. Most unluckily, Alma's illness had become connected in his +imagination with the tragedy of the Carnabys; he could not keep the +things apart. Hugh Carnaby's miserable doom, and the dark surmises +attaching to his wife, doubtless had their part in bringing about a +nervous crisis; why could he not recognise this as perfectly natural, +and dismiss the matter? In spite of all reasoning, Alma's image ever and +again appeared to him shadowed by the gloom which involved her friend -- +or the woman who _was_ her friend. He knew it (or believed it) to be the +merest illusion of his perturbed mind; for no fact, how trivial soever, +had suggested to him that Alma knew more of the circumstances of +Redgrave's death than she seemed to know. On the one hand, he was glad +that Alma and Sibyl no longer cared to meet; on the other, he could not +understand what had caused this cessation of their friendship, and he +puzzled over it. But these idle fancies would pass away; they were +already less troublesome. A long country walk with Morton, during which +they conversed only of things intellectual, did him much good. Not long +ago Morton had had a visit from an old Cambridge friend, a man who had +devoted himself to the study of a certain short period of English +history, and hoped, some ten years hence, to produce an authoritative +work on the subject. + +'There's a man I envy!' cried Rolfe, when he had listened to Basil's +humorous description of the enthusiast. 'It's exactly what I should like +to do myself.' + +'What prevents you?' + +'Idleness -- irresolution -- the feeling that the best of my life is +over. I have never been seriously a student, and it's too late to begin +now. But if I were ten years younger, I would make myself master of +something. What's the use of reading only to forget? In my time I have +gone through no small library of historical books -- and it's all a mist +on the mind's horizon. That comes of reading without method, without a +purpose. The time I have given to it would have made me a pundit, if I +had gone to work reasonably.' + +'Isn't my case the same?' exclaimed Morton. 'What do I care! I enjoyed +my reading and my knowledge at the time, and that's all I ever +expected.' + +'Very well -- though you misrepresent yourself. But for me it isn't +enough. I want to know something as well as it can be known. Purely for +my own satisfaction; the thought of "doing something" doesn't come in at +all. I was looking at your county histories this morning, and I felt a +huge longing to give the rest of my life to some little bit of England, +a county, or even a town, and exhaust the possibilities of knowledge +within those limits. Why, Greystone here -- it has an interesting +history, even in relation to England at large; and what a delight there +would be in following it out, doggedly, invincibly -- making it one's +single subject -- grubbing after it in muniment-rooms and libraries -- +learning by heart every stone of the old town -- dying at last with the +consolation that nobody could teach one anything more about it!' + +'I know the mood,' said Morton, laughing. + +'I'm narrowing down,' pursued Harvey. 'Once I had tremendous visions -- +dreamt of holding half a dozen civilisations in the hollow of my hand. I +came back from the East in a fury to learn the Oriental languages -- +made a start, you know, with Arabic. I dropped one nation after another, +always drawing nearer home. The Latin races were to suffice me. Then +early France, especially in its relations with England; -- Normandy, +Anjou. Then early England, especially in its relations with France. The +end will be a county, or a town -- nay, possibly a building. Why not +devote one's self to the history of a market-cross? It would be +respectable, I tell you. Thoroughness is all.' + +When they were alone in the library at night, Morton spoke of his eldest +boy, expressing some anxiety about him. + +'The rascal will have to earn his living -- and how? There's time, I +suppose, but it begins to fidget me. He won't handle corn -- I'm clear +as to that. At his age, of course, all lads talk about voyages and so +on, but Harry seems cut out for a larger sphere than Greystone. I shan't +balk him. I'd rather he hadn't anything to do with fighting -- still, +that's a weakness.' + +'We think of sending Wager's lad into the navy,' said Rolfe, when he had +mused awhile. 'Of course, he'll have to make his own way.' + +'Best thing you can do, no doubt. And what about his little sister?' + +'That's more troublesome. It's awkward that she's a relative of Mrs +Abbott. Otherwise, I should have proposed to train her for a cook.' + +'Do you mean it?' + +'Why not? She isn't a girl of any promise. What better thing for her, +and for the community, than to make her a good cook? They're rare +enough, Heaven knows. What's the use of letting her grow up with ideas +of gentility, which in her case would mean nothing hut uselessness? She +must support herself, sooner or later, and it won't he with her brains. +I've seriously thought of making that suggestion to Mrs. Abbott. Ten +years hence, a sensible woman cook will demand her own price, and be a +good deal more respected than a dressmaker or a she-clerk. The stomach +is very powerful in bringing people to common-sense. When all the +bricklayers' daughters are giving piano lessons, and it's next to +impossible to get any servant except a lady's-maid, we shall see women +of leisure develop a surprising interest in the boiling of potatoes.' + +Morton admitted the force of these arguments. + +'What would you wish your own boy to be?' he asked presently. + +'Anything old-fashioned, unadventurous, happily obscure; a country +parson, perhaps, best of all.' + +'I understand. I've had the same thoughts. But one Ii to get over that +kind of thing. It won't do to be afraid of life -- nor of death either.' + +'And there's the difficulty of education,' said Rolfe. 'If I followed my +instincts, I should make the boy unfit for anything but the quietest, +obscurest life. I should make him hate a street, and love the fields. I +should teach him to despise every form of ambition; to shrink from every +kind of pleasure, but the simplest and purest; to think of life as a +long day's ramble, and death as the quiet sleep that comes at the end of +it. I should like him not to marry -- never to feel the need of it; or +if marry he must, to have no children. That's my real wish; and if I +tried to carry it out, the chances are that I should do him an +intolerable wrong. For fear of it, I must give him into the hands of +other people; I must see him grow into habits and thoughts which will +cause me perpetual uneasiness; I must watch him drift further and +further away from my own ideal of life, till at length, perhaps, there +is scarce a possibility of sympathy between us.' + +'Morbid -- all morbid,' remarked the listener. + +'I don't know. It may only mean that one sees too clearly the root facts +of existence. I have another mood (less frequent) in which I try to +persuade myself that I don't care much about the child; that his future +doesn't really concern me at all. Why should it? He's just one of the +millions of human beings who come and go. A hundred years hence -- what +of him and of me? What can it matter how he lived and how he died? The +best kind of education would be that which hardened his skin and blunted +his sympathies. What right have I to make him sensitive? The thing is, +to get through life with as little suffering as possible. What monstrous +folly to teach him to wince and cry out at the sufferings of other +people! Won't he have enough of his own before he has done? Yet that's +what we shall aim at -- to cultivate his sympathetic emotions, so that +the death of a bird shall make him sad, and the sight of human distress +wring his heart. Real kindness would try to make of him a healthy +ruffian, with just enough conscience to keep him from crime.' + +'Theory for theory, I prefer this,' said Morton. 'To a certain extent I +try to act upon it.' + +'You do?' + +'Just because I know that my own tendency is to over-softness. I have +sometimes surprised my wife by bidding Harry disregard things that +appealed to his pity. You remember what old Hobbes says: "_Homo malus, +puer robustus_"? There was more truth in it in his day than in ours. +It's natural for a boy to be a good deal of a savage, but our +civilisation is doing its best to change that. Why, not long ago the lad +asked me whether fishing wasn't cruel. He evidently felt that it was, +and so do I; but I couldn't say so. I laughed it off, and told him that +a fish diet was excellent for the brains!' + +'I hope I may have as much courage,' said Harvey. + +'Life is a compromise, my dear fellow. If the world at large would +suddenly come round to a cultivation of the amiable virtues -- well and +good. But there's no hope of it. As it is, our little crabs must grow +their hard shell, or they've no chance.' + +'What about progress? In educating children, we are making the new +world.' + +Morton assented. + +'But there's no hurry. The growth must be gradual -- will be, whether we +intend it or not. The fact is, I try not to think overmuch about my +children. It remains a doubt, you know, whether education has any +influence worth speaking of.' + +'To me,' said Harvey, 'the doubt seems absurd. In my own case, I know, a +good system of training would have made an enormous difference. +Practically, I was left to train myself, and a nice job I made of it. Do +you remember how I used to talk about children before I had one? I have +thought it was the talk of a fool; but, perhaps, after all, it had more +sanity than my views nowadays.' + +'_Medio tutissimus_,' murmured Basil. + +'And what about your girls?' asked the other, when they had smoked in +silence. 'Is the difficulty greater or less?' + +'From my point of view, less. For one thing, I can leave them entirely +in the hands of their mother; if they resemble her, they won't do amiss. +And there's no bother about work in life; they will have enough to live +upon -- just enough. Of course, they may want to go out into the world. +I shall neither hinder nor encourage. I had rather they stayed at home.' + +'Don't lose sight of the possibility that by when they are grown up +there may be no such thing as "home". The word is dying out.' + +Morton's pedantry led him again to murmur Latin ---- + +'_Multa renascentur quoe jam cecidere_.' + +'You're the happiest man I know, or ever shall know,' said Rolfe, with +more feeling than he cared to exhibit. + +'Don't make me think about Croesus, King of Lydia. On the whole, +happiness means health, and health comes of occupation. In one point I +agree with you about yourself: it would have been better if someone had +found the right kind of work for you, and made you stick to it. +By-the-bye, how does your friend, the photographic man, get on?' + +'Not at all badly. Did I tell you I had put money into it? I go there a +good deal, and pretend to do something.' + +'Why pretend? Couldn't you find a regular job there for a few hours +every day?' + +'I dare say I could. It'll be easier to get backwards and forwards from +Gunnersbury. How would you like,' he added, with a laugh, 'to live at +Gunnersbury?' + +'What does it matter where one lives? I have something of a prejudice +against Hoxton or Bermondsey; but I think I could get along in most +other places. Gunnersbury is rather pleasant, I thought. Isn't it quite +near to Kew and Richmond?' + +'Do those names attract you?' + +'They have a certain charm for the rustic ear.' + +'It's all one to me. Hughie will go to school, and make friends with +other children. You see, he's had no chance of it yet. We know a hundred +people or so, but have no intimates. Is there such a thing as intimacy +of families in London? I'm inclined to think not. Here, you go into each +other's houses without fuss and sham; you know each other, and trust +each other. In London there's no such comfort, at all events for +educated people. If you have a friend, he lives miles away; before his +children and yours can meet, they must travel for an hour and a half by +bus and underground.' + +'I suppose it _must_ be London?' interrupted Morton. + +'I'm afraid so,' Harvey replied absently, and his friend said no more. + +He had meant this visit to be of three days at most; but time slipped by +so pleasantly that a week was gone before he could resolve on departure. +Most of the mornings he spent in rambles alone, rediscovering many a +spot in the country round which had been familiar to him as a boy, but +which he had never cared to seek in his revisitings of Greystone +hitherto. One day, as he followed the windings of a sluggish stream, he +saw flowers of arrowhead, white flowers with crimson centre, floating by +the bank, and remembered that he had once plucked them here when on a +walk with his father, who held him the while, lest he should stretch too +far and fall in. To reach them now, he lay down upon the grassy brink; +and in that moment there returned to him, with exquisite vividness, the +mind, the senses, of childhood; once more he knew the child's pleasure +in contact with earth, and his hand grasped hard at the sweet-smelling +turf as though to keep hold upon the past thus fleetingly recovered. It +was gone -- no doubt, for ever; a last glimpse vouchsafed to him of +life's beginning as he set his face towards the end. Then came a thought +of joy. The keen sensations which he himself had lost were his child's +inheritance. Somewhere in the fields, this summer morning, Hughie was +delighting in the scent, the touch, of earth, young amid a world where +all was new. The stereotyped phrase about parents living again in their +children became a reality and a source of deep content. So does a man +repeat the experience of the race, and with each step onward live into +the meaning of some old word that he has but idly echoed. + +On the day before he left, a letter reached him from Alma. He had felt +surprise at not hearing sooner from her; but Alma's words explained the +delay. + +'I have been thinking a great deal,' she wrote, 'and I want to tell you +of my thoughts. Don't imagine they are mere fancies, the result of +ill-health. I feel all but well again, and have a perfectly clear head. +And perhaps it is better that I should write what I have to say, instead +of speaking it. In this way I oblige you to hear me out. I don't mean +that you are in the habit of interrupting me, but perhaps you would if I +began to talk as I am going to write. + +'Why can't we stay at Pinner? + +'There, that shall have a line to itself. Take breath, and now listen +again. I dislike the thought of removing to Gunnersbury -- really and +seriously I dislike it. You know I haven't given you this kind of +trouble before; when we left Wales I was quite willing to have stayed on +if you had wished it -- wasn't I? Forgive me, then, for springing this +upon you after all your arrangements are made; I could not do it if I +did not feel that our happiness (not mine only) is concerned. Would it +be possible to cancel your agreement with the Gunnersbury man? If not, +couldn't you sublet, with little or no loss? The Pinner house isn't let +yet -- is it? Do let us stay where we are. I think it is the first +serious request I ever made of you, and I think you will see that I have +some right to make it. + +'I had rather, much rather, that Hughie did not go to Mrs. Abbott's +school. Don't get angry and call me foolish. What I mean is, that I +would rather teach him myself. In your opinion I have neglected him, and +I confess that you are right. There now! I shall give up my music; at +all events, I shall not play again in public. I have shown what I could +do, and that's enough. You don't like it -- though you have never tried +to show me _why_ -- and again I feel that you are right. A professional +life for me would mean, I see it now, the loss of things more precious. +I will give it up, and live quietly at home. I will have regular hours +for teaching Hughie. If you prefer it, Pauline shall go, and I will take +charge of him altogether. If I do this, what need for us to remove? The +house is more comfortable than the new one at Gunnersbury; we are +accustomed to it; and by being farther from London I shall have less +temptation to gad about. I know exactly what I am promising, and I feel +I _can_ do it, now that my mind is made up. + +'Need I fear a refusal? I can't think so. Give the matter your best +thought, and see whether there are not several reasons on my side. But, +please, answer as soon as you can, for I shall be in suspense till I +hear from you. + +Alma signed herself 'Yours ever affectionately', but Harvey could find +no trace of affection in the letter. It astonished and annoyed him. Of +course, it could have but one explanation; Alma might as well have saved +herself trouble by writing, in a line or two, that she disliked Mrs +Abbott, and could not bear that the child should be taught by her. He +read through the pages again, and grew angry. What right had she to make +such a request as this, and in the tone of a demand? Twice in the letter +she asserted that she _had_ a right, asserted it as if with some +mysterious reference. Had he sat down immediately to reply, Harvey would +have written briefly forcibly; for, putting aside other grounds of +irritation, there is nothing a man dislikes more than being called upon +at last moment to upset elaborate and troublesome arrangements. But he +was obliged to postpone his answer for a few hours, and in the meantime +he grew more tolerant of Alma's feelings. Had her objection come +earlier, accompanied by the same proposals, he would have been inclined +to listen; but things had gone too far. He wrote, quite good-temperedly, +but without shadow of wavering. There was nothing sudden, he pointed +out, in the step he was about to take; Alma had known it for months, and +had acquiesced in it. As for her music, he quite agreed with her that +she would find it better in every way to abandon thoughts of a public +career; and the fact of Hughie's going to school for two or three hours +a day would in no wise interfere with her wish to see more of him. What +her precise meaning was in saying that she had some 'right' to make this +request, he declared himself unable to discover. Was it a reproach? If +so, his conscience afforded him no light, and he hoped Alma would +explain the words in a letter to him at Pinner. + +This correspondence clouded his last evening at Greystone. He was glad +that some acquaintances of Morton's came, and stayed late; sitting alone +with his friend, he would have been tempted to talk of Alma, and he felt +that silence was better just now. + +By a train soon after breakfast next morning, he left the old town, +dearer to him each time that he beheld it, and travelled slowly to the +main-line junction, whence again he travelled slowly to Peterborough. +There the express caught him up, and flung him into roaring London +again. Before going to Pinner, he wished to see Cecil Morphew, for he +had an idea to communicate -- a suggestion for the extending of business +by opening correspondence with out of the way towns, such as Greystone. + +On reaching the shop in Westminster Bridge Road, he found that Morphew +also had a communication to make, and of a more exciting nature. + + +CHAPTER 3 + + +Morphew was engaged upstairs with the secretary of an Amateur +Photographic Society. Waiting for this person's departure, Rolfe talked +with the shopman -- a capable fellow, aged about thirty, whose heart was +in the business; he looked at a new hand-camera, which seemed likely to +have a good sale, and heard encouraging reports of things in general. +Then Morphew came down, escorting his visitor. As soon as he was free, +he grasped Harvey by the arm, and whispered eagerly that he had +something to tell him. They went upstairs together, into a room +furnished as an office, hung about with many framed photographs. + +'He's dead!' exclaimed Cecil -- 'he's dead!' + +A name was needless. Only one man's death could be the cause of such +excitement in Morphew, and it had been so long awaited that the event +had no touch of solemnity. Yet Harvey perceived that his friend's +exultation was not unmixed with disquietude. + +'Yesterday morning, early. I heard it by chance. Of course, she hasn't +written to me, but no doubt I shall hear in a few days. I walked about +near the house for hours last night -- like an idiot. The thing seemed +impossible; I had to keep reminding myself, by looking at the windows, +that it was true. Eight years -- think of that! Eight years' misery, due +to that fellow's snobbishness!' + +In Harvey's mind the story had a somewhat different aspect. He knew +nothing personally of this Mr. Winter, who might indeed be an incarnation +of snobbery; on the other hand, Cecil Morphew had his defects, and even +to a liberal-minded parent might not recommend himself as a son-in-law. +Then again, the young lady herself, now about six and twenty, must +surely have been influenced by some other motive than respect for her +parents' wishes, in thus protracting her engagement with a lover who had +a secure, though modest, income. Was it not conceivable that she +inherited something of the paternal spirit? or, at all events, that her +feelings had not quite the warmth that Morphew imagined? + +'I'm glad it's over,' he replied cordially. 'Now begins a new life for +you.' + +'But eight years -- eight years of waiting ----' + +'Hang it, what is your age? Thirty! Why, you're only just old enough. No +man ought to marry before thirty.' + +Morphew interrupted vehemently. + +'That's all rot! Excuse me; I can't help it. A man ought to marry when +he's urged to it by his nature, and as soon as he finds the right woman. +If I had married eight years ago ----.' He broke off with an angry +gesture, misery in his eyes. 'You don't believe that humbug, Rolfe; you +repeat it just to console me. There's little consolation, I can assure +you. I was two and twenty; she, nineteen. Mature man and woman; and we +longed for each other. Nothing but harm could come of waiting year after +year, wretched both of us.' + +'I confess,' said Harvey, 'I don't quite see why she waited after +twenty-one.' + +'Because she is a good, gentle girl, and could not bear to make her +father and mother unhappy. The blame is all theirs -- mean, shallow, +grovelling souls!' + +'What about her mother now?' + +'Oh, she was never so obstinate as the old jackass. She'll have little +enough to live upon, and we shall soon arrange things with her somehow. +Is it credible that human beings can be so senseless? For years now, +their means have been growing less and less, just because the snobbish +idiot _would_ keep up appearances. If he had lived a little longer, the +widow would have had practically no income at all. Of course, she shared +in the folly, and I'm only sorry she won't suffer more for it. They +didn't enjoy their lives -- never have done. They lived in miserable +slavery to the opinion of their fellow-snobs. You remember that story +about the flowers at their silver wedding: two hundred pounds -- just +because Mrs. Somebody spent as much -- when they couldn't really afford +two hundred shillings. And they groaned over it -- he and she -- like +people with the stomachache. Why, the old fool died of nothing else; he +was worn out by the fear of having to go into a smaller house.' + +Harvey would have liked to put a question: was it possible that the +daughter of such people could be endowed with virtues such as become the +wife of a comparatively poor man? But he had to ask it merely in his own +thoughts. Before long, no doubt, he would meet the lady herself and +appease his curiosity. + +Whilst they were talking, there came a knock at the door; the shopman +announced two ladies, who wished to inquire about some photographic +printing. + +'Will you see them, Rolfe?' asked Cecil. 'I don't feel like it -- indeed +I don't. You'll be able to tell them all they want.' + +Harvey found himself equal to the occasion, and was glad of it; he +needed occupation of some kind to keep his thoughts from an unpleasant +subject. After another talk with Morphew, in which they stuck to +business, he set off homeward. + +Here news awaited him. On his arrival all seemed well; Ruth opened the +door, answered his greeting in her quiet, respectful way, and at once +brought tea to the study. When he rang to have the things taken away, +Ruth again appeared, and he saw now that she had something unusual to +say. + +'I didn't like to trouble you the first thing, sir,' she began -- 'but +Sarah left yesterday without giving any notice; and I think it's perhaps +as well she did, sir. I've heard some things about her not at all nice.' + +'We must find someone else, then,' replied Harvey. 'It's lucky she +didn't go at a less convenient time. Was there some unpleasantness +between you?' + +'I had warned her, for her own good, sir, that was all. And there's +something else I had perhaps better tell you now, sir.' Her voice, with +its pleasant Welsh accent, faltered ominously. 'I'm very sorry indeed to +say it, sir, but I shall be obliged to leave as soon as Mrs. Rolfe can +spare me.' + +Harvey was overwhelmed. He looked upon Ruth as a permanent member of the +household. She had made herself indispensable; to her was owing the +freedom from domestic harassment which Alma had always enjoyed -- a most +exceptional blessing, yet regarded, after all this time, as a matter of +course. The departure of Ruth meant conflict with ordinary servants, in +which Alma would assuredly be worsted. At this critical moment of their +life, scarcely could anything more disastrous have happened. Seeing her +master's consternation, Ruth was sore troubled, and hastened to explain +herself. + +'My brother's wife has just died, sir, and left him with three young +children, and there's no one else can be of help to him but me. He +wanted me to come at once, but, of course, I told him I couldn't do +that. No one can be sorry for his wife's death; she was such a poor, +silly, complaining, useless creature; he hasn't had a quiet day since he +married her. She belonged to Liverpool, and there they were married, and +when he brought her to Carnarvon I said to myself as soon as I saw her +that _she_ wouldn't be much use to a working-man. She began the very +first day to complain and to grumble, and she's gone on with it ever +since. When I was there in my last holiday I really wondered how he bore +his life. There's many women of that kind, sir, but I never knew one as +bad as her -- never. Everything was too much trouble for her, and she +didn't know how to do a thing in the house. I didn't mean to trouble you +with such things, sir. I only told you just to show why I don't feel I +can refuse to go and help him, and try to give him a little peace and +quiet. He's a hard-working man, and the children aren't very healthy, +and I'm sure I don't know how he'd manage ---- ' + +'You have no choice, Ruth, I see. Well, we must hope to find some one in +your place -- _but_ ----' + +Just as he shook his head, the house-bell rang, and Ruth withdrew to +answer it. In a minute or two the study door opened again. Harvey looked +up and saw Alma. + +'I was obliged to come,' she said, approaching him, as he rose in +astonishment. 'I thought at first of asking you to come on to +Basingstoke, but we can talk better here.' + +No sign of pleasure in their meeting passed between them. On Harvey's +face lingered something of the disturbance caused by Ruth's +communication, and Alma understood it as due to her unexpected arrival; +the smile with which she had entered died away, and she stood like a +stranger doubtful of her reception. + +'Was it necessary to talk?' asked Rolfe, pushing forward a chair, and +doing his best to show good humour. + +'Yes -- after your reply to my letter this morning,' she answered +coldly. + +'Well, you must have some tea first. This is cold. Won't you go and take +your things off, and I'll tell Ruth. By-the-bye, we re in confusion.' + +He sketched the position of things; but Alma heard without interest. + +'It can't be helped,' was her absent reply. 'There are plenty of +servants.' + +Fresh tea was brought, and after a brief absence Alma sat down to it. +Her health had improved during the past week, but she looked tired from +the journey, and was glad to lean back in her chair. For some minutes +neither of them spoke. Harvey had never seen an expression on Alma's +features which was so like hostility; it moved him to serious +resentment. It is common enough for people who have been several years +wedded to feel exasperation in each other's presence, but for Rolfe the +experience was quite new, and so extremely disagreeable, that his pulses +throbbed with violence, and his mouth grew dry. He determined to utter +not a word until Alma began conversation. This she did at length, with +painful effort. + +'I think your answer to me was very unkind.' + +'I didn't mean it so.' + +'You simply said that you wouldn't do as I wished.' + +'Not that I wouldn't, but that it was impossible. And I showed you the +reasons -- though I should have thought it superfluous.' + +Alma waited a moment, then asked ---- + +'Is this house let?' + +'I don't know. I suppose not.' + +'Then there is no reason whatever why we shouldn't stay here.' + +'There is every reason why we shouldn't stay here. Every arrangement has +been made for our leaving -- everything fully talked over. What has made +you change your mind?' + +'I haven't really changed my mind. I always disliked the idea of going +to Gunnersbury, and you must have seen that I did; but I was so much +occupied with -- with other things; and, as I have told you, I didn't +feel quite the same about my position as I do now.' + +She expressed herself awkwardly, growing very nervous. At the first sign +of distress in her, Harvey was able to change his tone. + +'Things are going horribly wrong somehow, Alma. There's only one way out +of it. Just say in honest words what you mean. Why do you dislike the +thought of our moving?' + +'I told you in my letter,' she answered, somewhat acridly. + +'There was no explanation. You said something I couldn't understand, +about having a _right_ to ask me to stay here.' + +She glanced at him with incredulous disdain. + +'If you don't understand, I can't put it into plainer words.' + +'Well now, let _me_ put the whole matter into plainer words than I have +liked to use.' Rolfe spoke deliberately, and not unkindly, though he was +tempted to give way to wrath at what he imagined a display of ignoble +and groundless jealousy. 'All along I have allowed you to take your own +course. No, I mustn't say "allowed", the word is inapplicable; I never +claimed the right to dictate to you. We agreed that this was the way for +rational husband and wife. It seemed to us that I had no more right to +rule over you than you to lay down the law for me. Using your freedom, +you chose to live the life of an artist -- that is to say, you troubled +yourself as little as possible about home and family. I am not +complaining -- not a bit of it. The thing was an experiment, to be sure; +but I have held to the conditions, watched their working. Latterly I +began to see that they didn't work well, and it appears that you agree +with me. This is how matters stand; or rather, this is how they stood +until, for some mysterious reason, you seemed to grow unfriendly. The +reason is altogether mysterious; I leave you to explain it. From my +point of view, the failure of our experiment is simple and natural +enough. Though I had only myself to blame, I have felt for a long time +that you were in an utterly false position. Now you begin to see things +in the same light. Well and good; why can't we start afresh? The only +obstacle is your unfriendly feeling. Give me an opportunity of removing +it. I hate to be on ill terms with you; it seems monstrous, +unaccountable. It puts us on a level with married folk in a London +lodging-house. Is it necessary to sink quite so low?' + +Alma listened with trembling intensity, and seemed at first unable to +reply. Her agitation provoked Harvey more than it appealed to his pity. + +'If you can't do as I wish,' she said at length, with an endeavour to +speak calmly, 'I see no use in making any change in my own life. There +will be no need of me. I shall make arrangements to go on with my +professional career.' + +Harvey's features for a moment set themselves in combativeness, but as +quickly they relaxed, and showed an ambiguous smile. + +'No need of you -- and Ruth going to leave us?' + +'There oughtn't to be any difficulty in finding someone just as good.' + +'Perhaps there ought not to be; but we may thank our stars if we find +anyone half as trustworthy. The chances are that a dozen will come and +go before we settle down again. I don't enjoy that prospect, and I shall +want a good deal of help from you in bearing the discomfort.' + +'What kind of help? Of course, I shall see that the house goes on as +usual.' + +'Then it's quite certain you will have no time left for a "professional +career".' + +'If I understand you, you mean that you don't wish me to have any time +for it.' + +Harvey still smiled, though he could not conceal his nervousness. + +'I'm afraid it comes to that.' + +So little had Alma expected such a declaration, that she gazed at him in +frank surprise. + +'Then you are going to oppose me in everything?' + +'I hope not. In that case we should do much better to say good-bye.' + +The new tone perplexed her, and a puzzled interest mingled with the +lofty displeasure of her look. + +'Please let us understand each other.' She spoke with demonstrative +calmness. 'Are we talking on equal terms, or is it master and servant?' + +'Husband and wife, Alma, that's all.' + +'With a new meaning in the words.' + +'No; a very old one. I won't say the oldest, for I believe there was a +time when primitive woman had the making of man in every sense, and +somehow knocked a few ideas into his head; but that was very long ago.' + +'If I could be sure of your real meaning ----.' She made an irritated +gesture. 'How are we going to live? You speak of married people in +lodging-houses. I don't know much about them, happily, but I imagine the +husband talks something like this -- though in more intelligible +language.' + +'I dare say he does -- poor man. He talks more plainly, because he has +never put himself in a false position -- has never played foolishly with +the facts of life.' + +Alma sat reflecting. + +'Didn't I tell you in my letter,' she said at length, 'that I was quite +willing to make a change, on one condition?' + +'An impossible condition.' + +'You treat me very harshly. How have I deserved it? When I wrote that, I +really wished to please you. Of course, I knew you were dissatisfied +with me, and it made me dissatisfied with myself. I wrote in a way that +ought to have brought me a very different answer. Why do you behave as +if I were guilty of something -- as if I had put myself at your mercy? +You never found fault with me -- you even encouraged me to go on ----' + +Her choking voice made Harvey look at her in apprehension, and the look +stopped her just as she was growing hysterical. + +'You are right about my letter,' he said, very gravely and quietly. 'It +ought to have been in a kinder tone. It would have been, but for those +words you won't explain.' + +'You think it needs any explanation that I dislike the thought of Hughie +going to Mrs. Abbott's?' + +'Indeed I do. I can't imagine a valid ground for your objection.' + +There was a word on Alma's tongue, but her lips would not utter it. She +turned very pale under the mental conflict. Physical weakness, instead +of overcoming her spirit, excited it to a fresh effort of resistance. + +'Then,' she said, rising from the chair, 'you are not only unkind to me, +but dishonest.' + +Harvey flushed. + +'You are making yourself ill again. We had far better not talk at all.' + +'I came up for no other purpose. We have to settle everything.' + +'As far as I am concerned, everything is settled.' + +'Then I have no choice,' said Alma, with subdued passion. 'We shall live +as we have done. I shall accept any engagement that offers, in London or +the country, and regard music as my chief concern. You wished it, and so +it shall be.' + +Rolfe hesitated. Believing that her illness was the real cause of this +commotion, he felt it his duty to use all possible forbearance; yet he +knew too well the danger of once more yielding, and at such a crisis. +The contest had declared itself -- it was will against will; to decide +it by the exertion of his sane strength against Alma's hysteria might be +best even for the moment. He had wrought himself to the point of +unwonted energy, a state of body and mind difficult to recover if now he +suffered defeat. Alma, turning from him, seemed about to leave the room. + +'One moment ----' + +She looked round, carelessly attentive. + +'That wouldn't be living as we have done. It would be an intolerable +state of things after this.' + +'It's your own decision.' + +'Far from it. I wouldn't put up with it for a day.' + +'Then there's only one thing left: I must go and live by myself.' + +'I couldn't stand that either, and wouldn't try.' + +'I am no slave! I shall live where and how I choose.' + +'When you have thought about it more calmly, your choice will be the +same as mine.' + +Trembling violently, she backed away from him. Harvey thought she would +fall; he tried to hold her by the arm, but Alma shook him off, and in +the same moment regained her -strength. She faced him with a new +defiance, which enabled her at last to speak the words hitherto +unutterable. + +'How do you think I can bear to see Hughie with _those_ children?' + +Rolfe stood in amaze. The suddenness of this reversion to another stage +of their argument enhanced his natural difficulty in understanding her. +'What children?' + +'Those two -- whatever their name may be.' + +'Wager's boy and girl?' + +'You call them so.' + +'Are you going crazy? I _call_ them so? -- what do you mean?' + +A sudden misgiving appeared in Alma's eyes; she stared at him so +strangely that Harvey began to fear for her reason. + +'What is it, dear? What have you been thinking? Tell me -- speak like +yourself ----' + +'Why do you take so much interest in them?' she asked faintly. + +'Heavens! You have suspected ----? What _have_ you suspected?' + +'They are your own. I have known it for a long time.' + +Alarm notwithstanding, Rolfe was so struck by the absurdity of this +charge that he burst into stentorian laughter. Whilst he laughed, Alma +sank into a chair, powerless, tearful. + +'I should much like to know,' exclaimed Harvey, laying a hand upon her, +'how you made that astounding discovery. Do you think they are like me?' + +'The girl is -- or I thought so.' + +'After you had decided that she must be, no doubt.' Again he exploded in +laughter. 'And this is the meaning of it all? This is what you have been +fretting over? For how long?' + +Alma brushed away her tears, but gave no answer. + +'And if I am their father,' he pursued, with resolute mirthfulness, +'pray, who do you suppose their mother to be?' + +Still Alma kept silence, her head bent. + +'I'll warrant I can give you evidence against myself which you hadn't +discovered,' Rolfe went on -- 'awful and unanswerable evidence. It is I +who support those children, and pay for their education! -- it is I, and +no other. See your darkest suspicion confirmed. If only you had known +this for certain!' + +'Why, then, do you do it?' asked Alma, without raising her eyes. + +'For a very foolish reason: there was no one else who could or would.' + +'And why did you keep it a secret from me?' + +'This is the blackest part of the whole gloomy affair,' he answered, +with burlesque gravity. 'It's in the depraved nature of men to keep +secrets from their wives, especially about money. To tell the truth, I'm +hanged if I know why I didn't tell you before our marriage. The infamous +step was taken not very long before, and I might as well have made a +clean breast of it. Has Mrs. Abbott never spoken to you about her cousin, +Wager's wife?' + +'A word or two.' + +'Which you took for artful fiction? You imagined she had plotted with me +to deceive you? What, in the name of commonsense, is your estimate of +Mrs. Abbott's character?' + +Alma drew a deep breath, and looked up into her husband's face. 'Still +-- she knew you were keeping it from me, about the money.' + +'She had no suspicion of it. She always wrote to me openly, +acknowledging the cheques. Would it gratify you to look through her +letters?' + +'I believe you.' + +'Not quite, I fancy. Look at me again and say it.' + +He raised her head gently. + +'Yes, I believe you -- it was very silly.' + +'It was. The only piece of downright feminine foolishness I ever knew +you guilty of. But when did it begin?' + +Alma had become strangely quiet. She spoke in a low, tired voice, and +sat with head turned aside, resting against the back of the chair; her +face was expressionless, her eyelids drooped. Rolfe had to repeat his +question. + +'I hardly know,' she replied. 'It must have been when my illness was +coming on.' + +'So I should think. It was sheer frenzy. And now that it's over, have +you still any prejudice against Mrs. Abbott?' + +'No.' + +The syllable fell idly from her lips. + +'You are tired, dear. All this sound and fury has been too much for you. +Lie down on the sofa till dinner-time.' + +She allowed him to lead her across the room, and lay down as he wished. +To his kiss upon her forehead she made no response, but closed her eyes +and was very still. Harvey seated himself at his desk, and opened two or +three unimportant letters which had arrived this morning. To one of them +he wrote an answer. Turning presently to glance at Alma, he saw that she +had not stirred, and when he leaned towards her, the sound of her +breathing told him that she was asleep. + +He meditated on Woman. + +A quarter of an hour before dinner-time he left the room; on his return, +when the meal was ready, he found Alma still sleeping, and so soundly +that it seemed wrong to wake her. As rays of sunset had begun to fall +into the room, he drew the blind, then quietly went out, and had dinner +by himself. + +At ten o'clock Alma still slept. Using a closely-shaded lamp, Harvey sat +in the room with her and read -- or seemed to read; for ever and again +his eyes strayed to the still figure, and his thoughts wandered over all +he knew of Alma's life. He wished he knew more, that he might better +understand her. Of her childhood, her early maidenhood, what conception +had he? Yet he and she were _one_ -- so said the creeds. And Harvey +laughed to himself, a laugh more of melancholy than of derision. + +The clock ticked on; it was near to eleven. Then Alma stirred, raised +herself, and looked towards the light. + +'Harvey ----? Have I been asleep so long?' + +'Nearly five hours.' + +'Oh! That was last night ----' + +'You mean, you had no sleep?' + +'Didn't close my eyes.' + +'And you feel better now?' + +'Rather hungry.' + +Rolfe laughed. He had seated himself on the couch by her and held her in +his arms. + +'Why, then we'll have some supper -- a cold fowl and a bottle of +Burgundy -- a profligate supper, fit for such abandoned characters; and +over it you shall tell me how the world looked to you when you were ten +years old.' + + +CHAPTER 4 + + +Alma returned to Basingstoke, and remained there until the new house was +ready for her reception. With the help of her country friends she +engaged two domestics, cook and housemaid, who were despatched to +Gunnersbury in advance; they had good 'characters', and might possibly +co-operate with their new mistress in her resolve to create an admirable +household. Into this ambition Alma had thrown herself with no less +fervour than that which carried her off to wild Wales five years ago; +but her aim was now strictly 'practical', she would have nothing more to +do with 'ideals'. She took lessons in domestic economy from the good +people at Basingstoke. Yes, she had found her way at last! Alma saw it +in the glow of a discovery, this calm, secure, and graceful middle-way. +She talked of it with an animation that surprised and pleased her little +circle down in Hampshire; those ladies had never been able to illumine +their everyday discharge of duty with such high imaginative glory. In +return for their humble lessons, Alma taught them to admire themselves, +to see in their place and functions a nobility they had never suspected. + +For a day or two after her arrival at Gunnersbury, Harvey thought that +he had never seen her look so well; certainly she had never shown the +possibilities of her character to such advantage. It seemed out of the +question that any trouble could ever again come between them. Only when +the excitement of novelty had subsided did he perceive that Alma was far +from having recovered her physical strength. A walk of a mile or two +exhausted her; she came home from an hour's exercise with Hughie pale +and tremulous; and of a morning it was often to be noticed that she had +not slept well. Without talking of it, Harvey planned the holiday which +Alma had declared would be quite needless this year; he took a house in +Norfolk for September. Before the day of departure, Alma had something +to tell him, which, by suggesting natural explanation of her weakness, +made him less uneasy. Remembering the incident which had brought to a +close their life in Wales, he saw with pleasure that Alma no longer +revolted against the common lot of woman. Perhaps, indeed, the +announcement she made to him was the cause of more anxiety in his mind +than in hers. + +They took their servants with them, and left the house to a caretaker. +Pauline Smith, though somewhat against Harvey's judgment, had been +called upon to resign; Alma wished to have Hughie to herself, save +during his school hours; he slept in her room, and she tended him most +conscientiously. Harvey had asked whether she would like to invite any +one, but she preferred to be alone. + +This month by the northern sea improved her health, but she had little +enjoyment. After a few days, she wearied of the shore and the moorland, +and wished herself back at Gunnersbury. Nature had never made much +appeal to her; when she spoke of its beauties with admiration, she +echoed the approved phrases, little more; all her instincts drew towards +the life of a great town. Sitting upon the sand, between cliff and +breakers, she lost herself in a dream of thronged streets and brilliant +rooms; the voice of the waves became the roar of traffic, a far sweeter +music. With every year this tendency had grown stronger; she could only +marvel, now, at the illusion which enabled her to live so long, all but +contentedly, in that wilderness where Hughie was born. Rather than +return to it, she would die -- rather, a thousand times. Happily, there +was no such danger. Harvey would never ask her to leave London. All he +desired was that she should hold apart from certain currents of town +life; and this she was resolved to do, knowing how nearly they had swept +her to destruction. + +'Wouldn't you like to take up your sketching again?' said Harvey one +day, when he saw that she felt dull. + +'Sketching? Oh, I had forgotten all about it. It seems ages ago. I +should have to begin and learn all over again. No, no; it isn't worth +while. I shall have no time.' + +She did not speak discontentedly, but Rolfe saw already the +justification of his misgivings. She had begun to feel the constant +presence of the child a restraint and a burden. + +Happily, on their return home, Hughie would go to school for a couple of +hours each morning. Alma could have wished it any other school than Mary +Abbott's, but the thought was no longer so insupportable as when she +suffered under her delusion concerning the two children. Now that she +had frequently seen Minnie Wager, she wondered at the self-deception +which allowed her to detect in the child's face a distinct resemblance +to Harvey. Of course, there was nothing of the kind. She had been the +victim of a morbid jealousy -- a symptom, no doubt, of the disorder of +the nerves which was growing upon her. Yet she could not overcome her +antipathy to Mary Abbott. Harvey, she felt sure, would never have made +himself responsible for those children, but that in doing so he +benefited their teacher; and it was not without motive of conscience +that he kept the matter secret. By no effort could Alma banish this +suspicion. She resolved that it should never appear; she commanded her +face and her utterance; but it was impossible for her ever to regard Mrs +Abbott with liking, or even with respect. + +In a darker corner of her mind lay hidden another shape of jealousy -- +jealousy unavowed, often disguised as fear, but for the most part +betraying itself through the mask of hatred. + +Times innumerable, in nights that brought no rest, and through long +hours of weary day, Alma had put her heart to the proof, and acquitted +it of any feeling save a natural compassion for the man Hugh Carnaby had +killed. She had never loved Redgrave, had never even thought of him with +that curiosity which piques the flesh; yet so inseparably was he +associated with her life at its points of utmost tension and ardour, +that she could not bear to yield to any other woman a closer intimacy, a +prior claim. At her peril she had tempted him, and up to the fatal +moment she was still holding her own in the game which had become to her +a passion. It ended -- because a rival came between. Of Sibyl's guilt +she never admitted a doubt; it was manifest in the story made public by +Hugh Carnaby, the story which he, great simple fellow, told in all good +faith, relying absolutely on his wife's assertion of innocence. Saving +her husband, who believed Sibyl innocent? + +She flattered herself with the persuasion that it was right to hate +Sibyl -- a woman who had sold herself for money, whose dishonour +differed in no respect from that of the woman of the pavement. And all +the more she hated her because she feared her. What security could there +be that Redgrave's murderer (thus she thought of him) had kept the +secret which he promised to keep? That he allowed no hint of it to +escape him in public did not prove that he had been equally scrupulous +with Sibyl; for Hugh was a mere plaything in the hands of his wife, and +it seemed more than likely that he had put his stupid conscience at rest +by telling her everything. Were it so, what motive would weigh with +Sibyl to keep her silent? One, and one only, could be divined: a fear +lest Alma, through intimacy with Redgrave, might have discovered things +which put her in a position to dare the enmity of her former friend. +This, no doubt, would hold Sibyl to discretion. Yet it could not relieve +Alma from the fear of her, and of Hugh Carnaby himself -- fear which +must last a lifetime; which at any moment, perhaps long years hence, +might find its bitter fulfilment, and work her ruin. For Harvey Rolfe +was not a man of the stamp of Hugh Carnaby: he would not be hoodwinked +in the face of damning evidence, or lend easy ear to specious +explanations. The very fact that she _could_ explain her ambiguous +behaviour was to Alma an enhancement of the dread with which she thought +of such a scene between herself and Harvey; for to be innocent, and yet +unable to force conviction of it upon his inmost mind, would cause her a +deeper anguish than to fall before him with confession of guilt. And to +convince him would be impossible, for ever impossible. Say what she +might, and however generous the response of his love, there must still +remain the doubt which attaches to a woman's self-defence when at the +same time she is a self-accuser + +In the semi-delirium of her illness, whilst waiting in torment for the +assurance that Carnaby had kept her secret, she more than once prayed +for Sibyl's death. In her normal state of mind Alma prayed for nothing; +she could not hope that Sibyl's life would come to a convenient end; but +as often as she thought of her, it was with a vehemence of malignity +which fired her imagination to all manner of ruthless extremes. It +revolted her to look back upon the time when she sat at that woman's +feet, a disciple, an affectionate admirer, allowing herself to be +graciously patronised, counselled, encouraged. The repose of manner +which so impressed her, the habitual serenity of mood, the unvarying +self-confidence -- oh, these were excellent qualities when it came to +playing the high part of cold and subtle hypocrisy! She knew Sibyl, and +could follow the workings of her mind: a woman incapable of love, or of +the passion which simulates it; worshipping herself, offering luxuries +to her cold flesh as to an idol; scornful of the possibility that she +might ever come to lack what she desired; and, at the critical moment, +prompt to secure herself against such danger by the smiling, cynical +acceptance of whatsoever shame. Alma had no small gift of intuition; +proved by the facility and fervour with which she could adapt her mind +to widely different conceptions of life. This characteristic, aided by +the perspicacity which is bestowed upon every jealous woman, perchance +enabled her to read the mysterious Sibyl with some approach to +exactness. Were it so, prudence should have warned her against a +struggle for mere hatred's sake with so formidable an antagonist. But +the voice of caution had never long audience with Alma, and was not +likely, at any given moment, to prevail against a transport of her +impetuous soul. + +Harvey, meanwhile, fearing her inclination to brood over the dark event, +tried to behave as though he had utterly dismissed it from his thoughts. +He kept a cheerful countenance, talked much more than usual, and seemed +full of health and hope. As usual between married people, this resolute +cheerfulness had, more often than not, an irritating effect upon Alma. +Rolfe erred once more in preferring to keep silence about difficulties +rather than face the unpleasantness of frankly discussing them. One +good, long, intimate conversation about Mrs. Carnaby, with unrestricted +exchange of views, the masculine and the feminine, with liberal +acceptance of life as it is lived, and honest contempt of leering +hypocrisies, would have done more, at this juncture, to put healthy tone +into Alma's being than any change of scene and of atmosphere, any +medicament or well-meant summons to forgetfulness. Like the majority of +good and thoughtful men, he could not weigh his female companion in the +balance he found good enough for mortals of his own sex. With a little +obtuseness to the 'finer' feelings, a little native coarseness in his +habits towards women, he would have succeeded vastly better amid the +complications of his married life. + +Troubles of a grosser kind, such as heretofore they had been wonderfully +spared, began to assail them during their month in Norfolk. One morning, +about midway in the holiday, Harvey, as he came down for a bathe before +breakfast, heard loud and angry voices from the kitchen. On his return +after bathing, he found the breakfast-table very carelessly laid, with +knives unpolished, and other such neglects of seemliness. Alma, +appearing with Hughie, spoke at once of the strange noises she had +heard, and Harvey gave his account of the uproar. + +'I thought something was wrong,' said Alma. 'The cook has seemed in a +bad temper for several days. I don't like either of them. I think I +shall give them both notice, and advertise at once. They say that +advertising is the best way.' + +The housemaid (in her secondary function of parlour-maid) waited at +table with a scowl. The fish was ill fried, the eggs were hard, the +toast was soot-smeared. For the moment Alma made no remark; but half an +hour later, when Harvey and the child had rambled off to the sea-shore, +she summoned both domestics, and demanded an explanation of their +behaviour. Her tone was not conciliatory; she had neither the experience +nor the tact which are necessary in the mistress of a household, and it +needed only an occasion such as this to bring out the contemptuousness +with which she regarded her social inferiors. Too well-bred to indulge +in scolding or wrangling, the delight of a large class of housewives, +Alma had a quiet way of exhibiting displeasure and scorn, which told +smartly on the nerves of those she rebuked. No one could better have +illustrated the crucial difficulty of the servant-question, which lies +in the fact that women seldom can rule, and all but invariably dislike +to be ruled by, their own sex; a difficulty which increases with the +breaking-up of social distinctions. + +She went out into the sunshine, and found Harvey and Hughie building a +great castle of sand. Her mood was lightsome for she felt that she had +acted with decision and in a way worthy of her dignity. + +'They will both go about their business. I only hope we may get meals +for the rest of the time here.' + +Harvey nodded, with closed lips. + +'It's a pity Pauline went,' he remarked presently. + +'I'm afraid it is. I hadn't quite realised what it would mean.' + +'I rather think I ventured to say something of that kind, didn't I? She +_may_ not have taken another place. Suppose you write to her?' + +Alma seemed to waver. + +'What I am thinking,' she said in a lower tone, 'is that -- before long +-- we shall need -- I suppose -- someone of a rather different kind -- +an ordinary nurse-girl. But you wouldn't like Hughie to be with anyone +of that sort?' + +'It wouldn't matter now.' + +'Here's the philosophy of the matter in a nut-shell,' said Harvey +afterwards. 'Living nowadays means keeping up appearances, and you must +do it just as carefully before your own servants as before your friends. +The alternatives are, one general servant, with frank confession of +poverty, or a numerous household and everything _comme il faut_. There's +no middle way, with peace. I think your determination to take care of +Hughie yourself was admirable; but it won't work. These two women think +you do it because you can't afford a nurse, and at once they despise us. +It's the nature of the beasts -- it's the tone of the time. Nothing will +keep them and their like in subordination but a jingling of the purse. +One must say to them all day long, "I am your superior; I can buy you by +the dozen, if need be; I never need soil my finger with any sort of +work, and you know it." Ruth was a good creature, but I seriously doubt +whether she would have been quite so good if she hadn't seen us keeping +our horse and our gardener and our groom down yonder -- everything +handsome about us. For the sake of quietness we must exalt ourselves.' + +'You're quite right about Ruth,' replied Alma, laughing. 'Several times +she has let me see how she admired my life of idleness; but it's just +that I don't want to go back to.' + +'No need. Ruth was practically a housekeeper. You can manage your own +house, but you must have a servant for everything. Get a nurse, by all +means.' + +Alma drew a breath of contentment. + +'You are not dissatisfied with _me_, Harvey?' + +'Of course not.' + +'But tell me -- how does Mrs. Morton manage? Why isn't she despised by +her servants when she's always so busy?' + +Harvey had to close his lips against the first answer which occurred to +him. + +'For one thing,' he replied, 'there's a more natural state of things in +those little towns; something of the old spirit still lives. Then the +Mortons have the immense advantage of being an old family, settled there +for generations, known and respected by everyone. That's a kind of +superiority one can't buy, and goes for a great deal in comfortable +living. Morton's servants are the daughters of people who served his +parents. From their childhood they have thought it would be a privilege +to get into that house.' + +'Impossible in London.' + +'Unless you are a duchess.' + +'What a pleasant thing it must be,' said Alma musingly, 'to have +ancestors.' + +Harvey chuckled. + +'The next best thing is to have descendants.' + +'Why, then,' exclaimed Alma, 'we become ancestors ourselves. But one +ought to have an interesting house to live in. Nobody's ancestors ever +lived in a semi-detached villa. What I should like would be one of those +picturesque old places down in Surrey quite in the country, yet within +easy reach of town; a house with a real garden, and perhaps an orchard. +I believe you can get them very cheap sometimes. Not rent the house, but +buy it. Then we would have our portraits painted, and ----' + +Harvey asked himself how long Alma would find satisfaction in such a +home; but it pleased him to hear her talking thus of the things which +were his own hopeless dream. + +'That reminds me, Alma, you have never sat yet for your picture, as I +said you should.' + +'We must wait -- now.' + +'It shall be done next year.' + +They were content with each other this evening, and looked forward to +pleasures they might have in common. For Harvey had learnt to nourish +only the humblest hopes, and Alma thought she had subdued herself to an +undistinguished destiny. + + +CHAPTER 5 + + +Determined to have done once for all with a task she loathed, Alma wrote +out her advertisements for cook, house-parlourmaid, and nurse, and sent +them to half a dozen newspapers. After three weeks of correspondence +with servants and mistresses -- a correspondence which, as Rolfe said, +would have made a printed volume of higher sociological interest than +anything yet published, or likely to be -- the end of her patience and +her strength compelled her to decide half desperately, and engage the +three young women who appeared least insolent. At the same time she had +to find a new boy for boots, windows, knives, and coals, the youngster +hitherto employed having been so successful with his 'book' on Kempton +Park and Hurst Park September meetings that he relinquished menial +duties and devoted himself wholly to the turf; but this was such a +simple matter, compared with the engaging of indoor domestics, that she +felt it almost a delight. When a strong, merry-looking lad presented +himself, eager for the job, and speaking not a word that was beside the +point, Alma could have patted his head. + +She amused Harvey that evening by exclaiming with the very accent of +sincerity ---- + +'How I like men, and how I detest women!' + +Her nerves were so upset again that, when all was over, she generally +slept pretty well, but now her insomnia returned, and had to keep her +bed for a day or two. At the sea-side she had once more she had recourse +to the fashionable specific. Harvey knew nothing of this; she was +careful to hide it from him; and each time she measured out her dose she +assured herself that it should be the last. + +Oh, but to lie through those terrible small hours, her brain feverishly +active, compelling her to live again in the scenes and the emotions she +most desired to forget! She was haunted by the voice of Cyrus Redgrave, +which at times grew so distinct to her hearing that it became an +hallucination. Her memory reproduced his talk with astonishing fidelity; +it was as though she had learnt it by heart, instead of merely listening +to it at the time. This only in the silence of night; during the day she +could not possibly have recalled a tenth of what her brain thus +treacherously preserved. + +In sleep she sometimes dreamt of him, and that was perhaps worse; for +whilst the waking illusion only reproduced what he had actually said, +with all his tricks of tone, his suavities of expression, sleep brought +before her another Redgrave. He looked at her with a smile, indeed, but +a smile of such unutterable malignity that she froze with terror. It was +always the same. Redgrave stood before her smiling, silent; stood and +gazed until in a paroxysm of anguish she cried out and broke the dream. +Once, whilst the agony was upon her, she sprang from bed, meaning to go +to her husband and tell him everything, and so, it might be, put an end +to her sufferings. But with her hand upon the door she lost courage. +Impossible! She could not hope to be believed. She could never convince +her husband that she had told him all. + +Upon _her_ lay the guilt of Redgrave's death. This had entered slowly +into her consciousness; at first rejected, but ever returning until the +last argument of self-solace gave way. But for her visit to the bungalow +that evening, Hugh Carnaby would not have been maddened to the point of +fatal violence. In the obscurity he had mistaken her figure for that of +Sibyl; and when Redgrave guarded her retreat, he paid for the impulse +with his life. + +On the Sunday before her concert, she had thought of going to see +Redgrave, but the risk seemed too great, and there was no certainty of +finding him at home. She wished above all things to see him, for there +was a suspicion in her mind that Mrs. Strangeways had a plot against her, +though of its nature she could form no idea. It might be true that +Redgrave was purposely holding aloof, whether out of real jealousy, or +simply as a stratagem, a new move in the game. She would not write to +him; she knew the danger of letters, and had been careful never to write +him even the simplest note. If she must remain in uncertainty about his +attitude towards her, the approaching ordeal would be intensified with a +new agitation: was he coming to her recital, or was he not? She had +counted upon triumphing before him. If he could stay away, her power +over him was incomplete, and at the moment when she had meant it to be +irresistible. + +The chance encounter on Monday with Hugh Carnaby made her think of +Sibyl, and she could not rest until she had endeavoured to learn +something of Sibyl's movements. As Carnaby was leaving town, his wife +would be free; and how did Sibyl use her freedom? On that subject Mrs +Strangeways had a decided opinion, and her knowledge of the world made +it more than probable that she was right. Without any scheme of +espionage, obeying her instinct of jealous enmity, Alma hastened to +Oxford and Cambridge Mansions. But Sibyl had left home, and -- was not +expected to return that night. + +How she spent the next few hours Alma could but dimly remember. It was a +vortex of wretchedness. As dark fell she found herself at the gate +leading to the bungalow, lurking, listening, waiting for courage to go +farther. She stole at length over the grass behind the bushes, until she +could see the lighted window of Redgrave's study. The window was open. +She crept nearer and nearer, till she was actually in the veranda and +looking into the room. Redgrave sat within, smoking and reading a +newspaper. She purposely made a movement which drew his attention. + +How would it have ended but for Hugh Carnaby? + +Beyond ascertaining that Sibyl was not there, she had of course +discovered nothing of what she wished to know. As likely as not she had +come too early. Redgrave's behaviour when she drew his attention +suggested that such a sound at the open window did not greatly surprise +him; the surprise appeared when he saw who stood there -- surprise and +momentary embarrassment, which would be natural enough if he expected a +different visitor. And he was so anxious that she should come in at +once. Had she done so, Redgrave's life would have been saved; but ---- + +Its having been publicly proved that Mrs. Carnaby was then far away from +Wimbledon did not tend to shake Alma's conviction. The summons to her +mother's deathbed had disturbed Sibyl's arrangements, that was all. Most +luckily for her, as it turned out. But women of that kind (said Alma +bitterly) are favoured by fortune. + +Locked in a drawer of her writing-table lay a bundle of letters and +papers which had come to her immediately after the concert. To none of +the letters had she replied; it was time for her to go through them, and +answer, with due apologies, those which deserved an answer. Several did +not; they were from people whom she hoped never to see again -- people +who wrote in fulsome terms, because they fancied she would become a +celebrity. The news of her breakdown had appeared in a few newspapers, +and brought her letters of sympathy; these also lay unanswered. On a day +of late autumn she brought herself to the task of looking through this +correspondence, and in the end she burnt it all. Among the half-dozen +people to whom she decided to write was Felix Dymes; not out of +gratitude, or any feeling of friendliness, but because she could not +overcome a certain fear of the man. He was capable of any meanness, +perhaps of villainy; and perhaps he harboured malice against her, seeing +that she had foiled him to the last. She penned a few lines asking him +to let her have a complete statement of the financial results of her +recital, which it seemed strange that he had not sent already. + +'My health,' she added, 'is far from re-established, and I am unable +either to go to town or to ask you to come and see me. It is rather +doubtful whether I shall ever again play in public.' + +In her own mind there lingered no doubt at all, but she thought it +better not to be too abrupt with Dymes. + +After burning all the letters, she read once more through the press +notices of her performance. It was significant that the musical critics +whose opinion had any weight gave her only a word or two of cautious +commendation; her eulogists were writers who probably knew much less +about music than she, and who reported concerts from the social point of +view. Popular journalism represented her debut as a striking success. +Had she been able to use her opportunity to the utmost, doubtless +something of a 'boom' -- the word then coming into fashion -- might have +resulted for her; she could have given two or three more recitals before +the end of the season, have been much photographed and paragraphed, and +then have gone into the country 'to spread her conquests farther'. This +was Felix Dymes's hope. Writing with all propriety, he had yet allowed +it to be seen how greatly he was vexed and disappointed at her failure +to take the flood. Alma, too, had regretful moments; but she fought +against the feeling with all her strength. Today she all but found +courage to throw these newspapers into the fire; it would be a final +sacrifice, a grave symbolic act, and might bring her peace. Yet she +could not. Long years hence, would it not be a legitimate pride to show +these things to her children? A misgiving mingled with the thought, but +her reluctance prevailed. She made up a parcel, wrote upon it, 'My +Recital, May 1891', and locked it up with other most private memorials. + +She had not long to wait for her answer from Dymes. He apologised for +his delay in the matter of business, and promised that a detailed +statement should be sent to her in a very few days. The unfortunate +state of her health -- there Alma smiled -- moved him to sympathy and +profound regret; her abandonment of a professional career _could_ not, +_must_ not, be a final decision! + +Something prompted her to hand this letter to Harvey. + +'I took it for granted,' he said humorously, 'that the man had sent you +a substantial cheque long ago.' + +'I believe the balance will be on my side.' + +'Would you like me to see to the rest of the business for you?' + +'I don't think that's necessary, is it?' + +To her relief, Harvey said no more. She waited for the promised +balance-sheet, but weeks passed by and it did not arrive. An explanation +of this readily occurred to her: Dymes calculated upon bringing her to +an interview. She thought of Harvey's proposal, and wished she could +dare to accept it; but the obscure risks were too great. So, months +elapsed, till the affair seemed forgotten. + +They never spoke to each other of Hugh Carnaby or of Sibyl. + +Meanwhile, Alma did not lack society. Mrs. Abbott, whom, without change +of feeling, she grew accustomed to see frequently, introduced her to the +Langland family, and in Mrs. Langland she found a not uncongenial +acquaintance. This lady had known many griefs, and seemed destined to +suffer many more; she had wrinkles on her face which should not have +been there at forty-five; but no one ever heard her complain or saw her +look downhearted. + +In her zeal for housewifery, Alma saw much to admire and to imitate in +Mrs. Langland. She liked the good-humoured modesty with which the elder +lady always spoke of herself, and was not displeased at observing an air +of deference when the conversation turned on such high matters as +literature and art. Mrs. Langland knew all about the recital at Prince's +Hall; she knew, moreover, as appeared from a casual remark one day, that +Mrs. Rolfe had skill in 'landscape painting'. + +'Who told you that?' asked Alma, with surprise. + +'I hope it wasn't a secret. Mrs. Abbott spoke of your water-colours once. +She was delighted with them.' + +Praise even from Mary Abbott gratified Alma; it surprised her, and she +doubted its sincerity, but there was satisfaction in knowing that her +fame went abroad among the people at Gunnersbury. Without admiration she +could not live, and nothing so severely tested her resolution to be +content with the duties of home as Harvey's habit of taking all for +granted, never remarking upon her life of self-conquest, never soothing +her with the flatteries for which she hungered. + +She hailed with delight the first visit after several months from her +friends Dora and Gerda Leach. During the summer their father's health +had suffered so severely that the overwrought man found himself +compelled to choose between a long holiday abroad and the certainty of +complete collapse if he tried to pursue his ordinary life. The family +went away, and returned in November, when it seemed probable that the +money-making machine known as Mr. Leach had been put into tolerable +working order for another year or so. Not having seen Alma since her +recital, the girls overflowed with talk about it, repeating all the +eulogies they had heard, and adding such rapturous laudation of their +own that Alma could have hung upon their necks in gratitude. They found +it impossible to believe that she would no more play in public. + +'Oh, but when you are _quite_ well!' they exclaimed. 'It would be a +shame -- a sin!' + +In writing to them, Alma had put her decision solely on the ground of +health. Now, assuming a countenance of gentle gravity, she made known +her higher reasons. + +'I have felt it to be my duty. Remember that I can't consider myself +alone. I found that I must either devote myself wholly to music or give +it up altogether. You girls can't very well understand. When one is a +wife and a mother -- I thought it all over during my illness. I had been +neglecting my husband and Hughie, and it was too bad -- downright +selfishness. Art and housekeeping won't go together; I thought they +might, butt found my mistake. Of course, it cost me a struggle, but +that's over. I have learnt to _renounce_.' + +'It's very noble of you!' murmured Dora Leach. + +'I never heard anything so noble!' said her sister. + +Alma flushed with pleasure. + +'And yet you know,' Dora pursued, 'artists have a duty to the world.' + +'I can't help questioning,' said Gerda, 'whether you had a _right_ to +sacrifice yourself.' + +Alma smiled thoughtfully. + +'You can't quite see it as I do. When one has children ----' + +'It must make a great difference' -- 'Oh, a great difference!' -- +responded the sisters. And again they exclaimed at the spectacle of such +noble devotedness. + +By natural transition the talk turned to Mrs. Carnaby. The girls spoke of +her compassionately, but Alma soon perceived that they did not utter all +their thoughts. + +'I'm afraid,' she said, 'that some people take another view. I have +heard -- but one doesn't care to repeat such things.' + +Dora and Gerda betrayed a lively interest. Yes, they too had heard +disagreeable gossip; what a shame it was! + +'Of course, you see her?' said Dora. + +Alma shook her head, and seemed a trifle embarrassed. + +'I don't even know whether she still lives there.' + +'Oh yes, she does,' replied Miss Leach eagerly. 'But I've been told that +very few people go. I wondered -- we rather wished to know whether _you_ +did.' + +Again Alma gently shook her head. + +'I haven't even heard from her. I suppose she has her reasons. To tell +you the truth, I'm not quite sure that my husband would like me to call. +It isn't a pleasant subject, is it? Let us talk of something else.' + +So, when Dora and Gerda went away, they carried with them the conviction +that Mrs. Carnaby was an 'impossible' person and of course lost no +opportunity of imparting it to their friends. + +About a week before Christmas, when the new servants seemed to have +settled to their work, and the house routine needed less supervision, +Alma and her husband dined at the Langlands', to meet a few quiet +people. Among the guests was Mrs. Langland's brother, of whom Alma had +already heard, and whom, before the end of the evening, she came to +regard with singular interest. Mr. Thistlewood had no advantages of +physique, and little charm of manner; his long, meagre body never seemed +able to put itself at ease; sitting or standing, he displayed the +awkwardness of a naturally shy man who has not studied the habits of +society. But his features, in spite of irregularity, and a complexion +resembling the tone of 'foxed' paper, attracted observation, and +rewarded it; his eye had a pleasant twinkle, oddly in contrast with the +lines of painful thought upon his forehead, and the severity of strained +muscles in the lower part of his face. He was head-master of a small +school of art in a northern county; a post which he had held only for a +twelvemonth. Like his sister's husband, Thistlewood suffered from +disappointed ambition, for he had aimed at great things as a painter; +but he accepted his defeat, and at thirty-five was seeking content in a +'sphere of usefulness' which promised, after all, to give scope to his +best faculties. Not long ago he would have scorned the thought of +becoming a 'teacher'; yet for a teacher he was born, and the truth, in +dawning upon his mind, had brought with it a measure of consolation. + +A finger missing from his left hand told a story of student life in +Paris. It was a quarrel with a young Frenchman, about a girl. He and his +rival happening to sit opposite to each other at a restaurant table, +high words arose between them, and the Frenchman eventually made a stab +at Thistlewood's hand with his dinner-fork. That ended the dispute, but +the finger had to come off. Not long afterwards Thistlewood accepted an +engagement to go as artist with a party of English explorers into +Siberia. On his return he lingered for a week or two in St Petersburg, +and there chanced to meet the girl who had cost him one of his digits. +She, like himself, had been in pursuit of adventures; but, whereas the +artist came back with a well-filled purse, the wandering damsel was at +her last sou. They journeyed together to London, and for the next year +or two Thistlewood had the honour of working himself almost to death to +support a very expensive young woman, who cared no more for him than for +her cast-off shoes. Happily, some richer man was at length found who +envied him his privilege, and therewith ended Thistlewood's devotion to +the joys of a bohemian life. Ever since, his habits had been excessively +sober -- perhaps a little morose. But Mrs. Langland, who now saw him once +a year; thought him in every respect improved. Moreover, she had a +project for his happiness, and on that account frequently glanced at him +during dinner, as he conversed, much more fluently than of wont, with +his neighbour, Mrs. Abbott. + +Alma sat on the other side of the table, and was no less observant than +the hostess of a peculiar animation on Mr. Thistlewood's dark visage. To +be sure, she knew nothing of him, and it might be his habit to wear that +look when he talked with ladies; but Alma thought it unlikely. And it +seemed to her that Mary Abbott, though much as usual in manner, had a +just perceptible gleam of countenance beyond what one was accustomed to +remark in her moments of friendly conversation. This, too, might be +merely the result of a little natural excitement, seeing that the +school-mistress so seldom dined from home. But, in any case, the +proximity of these two persons was curiously interesting and suggestive. + +In the drawing-room, presently, Alma had a pleasant little talk with Mr +Thistlewood. By discreet experiment, she satisfied herself that Mrs +Abbott's name certainly quickened his interest; and, having learnt so +much, it was easy, by representing herself as that lady's old and +intimate friend, to win from the man a significant look of pleasure and +confidence. They talked of art, of landscape, and it appeared that +Thistlewood was acquainted with the part of Carnarvonshire where Alma +had lived. What was more, he had heard of her charming water-colours, +and he would so much like to see them. + +'Some enemy has done this,' replied Alma, laughing gaily. 'Was it Mrs +Abbott?' + +'No, it was not,' he answered, with corresponding vivacity. + +'Why, then, it must have been Mrs. Langland, and I have a good mind to +put her to open shame by asking you to come and see my wretched daubs.' + +Nothing would please him better, declared Thistlewood; and thereupon he +accepted an invitation to tea for the following afternoon. + +Alma asked no one else. She understood that this man was only to be +observed under favourable conditions by isolating him. She wished, +moreover, to bring him into fireside conversation with Harvey, and to +remark her husband's demeanour. By way of preparation for this +conjuncture, she let fall, in private chat with Harvey, a word or two +which pointed humorously at her suspicions concerning Thistlewood and +Mary Abbott. The hearer exhibited an incredulous surprise. + +'It was only a fancy,' said Alma, smiling rather coldly; and she felt +more desirous than ever of watching her husband in Thistlewood's +presence. + +Unexpectedly, from her point of view, the two men got along together +very well indeed. Harvey, thoroughly cordial, induced their guest to +speak of his work at the School of Art, and grew so interested in it +that the conversation went on for a couple of hours. Thistlewood had +pronounced and enthusiastic ideas on the subject. + +'My difficulty is,' he exclaimed, 'that I can't get hold of the children +young enough. People send their boys and girls to be taught drawing as +an "accomplishment" -- the feeble old notion. I want to teach it as a +most important part of elementary education -- in fact, to take +youngsters straight on from the kindergarten stage.' + +'Did I tell you,' put in Alma, 'that our little boy goes to Mrs +Abbott's?' and her eyes were on both men at once. + +'I should say you couldn't have done better than send him there,' +replied Thistlewood, shuffling his feet and fidgeting with his hands. +'Mrs. Abbott is an admirable teacher. She quite agrees with me -- I +should say that I quite agree with her. But I am forgetting, Mrs. Rolfe, +that you know her better than I do.' + +Hughie was allowed to come into the room for a little while, and to give +an account of what he learnt at school. When at length Thistlewood took +his leave, it was with a promise that he would come again and dine a few +days hence. His visit at Mrs. Langland's would extend over another +fortnight. Before the day of his departure northwards, Alma met him +several times, and succeeded in establishing almost an intimate +friendship with him. He came to bid her goodbye on a black and bitter +January afternoon, when it happened that Harvey was away. As soon as he +entered, she saw upon his face a look of ill augury, a heavy-eyed +dejection very unlike the twinkling hopefulness with which he had +hitherto regarded her. + +'What's the matter?' she asked, holding his hand for a moment. 'Don't +you like going back to work?' + +'I enjoy my work, Mrs. Rolfe, as you know.' + +'But you are not like yourself.' + +'My friends here have made the time very pleasant. Naturally, I don't +like leaving them.' + +He was a little abrupt, and decidedly showed the less genial phase of +his disposition. + +'Have some tea,' said Alma, 'and warm yourself at the fire. You will +thaw presently, Mr. Thistlewood. I suppose, like other unregenerate men, +you live in rooms? Has that kind of life an irresistible charm for you?' + +He looked at her with a frown which, to say the least, was discouraging; +it changed, however, to a more amiable expression as she handed him his +tea. + +'What do you imagine my income is, Mrs. Rolfe?' came growlingly from him. + +'I have no idea. You mean, I'm afraid' -- Alma's voice fell upon its +gentlest note -- 'that it doesn't allow you to think of -- of any +change?' + +'It _ought_ not to allow me,' replied the other. 'I have about two +hundred pounds a year, and can't hope much more for a long time.' + +'And that,' exclaimed Alma, 'seems to you insufficient? I should have +thought in a little town -- so far away -- Oh! you want to surround +yourself with luxuries ----' + +'I don't! -- I beg your pardon, Mrs. Rolfe, I meant to say that you +surely know me better.' His hand trembled and spilt the tea, which he +had not yet touched. 'But how can you suppose that -- that anyone ----?' + +He turned his face to the fire, the light of which made his eyes glare +fiercely. Forthwith, Alma launched upon a spirited remonstrance. Never, +even in the days just before her marriage, had she been so fervid and +eloquent on behalf of the 'simple life'. Two hundred pounds! Why, it was +wealth for rational people! She inveighed against display and +extravagance. + +'You are looking round the room. -- Oh, don't apologise; it was quite +natural. I confess, and I'm ashamed of myself. But ask Mrs. Abbott to +tell you about our little house in Wales; she came once to see us there. +We lived -- oh so simply and cheaply; and it was our happiest time. If +only we could go back to it! But the world has been too much for us. +People call it comfort; it means, I assure you, ceaseless trouble and +worry. Who knows? some day we may come to our senses, and shake off the +burden.' + +Thistlewood smiled. + +'If we could all have cottages among the mountains,' he said. 'But a +little provincial town ----' + +'Set an example! Who would have a better right to defy foolish +prejudice? A teacher of the beautiful -- you might do infinite good by +showing how beautifully one can live without obeying mere fashion in a +single point.' + +'I heartily agree with you,' replied Thistlewood, setting down his empty +cup. 'You express my own thoughts much better than I could myself. And +your talk has done me good, Mrs. Rolfe. Thank you for treating me with +such friendly kindness.' + +Therewith he rose and said goodbye to her, with a hope that they might +meet again. Alma was vexed that he would not stay longer and take her +more completely into his confidence; but she echoed the hope, and smiled +upon him with much sweetness. + +His behaviour could have only one interpretation: he had proposed to +Mary Abbott, and she had refused him. The longer Alma thought, the more +certain she was -- and the more irritated. It would be very difficult to +continue her civility to Mrs. Abbott after this. + + +CHAPTER 6 + + +In these days Rolfe had abandoned even the pretence of study. He could +not feel at home among his books; they were ranked about him on the old +shelves, but looked as uncomfortable as he himself; it seemed a +temporary arrangement; he might as well have been in lodgings. At +Pinner, after a twelvemonth, he was beginning to overcome the sense of +strangeness; but a foreboding that he could not long remain there had +always disturbed him. Here, though every probability pointed to a +residence of at least two or three years, he scarcely made an effort to +familiarise himself with the new surroundings; his house was a shelter, +a camp; granted a water-tight roof, and drains not immediately +poisonous, what need to take thought for artificial comforts? Thousands +of men, who sleep on the circumference of London, and go each day to +business, are practically strangers to the district nominally their +home; ever ready to strike tent, as convenience bids, they can feel no +interest in a vicinage which merely happens to house them for the time +being, and as often as not they remain ignorant of the names of streets +or roads through which they pass in going to the railway station. Harvey +was now very much in this case. That he might not utterly waste his +time, he had undertaken regular duties under Cecil Morphew's direction, +and spent some hours daily in Westminster Bridge Road. Thence he went to +his club, to see the papers; and in returning to Gunnersbury he felt +hardly more sense of vital connection with this suburb than with the +murky and roaring street in which he sat at business. By force of habit +he continued to read, but only books from the circulating library, +thrown upon his table pell-mell -- novels, popular science, travels, +biographies; each as it came to hand. The intellectual disease of the +time took hold upon him: he lost the power of mental concentration, +yielded to the indolent pleasure of desultory page-skimming. There +remained in him but one sign of grace: the qualms that followed on every +evening's debauch of mind, the headachey impression that he was going +through a morbid experience which somehow would work its own cure. + +Alma seemed quite unaware of any change in him. To his physical comfort +she gave all due attention, anxious lest he should catch cold in this +hideous weather, and doing her best to rule the house as he desired; but +his intellectual life was no concern to her. Herein, of course, Harvey +did but share the common lot of men married; he recognised the fact, and +was too wise to complain of it, even in his own mind. Yet it puzzled him +a little, now and then, that a woman so intelligent as Alma should in +this respect be simply on a level with the brainless multitude of her +sex. One evening, when they were together in his room, he took down a +volume, and blew the dust off it, saying as he did so ---- + +'They're not often disturbed nowadays, these solid old fellows.' + +'But I suppose you like to have them about you?' Alma replied +carelessly, as she glanced at the shelves. + +'Why, yes, they're good furniture; help to warm the room.' + +'No doubt they do,' Alma replied. 'It's always more comfortable here +than in the drawing-room.' + +Daily he asked himself whether she was reconciled to the loss of her +ambitions, and he could not feel any certainty. In the present state of +her health it might be natural for her to acquiesce in a humdrum life; +but when the next few months were over, and she found herself once more +able to move about as she pleased, would her mind remain the same? Happy +she was not, and probably nothing in his power to do could make her so. +Marriage rarely means happiness, either for man or woman; if it be not +too grievous to be borne, one must thank the fates and take courage. But +Harvey had a troublesome conscience. In acting with masculine decision, +with the old-fashioned authority of husbands, he had made himself doubly +responsible for any misery that might come to Alma through the +conditions of her life. It might be that, on the higher plane of +reasoning, he was by no means justified; there might have been found a +middle way, which, whilst guarding Alma from obvious dangers, still left +her free to enjoy and to aspire. What he had done was very much like the +clipping of wings. Practically it might be needful, and of safe result; +but there is a world beyond the barnyard, for all that; and how should +he know, with full assurance, whether Alma had not suffered a grave +wrong! He durst not reopen the discussion with her. He had taken his +stand, and must hold it, or lose all self-respect. Marriage is like life +itself, easiest to those who think least about it. Rolfe knew that well +enough, and would gladly have acted upon the knowledge; he came nearest +to doing so at the times when Hughie was his companion. Relieved by the +nursemaid from duties she had only borne by the exertion of something +like heroism, Alma once more drew a broad line of demarcation between +nursery and drawing-room; it was seldom she felt in a mood for playing +with the child, and she had no taste for 'going walks'. But Harvey could +not see too much of the little boy, indoors or out, and it rejoiced him +to know that his love was returned in full measure; for Hughie would at +any time abandon other amusements to be with his father. In these winter +months, when by rare chance there came a fine Saturday or Sunday, they +went off together to Kew or Richmond, and found endless matter for talk, +delightful to both of them. Hughie, now four years old, was well grown, +and could walk two or three miles without weariness. He had no colour in +his cheeks, and showed the nervous tendencies which were to be expected +in a child of such parentage, but on the whole his health gave no cause +for uneasiness. If anything chanced to ail him, Harvey suffered an +excessive disquiet; for the young life seemed to him so delicate a thing +that any touch of pain might wither it away. Because of the unutterable +anguish in the thought, he had often forced himself to front the +possibility of Hughie's death, and had even brought himself to feel that +in truth it would be no reason for sorrow; how much better to fall +asleep in playtime, and wake no more, than to outlive the happiness and +innocence which pass for ever with childhood. And when the fear of life +lay heaviest upon him, he found solace in remembering that after no +great lapse of time he and those he loved would have vanished from the +earth, would be as though they had not been at all; every pang and woe +awaiting them suffered and forgotten; the best and the worst gone by for +ever; the brief flicker of troubled light quenched in eternal oblivion. +It was Harvey Rolfe's best substitute for the faith and hope of the old +world. + +He liked to feel the soft little hand clasping his own fingers, so big +and coarse in comparison, and happily so strong. For in the child's +weakness he felt an infinite pathos; a being so entirely helpless, so +utterly dependent upon others' love, standing there amid a world of +cruelties, smiling and trustful. All his heart went forth in the desire +to protect and cherish. Nothing else seemed of moment beside this one +duty, which was also the purest joy. The word 'father' however sweet to +his ear, had at times given him a thrill of awe; spoken by childish +lips, did it mean less than 'God'? He was the giver of life, and for +that dread gift must hold himself responsible. A man in his agony may +call upon some unseen power, but the heavens are mute; can a father turn +away in heedlessness if the eyes of his child reproach him? All +pleasures, aims, hopes that concerned himself -alone, shrank to the +idlest trifling when he realised the immense debt due from him to his +son; no possible sacrifice could discharge it. He marvelled how people +could insist upon the duty of children to parents. But did not the habit +of thought ally itself naturally enough with that strange religion +which, under direst penalties, exacts from groaning and travailing +humanity a tribute of fear and love to the imagined Author of its being? + +With delight he followed every step in the growth of understanding; and +yet it was not all pleasure to watch the mind outgrowing its simplicity. +Intelligence that has learnt the meaning of a doubt compares but sadly +with the charm of untouched ingenuousness -- that exquisite moment (a +moment, and no more) when simplest thought and simplest word seek each +other unconsciously, and blend in sweetest music. At four years old +Hughie had forgotten his primitive language. The father regretted many a +pretty turn of tentative speech, which he was wont to hear with love's +merriment. If a toy were lost, a little voice might be heard saying, +'Where has that gone now _to_?' And when it was found again -- 'There is +_it_!' After a tumble one day, Hughie was cautious in running. 'I shall +fall down and break myself.' Then came distinction between days of the +week. 'On Sunday I do' so and so; 'on Monday days I do' something else. +He said, 'Do you remember?' and what a pity it seemed when at last the +dull grown-up word was substituted. Never again, when rain was falling, +would Hughie turn and plead, 'Father, tell the sun to come out!' Nor, +when he saw the crescent moon in daytime, would he ever grow troubled +and exclaim, 'Someone has broken it!' + +It was the rule now that before his bedtime, seven o'clock, Hughie spent +an hour in the library, alone with his father. A golden hour, sacred to +memories of the world's own childhood. He brought with him the book that +was his evening's choice -- Grimm, or Andersen, or AEsop. Already he +knew by heart a score of little poems, or passages of verse, which +Rolfe, disregarding the inept volumes known as children's anthologies, +chose with utmost care from his favourite singers, and repeated till +they were learnt. Stories from the Odyssey had come in of late; but +Polyphemus was a doubtful experiment -- Hughie dreamt of him. Great +caution, too, was needful in the matter of pathos. On hearing for the +first time Andersen's tale of the Little Tin Soldier, Hughie burst into +tears, and could scarce be comforted. Grimm was safer; it seemed +doubtful whether Andersen was really a child's book at all, every page +touched with the tears of things, every line melodious with sadness. + +And all this fostering of the imagination -- was it right? was it wise? +Harvey worried himself with doubts insoluble. He had merely obeyed his +own instincts. But perhaps he would be doing far better if he never +allowed the child to hear a fairy-tale or a line of poetry. Why not +amuse his mind with facts, train him to the habit of scientific thought? +For all he knew, he might be giving the child a bias which would result +in a life's unhappiness; by teaching him to see only the hard actual +face of things, would he not fit him far more surely for citizenship of +the world? + +He would have liked to talk about the child with Mary Abbott, but there +never came an opportunity. Though it shamed and angered him to be under +such constraint, he felt obliged to avoid any private meeting with her. +Alma, he well understood, still nursed the preposterous jealousy which +had been in her mind so long; and in the present state of things, +dubious, transitional, it behoved him to give no needless occasion of +disquiet. As the months went on, he saw her spirits fail; with the +utmost difficulty she was persuaded to leave the house, and for hours at +a time she sat as if in melancholy brooding, unwilling to talk or to +read. Harvey tried reading to her, but in the daytime she could not keep +her thoughts from wandering, and after dinner it merely sent her to +sleep. Yet she declared that there was nothing to trouble about; she +would be herself again before long. + +But one day the doctor who was attending her had a few words in private +with Rolfe, and told him that he had made an unpleasant discovery -- Mrs +Rolfe was in the habit of taking a narcotic. At first, when the doctor +asked if this was the case, she had denied it, but in the end he had +elicited a confession, and a promise that the dangerous habit should be +relinquished. + +'I was on no account to mention this to you, and you mustn't let it be +seen that I have done so. If it goes on, and I'm rather afraid it will +for a short time, I shall tell her that you must be informed of it.' + +Harvey, to whom such a suspicion had never occurred, waited anxiously +for the doctor's further reports. As was anticipated, Alma's promise +held good only for a day or two, and when again she confessed, her +husband was called into counsel. The trio went through a grave and +disagreeable scene. On the doctor's departure, Alma sat for a long time +stubbornly and dolorously mute; then came tears and passionate +penitence. + +'You mustn't think I'm a slave to it,' she said. 'It isn't so at all. I +can break myself off it at once, and I will.' + +'Then why did you go on after the doctor's first warning?' + +'Out of perversity, nothing else. I suffer much from bad nights, but it +wasn't that; I could bear it. I said to myself that I should do as I +liked.' She gave a tearful laugh. + +'That's the whole truth. I felt just like a child when it's determined +to be naughty.' + +'But this is far too serious a matter ----' + +'I know, I know. There shall be an end of it. I had my own way, and I'm +satisfied. Now I shall be reasonable.' + +Judging from results, this seemed to be a true explanation. From that +day the doctor saw no reason for doubt. But Harvey had a most +uncomfortable sense of strangeness in his wife's behaviour; it seemed to +him that the longer he lived with Alma, the less able he was to read her +mind or comprehend her motives. It did not reassure him to reflect that +a majority of husbands are probably in the same case. + +Meanwhile trouble was once more brewing in the back regions of the +house. The cook made an excuse for 'giving notice'. Rolfe, in his fury, +talked about abandoning the house and going with wife and child to some +village in the heart of France; yet this was hardly practicable. Again +were advertisements sent forth; again came the ordeal of correspondence +-- this time undertaken by Harvey himself, for Alma was unequal to it. +The cook whom they at length engaged declared with fervour that the one +thing she panted for was downright hard work; she couldn't abide easy +places, and in fact had left her last because too little was expected of +her. + +'She will stay for two months,' said Harvey, 'and then it will be time +for the others to think of moving. Oh, we shall get used to it.' + +At the end of March, Alma's second child was born -- a girl. Remembering +what she had endured at Hughie's birth, Rolfe feared that her trial +would be even worse this time; but it did not prove so. In a few days +Alma was well on the way to recovery. But the child, a lamentable little +mortal with a voice scarce louder than a kitten's, held its life on the +frailest tenure; there was doubt at first whether it could draw breath +at all, and the nurse never expected it to live till the second day. At +the end of a week, however, it still survived; and Alma turned to the +poor weakling with a loving tenderness such as she had never shown for +her first-born. To Harvey's surprise she gladly took it to her breast, +but for some reason this had presently to be forbidden, and the mother +shed many tears. After a fortnight things looked more hopeful. Nurse and +doctor informed Harvey that for the present he need have no uneasiness. + +It was a Saturday morning, and so cheerful overhead that Rolfe used his +liberty to have a long stretch towards the fields. Hughie, who had no +school today, would gladly have gone with him, but after such long +restraint Harvey felt the need of four miles an hour, and stole away. He +made for Twickenham and Hampton Court, then by a long circuit came round +into Richmond Park. The Star and Garter gave him a late luncheon, after +which he lit his cigar and went idly along the terrace. There, whom +should he meet but Mary Abbott. + +She was seated, gazing at the view. Not till he came quite near did +Harvey recognise her, and until he stopped she did not glance in his +direction. Thus he was able to observe her for a moment, and noticed +that she looked anything but well; one would have thought her +overworked, or oppressed by some trouble. She did not see what her eyes +were fixed upon, and her features had a dreaming tenderness of +expression which made them more interesting, more nearly beautiful, than +when they were controlled by her striving will. When Harvey paused +beside her she gave him a startled smile, but was at once herself again. + +'Do you care for that?' he asked, indicating the landscape. + +'I can't be enthusiastic about it.' + +'Nor I. A bit of ploughed field in the midlands gives me more pleasure.' + +'It was beautiful once.' + +'Yes; before London breathed upon it. -- Do you remember the view from +Cam Bodvean?' + +'Oh, indeed I do! The larches are coming out now.' + +'And the gorse shines, and the sea is blue, and the mountains rise one +behind the other! -- Did you talk about it with Mr. Thistlewood? I found +that he knew all that country.' + +'We spoke of it,' replied Mrs. Abbott, taking a step forward. + +'An interesting man, don't you think?' + +Harvey glanced at her, remembering the odd suggestion he had heard from +Alma; and in truth it seemed that his inquiry caused her some +embarrassment. + +'Yes, very interesting,' answered his companion quietly, as she walked +on. + +'You had met him before ----?' + +'He always comes to the Langlands' at Christmas.' She added in another +voice, 'I was glad to hear from Hughie yesterday that all was well at +home.' + +They sauntered along the path. Harvey described the walk he had had this +morning. Mrs. Abbott said that the bright day had tempted her to an +unusual distance; she had come, of course, by train, and must now think +of turning back towards the station. + +'Let me go so far with you,' said Harvey. 'What is your report of the +boy? He gives you no trouble, I hope?' + +She replied in detail, with the conscientiousness which always appeared +in her when speaking of her work. It was not the tone of one who +delights in teaching; there was no spontaneity, no enthusiasm; but every +word gave proof of how seriously she regarded the duties she had +undertaken. And she was not without pride in her success. The little +school had grown, so that it now became a question whether she should +decline pupils or engage an assistant teacher. + +'You are resolved to go on with the infantry?' said Rolfe, smiling. + +'The little ones -- yes. I begin to feel some confidence with _them_; I +don't think I'm in danger of going far wrong. But I shouldn't have the +least faith in myself, now, with older children. -- Of course I have +Minnie Wager. She'll soon be eleven, you know. I do my best with her.' + +'Mrs. Langland says you have done wonders.' + +'Minnie will never learn much from books; I feel pretty sure of that. +But' -- she laughed -- 'everyone has a strong point, if it can be +discovered, and I really think I have found Minnie's at last. It was +quite by chance. The other day I was teaching my maid to make pastry, +and Minnie happened to stand by. Afterwards, she begged me to let _her_ +try her hand at it, and I did, and the result was surprising. For the +very first time she had found something that she enjoyed doing. She went +to it with zeal, and learnt in no time. Since then she has made tarts, +and puddings, and cake ----' + +Harvey broke into laughter. It was an odd thing that the employment he +had suggested for this girl, in his talk at Greystone, should prove to +be her genuine vocation. + +'Don't you think it's as well to encourage her?' said Mrs. Abbott. + +'By all manner of means! I think it's a magnificent discovery. I should +give her the utmost encouragement. Let her learn cookery in all its +branches, steadily and seriously.' + +'It may solve the problem of her future. She might get employment in one +of the schools of cookery.' + +'Never again be uneasy about her,' cried Rolfe delightedly. 'She is +provided for. She will grow old with honour, love, obedience, troops of +friends! -- A culinary genius! Why, it's the one thing the world is +groaning and clamouring for. Let her burn her school-books. Sacrifice +everything to her Art. -- You have rejoiced me with this news.' + +Slenderly endowed on the side of humour, Mary Abbott could not feel sure +whether he was really pleased or not; he had to repeat to her, with all +gravity, that he no longer felt anxious on the girl's account. + +'For my own part,' said Mary, 'I would rather see her a good cook in a +lady's kitchen, if it came to that, than leading a foolish life at some +so-called genteel occupation.' + +'So would any one who has common-sense. -- And her brother; I don't +think we can go wrong about him. The reports from school are +satisfactory; they show that he loathes everything but games and +fighting. At fifteen they'll take him on a training ship. -- I wonder +whether their father's alive or dead?' + +'It is to be hoped they'll never see him again.' + +Harvey was smiling -- at a thought which he did not communicate. + +'You say you wouldn't trust yourself to teach older children. You mean, +of course, that you feel much the difficulty of the whole thing -- of +all systems of education.' + +'Yes. And I dare say it's nothing but foolish presumption when I fancy I +can teach babies.' + +'You have at all events a method,' said Harvey, 'and it seems to be a +very good one. For the teaching of children after they can read and +write, there seems to be no method at all. The old classical education +was fairly consistent, but it exists no longer. Nothing has taken its +place. Muddle, experiment, and waste of lives -- too awful to think +about. We're savages yet in the matter of education. Somebody said to me +once: "Well, but look at the results; they're not so bad." Great +heavens! not so bad -- when the supreme concern of mankind is to perfect +their instruments of slaughter! Not so bad -- when the gaol and the +gallows are taken as a matter of course! Not so bad -- when huge filthy +cities are packed with multitudes who have no escape from toil and +hunger but in a wretched death! Not so bad -- when all but every man's +life is one long blunder, the result of ignorance and unruled passions!' + +Mrs. Abbott showed a warm assent. + +'People don't think or care anything about education. Seriously, I +suppose it has less place in the thoughts of most men and women than any +other business of life?' + +'Undoubtedly,' said Rolfe. 'And one is thought a pedant and a bore if +one ever speaks of it. It's as much against good manners as to begin +talking about religion. But a pedant must relieve his mind sometimes. +I'm so glad I met you today; I wanted to hear what you thought about the +boy.' + +For the rest of the way, they talked of lighter things; or rather, Rolfe +talked and his companion listened. Nothing more difficult than easy chat +between a well-to-do person of abundant leisure and one whose days are +absorbed in the earning of a bare livelihood. Mary Abbott had very +little matter for conversation beyond the circle of her pursuits; there +was an extraordinary change in her since the days of her married life, +when she had prided herself on talking well, or even brilliantly. Harvey +could not help a feeling of compassion as she walked at his side. For +all his admiration of her self-conquest, and of the tasks to which she +had devoted herself, he would have liked to free her from the daily +mill. She was young yet, and should taste of joy before the years began +to darken about her. But these are the thoughts that must not be +uttered. To show pity is to insult. A merry nod to the friend who +staggers on beneath his burden; and, even at his last gasp, the friend +shall try to nod merrily back again. + +He took leave of her at the station, saying that he meant to walk by the +river homeward. A foolish scruple, which would never have occurred to +him but for Alma's jealousy. + +When he reached his house at about four o'clock, he felt very tired; it +was a long time since he had walked so far. Using his latch-key to +enter, he crossed the hall to the study without seeing anyone or hearing +a sound. There was a letter on his table. As he opened it, and began to +read, the door -- which he had left ajar -- was pushed softly open; +there entered Hughie, unusually silent, and with a strange look in his +bright eyes. + +'Father -- Louie says that baby is dead.' + +Harvey's hand fell. He stared, stricken mute. + +'Father -- I don't want baby to be dead! Don't let baby be dead!' + +The child's voice shook, and tears came into his eyes. Without a word, +Rolfe hastened from the room and up the stairs. As he reached the +landing, a wail of grief sounded from somewhere near; could that be +Alma's voice? In a moment he had knocked at her door. He durst not turn +the handle; the beating of his heart shook him in every limb. The door +opened, and the nurse showed her face. A hurried whisper; the baby had +died two hours ago, in convulsions. + +Alma's voice sounded again. + +'Who is that? -- Harvey -- oh, come, come to me! My little baby is +dead!' + +He sat alone with her for an hour. He scarcely knew her for his wife, so +unlike herself had she become under the stress of passionate woe; her +face drawn in anguish, yet illumined as he had never seen it; her voice +moving on a range of notes which it had never sounded. The little body +lay pressed against her bosom; she would not let it be taken from her. +Consolation was idle. Harvey tried to speak the thought which was his +first and last as he looked at the still, waxen face; the thought of +thankfulness, that this poor feeble little being was saved from life; +but he feared to seem unfeeling. Alma could not yet be comforted. The +sight of the last pitiful struggles had pierced her to the heart; she +told of it over and over again, in words and tones profoundly touching. + +The doctor had been here, and would return in the evening. It was Alma +now who had to be cared for; her state might easily become dangerous. + +When Harvey went downstairs again, he met Hughie and his nurse in the +hall. The little boy ran to him. + +'Mayn't I come to you, Father? Louie says I mustn't come.' + +'Yes, yes; come, dear.' + +In the library he sat down, and took Hughie upon his knee, and pressed +the soft little cheek against his own. Without mention of baby, the +child asked at once if his father would not read to him as usual. + +'I don't think I can tonight, Hughie.' + +'Why not, Father? Because baby is dead?' + +'Yes. And Mother is very poorly. I must go upstairs again soon.' + +'Is Mother going to be dead?' asked the child, with curiosity rather +than fear. + +'No! No!' + +'But -- but if mother went there, she could fetch baby back again.' + +'Went where?' + +Hughie made a vague upward gesture. + +'Louie says baby is gone up into the sky.' + +Perhaps it was best so. What else can one say to a little child of four +years old? Harvey Rolfe had no choice but to repeat what seemed good to +Louie the nursemaid. But he could refrain from saying more. + +Alma was in a fever by night-time. There followed days and days of +misery; any one hour of which, as Rolfe told himself, outbalanced all +the good and joy that can at best be hoped for in threescore years and +ten. But Alma clung to life. Harvey had thought she would ask for her +little son, and expend upon him the love called forth by her dead baby; +she seemed, however, to care even less for Hughie than before. And, +after all, the bitter experience had made little change in her. + + +CHAPTER 7 + + +Since the removal from Pinner, Rolfe had forgotten his anxieties with +regard to money. Expenses were reduced; not very greatly, but to a point +which made all the difference between just exceeding his income and +living just within it. He had not tried to economise, and would scarcely +have known how to begin; it was the change in Alma's mode of life that +brought about this fortunate result. With infinite satisfaction he +dismissed from his mind the most hateful of all worries. + +It looked, too, as if the business in Westminster Bridge Road might +eventually give a substantial return for the money he had invested in +it. Through the winter, naturally, little trade was done; but with +springtime things began to look brisk and hopeful. Harvey had applied +himself seriously to learning the details of the business; he was no +longer a mere looker-on, but could hold practical counsel with his +partner, make useful suggestions, and help in carrying them out. + +In the sixth month after her father's decease, Rolfe enjoyed the +privilege of becoming acquainted with Miss Winter. Morphew took him one +afternoon to the house at Earl's Court, where the widow and her daughter +were still living, the prospect of Henrietta's marriage having made it +not worth while for them to change their abode in the interim. With much +curiosity, with not a little mistrust, Harvey entered the presence of +these ladies, whose names and circumstances had been so familiar to him +for years. Henrietta proved to be very unlike the image he had formed of +her. Anticipating weakness, conventionality, and some affectation, he +was surprised to meet a lady of simple, grave manners; nervous at first, +but soon perfectly self-possessed; by no means talkative, but +manifesting in every word a well-informed mind and a habit of +reflection. It astonished him that such a man as Cecil Morphew should +have discovered his ideal in Henrietta Winter; it perplexed him yet more +that Cecil's attachment should have been reciprocated. + +Mrs. Winter was a very ordinary person; rather pretentious, rather too +fluent of speech, inclined to fretfulness, and probably of trying +temper. Having for many years lived much beyond his means (in the manner +so often described by Morphew), Mr. Winter had left his family as good as +unprovided for. There was money to be divided between mother and +daughter, but so small a sum that it could not be regarded as a source +of income. To the widow was bequeathed furniture; to Henrietta, a +library of two thousand volumes; _finally_, the testator directed that +the sum of five hundred pounds should be spent on a window of stained +glass (concerning which full particulars were given), to be set up, in +memory of himself, in the church he had been wont to honour with his +pious attendance. This item of her husband's will had so embittered Mrs +Winter, that she hardly ever spoke of him; if obliged to do so, it was +with cold severity that she uttered his name. Immediately, she withdrew +all opposition to Henrietta's marriage with the man she had considered +so objectionable; she would not have been sorry had her daughter chosen +to be married with the least possible delay. As for the future, of +course she must live in her daughter's house; together, they must make +what they could of their small capital, and hope that Cecil's business +would prosper. + +Harvey had been acquainted with these facts since Mr. Winter's death. +Bearing them in mind as he talked with Henrietta, and exerting his +powers of observation to the utmost, he still found himself as far as +ever from a definite opinion as to the wisdom of the coming marriage. +That Mrs. Winter would be a great obstacle to happiness admitted of no +doubt; but Henrietta herself might or might not prove equal to the +change of circumstances. Evidently one of her characteristics was an +extreme conscientiousness; it explained, perhaps, her long inability to +decide between the claims of parents and lover. Her tastes in literature +threw some light upon the troubles which had beset her; she was a +student of George Eliot, and spoke of the ethical problems with which +that author is mainly concerned, in a way suggestive of self-revelation. +Conversing for the first time with Morphew's friend, and finding him +sufficiently intelligent, she might desire to offer some indirect +explanation of the course she had followed. Harvey could not question +her sincerity, but she seemed to him a trifle morbid. It might be +natural reaction, in a temper such as hers, against the monstrous +egotism by which her life had been subdued and shadowed. She inclined to +mystical views; mentioned Christina Rossetti as one of her favourites; +cared little or nothing for the louder interests of the time. Impossible +to detect the colour of her thoughts with regard to Cecil; she spoke of +him gravely and gently, but without the least perceptible emotion. +Harvey noticed her when Morphew was saying goodbye; her smile was sweet, +and perhaps tender, but even then she seemed to be debating with herself +some point of conscience. Perhaps Cecil had pressed her hand rather too +fervently? + +The friends walked away in silence along the dim-lighted street, between +monotonous rows of high sombre houses, each with its pillared portico +which looked like the entrance to a tomb. Glancing about him with a +sense of depression, Harvey wondered that any mortal could fix his pride +on the fact of residence in such a hard, cold, ugly wilderness. + +'Has she altered much since you first knew her?' he asked at length. + +'A good deal,' answered the other. 'Yes, a good deal. She used to laugh +sometimes; now she never does. She was always quiet -- always looked at +things seriously -- but it was different. You think her gloomy?' + +'No, no; not gloomy. It's all natural enough. Her life wants a little +sunlight, that's all.' + +For the rest, he could speak with sincere admiration, and Cecil heard +him delightedly. + +The choice of a dwelling was a most difficult matter. As it must be +quite a small house, the remoter suburbs could alone supply what was +wanted; Morphew spent every Saturday and Sunday in wearisome +exploration. Mrs. Winter, though in theory she accepted the necessity of +cheapness, shrank from every practical suggestion declaring it +impossible to live in such places as Cecil requested her to look at. She +had an ideal of the 'nice thinks nothing of. And herself the cause of +it, if only I had dared to tell her so!' + +'The old story, I suppose,' said Harvey. 'Some other woman?' + +'I was very near telling you, that day you came to my beastly garret in +Chelsea; do you remember? It was the worst time with me then -- except +when you found me in Brussels. I'd been gambling again; you knew that. I +wanted money for something I felt ashamed to speak of. -- You know the +awful misery I used to suffer about Henrietta. I was often enough nearly +mad with -- what is one to call it? Why isn't there a decent name for +the agony men go through at that age? I simply couldn't live alone any +longer -- I couldn't; and only a fool and a hypocrite would pretend to +blame me. A man, that is; women seem to be made different. -- Oh, +there's nothing to tell. The same thing happens a hundred times every +day in London. A girl wandering about in the Park -- quarrel at home -- +all the rest of it. A good many lies on her side; a good deal of +selfishness on mine. I happened to have money just then. And just when I +had _no_ money -- about the time you met me -- a child was born. She +said it was mine; anyway, I had to be responsible. Of course I had long +ago repented of behaving so badly to Henrietta. But no woman can +understand, and it's impossible to explain to them. You're a beast and a +villain, and there's an end of it.' + +'And how has this become known to Miss Winter?' Harvey inquired, seeing +that Morphew lost himself in gloom. + +'You might almost guess it; these things always happen in the same way. +You've heard me speak of a fellow called Driffel -- no? I thought I +might have mentioned him. He got to know the girl. He and I were at a +music-hall one night, and she met us; and I heard, soon after, that she +was living with him. It didn't last long. She got ill, and wrote to me +from Westminster Hospital; and I was foolish enough to give her money +again, off and on, up to only a few months ago. She talked about living +a respectable life, and so on, and I couldn't refuse to help her. But I +found out it was all humbug, and of course I stopped. Then she began to +hunt me, Out of spite. And she heard from someone -- Driffel, as likely +as not -- all about Henrietta; and yesterday Henrietta had a letter from +her. This morning I was sent for, to explain myself.' + +'At one time, then, you had lost sight of her altogether?' + +'She has always had money from me, more or less regularly, except at the +time that Driffel kept her. But there has been nothing else between us, +since that first year. I kept up payments on account of the child, and +she was cheating me in that too. Of course she put out the baby to +nurse, and I understood it lived on; but the truth was it died after a +month or two -- starved to death, no doubt. I only learnt that, by +taking a good deal of trouble, when she was with Driffel.' + +'Starved to death at a month or two old,' murmured Rolfe. 'The best +thing for it, no doubt.' + +'It's worse than anything I have done,' said Morphew, miserably. 'I +think more of it now than I did at the time. A cruel, vile thing!' + +'And you told Miss Winter everything?' + +'Everything that can be spoken about. The plain truth of the story. The +letter was a lie from beginning to end, of course. It made me out a +heartless scoundrel. I had been the ruin of the girl -- a helpless +innocent; and now, after all these years, wanted to cut her adrift, not +caring what became of her. My defence seemed to Henrietta no defence at +all. The fact that there had been such an episode in my life was quite +sufficient. Everything must be at an end between us, at once and for +ever. She _could_ not live with me, knowing this. No one should learn +the cause; not even her mother; but I must never see her again. And so I +came away, meaning to end my life. It wasn't cowardice that prevented +me; only the thought that _she_ would be mixed up in it, and suffer more +than I had made her already.' + +Voice and look constrained Harvey to believe this. He spoke more +sympathetically. + +'It's better that it happened before than after.' + +'I've tried to think that, but I can't. Afterwards, I could have made +her believe me and forgive me.' + +'That seems to me more than doubtful.' + +'But why should it have happened at all?' cried Cecil, in the tone of +despairing bitterness. 'Did I deserve it? Haven't I behaved better, more +kindly, than most men would have done? Isn't it just because I was too +good-natured that this has come on me?' + +'I myself readily take that view,' answered Rolfe. 'But I can perfectly +understand why Miss Winter doesn't.' + +'So can I -- so can I,' groaned Cecil. 'It's in her nature. And do you +suppose I haven't cursed myself for deceiving her? The thought has made +me miserable, often enough. I never dreamt she would get to know of it; +but it weighed upon me all the same. Yet who was the cause of it, really +and truly? I'm glad I could keep myself from saying all I thought. She +wouldn't have understood; I should only have looked more brutal in her +eyes. But if she had married me when she might have done! _There_ was +the wrong that led to everything else.' + +Harvey nodded and muttered. + +'At one and twenty she might have taken her own way. I wasn't a +penniless adventurer. My name is as good as hers. We could have lived +well enough on my income, until I found a way of increasing it, as I +should have done. Girls don't know what they are doing when they make +men wait year after year. No one can tell them. But I begged -- I prayed +to her -- I said all I dared. It was her cursed father and mother! If I +had had three thousand, instead of three hundred, a year, they would +have rushed her into marriage. No! we must have a big house, like their +own, and a troop of thieving servants, or we were eternally disgraced. +_How_ I got the money didn't matter, so long as I got it. And she hadn't +courage -- she thought it wrong to defy them. As if the wrong wasn't in +giving way to such a base superstition! I believe she has seen that +since her father's death. And now ----' + +He broke down, shaking and choking in an agony of sobs. Harvey could +only lay a kind hand upon him; there was no verbal comfort to offer. +Presently Cecil talked on again, and so they sat together as twilight +passed into darkness. Rolfe would gladly have taken the poor fellow home +with him, out of solitude with its miseries and dangers, but Cecil +refused. Eventually they walked westward for a few miles; then Morphew, +with a promise to see his friend next day, turned back into the crowd. + + +CHAPTER 8 + + +Alma was walking on the sea-road at Penzance, glad to be quite alone, +yet at a loss how to spend the time. Rolfe had sailed for Scilly, and +would be absent for two or three days; Mrs. Frothingham, with Hughie for +companion, was driving to Marazion. Why -- Alma asked herself -- had she +wished to be left alone this morning? Some thought had glimmered vaguely +in her restless mind; she could not recover it. + +The little shop window, set out with objects carved in serpentine, held +her for a moment; but remembering how often she had paused here lately, +she felt ashamed, and walked on. Presently there moved towards her a +lady in a Bath-chair; a lady who had once been beautiful, but now, +though scarcely middle-aged, looked gaunt and haggard from some long +illness. The invalid held open a newspaper, and Alma, in passing, saw +that it was _The World_. At once her step quickened, for she had +remembered the desire which touched her an hour ago. + +She walked to the railway station, surveyed the papers on the bookstall, +and bought three -- papers which would tell her what was going on in +society. With these in hand she found a quiet spot, sheltered from the +August sun, where she could sit and read. She read eagerly, enviously. +And before long her eye fell upon a paragraph in which was a name she +knew. Lady Isobel Barker, in her lovely retreat at Boscombe, was +entertaining a large house-party; in the list appeared -- Mrs. Hugh +Carnaby. Unmistakable: Mrs. Hugh Carnaby. Who Lady Isobel might be, Alma +had no idea; nor were any of the other guests known to her, but the +names of all seemed to roll upon the tongue of the announcing footman. +She had a vision of Sibyl in that august company; Sibyl, coldly +beautiful, admirably sage, with -- perhaps -- ever so little of the air +of a martyr, to heighten her impressiveness. + +When she could command herself, she glanced hurriedly through column +after column of all the papers, seeking for that name again. In one, an +illustrated publication, she came upon a couple of small portraits, side +by side. Surely she recognised that face -- the bold, coarse-featured +man, with his pretentious smile? But the girl, no; a young and very +pretty girl, smirking a little, with feathery hair which faded off into +an aureole. The text was illuminating. + +'I am able to announce,' wrote Ego, 'and I think I shall be one of the +first to do so, that the brilliant composer, Mr. Felix Dymes, will +shortly vanish from the gay (if naughty) world of bachelorhood. I learn +on excellent authority that Mr. Dymes has quite recently become engaged +to Miss Lettice Almond, a very charming young lady, whose many gifts +(especially musical) have as yet been known only to a comparatively +small circle, and for the delightful reason that she is still only +eighteen. Miss Almond is the daughter of Mr. Haliburton Almond, senior +partner in the old and well-known firm of Almond Brothers, the +manufacturers of fireworks. She is an only daughter, and, though she has +two brothers, I may add (I trust without indiscretion) that the title of +heiress may be fittingly applied to her. The marriage may take place in +November, and will doubtless be a brilliant as well as a most +interesting affair. By-the-bye, Mr. Dymes's new opera is not likely to be +ready till next year, but some who have been privileged to hear the +parts already composed declare that it will surpass even "Blue Roses" in +the charm of sweet yet vivacious melody.' + +When she had read and mused for more than an hour, Alma tore out the two +passages that had a personal interest for her, and put them in her +purse. The papers she left lying for anyone who chose to pick them up. + +A fortnight later she was back at Gunnersbury; where, indeed, she would +have been content to stay all through the summer, had not Harvey and the +doctor insisted on her leaving home. All sorts of holidays had been +proposed, but nothing of the kind attracted her. She declared that she +was quite well, and that she preferred home to anywhere else; she had +got used to it, and did not wish to be unsettled. Six weeks at Penzance +simply wearied her; she brightened wonderfully on the day of return. +Harvey, always anxious, tried to believe that the great sorrow through +which she had passed was effecting only a natural change, subduing her +troublesome mutability of temper, and leading her to find solace in +domestic quietude. + +On the third day after her return, she had lunched alone, and was +sitting in the library. Her dress, more elaborate than usual, and the +frequent glances which she cast at the clock, denoted expectation of +some arrival. Hearing a knock at the front door, she rose and waited +nervously. + +'Mr. Dymes is in the drawing-room, mum.' + +She joined him. Dymes, with wonted frankness, not to say impudence, +inspected her from head to foot, and did not try to conceal surprise. + +'I was awfully glad to get your note. As I told you, I called here about +a month ago, and I should have called again. I didn't care to write +until I heard from you. You've been ill, I can see. I heard about it. +Awfully sorry.' + +Alma saw that he intended respectful behaviour. The fact of being in her +own house was, of course, a protection, but Dymes, she quite understood, +had altered in mind towards her. She treated him distantly, yet without +a hint of unfriendliness. + +'I began to wonder whether I had missed a letter of yours. It's some +time since you promised to write -- on business.' + +'The fact is,' he replied, 'I kept putting it off, hoping to see you, +and it's wonderful how time slips by. I can hardly believe that it's +more than a year since your recital. How splendidly it came off! If only +you could have followed it up -- but we won't talk about that.' + +He paused for any remark she might wish to make. Alma, dreamy for a +moment, recovered herself, and asked, in a disinterested tone ---- + +'We paid all expenses, I suppose?' + +'Well -- not quite.' + +'Not quite? I understood from you that there was no doubt about it.' + +'I thought,' said Dymes, as he bent forward familiarly, 'that my silence +would let you know how matters stood. If there had been anything due to +you, of course I should have sent a cheque. We did very well indeed, +remarkably well, but the advertising expenses were very heavy.' He took +a paper from his pocket. 'Here is the detailed account. I shouldn't have +spent so much if I hadn't regarded it as an investment. You had to be +boomed, you know -- floated, and I flatter myself I did it pretty well. +But, of course, as things turned out ----' + +Alma glanced over the paper. The items astonished her. + +'You mean to say, then, that I am in your debt for a hundred and thirty +pounds?' + +'Debt be hanged!' cried Dymes magnanimously. 'That's all done with, long +ago. I only wanted to explain how things were.' + +Alma reddened. She was trying to remember the state of her banking +account, and felt sure that, at this moment, considerably less than a +hundred pounds stood to her credit. But she rose promptly. + +'Of course, I shall give you a cheque.' + +'Nonsense! Don't treat me like a regular agent, Mrs. Rolfe. Surely you +know me better than that? I undertook it for the pleasure of the thing +----' + +'But you don't suppose I can accept a present of money from you, Mr +Dymes?' + +'Hang it! Just as you like, of course. But don't make me take it now, as +if I'd looked in with my little bill. Send the cheque, if you must. But +what I really came for, when I called a few weeks ago, was something +else -- quite a different thing, and a good deal more important. Just +sit down again, if you can spare me a few minutes.' + +With face averted, Alma sank back into her chair. Harvey would give her +the money without a word, but she dreaded the necessity of asking him +for it. So disturbed were her thoughts that she did not notice how oddly +Dymes was regarding her, and his next words sounded meaningless. + +'By-the-bye, can we talk here?' + +'Talk ----?' + +'I mean' -- he lowered his voice -- 'are we safe from interruption? It's +all right; don't look frightened. The fact is, I want to speak of +something rather awkward -- but it's something you ought to know about, +if you don't already.' + +'I am quite at leisure,' she replied; adding, with a nervous movement of +the head, 'there will be no interruption.' + +'I want to ask you, then, have you seen Mrs. Strangeways lately?' + +'No.' + +'Nor Mrs. Carnaby?' + +'No.' + +'I understand you've broken with them altogether? You don't want +anything more to do with that lot?' + +'I have nothing whatever to do with them,' Alma replied, steadying her +voice to a cold dignity. + +'And I think you're quite right. Now, look here -- you've heard, I dare +say, that I'm going to be married? Well, I'm not the kind of fellow to +talk sentiment, as you know. But I've had fair luck in life, and I feel +pretty pleased with myself, and if I can do anybody a friendly turn -- +anybody that deserves it -- I'm all there. I want you just to think of +me as a friend, and nothing else. You're rather set against me, I know; +but try and forget all about that. Things are changed. After all, you +know, I'm one of the men that people talk about; my name has got into +the "directories of talent", as somebody calls them; and I have a good +deal at stake. It won't do for me to go fooling about any more. All I +mean is, that you can trust me, down to the ground. And there's nobody I +would be better pleased to help in a friendly way than you, Mrs. Rolfe.' + +Alma was gazing at him in surprise, mingled with apprehension. + +'Please say what you mean. I don't see how you can possibly do me any +service. I have given up all thought of a professional career. + +'I know you have. I'm sorry for it, but it isn't that I want to talk +about. You don't see Mrs. Carnaby, but I suppose you hear of her now and +then?' + +'Very rarely.' + +'You know that she has been taken up by Lady Isobel Barker?' + +'Who is Lady Isobel Barker?' + +'Why, she's a daughter of the Earl of Bournemouth, and she married a +fellow on the Stock Exchange. There are all sorts of amusing stories +about her. I don't mean anything shady -- just the opposite. She did a +good deal of slumming at the time when it was fashionable, and started a +home for women of a certain kind -- all that sort of thing. Barker is by +way of being a millionaire, and they live in great style; have Royalties +down at Boscombe, and so on. Well, Mrs. Carnaby has got hold of her. I +don't know how she managed it. Just after that affair it looked as if +she would have a bad time. People cut her -- you know all about that?' + +'No, I don't. You mean that they thought ----' + +'Just so; they did think.' He nodded and smiled. 'She was all the talk +at the clubs, and, no doubt, in the boudoirs. I wasn't a friend of hers, +you know -- I met her now and then, that was all; so I didn't quite know +what to think. But it looked -- _didn't_ it?' + +Alma avoided his glance, and said nothing. + +'I shouldn't wonder,' pursued Dymes, 'if she went to Lady Isobel and +talked about her hard case, and just asked for help. At all events, last +May we began to hear of Mrs. Carnaby again. Women who wanted to be +thought smart had quite altered their tone about her. Men laughed, but +some of them began to admit that the case was doubtful. At all events, +Lady Isobel was on her side, and that meant a good deal.' + +'And she went about in society just as if nothing had happened?' + +'No, no. That would have been bad taste, considering where her husband +was. She wasn't seen much, only talked about. She's a clever woman, and +by the time Carnaby's let loose she'll have played the game so well that +things will be made pretty soft for him. I'm told he's a bit of a +globe-trotter, sportsman, and so on. All he has to do is to knock up a +book of travels, and it'll go like wildfire.' + +Alma had pulled to pieces a tassel on her chair. + +'What has all this to do with me?' she asked abruptly. + +'I'm coming to that. You don't know anything about Mrs. Strangeways +either? Well, there _may_ be a doubt about Mrs. Carnaby, but there's none +about Mrs. S. She's just about as bad as they make 'em. I could tell you +things -- but I won't. What I want to know is, did you quarrel with +her?' + +'Quarrel! Why should we have quarrelled? What had I to do with her?' + +'Nothing about Redgrave?' asked Dymes, pushing his head forward and +speaking confidentially. + +'What do you mean?' + +'No harm, I assure you -- all the other way. I _know_ Mrs. Strangeways, +and I've had a good deal of talk with her lately, and I couldn't help +suspecting you had a reason of your own for getting clear of her. Let me +tell you, first of all, that she's left her house in Porchester Terrace. +My belief is that she and her husband haven't a five-pound note between +them. And the queer thing is, that this has come about since Redgrave's +death.' + +He paused to give his words their full significance. Alma, no longer +disguising her interest, faced him with searching eyes. + +'She's a bad un,' pursued the musician, 'and I shouldn't care to tell +all I think about her life for the last few years. I've seen a good deal +of life myself, you know, and I don't pretend to be squeamish; but I +draw a line for women. Mrs. Strangeways goes a good bit beyond it, as I +know for certain.' + +'What is it to _me_?' said Alma, with tremulous impatience. + +'Why, this much. She is doing her best to harm you, and in a devilish +artful way. She tries to make _me_ believe -- and it's certain she says +the same to others -- that what happened at Wimbledon was _the result of +a plot between you and Redgrave's housekeeper_!' + +Alma stared at him, her parted lips quivering with an abortive laugh. + +'Do you understand? She says that you were furiously jealous of Mrs +Carnaby, and didn't care what you did to ruin her; that you put +Redgrave's housekeeper up to telling Carnaby lies about his wife.' + +'How long has she been saying this?' + +'I heard it for the first time about two months ago. But let me go on. +The interesting thing is that, at the time of the trial and after it, +she was all the other way. She as good as told me that she had proof +against Mrs. Carnaby; I fancy she told lots of people the same. She +talked as if she hated the woman. But now that Mrs. Carnaby is looking up +-- you see? -- she's going to play Mrs. Carnaby's game at your expense. +What I should like to know is whether they've done it together?' + +'There can't be much doubt of that,' said Alma, between her teeth. + +'I don't know,' rejoined the other cautiously. 'Have you reason to think +that Mrs. Carnaby would like to injure you?' + +'I'm quite sure she would do so if it benefited herself.' + +'And yet you were fast friends not long ago, weren't you?' asked Dymes, +with a look of genuine curiosity. + +'We don't always know people as well as we think. Where is that woman +living now? -- I mean, Mrs. Strangeways.' + +'That's more than I can tell you. She is -- or is supposed to be -- out +of town. I saw her last just before she left her house.' + +'Is the other in town?' + +'Mrs. Carnaby? I don't know. I was going to say,' Dymes pursued, 'that +the story Mrs. S. has been telling seems to me very clumsy, and that's +why I don't think the other has any hand in it. She seemed to have +forgotten that Redgrave's housekeeper, who was wanted by the police, +wasn't likely to put herself in Carnaby's way -- the man she had robbed. +I pointed that out, but she only laughed. "We're not bound to believe," +she said, "all that Carnaby said on his trial."' + +'We are not,' Alma remarked, with a hard smile. + +'You think he dressed things up a bit?' + +'I think,' answered Alma, 'that he may have known more than he told.' + +'That's my idea, too. But never mind; whatever the truth may be, that +woman is doing you a serious injury. I felt you ought to know about it. +People have talked about you a good deal, wondering why on earth you +dropped out of sight so suddenly after that splendid start; and it was +only natural they should connect your name with the Carnaby affair, +knowing, as so many did, that you were a friend of theirs, and of +Redgrave too.' + +'I knew Mr. Redgrave,' said Alma, 'but I was no friend of his.' + +Dymes peered at her. + +'Didn't he interest himself a good deal in your business?' + +'Not more than many other people.' + +'Well, I'm very glad to hear that,' said Dymes, looking about the room. +'I tell you, honestly, that whenever I have a chance of speaking up for +you, I shall do it.' + +'I am very much obliged, but I really don't think it matters what is +said of me. I am not likely ever to meet the people who talk about such +things.' + +She said it in so convincing a tone that Dymes looked at her gravely. + +'I never know any one change so much,' he observed. 'Is it really your +health? No other reason for giving up such magnificent chances?' + +'Of course, I have my reasons. They concern nobody but myself.' + +'I might give a guess, I dare say. Well, you're the best judge, and we +won't say any more about that. But look here -- about Mrs. S. and her +scandal. I feel sure, as I said, that she's toadying to Mrs. Carnaby, and +expects to make her gain out of it somehow. Her husband's a loafing, +gambling fellow, and I shouldn't wonder if he gave her the skip. Most +likely she'll have to live by her wits, and we know what that means in a +woman of her kind. She'll be more or less dangerous to everybody that's +worth blackmailing.' + +'You think she had -- she was dependent in some way upon Mr. Redgrave?' +asked Alma, in an undertone. + +'I've heard so. Shall I tell you what a woman said who is very likely to +know? Long ago, in the time of her first marriage, she got hold of +something about him that would have made a furious scandal, and he had +to pay for her silence. All gossip; but there's generally a foundation +for that kind of thing. If it's true, no doubt she has been at his +relatives since his death. It doesn't look as if they were disposed to +be bled. Perhaps they turned the tables on her. She has looked sour and +disappointed enough for a long time.' + +'I was just thinking,' said Alma, with an air of serious deliberation, +'whether it would be worth while for _me_ to turn the tables on her, and +prosecute her for slander.' + +'If you take my advice, you'll keep out of that,' replied the other, +with emphasis. 'But another thing has occurred to me. I see your opinion +of Mrs. Carnaby, and no doubt you have good reason for it. Now, would it +be possible to frighten her? Have you' -- he peered more keenly -- 'any +evidence that would make things awkward for Mrs. Carnaby?' + +Alma kept close lips, breathing rapidly. + +'If you _have_,' pursued the other, 'just give her a hint that Mrs +Strangeways had better stop talking. You'll find it effectual, no +doubt.' + +He watched her, and tried to interpret the passion in her eyes. + +'If I think it necessary,' said Alma, and seemed to check herself. + +'No need to say any more. I wished to put you on your guard, that's all. +We've known each other for a longish time, and I've often enough felt +sorry that something didn't come off -- you remember when. No good +talking about that; but I shall always be glad if I can be a friend to +you. And, I say, don't think any more about that cheque, there's a good +girl.' + +The note of familiar patronage was more than distasteful to Alma. + +'I shall, of course, send it,' she replied curtly. + +'As you please. Would you like to hear a bit from my new opera? It isn't +every one gets the chance, you know.' + +Quite in his old way, he seated himself at the piano, and ran lightly +through a few choice _morceaux_, exacting praise, and showing himself +vexed because it was not fervent. In spite of her wandering thoughts, +Alma felt the seductiveness of these melodies -- their originality, +their grace -- and once more she wondered at their coming from the mind +of such a man. + +'Very pretty.' + +'Pretty!' exclaimed the composer scornfully. 'It's a good deal more than +that, and you know it. I don't care -- there's somebody else feels +deuced proud of me, and good reason too. Well, ta-ta!' + +There are disadvantages in associating with people whose every word, +as likely as not, may be an insidious falsehood. Thinking over what +she had heard from Dymes, Alma was inclined to believe him; on the +other hand, she knew it to be quite possible that he sought her with +some interested motive. The wise thing, she knew, would be to +disregard his reports, and hold aloof from the world in which they +originated. But she had a strong desire to see Mrs. Strangeways. +There might be someone at the house in Porchester Terrace who could +help her to discover its late tenant. However dangerous the woman's +wiles and slanders, an interview with her could do no harm, and +might set at rest a curiosity long lurking, now feverishly +stimulated. With regard to Sibyl, there could be little doubt that +Dymes had heard, or conjectured, the truth. Sibyl was clever enough +to make her perilous reverse a starting-point for new social +conquests. Were there but a hope of confronting her with some fatal +disclosure, and dragging her down, down! + +That cheque must be sent. She would show Harvey the account this +evening, and have done with the unpleasantness of it. Probably he +remembered from time to time that she had never told him how her +business with Dymes was settled. No more duplicity. The money would +be paid, and therewith finis to that dragging chapter of her life. + +Harvey came home at five o'clock, and, as usual, had tea with her. Of +late he had been uneasy about Cecil Morphew, whose story Alma knew; +today he spoke more hopefully. + +'Shall I bring him here tomorrow, and make him stay over Sunday? +Sunday is his bad day, and no wonder. If there were a licensed +poison-shop in London, they'd do a very fair trade on Sundays.' + +'There are the public-houses,' said Alma. + +'Yes; but Morphew doesn't incline that way. The fellow has delicate +instincts, and suffers all the more; so the world is made. I can't +help hoping it may come right for him yet. I have a suspicion that +Mrs. Winter may be on his side; if so, it's only a question of time. +I keep at him like a slave-driver; he _has_ to work whilst I'm +there; and he takes it very good-humouredly. But you mustn't give +him music, Alma; he says he can't stand it.' + +'I'm much obliged to him,' she answered, laughing. + +'You understand well enough.' + +After dinner Alma found her courage and the fitting moment. + +'I have something disagreeable to talk about. Mr. Dymes called this +afternoon, and handed in his _bill_' + +'His bill? Yes, yes, I remember. -- What's all this? Surely you haven't +obliged him to come looking after his money?' + +'It's the first account I have received.' + +Rolfe puckered his face a little as he perused the document, but ended, +as he began, with a smile. In silence he turned to the writing-table, +took out his cheque-book, and wrote. + +'You don't mind its being in my name?' + +'Not at all. Indeed, I prefer it. But I am sorry and ashamed,' she added +in a murmur. + +'Let it be taken to the post at once,' said Rolfe quietly. + +When this was done, Alma made known what Dymes had told her about Sibyl, +speaking in an unconcerned voice, and refraining from any hint of +suspicion or censure. + +'I had heard of it,' said Harvey, with troubled brow, and evidently +wished to say no more. + +'What do you suppose Mr. Carnaby will do?' Alma inquired. + +'Impossible to say. I'm told that the business at Coventry is +flourishing, and no doubt his interest in it remains. I hear, too, that +those Queensland mines are profitable at last. So there'll be no money +troubles. But what he will do ----' + +The subject was dropped. + +Harvey had succeeded in hiding his annoyance at the large debt to Dymes, +a sum he could ill afford; but he was glad to have paid it, and pleased +with Alma's way of dismissing it to oblivion. The talk that followed had +turned his mind upon a graver trouble: he sat thinking of Hugh Carnaby. +Dear old Hugh! Not long ago the report ran that his health was in a bad +state. To one who knew him the wonder was that he kept alive. But the +second year drew on. + + +CHAPTER 9 + + +On Monday morning, when Harvey and his friend had started for town, and +Hughie was at school, Alma made ready to go out. In many months she had +been to London only two or three times. Thus alone could she subdue +herself. She tried to forget all that lay eastward from Gunnersbury, +rejecting every kind of town amusement, and finding society in a very +small circle of acquaintances who lived almost as quietly as herself. +But this morning she yielded to the impulse made irresistible by Dymes's +visit. In leaving the house, she seemed to escape from an atmosphere so +still and heavy that it threatened her blood with stagnation; she +breathed deeply of the free air, and hastened towards the railway as if +she had some great pleasure before her. + +But this mood had passed long before the end of her journey. Alighting +at Queen's Road, she walked hurriedly to Porchester Terrace, and from +the opposite side of the way had a view of Mrs. Strangeways' house. It +was empty, to let. She crossed, and rang the bell, on the chance that +some caretaker might be within; but no one answered. Her heart throbbing +painfully, she went on a little distance, then stood irresolute. A cab +crawled by; she raised her hand, and gave the direction, 'Oxford and +Cambridge Mansions'. Once here, she had no difficulty in carrying out +her purpose. Passion came to her aid; and when Sibyl's door opened she +could hardly wait for an invitation before stepping in. + +The drawing-room was changed; it had been refurnished, and looked even +more luxurious than formerly. For nearly ten minutes she had to stand +waiting; seat herself she could not. Then entered Sibyl. + +'Good morning, Mrs. Rolfe. I am glad to see you.' + +The latter sentence was spoken not as a mere phrase of courtesy, but +with intention, with quiet yet unmistakable significance. Sibyl did not +offer her hand; she moved a chair so that its back was to the light, and +sat down very much as she might have done if receiving an applicant for +a 'situation'. + +'You had some reason for coming so early?' + +Alma, who had felt uncertain how this interview would begin, was glad +that she had to meet no pretences of friendship. Her heart burned within +her; she was pallid, and her eyes shone fiercely. + +'I came to ask if you could tell me where Mrs. Strangeways is to be +found?' + +'Mrs. Strangeways?' Sibyl repeated, with cold surprise. 'I know nothing +about her.' + +Feeling in every way at a disadvantage -- contrast of costume told in +Sibyl's favour, and it was enhanced by the perfection of her +self-command -- Alma could not maintain the mockery of politeness. + +'Of course, you say that,' she rejoined haughtily; 'and, of course, I +don't believe it.' + +'That is nothing to me, Mrs. Rolfe,' remarked the other, smiling. +'Doubtless you have your own reasons for declining to believe me; just +as you have your own reasons for -- other things. Your next inquiry?' + +'Hasn't it been rather unwise of you, keeping away from me all this +time?' + +'Unwise? I hardly see your meaning.' + +'It looked rather as if you felt afraid to meet me.' + +'I see; that is your point of view.' Sibyl seemed to reflect upon it +calmly. 'To me, on the other hand, it appeared rather strange that I +neither saw nor heard from you at a time when other friends were showing +their sympathy. I heard that you were ill for a short time, and felt +sorry I was unable to call. Later, you still kept silence. I didn't know +the reason, and could hardly be expected to ask for it. As for being +afraid to meet you -- that, I suppose, is a suspicion natural to your +mind. We won't discuss it. Is there any other question you would like to +ask?' + +Humiliated by her inability to reply with anything but a charge she +could not support, and fearing the violence of her emotions if she were +longer subjected to this frigid insult, Alma rose. + +'One moment, if you please,' continued Mrs. Carnaby. 'I was glad that you +had come, as I had half wished for an opportunity of speaking a few +words to you. It isn't a matter of much importance, but I may as well +say, perhaps, that you are indiscreet in your way of talking about me to +your friends. Of course, we haven't many acquaintances in common, but I +happen to have heard the opinion of me which you expressed to -- let me +see, some ladies named Leach, whom I once knew slightly. It seems hardly +worth while to take serious steps in the matter -- though I might find +it necessary. I only wish, in your own interest, to say a word of +warning. You have behaved, all things considered' -- she dwelt on the +phrase -- 'rather indiscreetly.' + +'I said what I knew to be the truth,' replied Alma, meeting her look +with the satisfaction of defiance. + +Sibyl approached one step. + +'You knew it?' she asked, very softly and deliberately, searching the +passionate face with eyes as piercing as they were beautiful. + +'With certainty.' + +'I used to think you intelligent,' said Sibyl, 'but I fancy you don't +perceive what this "certainty" of yours suggests.' She paused, with a +curling lip. 'Let me put you on your guard. You have very little command +of your primitive feelings, and they bring you into danger. I should be +sorry to think that an unpleasant story I have heard whispered was +anything more than ill-natured scandal, but it's as well to warn you +that _other_ people have a taste for that kind of gossip.' + +'I'm well aware of it,' flashed the listener. 'And that was the very +reason why I came to ask you where Mrs. Strangeways is hiding.' + +'Mrs. Rolfe, you are aware of too many things. In your position I should +be uneasy.' + +'I will leave you to enjoy your _own_ uneasiness,' returned Alma, with a +contemptuous laugh. 'You must have enough of it, without imagining that +of others.' + +She half turned. Sibyl again took one step forward, and spoke with ever +so little tremor in the even voice. + +'You have understood me, I hope?' + +'Oh, quite. You have shown plainly how -- afraid you are. Good morning, +Mrs. Carnaby.' + +Baker Street station being so near, Alma was tempted to go straightway +and demand from the Leach sisters an explanation of what she had heard; +they, too, seemed to be behaving treacherously. But she was unwilling to +miss the luncheon hour at home, for Hughie would speak of it to his +father, and so oblige her to make false excuses. Besides, she had +suffered more than enough indignity (though not unavenged!), and it was +better to summon the sisters to her presence. + +On reaching home, she at once sent them an ordinary invitation, but of +the briefest. In the evening she received Dymes's acknowledgment of the +cheque. Next day she wrote to him, a few formal lines, requesting that +he would let her know Mrs. Strangeways' address as soon as he had +discovered it. + +Dora Leach came to Gunnersbury alone. She was in distress and worry, for +her father had fallen ill again, and the doctors doubted whether he +would ever be fit to resume work; it had just dawned upon Dora that the +breadwinner of the family deserved rather more consideration than he had +been wont to receive, and that his death might involve unpleasant +consequences for those dependent upon him. To Alma's questioning she +replied frankly and with self-reproach. It was true that she had +whispered her friend's suspicions of Mrs. Carnaby, but only to one +person, and in strictest confidence. Neither she nor Gerda had met Mrs +Carnaby, and how the whisper could have reached Sibyl's ears was +inconceivable to her. + +'It doesn't matter in the least,' said Alma, finally. 'To tell you the +truth, I'm not sorry.' + +'Why, that's just what I thought!' exclaimed Dora, with sudden clearing +of her countenance. + +In a fortnight or so there came a note from Dymes, written at Brussels. +He had ascertained that Mrs. Strangeways was somewhere on the Continent, +but as yet he could not succeed in 'running her down'. Let Mrs. Rolfe +depend upon his zeal in this search, as in any other matter in which he +could be of use to her. Unfortunately, this envelope came under Harvey's +eyes, and Alma, knowing he had seen it, felt obliged to speak. + +'Mr. Dymes refuses to believe that I shall never play again in public,' +she remarked, putting down his letter, as carelessly as possible, by her +plate at breakfast. + +'Does he pester you? If so, it might be better for me to ----' + +'Oh dear, no! I can manage my own correspondence, Harvey, thank you.' + +Her tone of slight petulance was due to fear that he might ask to see +the letter, and it had its effect. But Alma's heart sank at the +deception, and her skill in practising it. Was it impossible to become +what she desired to be, an honest woman! Only yesterday Harvey had +spoken to her with vexation of a piece of untruthfulness in Hughie, and +had begged her to keep a watch upon the child's habit in this respect. +And she had promised, with much earnestness, much concern. + +There are women who can breathe only in the air of lies and of +treachery. Alma rebelled against the fate which made her life +dishonourable. Fate -- she declared -- not the depravity of her own +heart. From the dark day that saw her father's ruin, she had been +condemned to a struggle with circumstances. She meant honestly; she +asked no more than the free exercise of instincts nature had given her; +but destiny was adverse, and step by step had brought her into a +position so false, so hopeless, that she wondered at her strength in +living on. + +Hughie had begun to learn the maps of countries, and prided himself on +naming them as he turned over an atlas. One day, about this time, she +looked over his shoulder and saw the map of Italy. + +'Those are lakes,' said the child, pointing north. 'Tell me their names, +Mother.' + +But she was silent. Her eye had fallen upon Garda, and at the head of +the lake was a name which thrilled her memory. What if she had gone to +Riva? Suddenly, and for the first time, she saw it as a thing that might +have happened; not as a mere dark suggestion abhorrent to her thought. +Had she known the world a little better, it might have been. Then, how +different her life! Pleasure, luxury, triumph; for she had proved +herself capable of triumphing. He, the man of money and influence, would +have made it his pride to smooth the way for her. And perhaps never a +word against her reputation; or, if whispers, did she not know by this +time how indulgent society can be to its brilliant favourites? + +As it was: a small house at Gunnersbury, a baffled ambition, a life of +envy, hatred, fear, suffered in secret, hidden by base or paltry +subterfuge. A husband whom she respected, whose love she had never +ceased to desire, though, strange to say, she knew not whether she loved +him. Only death could part them; but how much better for him and for her +if they had never met! Their thoughts and purposes so unlike; he, with +his heart and mind set on grave, quiet, restful things, hating the +world's tumult, ever hoping to retire beyond its echo; she, her senses +crying for the delight of an existence that loses itself in whirl and +glare. + +In a crowded drawing-room she had heard someone draw attention to her -- +'the daughter of Bennet Frothingham'. That was how people thought of +her, and would it not have been wiser if she had so thought of herself? +Daughter of a man who had set all on a great hazard; who had played for +the world's reward, and, losing, flung away his life. What had _she_ to +do with domestic virtues, and the pleasures of a dull, decorous circle? +Could it but come over again, she would accept the challenge of +circumstance, which she had failed to understand; accept the scandal and +the hereditary shame; welcome the lot cast for her, and, like her +father, play boldly for the great stakes. His widow might continue to +hold her pious faith in him, and refuse to believe that his name merited +obloquy; his child knew better. She had mistaken her path, lost the +promise of her beauty and her talent, led astray by the feeble prejudice +of those who have neither one nor the other. Too late, and worse than +idle now, to recognise it. She would be a good woman, rule her little +house, bring up her child, and have no will but her husband's. + +House-ruling was no easy matter. Things did not go as she wished; the +servants were inefficient, sometimes refractory, and she loathed the +task of keeping them up to their duties. Insomnia began to trouble her +again, and presently she had recourse to the forbidden sleeping-draught. +Not regularly, but once a week or so, when the long night harried her +beyond endurance. Rolfe did not suspect it, for she never complained to +him. Winter was her bad time. In the spring her health would improve, as +usual, and then she would give up the habit. + +At Christmas the Langlands had the customary visit from their relative, +Mr. Thistlewood, who renewed his acquaintance with Alma. At their first +meeting she was struck by his buoyant air, his animated talk. A week +later, he called in the afternoon. Two ladies happened to be with Alma, +and they stayed a long time; but Thistlewood, who comported himself +rather oddly, saying little and sometimes neglecting a remark addressed +to him, stayed yet longer. When he was alone with his hostess, he took a +chair near to her, bent forward, and said, smiling ---- + +'You remember our talk about marriage on a minute income?' + +'I do, very well.' + +'I have found someone who isn't afraid of it.' + +'You have? The same person who formerly _was_?' + +'No; she was not afraid of the income, but of me. I couldn't be +surprised, though it hit me hard. Time has spoken for me.' + +Harvey was dining in town. He came back with vexatious news about Cecil +Morphew, who neglected business, looked ill, and altogether seemed in a +bad way. As he talked, he began to notice that Alma regarded him with +brighter and happier eyes than for many a day. + +'Why does it amuse you?' he asked, stopping in his narrative. + +'It doesn't; I'm as sorry as you are. But I have a surprise for you.' + +'A pleasant one, this time, I see.' + +'Mrs. Abbott is going to marry Mr. Thistlewood.' + +She watched the effect of her words, and for an instant felt the old +pang, the old bitterness. But Harvey's confusion of feeling soon passed, +giving way to a satisfaction that could not be mistaken. + +'Who has told you?' + +'The happy man himself.' + +'I am glad -- heartily glad! But I didn't think it would interest you so +much.' + +'Oh, women -- marriages ----!' + +She threw a pretty scorn upon herself. + +'Yes, that's good news. They will suit each other. But she'll give up +her school, and that's a nuisance.' + +'There are others as good.' + +'But not here. Another removal, I suppose. -- When is it to be?' + +'Not till the Easter holidays.' + +They were in the library. Harvey began to fill his pipe, and nothing +more was said until he had drawn a few meditative puffs. + +'Another removal,' then escaped him, with half a groan. + +'Why should you care?' asked Alma thoughtfully. 'You don't like this +place.' + +'As well as any other. It's convenient for town.' + +'Do you really think of going on in that business, which you detest?' + +'It has brought in a little money, and may -- ought to -- bring more. +But if Morphew goes down ----' + +Alma glanced at him, and said timidly ---- + +'You are going to Greystone at Easter.' + +'We shall all go. What of that?' + +'Haven't you' -- she spoke with an effort -- 'sometimes thought you +would like to live there?' + +'Great heavens -- Alma!' + +He stared at her in humorous astonishment, then slowly shook his head. +How could _she_ live in such a place as Greystone? And what on earth did +she mean by disturbing him with such a suggestion? But Alma, gravely and +repeatedly, assured him that she could live there very well; that in all +likelihood she would be much more contented there than here. + +'I should bring out my violin again, and the Greystone people would +admire me. There's a confession -- to prove that I am in earnest. I +can't conquer the world; I don't wish it; that's all over. But I should +find it pleasant to have a reputation in Greystone -- I should indeed.' + +Harvey sighed, and could not look at her. + +'And Hughie,' she continued, 'would go to the Grammar-School. You know +how you would like that. And living there is cheap; we might keep our +horse again. -- Don't say anything now, but think about it.' + +He raised his eyes, and fixed them upon her with a look of infinite +tenderness and gratitude. It was Alma now who sighed, but not audibly. + +Before Thistlewood went north again, Harvey enjoyed long talks with him. +Mary Abbott he saw only in the presence of other people. But on an +evening in February, when Alma was at the Langlands' and he had promised +to call for her at ten o'clock, he left home an hour earlier and walked +past Mrs. Abbott's house. A light in the window of her sitting-room +showed that Mary was at home. After a turn or two backwards and +forwards, he went up to the door and knocked. A very young servant took +his name to her mistress, and then admitted him. + +'Will you let me answer your letter personally?' he said, as Mrs. Abbott +welcomed him in the room where she sat alone. + +She had written about Minnie Wager, begging that he would in future +cease to contribute to the girl's support, and be responsible only for +the boy. In her new home there would be no need of a servant; she and +Minnie would do the housework together. Impossible, she wrote, to speak +of his kindness both to her and the children. For Minnie, who might +henceforth be looked upon as self-supporting, he must no longer be +taxed. The child owed him every hope in her life; let him be satisfied +with what he had done so generously. + +Of these things they talked for a few minutes. It was easy to see how +great a change had befallen Mary Abbott's outlook upon life. She was +younger by several years, yet not like herself of that earlier time; +much gentler, much sweeter in face and word. Harvey observed her with +keen pleasure, and, becoming aware of his gaze, his smile, she blushed +like a girl. + +'Mr. Rolfe -- I am sure you feel that I am deserting my post.' + +'To be sure you are. I shall always owe you a grudge for it.' + +'I thought of it all -- of Hughie and the others. I didn't know how I +should ever face you.' + +''Twas a shameless thing. And yet I can find it in my heart to forgive +you. You are so ingenuous about it.' + +Mary looked up again. + +'What shall you do -- about Hughie?' + +'Oh, there's a great scheme on foot. Alma suggests that we shall go and +live at Greystone. It tempts me.' + +'That it must, indeed! I know how you would like it.' + +'We shouldn't be so very far apart then -- an hour's journey or so. You +would come to us, and we to you.' + +'Delightful!' + +They had not much more to say, but each was conscious of thought in the +other's mind that supplemented their insufficient phrases. As they shook +hands, Mary seemed trying to speak. The lamplight made a glimmer in her +eyes, and their lids drooped as she said at length ---- + +'I am so glad that you like each other.' + +'He's a splendid fellow,' replied Rolfe joyously. 'I think no end of +him.' + +'And he of you -- for I have told him everything.' + +Then Harvey quitted the house, and walked about under the starry sky +until it was time to call for Alma. + + +CHAPTER 10 + + +Yet once again did Alma hypnotise her imagination with a newideal of +life. Her talk was constantly of Greystone. She began a correspondence +with Mrs. Morton, who did her best to encourage all pleasant +anticipations -- careful the while, at her husband's bidding and +Harvey's too, not to exaggerate the resources of Greystone for a mind +and temper such as Alma's. Of course the little town had its musical +circle, in which Mrs. Rolfe's talent would find an appreciative +reception. Touching on this point to her correspondent, Alma remarked, +with emphasised modesty, that she must _not_ be regarded as a +professional violinist; it would be better, perhaps, if nothing were +said about her 'rather audacious experiment' in London. Meanwhile, a +suitable house was being looked for. There need be no hurry; Midsummer +was the earliest possible date for removal, and a few months later might +prove more convenient. + +At Easter came Mary Abbott's wedding, which was celebrated as quietly as +might be. Alma had done her utmost to atone for bygone slights and +coldness; she and Mary did not love each other, nor ever could, and for +that reason they were all the more affectionate at this agitating time. +When all was over, the Rolfes set forth on their visit to Greystone. +Harvey could not look forward to complete enjoyment of the holiday, for +by this time Cecil Morphew had succumbed to his old habits of tossing +indolence, and only pretended to look after his business. If Harvey +withdrew, the shop must either be closed or pass into other hands. +Pecuniary loss was the least vexatious part of the affair. Morphew, +reckless in the ruin of his dearest hope, would seek excitement, try +once more to enrich himself by gambling, and so go down to the depths +whence there is no rescue. As a last hope, Harvey had written to +Henrietta Winter a long letter of all but passionate appeal; for answer +he received a few lines, infinitely sorrowful, but of inflexible +resolve. 'In the sight of God, Mr. Morphew already has a wife. I should +be guilty of a crime if I married him.' With a desperate ejaculation, +Rolfe crushed up the sheet of paper, and turned to other things. + +Whilst she was at Greystone, Alma heard again from Felix Dymes, his +letter having been forwarded. He wrote that Mrs. Strangeways was about to +return to England, and that before long she might be heard of at a +certain hotel in London. As this letter had escaped Harvey's notice, +Alma was spared the necessity of shaping a fiction about it. Glad of +this, and all but decided to put Mrs. Strangeways utterly out of her life +and mind, she sent no answer. + +But when she had been back again for some weeks at Gunnersbury; when a +house at Greystone was taken (though it would not be ready for them till +Michaelmas); when she was endeavouring, day after day, to teach Hughie, +and to manage her servants, and to support a wavering hope, there +arrived one morning a letter from Mrs. Strangeways. It was dated from the +hotel which Dymes had mentioned, and it asked Alma to call there. A +simple, friendly invitation, suggestive of tea and chat. Alma did not +speak of it, and for an hour or two thought she could disregard it +altogether. But that evening she talked to Harvey of shopping she had to +do in town, and the following afternoon she called upon Mrs. Strangeways. + +A lift carried her to the topmost, or all but topmost, storey of the +vast hotel, swarming, murmurous. She entered a small sitting-room, +pretentiously comfortless, and from a chair by the open window -- for it +was a day of hot sunshine -- Mrs. Strangeways rose to greet her; quite in +the old way, smiling with head aside, cooing rapidly an effusive +welcome. Alma looked round to see that the door was shut; then, +declining the offered hand, she said coldly ---- + +'You are mistaken if you think I have come as a friend.' + +'Oh! I am so sorry to hear you say that. Do sit down, and let me hear +all about it. I have so looked forward to seeing you.' + +'I am only here to ask what good it can do you to talk ill of me.' + +'I really don't understand. I am quite at a loss.' + +'But I know for certain that you have tried to injure me by telling +extraordinary falsehoods.' + +Mrs. Strangeways regarded her with an air of gently troubled deprecation. + +'Oh, you have been grievously misled. Who can have told you this?' + +'The name doesn't matter. I have no doubt of the fact.' + +'But at least you will tell me what I am supposed to have said.' + +Alma hesitated, and only after several interchanges of question and +answer did the full extent of her accusation appear. Thereupon Mrs +Strangeways smiled, as if with forbearance. + +'Now I understand. But I have been cruelly misrepresented. I heard such +a rumour, and I did my best to contradict it. I heard it, unfortunately, +more than once.' + +Again Alma found herself in conflict with an adroitness, a +self-possession, so much beyond her own, that the sense of being +maliciously played with goaded her into rage. + +'No one but yourself could ever have started such a story!' + +'You mean,' sounded the other voice, still soft, though not quite so +amiable, 'that I was the only person who knew ----' + +And there Mrs. Strangeways paused, as if discreetly. + +'Knew? Knew what?' + +'Only that you had reason for a little spite against your dear friend.' + +'Suppose it was so,' exclaimed Alma, remembering too well her last +conversation with this woman. 'Whatever you knew, or thought you knew, +about me -- and it was little enough -- you have been making use of it +disgracefully.' + +'You say I knew very little,' put in the other, turning a ring upon her +hand; 'but you will admit that it was enough to excite my curiosity. May +I not have taken trouble to learn more?' + +'Any amount of trouble would have taught you nothing; there was nothing +to discover. And that you know as well as I do.' + +Mrs. Strangeways moved her head, as if in good-natured acquiescence. + +'Don't let us be harsh with each other, my dear. We have both had our +worries and trials in consequence of that unfortunate affair. You, I can +see, have gone through a good deal; I assure you, so have I. But +oughtn't you to remember that our misfortunes were caused by the same +person? If I ----' + +'Your misfortunes are nothing to me. And I shouldn't think you would +care to talk about them.' + +'Surely I might say the same to you, my dear Alma? Is there very much to +choose between us?' + +Alma flushed with resentment, but had no word ready on her parched +tongue. The other went on in an unbroken flow of mocking good humour. + +'We ought to be the best of friends. I haven't the least wish to do you +harm, and nothing would please me better than to gratify your little +feeling against a certain person. I may be able to manage that. Let me +tell you something -- of course in the strictest confidence.' Her voice +was playful for a moment. 'I have been trying to find someone -- you +know who I mean -- who mysteriously disappeared. That interests you, I +see. It's very difficult; such people don't let themselves be dropped +upon by chance a second time. But, do you know, I have something very +like a clue, at last. Yes' -- she nodded familiarly -- 'I have.' + +In vain Alma tried to lock her lips. + +'What if you find her?' + +'Do you forget that someone will very soon be at large again, and that +someone's wife, a very clever woman, counts on deceiving the world as +she deceived _him_?' + +'You are sure she _did_ deceive him?' + +Mrs. Strangeways laughed. + +'You are acute, my dear. You see the puzzle from all sides. But I won't +go into that just now. What I want to show you is, that our interests +are the same. We should both dearly like to see a certain person shown +up. I begin to see my way to do it very thoroughly. It would delight you +if I were at liberty to tell what I actually _have_ got hold of, but you +must wait a little. My worst difficulty, now, is want of money. People +have to be bought, you know, and I am not rich ----. Don't you think you +could help a little?' + +The question came out with smooth abruptness, accompanied by a look +which startled the hearer. + +'I? I have no money.' + +'What an idea!' + +'I tell you I haven't a penny of my own!' + +'My dear Alma, you have obliging bankers. One of them is doing very well +indeed. You didn't go to his wedding?' + +Alma felt a chill of fear. The woman's eyes seemed to cast a net about +her, and to watch her struggle as it tightened. + +'I don't understand you. I have nothing to do with your plots.' + +She strung her muscles and stood up; but Mrs. Strangeways, scarcely +moving, still looked at her with baleful directness. + +'It would be a shame to lose our sport for want of a little money. I +must ask you to help, really.' + +'I can't -- and won't.' + +'I feel sure you will -- rather than have anything happen. You are +leading, I hear, a most exemplary life; I should be so sorry to disturb +it. But really, you _must_ help in our undertaking.' + +There was a very short silence. + +'A week, even a fortnight hence, will do. No great sum; two or three +hundred pounds. We won't say any more about it; I depend upon you. In a +fortnight's time will do.' + +'Do you imagine,' exclaimed Alma, on a high, quivering note, 'that I am +in your power?' + +'Hush! It is very dangerous to talk like that in a hotel. -- Think over +what I have said. You will find me here. Think, and remember. You will +be quite satisfied with the results, but your help is indispensable.' + +Therewith Mrs. Strangeways turned to the open window. Looking at her +elaborately plaited yellow hair, her thin neck, her delicate fingers +just touching the long throat, Alma felt instinct of savagery; in a +flash of the primitive mind, she saw herself spring upon her enemy, +tear, bite, destroy. The desire still shook her as she stood outside in +the corridor, waiting to descend. And in the street she walked like a +somnambulist, with wide eyes, straight on. Curious glances at length +recalled her to herself; she turned hurriedly from the crowded highway. + +Before reaching home, she had surveyed her position, searched her +memory. 'The wretch is counting on my weakness. Knowing she can do +nothing, she thinks I shall be frightened by the threat. Money? And +perhaps all she said only a lie to tempt me! Let her do her worst -- and +that will be nothing.' + +And by this she held, letting the days go by. The fortnight passed. She +was ill with apprehension, with suspense; but nothing happened. Three +weeks, and nothing happened. Then Alma laughed, and went about the house +singing her deliverance. + +On that day, Mrs. Strangeways sat talking with Mrs. Carnaby, in the +latter's drawing-room. Her manner was deferential, but that of a friend. +Sibyl, queening it at some distance, had the air of conferring a favour +as she listened. + +'I haven't the least doubt that I shall soon lay my hand upon her. I +have had an answer to my last advertisement.' + +'Then let me see it,' replied Sibyl coldly. + +'Impossible. I put myself in a position of much danger. I dare not trust +even you, Mrs. Carnaby.' + +'Very well. You know my promise. Get her into the hands of the police, +and your reward is waiting.' + +'But I may lose my opportunity, for want of money. If you would trust me +with only -- say a hundred pounds.' + +'Not a farthing. I didn't ask you to undertake this. If you do it, well +and good, I will pay you. But nothing till then.' + +Mrs. Strangeways perused the carpet. + +'Anyone else,' she murmured, 'might be tempted to think that you didn't +really care to have her caught.' + +'You may be tempted to think exactly what you like,' answered Sibyl, +with fine scorn. + +The other scrutinised her, with an eye of anxious uncertainty. + +'Have you thought, again, of taking any steps in the other matter?' + +'Have you anything to show?' + +'No. But it can be obtained. A charge of slander could be brought +against her at any moment. If you prefer libel, it is merely taking a +little trouble.' + +Sibyl reflected. + +'There is no hurry. I will pay you, as I said, for any trustworthy +evidence -- of any kind. You bring me none. -- Does she come to see +you?' + +'Occasionally.' + +'And -- have you succeeded in making _her_ pay?' asked Sibyl, with a +curl of the lips. + +Mrs. Strangeways merely smiled. After a brief pause, Sibyl looked at her +watch, and rose. + +'I have an engagement. And -- pray don't trouble to come again unless +you have really something to come for. I can't pretend to have any taste +for this kind of conversation. It really matters very little; we know +that woman will be caught some day, and I shall have the pleasure of +prosecuting her for stealing my jewellery and things. The other person +-- perhaps she is a little beneath my notice.' + +She rang the bell, and Mrs. Strangeways, having no alternative, slightly +bent her head and withdrew. + +Mrs. Carnaby had no engagement; she was quite at leisure, and, as usual +nowadays, spent her leisure in thought. She did not read much, and not +at all in the solid books which were to be seen lying about her rooms; +but Lady Isobel Barker, and a few other people, admired her devotion to +study. Certainly one or two lines had begun to reveal themselves on +Sibyl's forehead, which might possibly have come of late reading and +memory overstrained; they might also be the record of other experiences. +Her beauty was more than ever of the austere type; in regarding her, one +could have murmured -- + +Chaste a' the icicle +That's curded by the frost from purest snow, +And hangs on Dian's temple. + +But in privacy Sibyl did not look her best. Assuredly not after the +withdrawal of Mrs. Strangeways, when her lips, sneering away their fine +contour, grew to an ugly hardness, and her eyes smalled themselves in a +vicious intensity of mental vision. + + +CHAPTER 11 + + +Major Carnaby, Hugh's brother, was now in England. A stranger to the +society in which Mrs. Carnaby had lived, he knew nothing of the gossip at +one time threatening her with banishment from polite circles. An honest +man, and taking for granted the honesty of his kinsfolk, he put entire +faith in Hugh's story, despatched to him by letter a few days after the +calamitous event at Wimbledon. On arriving in London, the good Major was +pleased, touched, flattered by the very warm welcome with which his +sister-in-law received him. Hitherto they had seen hardly anything of +each other; but since the disaster their correspondence had been +frequent, and Sibyl's letters were so brave, yet so pathetic, that Major +Carnaby formed the highest opinion of her. She did not pose as an +injured woman; she never so much as hinted at the activity of slanderous +tongues; she spoke only of Hugh, the dear, kind, noble fellow, whom fate +had so cruelly visited The favourable impression was confirmed as soon +as they met. The Major found that this beautiful, high-hearted creature +had, among her many virtues, a sound capacity for business; no one could +have looked after her husband's worldly interests with more assiduity +and circumspection. He saw that Hugh had been quite right in assuring +him (at Sibyl's instance) that there was no need whatever for him to +neglect his military duties and come home at an inconvenient time. +Hugh's affairs were in perfect order; all he would have to think about +was the recovery of health and mental tranquillity. + +To this end, they must decide upon some retreat in which he might pass a +quiet month or two. That dear and invaluable friend, to whom Sibyl owed +'more than she could tell' (much more than she could tell to Major +Carnaby), was ready with a delightful suggestion. Lady Isobel (that is +to say, her auriferous husband, plain Mr. Barker) had a little house in +the north, cosy amid moor and mountain, and she freely offered it. There +Hugh and his wife might abide in solitude until the sacred Twelfth, when +religious observance would call thither a small company of select +pilgrims. The offer was gratefully accepted. Major Carnaby saw no reason +for hesitating, and agreed with Sibyl that the plan should be withheld +from Hugh until the last moment, as a gratifying surprise. By some +means, however, on the day before Hugh's release, there appeared in +certain newspapers a little paragraph making known to the public this +proof of Lady Isabel's friendship for Sibyl and her husband. + +'It's just as well,' said Mrs. Carnaby, after appearing vexed for a +moment. 'People will be saved the trouble of calling here. But it really +is mysterious how the papers get hold of things.' + +She was not quite sure that Hugh would approve her arrangement, and the +event justified this misgiving. Major Carnaby was to bring his brother +to Oxford and Cambridge Mansions, and, if possible, all were to travel +northward that same day. But Hugh, on hearing what was proposed, made +strong objection: he refused to accept the hospitality of people quite +unknown to him; why, with abundant resources of their own, should they +become indebted to strangers? So vehement was his resistance, and so +pitiful the state of body and mind which showed itself in his all but +hysterical excitement, that Sibyl pretended to abandon the scheme. Today +they would remain here, talking quietly; by tomorrow they might have +decided what to do. + +At ten o'clock next morning, when Sibyl had been up for an hour, Hugh +still lay asleep. She went softly into the room, lighted by the sun's +yellow glimmer through blind and lace curtains, and stood looking at +him, her husband. To him she had given all the love of which she was +capable; she had admired him for his strength and his spirit, had liked +him as a companion, had prized the flattery of his ardent devotion, his +staunch fidelity. To have married him was, of course, a mistake, not +easy of explanation in her present mind; she regretted it, but with no +bitterness, with no cruel or even unkind thought. His haggard features, +branded with the long rage of captivity; his great limbs, wasted to mere +bone and muscle, moved her indignant pity. Poor dear old boy! + +He believed her; he still believed her. She saw that these two years of +misery had made his faith in her something like a religion; he found it +his one refuge from despair. 'But for that, Sibyl, I shouldn't be alive +now!' She had known self-reproach; now again it touched her slightly, +passingly -- poor old boy! But unfaithful to him? To call _that_ +unfaithfulness? The idea was too foolish. + +Her fears were all outlived. She had dared the worst, and daring was +grown an easy habit. But in the life that lay before them, _her_ +judgment, _her_ ambitions, must prevail and direct. Yesterday she had no +course save yielding; today her rule must begin. + +Hugh was stirring. He groaned, and threw out one of his arms; muttered, +as if angrily. She touched him, and on the instant he awoke. + +'Sibyl? Good God! that's a queer thing -- I dreamt that yesterday was a +dream, and that I had woke up to find myself ---- Did you ever do that +-- dream you were dreaming?' + +She stroked his head, laughing playfully. + +'You've had a good long night. Don't you feel better? Shall I bring you +some breakfast here?' + +'No; I must get up. What's the time? Miles will be coming.' + +Sibyl knew that the Major would not be here until two o'clock; but she +said nothing, and left him to dress. + +On the breakfast-table were delicacies to tempt his palate, but Hugh +turned from them. He ate for a few minutes only, without appetite, and, +as on the day before, Sibyl was annoyed by the strange rudeness with +which he fed himself; he seemed to have forgotten the habits of +refinement at table. Afterwards he lighted a cigar, but soon threw it +aside; tobacco made him sick. In the drawing-room he moved aimlessly +about, blundering now and then against a piece of furniture, and +muttering a curse. The clothes he wore, out of his old wardrobe, hung +loose about him; he had a stoop in the shoulders. + +'Sibyl, what are we going to do?' + +For this she had waited. She sat looking at him with a compassionate +smile. It was an odd thing if this poor broken-down man could not be +made subservient to her will. + +'I still think, dear boy, that we ought to accept Lady Isobel's +invitation.' + +A nervous paroxysm shook him. + +'Damn Lady Isobel! I thought that was done with.' + +'I don't think you would speak of her like that, Hugh, if you knew all +her kindness to me. I couldn't tell you all yesterday. May I now? Or +shall I only irritate you?' + +'What is it? Of course, I don't want you to offend her. But I suppose +she has common-sense?' + +'More than most women. There's no fear of offending her. I have another +reason. Come and sit quietly by me, and let us talk as we used to do. Do +you know, dear, it's a good thing for me that I had powerful friends; I +needed all their help against my enemies.' + +'What enemies?' + +'Have you forgotten what you yourself said, and felt so strongly, at +that time -- what a danger I was exposed to when we determined to tell +the whole truth? You knew what some people would say.' + +'They've said it, no doubt; and what harm has it done you? Tell me a +name, and if it's a man ----' + +'Don't! I can't bear to see that look on your face, Hugh. You could do +nothing but endless harm, trying to defend me that way. I have lived it +down, thinking of you even more than of myself. There was a time when I +almost despaired; people are so glad to think evil. If I had been a weak +woman, I should have run away and hidden myself; and then everybody +would have said, "I told you so." But I had to think of you, and that +gave me strength. What could I do? Truth alone is no good against the +world; but truth with a handle to its name and with a million of money +-- that's a different thing. It was life or death, dear boy, and I had +to fight for it. So I went to Lady Isobel Barker. I only knew her by +name. She, of course, knew _me_ by name, and cold enough she was when I +got admitted to her. But half an hour's talk -- and I had won! She was +my friend; she would stand by me, and all the world should know it. +Stay! The worst is over, but there's still a good deal to be done. It +has to be known that my friends are your friends also. There was a +paragraph in the papers yesterday, saying that you and your wife were +going as Lady Isobel's guests to that house of hers. She did that for +me. And now, do you think we ought to seem even seem -- to slight her +kindness?' Hugh was turning about, chafing impotently. + +'Then you mean to go on here?' he asked, with half-appealing, +half-resentful eyes. + +Sibyl made a gesture of entreaty. + +'What other life is there for me? What would you have me do?' + +His arms fell; for a minute he sat with head hanging, his eyes fixed and +blank like those of a drunken man. Then, as if goaded suddenly ---- + +'Who are these enemies you talk about?' + +Sibyl's look wandered; her lips moved in hesitancy. + +'Name one of them.' + +'Isn't it better to try to forget them?' + +'Women, I suppose? -- You say you haven't seen Rolfe. Has _he_ heard +this talk about you, do you think?' + +'No doubt,' she answered distantly. 'Isn't he coming to see you?' + +'If he saw that in the papers, he won't think I am here. But I should +like to see him. I've a good mind to telegraph -- but I don't know his +address. Yes -- I forgot -- there's a letter from him somewhere.' + +'I know the address,' said Sibyl, in the same tone of reserve. + +'I should like to see old Rolfe -- poor old Rolfe.' + +'Why do you pity him?' + +'Oh -- only a way of speaking. You know the address, you say? Has he +written? Has _she_ written?' + +'Oh no!' + +'You haven't seen her?' + +Sibyl evaded the question. + +'Doesn't it seem to you rather strange,' she said, 'that the Rolfes +should keep away from me -- never call or write?' + +Hugh's lips were set. When she repeated her inquiry more urgently, he +gave a peevish answer. + +'You cared very little about her at the last. And Rolfe -- when a man +marries -- No, I won't see him just yet. I'll write to him when we're +away.' + +'It wouldn't astonish you' -- Sibyl spoke in a thin voice, not quite +under her control -- 'if you heard that Mrs. Rolfe had done her best and +her worst against me?' + +'She? Against you?' + +'I don't know that it matters. You said "poor Rolfe". I should fancy he +is poor, in every sense. As I have said so much, it's better to let you +know all; it will show you that I am not exaggerating what I have gone +through. People knew, of course, that she had called herself a friend of +mine; and just then she came into notice -- just enough to give her +opportunities of being dangerous. Well, I heard before long that she was +slandering me to all her acquaintances. Oh, _she_ knew all about me! It +was lucky for me I had a credulous husband. And it still goes on. She +came here not long ago; yes, she came. She told me that she knew I was +afraid of her, and she threatened me.' + +Hugh sat staring like a paralytic. + +'_She_? Rolfe's wife did this?' + +'Her motive, I don't know. Pure hatred, it seemed. But I've had a +strange fancy. She talked about a woman I used to know very slightly, a +Mrs. Strangeways, and seemed to be in fear of her; she said that woman +and I were circulating stories about her. And I have wondered -- Why are +you looking like that?' + +'She must be mad. -- I'll tell you. I only wish I had told you before. +She was _there_ that night -- at Redgrave's. But for _her_ it would +never have happened. I saw him standing with her, by the window of his +room -- that is, I saw a woman, but it wasn't light enough to know her; +and all at once she ran back, through the open French windows into the +house; and then I rushed in and found her there -- it was Rolfe's wife.' + +'Why did you keep this from me?' + +'She implored me -- vowed there was nothing wrong -- cried and begged. +And I thought of Rolfe. I see now that I ought to have told him. The +woman must be crazy to have behaved like this to you.' + +Sibyl's face shone. + +'Now I understand. This explains her. Oh, my dear, foolish husband! +After all, you did _not_ tell the whole truth. To spare your friend's +feelings, you risked your wife's reputation. And I have been at the +mercy of that woman's malice! Don't you think, Hugh, that I have had to +bear a little more than I deserved? Your distrust and what came of it -- +I have long forgiven you all that. But this -- wasn't it rather too hard +upon me?' + +He flinched under her soft reproach. + +'I couldn't be sure, Sibyl. Perhaps it was true -- perhaps she was only +there ----' + +A flash of scorn from her eyes struck him into silence. + +'Perhaps? And perhaps she meant no harm in lying about me! You will send +at once for Rolfe and tell him.' + +Hugh moved from her, and stood with his face averted. + +'Can you hesitate for a moment?' she asked severely + +'Why need I tell Rolfe? Send for _her_, and say what you like. Won't +that be enough? It's awful to think of telling Rolfe. Don't ask me do to +that, Sibyl.' + +He approached her, voice and attitude broken to humility. Sibyl grew +only more resolute. + +'You must tell him. Don't you owe it me?' + +'By God, I can't do that! -- I can't do that! Have her here, before us +both. Shame her and threaten her as much as you like; but don't tell +Rolfe. It's like you and me, Sibyl. Suppose she has really done no +wrong, and we put that thought into his mind?' + +'Have you lost all your senses?' she exclaimed passionately. 'Must I +keep reminding you what she has done to _me_? Is a woman that will +behave in that way likely to be innocent? Is her husband to be kept in +the dark about her, deceived, cheated? I can't understand you. If you +are too cowardly to do your plain duty -- Hugh, how am I talking? You +make me forget myself. But you know that it's impossible to spare your +friend. It wouldn't be just to him. Here's a form; write the telegram at +once.' + +'Write it yourself,' he answered, in a low, nerveless voice, moving away +again. + +It was quickly done, though Sibyl paused to reflect after the first word +or two. The message ran thus ---- + +'I want to see you and Mrs. Rolfe before going away. Please both come +this evening if possible. If you cannot, reply when.' + +Without showing what she had written, she left the room, and despatched +a servant to the post-office. + + +CHAPTER 12 + + +As a last resource against Cecil Morphew's degeneration, Harvey had +given up his daily work in Westminster Bridge Road. 'I shall go no +more,' he wrote. 'I am quite unable to manage the business alone, and if +you won't attend to it, it must smash. But please to remember that I +took a share on certain conditions.' For a week he had stayed at home. +Morphew did not reply, but the fact that no appeals arrived from the +trusty shopman seemed to prove that this last step had been effectual. +This morning Rolfe was half-minded to go up to town, but decided that he +had better not. Thus the telegram from Oxford and Cambridge Mansions +came into his hands at about twelve o'clock. + +Alma, after giving Hughie his morning's lesson, had gone out with him +for an hour. As soon as she returned, Harvey showed her the message. + +'Why does he want both of us to go?' he asked uneasily. + +Alma merely shook her head, as if the matter interested her very little, +and turned to leave the room again. + +'I think I had better go alone,' said Harvey, his eyes on the telegram. + +'Just as you like,' answered Alma, and withdrew. + +She spent the afternoon much as usual. Rolfe had said at lunch that he +would go to Carnaby's immediately after dinner. Mrs. Langland and one of +her daughters called; they thought Mrs. Rolfe rather absent-minded, but +noticed nothing else. At dinner-time she said carelessly to her husband +---- + +'I think I had better go with you, as I was asked.' + +'No, no; I think not.' + +'I had rather, Harvey, if you don't mind. I am quite ready; shall only +have to put my hat on.' + +He made no further objection, but looked a little displeased, and was +silent through the meal. + +They travelled by rail to Edgware Road, exchanging scarce a word on the +way. On the stairs of the Mansions, Alma found the ascent too much for +her; she stopped, and put out a hand to support herself. Rolfe looked +round. + +'Nothing. You have made me walk rather quickly.' + +'I'm sorry. Rest a moment.' + +But Alma hastened upwards. + +They were shown at once into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Carnaby, who +was sitting alone, rose at the announcement of their names. Alma stepped +forwards, and seemed about to offer her hand, but she was disregarded. +Their hostess stood with her eyes on Rolfe, who, observing the +strangeness of this reception, bowed and said nothing. + +'It was I who sent the telegram, Mr. Rolfe.' Sibyl's voice had its wonted +refinement, and hardly disturbed the silence. 'My husband would have +postponed the pleasure of seeing you, but I thought it better you should +meet him at once.' Her finger touched an electric bell. 'And I +particularly wished Mrs. Rolfe to be with you; I am so glad she was able +to come. Pray sit down.' + +Harvey, with no thought of accepting this invitation, cast stern glances +at the speaker and at his wife. + +'What does all this mean, Mrs. Carnaby?' + +'Your old friend will tell you.' + +The door had opened, and Hugh Carnaby slouched in. At the sight of Alma +he stood still. Then meeting Harvey's eyes, he exclaimed, with hoarse +indistinctness, 'Rolfe!' Each advanced, and their hands clasped. + +'Rolfe! -- old fellow! -- I'm the most miserable devil on earth.' + +Tears were in his eyes and in his voice. He held Harvey's hand tight +prisoned in both his own, and stood tottering like a feeble old man. +'Old friend, I can't help myself -- don't feel hard against me -- I have +to tell you something.' + +He looked towards Alma, who was motionless. Sibyl had sat down, and +watched as at a play, but with no smile. + +'Come into the next room with me,' added the choking voice. + +'No. Here, if you please, Hugh,' sounded with gentle firmness. + +'Sibyl -- then tell it. I can't.' + +'It's a simple story, Mr. Rolfe,' began Sibyl. 'I am sure you are not +aware that Mrs. Rolfe, ever since our great misfortune, has lost no +opportunity of slandering me. She has told people, in plain words, that +she knew me to be guilty of what my husband was for a moment trapped +into suspecting. Among others, she told it to her friend Miss Leach. Not +long ago, she went so far as to call upon me here and accuse me to my +face, telling me I was afraid of what she knew against me. I have +thought of taking legal measures to protect myself; perhaps I shall +still do so. Today something has come to my knowledge which possibly +explains Mrs. Rolfe's singular malice. My husband tells me -- and it's a +sad pity he kept it a secret so long -- that there was a third person +present that evening when he came upon Mr. Redgrave. I dare say you +remember the details of the story told in court. All was perfectly true; +but my husband should have added that a woman was with Mr. Redgrave, +talking alone with him in the dark; and when the blow had been struck, +this woman, who had quickly disappeared from the veranda into the house, +was found to be Mrs. Rolfe.' + +Hugh's hand had fallen on to his friend's shoulder. He spoke as soon as +Sibyl ceased. + +'She said she had done no wrong. I had no proof of any -- no proof +whatever.' + +Rolfe was looking at Alma. She, through the unimpassioned arraignment, +stood with eyes fixed upon her enemy, rather as if lost in thought than +listening; her mouth was tortured into a smile, her forehead had the +lines of age and misery. At the sound of Hugh's voice, she turned to +him, and spoke like one recovering consciousness. + +'You have told the truth.' + +'Why did you compel me to make this known, Mrs. Rolfe?' + +'Oh, that's quite a mistake. It was she who made you tell it -- as she +will make you do anything, and believe anything, she likes. I can +imagine how delighted she was. But it doesn't matter. If you care to +know it, either of you' -- she included Carnaby and her husband in one +glance, as equally remote from her -- 'I haven't gone about seeking to +injure her. Perhaps I let one or two people know what I thought; but +they had heard the truth already. It wasn't prudent; and it wasn't a +right return for the kindness you had shown me, Mr. Carnaby. But I'm not +sure that I should have done better in helping to deceive you. Has she +anything more to say? If not, I will leave you to talk about it.' + +The tone of this speech, so indifferent that it seemed light-headed, +struck the hearers mute. Rolfe, speaking for the first time since Hugh's +entrance, said at length, with troubled sternness ---- + +'Alma, you have repeated your charge against Mrs. Carnaby; what grounds +have you for it?' + +She looked at him with a vague smile, but did not answer. + +'Surely you don't make an accusation of this kind without some proof?' + +'Harvey!' The cry quivered on a laugh. 'O Harvey! who would know you +with that face?' + +Sibyl rose. The men exchanged a quick glance. Rolfe moved to his wife's +side, and touched her. + +'Yes, yes, I _know_,' she went on, drawing away -- 'I know what you +asked me. Keep quiet, just a little. There are three of you, and it's +hard for me alone. It isn't so easy to make _you_ believe things, +Harvey. Of course, I knew how it would be if this came out. I can tell +you, but not now; some other time, when we are alone. You won't believe +me; I always knew _I_ shouldn't be believed. I ought to have been +cautious, and have kept friends with her. But it wasn't as if I had +anything to hide -- anything that mattered. Let me go, and leave you +three to talk. And when you come home ----' + +Turning, looking for the door, she fell softly on to her knees. In a +moment Harvey had raised her, and seated her in the chair which Hugh +pushed forward. Sibyl, motionless, looked on. Seeing that Alma had not +lost consciousness, she awaited her next word. + +'We will go away,' said Hugh, under his breath; and he beckoned to +Sibyl. Reluctantly she took a step towards him, but was stopped by +Alma's voice. + +'Don't go on my account. Haven't _you_ any question to ask me? When I +go, I shan't be anxious to see you again. Don't look frightened; I know +what I am talking about. My head went round for a moment -- and no +wonder. Stand there, face to face. -- Leave me alone, Harvey; I can +stand very well. I want her to ask me anything she has to ask. It's her +only chance, now. I won't see her again -- never after this.' + +'Mrs. Carnaby,' said Rolfe, 'there must be an end of it. You had better +ask Alma what she has against you.' + +Sibyl, summoning all her cold dignity, stood before the half-distraught +woman, and looked her in the eyes. + +'What harm or wrong have I done you, Mrs. Rolfe, that you hate me so?' + +'None that I know of, until you brought me here today.' + +'But you have said that you think me no better than a guilty hypocrite, +and isn't it natural that I should defend myself?' + +'Quite natural. You have done it very cleverly till now, and perhaps you +will to the end. I feel sure there is no evidence against you, except +the word of the woman who told your husband; and even if she comes +forward, you have only to deny, and keep on denying.' + +'Then why do you believe that woman rather than me?' + +Alma answered only with a frivolous laugh. Sibyl, turning her head, +looked an appeal to the listeners. + +'Mrs. Rolfe,' said Hugh, in a rough, imploring voice, 'have you no other +answer? You can't ruin people's lives like this, as if it were sport to +you.' + +Alma gazed at him, as if she had but just observed his face. + +'You have gone through dreadful things,' she said earnestly. 'I'm sorry +to cause you more trouble, but the fault is hers. She got that secret +from you, and it delighted her. Go on believing what she says; it's the +best way when all's over and done with. You can never know as _I_ do.' + +She laughed again, a little spurt of joyless merriment. Upon that, in +the same moment, followed a loud hysterical cry; then sobs and wailing, +with movements as if to tear open the clothing that choked her. Sibyl +hastened away, and returned with her vinaigrette, which she handed to +Rolfe. But already the crisis was over. Alma lay back in a chair, +sobbing quietly, with head bent aside. + +Carnaby and his wife, after an exchange of signals, silently left the +room. Rolfe paced backwards and forwards for a minute or two, until he +heard his name spoken; then he drew near, and Alma looked at him with +her own eyes once more. + +'I won't go back home unless you wish, Harvey.' + +'Do you feel able to go?' + +'If you wish me. If not, I'll go somewhere else.' + +He sat down by her. + +'Are you yourself, Alma? Do you know what you are saying?' + +'Yes -- indeed I do. I know I lost myself; my head went round; but I am +well again now.' + +'Then tell me in a word -- is there any reason why you should _not_ go +home with me?' + +'What's the use? You won't believe me. You can't believe me!' + +He grasped her hand, and spoke imperatively, but not unkindly. + +'Stop that! Answer me, and I will believe what you say.' + +'There is no reason. I have done no wrong.' + +'Then come, if you feel able to.' + +She rose without help, and walked to a mirror, at which she arranged her +dress. Harvey opened the door, and found all quiet. He led her through +the passage, out into the common staircase, and down into the street. +Here she whispered to him that a faintness was upon her; it would pass +if she could have some restorative. They found a four-wheeled cab, and +drove to a public-house, where Rolfe obtained brandy and brought it out +to her. Then, wishing to avoid the railway station until Alma had +recovered her strength, he bade the cabman drive on to Notting Hill +Gate. + +'May I sit at your side?' she asked, bending towards him in the +darkness, when they had been silent for a few minutes. + +Harvey replied by changing his own place. + +'I want to tell you,' she resumed, her face near to his. 'I can't wait, +and know you are thinking about me. There isn't much to tell. Are you +sure you can believe me?' + +'I have promised that I will.' + +'I don't ask you to be kind or to love me. You will never love me again. +Only believe that I tell the truth, that's all. I am not like that +woman.' + +'Tell me,' he urged impatiently. + +'I wanted to make use of Mr. Redgrave to use his influence with people in +society, so that I could have a great success. I knew he wasn't to be +trusted, but I had no fear; I could trust myself. I never said or did +anything -- it was only meeting him at people's houses and at concerts, +and telling him what I hoped for. You couldn't take any interest in my +music, and you had no faith in my power to make a success. I wanted to +show you that you were wrong.' + +'I was wrong in more ways than one,' said Harvey. + +'You couldn't help it. If you had tried to make me go another way, it +would only have led to unhappiness. At that time I was mad to make my +name known, and, though I loved you, I believe I could have left you +rather than give up my ambition. Mr. Redgrave used to invite people to +his house in the summer to afternoon tea, and I went there once with a +lady. Other people as well -- a lot of other people. That's how I knew +the house. I was never there alone until that last evening. -- Don't +shrink away from me!' + +'I didn't. Go on, and be quick.' + +'I suspected Sibyl from the moment you told me about her husband and Mr +Redgrave. You did, too, Harvey.' + +'Leave her aside.' + +'But it was because of her. I saw she was getting to dislike me, and I +thought she knew Mr. Redgrave was doing his best for me, and that she was +jealous, and would prevent him -- do you understand? He was my friend, +nothing else; but _she_ would never believe that. And a few days before +my recital he seemed to lose interest, and I thought it was her doing. +Can you understand how I felt? Not jealousy, for I never even liked him. +I was living only for the hope of a success. Do you believe me, Harvey?' +'Easily enough.' + +Thereupon she related truly, without omission, the train of +circumstances that brought her to Wimbledon on the fatal night, and all +that happened until she fled away into the darkness. + +'It would be silly to say I oughtn't to have gone there. Of course, I +knew all I was risking; but I felt I could give my life to detect that +woman and have her in my power. + +'It's just that I don't understand. If it had been ordinary jealousy -- +why, of course ----' + +'Men never can understand why women hate each other. She thought herself +so superior to me, and showed it in every look and word; and all the +time I knew she was a wicked hypocrite.' + +'_How_ did you know that?' Rolfe broke in vehemently, staring into her +white face as a ray from the street illumined it. + +'Oh, I can't tell you!' she replied, in a moaning, quivering voice. 'I +knew it -- I knew it -- something told me. But I don't ask you to +believe that. Only about myself -- can you believe about myself?' + +He replied mechanically, 'Yes.' Alma, with a sigh as much of +hopelessness as of relief, lay back and said no more. + +At Notting Hill Gate they waited for a train. Alma wandered about the +platform, her head bent, silent and heeding nothing. In the railway +carriage she closed her eyes, and Harvey had to draw her attention when +it was time to alight. On entering the house she went at once upstairs. +Harvey loitered about below, and presently sat down in the study, +leaving the door ajar. + +He was trying to persuade himself that nothing of much moment had come +to pass. A doubt troubled him; most likely it would trouble him for the +rest of his life; but he must heed it as little as possible. What other +course was open to a sensible man? To rave and swear in the high tragic +style would avail nothing, one way or the other; and the fact was -- +whatever its explanation -- that he felt no prompting to such violence. +Two years had passed; the man was dead; Alma had changed greatly, and +was looking to new life in new conditions. His worst uneasiness arose +from the hysteria which had so alarmingly declared itself this evening. +He thought of Bennet Frothingham, and at length rose from his chair, +meaning to go upstairs. But just then a step sounded in the hall; his +door was pushed open, and Alma showed herself. + +'May I come?' she asked, looking at him steadily + +He beckoned with his head. She closed the door, and came slowly forward, +stopping at a few paces from him. + +'Harvey ----' + +'Well?' + +'I want you to decide tonight. If you think it would be better for both +of us, let me go. I shouldn't part from you unkindly; I don't mean that. +I should ask you to let me have money as long as I needed it. But you +know that I could support myself very soon. If you think it better, do +say so, and we'll talk about it as friends.' + +'I don't think anything of the kind. I shouldn't let you go, say what +you might.' + +'You wouldn't? But if you find that you _can't_ believe me ----' + +'It would make no difference, even that. But I do believe you.' + +She drew nearer, looking wistfully into his face. + +'But _she_ has made her husband believe her. You will always think of +that -- always.' + +'You must remember, Alma, that I have no serious reason for doubting her +word.' + +She uttered a cry of distress. + +'Then you doubt mine! -- you doubt mine!' + +'Nonsense, dear. Do try to think and talk more reasonably. What is it to +you and me whether she was guilty or not? I may doubt your judgment +about her, and yet believe perfectly all you tell me about yourself.' + +'Then you think I have slandered her?' + +'There's no earthly use in talking about it. You can give no reasons; +you _have_ no reasons. Your suspicion may be right or wrong; I don't +care the toss of a button. All I know is, that we mustn't talk of it. +Sit down and be quiet for a little. Oughtn't you to eat something before +you go up?' + +Alma put her hands upon his shoulders, bending her face so as to hide it +from him. + +'Dear -- if you could just say that you believe me; not about myself -- +I know you do -- but about _her_. Could you say that?' + +He hesitated, all a man's common-sense in revolt against the entreaty; +but he saw her quiver with a sob, and yielded. + +'Very well, I will believe that too.' + +Her touch became an embrace, gentle and timid; she threw her head back, +gazing at him in rapture. + +'You will never again doubt it?' + +'Never again.' + +'Oh, you are good! -- you are kind to me, dear! And will you love me a +little? Do you think you can, just a little?' + +His answer satisfied her, and she lay in his arms, shedding tears of +contentment. Then, for a long time, she talked of the new life before +them. She would be everything he wished; no moment's trouble should ever +again come between him and her. Nothing now had any charm for her but +the still, happy life of home; her ambitions were all dead and buried. +And Harvey answered her with tenderness; forgetting the doubt, refusing +to look forward, knowing only that Alma had a place for ever in his +heart. + +Tonight she must sleep. Whilst undressing she measured the familiar +draught of oblivion, and said to herself: 'The last time.' She lay down +in darkness, closed her eyes, and tried to think only of happy things. +But sleep would not come, and quiet thoughts would not linger with her. +More than an hour must have passed, when she heard Harvey come upstairs. +His step paused near her door, and she raised herself, listening. He +went on, and his own door closed. + +Then, for a short time, she lost herself, but in no placid slumber. +Startled to wakefulness, she found that she had left her bed and was +sitting on the chair beside it. She felt for the matches, and lit a +candle. A great anguish of mind came upon her, but she could not shed +tears; she wished to escape from her room to Harvey's, but durst not +look out into the dark passage. + +When her heart grew quieter, she went again to the drawer in which she +kept her remedy for insomnia. Saying to herself, 'The last time -- I +shall be well again after tomorrow,' she measured another dose, a +larger, and drank it off. Trembling now with cold, she crept into bed +again, and lay watching the candle-flame. + +Half an hour after this -- it was about two o'clock -- the handle of her +door was turned, and Rolfe quietly looked in. He had awoke with an +anxious feeling; it seemed to him that he heard Alma's voice, on the +borderland of dream, calling his name. But Alma lay asleep, breathing +steadily, her face turned from the light. As the candle had nearly burnt +down, he blew it out, and went back to his bed. + +At breakfast time Alma did not appear. The housemaid said that, half an +hour ago, she was still sleeping. When he had had his meal with Hughie, +Rolfe went up and entered his wife's room. Alma lay just as he had seen +her in the night. He looked close -- laid his hand upon her ---- + +A violent ringing of the bedroom bell brought up the servant. Harvey met +her at the door, and bade her run instantly to the doctor's house, which +was quite near. + +The doctor could only say, 'We warned her.' + + +CHAPTER 13 + + +_Sicut umbra praeterit dies_. + +The dial on the front of the old house was just shadowing four o'clock. +Harvey Rolfe and his friend Morton sat on the lawn, Harvey reading aloud +from a small volume which he had slipped into his pocket before walking +over this afternoon. From another part of the garden sounded young +voices, musical in their merriment. + +It was a little book called 'Barrack-Room Ballads'. Harvey read in it +here and there, with no stinted expression of delight, occasionally +shouting his appreciation. Morton, pipe in mouth, listened with a smile, +and joined more moderately in the reader's bursts of enthusiasm. + +'Here's the strong man made articulate,' cried Rolfe at length. 'It's no +use; he stamps down one's prejudice -- what? It's the voice of the +reaction. Millions of men, natural men, revolting against the softness +and sweetness of civilisation; men all over the world; hardly knowing +what they want and what they don't want; and here comes one who speaks +for them -- speaks with a vengeance.' + +'Undeniable.' + +'_But_ ----' + +'I was waiting for the _but_,' said Morton, with a smile and a nod. + +'The brute savagery of it! The very lingo -- how appropriate it is! The +tongue of Whitechapel blaring lust of life in the track of English guns! +-- He knows it; the man is a great artist; he smiles at the voice of his +genius. -- It's a long time since the end of the Napoleonic wars. Since +then Europe has seen only sputterings of temper. Mankind won't stand it +much longer, this encroachment of the humane spirit. See the spread of +athletics. We must look to our physique, and make ourselves ready. Those +Lancashire operatives, laming and killing each other at football, +turning a game into a battle. For the milder of us there's golf -- an +epidemic. Women turn to cricket -- tennis is too soft -- and tomorrow +they'll be bicycling by the thousand; -- they must breed a stouter race. +We may reasonably hope, old man, to see our boys blown into small bits +by the explosive that hasn't got its name yet.' + +'Perhaps,' replied Morton meditatively. 'And yet there are considerable +forces on the other side.' + +'Pooh! The philosopher sitting on the safety-valve. He has breadth of +beam, good sedentary man, but when the moment comes -- The Empire; +that's beginning to mean something. The average Englander has never +grasped the fact that there was such a thing as a British Empire. He's +beginning to learn it, and itches to kick somebody, to prove his +Imperialism. The bully of the music-hall shouting "Jingo" had his +special audience. Now comes a man of genius, and decent folk don't feel +ashamed to listen this time. We begin to feel our position. We can't +make money quite so easily as we used to; scoundrels in Germany and +elsewhere have dared to learn the trick of commerce. We feel sore, and +it's a great relief to have our advantages pointed out to us. By God! we +are the British Empire, and we'll just show 'em what _that_ means!' + +'I'm reading the campaigns of Belisarius,' said Morton, after a pause. + +'What has that to do with it?' + +'Thank Heaven, nothing whatever.' + +'I bore you,' said Harvey, laughing. 'Well, I read little or nothing, +except what I can use for Hughie. We're doing the geography of Asia, and +I try to give him a few clear notions. Do you remember the idiotic way +in which they used to teach us geography? I loathed the lesson. -- That +reminds me; Henrietta Winter is dead.' + +'Is she? How did it remind you?' + +'Why, because Morphew is going to New Zealand. I had a letter from him +this morning. Here it is. "I heard yesterday that H. W. is dead. She +died a fortnight ago, and a letter from her mother has only just reached +me in a roundabout way. She had been ailing for some time. They +suspected drains, and had workmen in, with assurance that all had been +put right. Since H.'s death the drains have again been examined, and it +was found that the men who came before so bungled and scamped their work +that an abominable state of things was made much worse." -- Those +fellows will shout nobly for the Empire one of these days! -- "I never +saw her, but she spoke of me just before the end; spoke very kindly, +says her mother. Damnation! I can write no more about it. I know you +don't care to hear from me, but I'll just say that I'm going out to New +Zealand. I don't know what I shall do there, but a fellow has asked me +to go with him, and it's better than rotting here. It may help me to +escape the devil yet; if so, you shall hear. Goodbye!"' + +He thrust the letter back into his pocket. + +'I rather thought the end would be pyrogallic acid.' + +'He has the good sense to prefer ozone,' said Morton. + +'For a time, at all events. -- Look behind you. The young rascal is +creeping this way. He'd rather sit and listen to our talk than be with +the other youngsters. That's wrong, you know.' + +Morton look round, and saw Hugh Rolfe. Seven years old now; slight, and +with little or no colour in his cheeks; a wistful, timid smile on the +too intelligent face. He was gazing towards his father, and evidently +wished to draw near, yet feared that his presence might not be welcome. +Morton beckoned him, and at once he ran and threw himself upon the grass +by his father's side. + +'Tired of playing?' asked Harvey, with voice and look which betrayed a +tenderness he was always trying to conceal. + +'A little tired. We are going to have tea soon. -- May I look at this +book, Father?' + +'No pictures.' + +'I don't mind. -- Yes, there's a picture; a soldier!' + +Interest quickened in the boy's eyes, and he turned eagerly from +title-page to text. But just then there came a loud calling of his name +from the other end of the garden. + +'They want you,' said Harvey. 'Off you go. You can have the book another +time.' + +Hughie obeyed without hesitation, but his face had a weary look as he +walked away to join the other children. + +'I must send him to the Grammar-School next year,' said Rolfe. 'It won't +do; he must be among boys, and learn to be noisy. Perhaps I have been +altogether wrong in teaching him myself. What right has a man to teach, +who can't make up his mind on any subject of thought? Of course I don't +talk to _him_ about my waverings and doubtings, but probably they affect +him.' + +'Don't bother your head so much about it,' replied Morton. 'He'll be all +right as he grows stronger.' + +A servant had brought out two little tables; tea was going to be served +in the garden. When it was ready, Mrs. Morton appeared; the men rose as +she came towards them, a newspaper in her hand. + +'Have you noticed this?' she asked of Rolfe, with a smile, pointing out +a paragraph to him. + +He read it; first to himself, then aloud. + +'Yesterday, at Lady Isobel Barker's house in Pont Street, a meeting was +held of ladies interested in a project for the benefit of working-class +women in the West End. It is proposed to arrange for a series of +lectures, specially adapted to such an audience, on subjects of literary +and artistic interest. Unfortunately, Lady Isobel herself was unable to +take part in the proceedings, owing to sudden indisposition; but her +views were most suggestively set forth by Mrs. Hugh Carnaby, who dwelt on +the monotony of the lives of decent working-class women, and showed how +much they would be benefited by being brought into touch with the +intellectual movements of the day. Practical details of the scheme will +shortly be made public.' + +Morton chuckled quietly. + +'Splendid idea,' said Rolfe. 'Anyone who knows anything of the West End +working-class woman will be sure to give it warm support.' + +The tea-bell rang; the children came running. Morton's eldest boy, who +had been busy in his workshop, exhibited a fine model schooner, just +finished. Presently, the hostess asked Rolfe whether he had heard of +late from Mr. Carnaby. + +'A week ago; the first time for a year. The demand for shares in their +company was tremendous, and they are turning out the new bicycle at the +rate of hundreds a week.' + +'Has he quite got over that illness?' + +'Says he suffers much from dyspepsia; otherwise, fairly well. The +prospect of money-making on a great scale seems pleasant to him.' + +'To Mrs. Carnaby, also, I dare say.' + +'No doubt,' replied Rolfe absently. + +After tea, a trio of little singers, one of whom was Hughie, gave the +songs they had newly learnt with Mrs. Morton, she accompanying them on +the piano. Rolfe sat in a corner of the room and listened, as always, +with keen pleasure. + +'One more,' he asked, when they were about to cease. + +They sang that which he liked best ---- + +Fear no more the heat o' the sun + +After it there came a minute's silence; then Harvey rose. + +'Say goodbye, Hughie; we must be going home.' + +Hand in hand, each thinking his own thoughts, they walked homeward +through the evening sunshine. + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg Etext of The Whirlpool, by George Gissing + diff --git a/old/whrpl10.zip b/old/whrpl10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f7bd587 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/whrpl10.zip |