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diff --git a/44982.txt b/44982.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9bfe49e..0000000 --- a/44982.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11955 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Lady Lilith, by Stephen McKenna - - -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: Lady Lilith - - -Author: Stephen McKenna - - - -Release Date: February 22, 2014 [eBook #44982] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LADY LILITH*** - - -E-text prepared by David Edwards, Martin Pettit, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images -generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/ladylilith00mckeiala - - - - - -The Sensationalists: I - -LADY LILITH - -by - -STEPHEN McKENNA - - - * * * * * * - -BY STEPHEN McKENNA - -THE SENSATIONALISTS -PART ONE: LADY LILITH -PARTS TWO AND THREE: _In preparation_ - -SONIA MARRIED - -SONIA - -MIDAS AND SON - -NINETY-SIX HOURS' LEAVE - -THE SIXTH SENSE - -SHEILA INTERVENES - - -NEW YORK -GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - * * * * * * - - -LADY LILITH - -by - -STEPHEN McKENNA - -Author of "Sheila Intervenes," "Midas and Son," "Sonia," "Sonia -Married," "Ninety-Six Hours' Leave," etc. - - - - - - - -[Illustration: Logo] - -New York -George H. Doran Company - -Copyright, 1920, -By George H. Doran Company - -Printed in the United States of America - - - - -TO MY MOTHER -AND -THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER - - - - -CONTENTS - - -CHAPTER PAGE - I THE DEATH OF THE PHOENIX 9 - - II THE COMING OF LILITH 34 - - III THE SPIRIT OF PAN 58 - - IV APHRODITE DEMI-MONDAINE 79 - - V NOBODY'S FAULT 107 - - VI THE SHADOW LINE 124 - - VII A MATTER OF DUTY 141 - -VIII A MATTER OF PLEASURE 161 - - IX THE JUDGEMENT OF SOLOMON 177 - - X VINDICATION 198 - - XI THE LAUREL AND THE ROSE 217 - - XII AN ERROR OF JUDGEMENT 230 - -XIII A NOTE OF INTERROGATION 257 - - XIV THE ANSWER OF THE ORACLE 277 - - XV PRELUDE TO ROMANCE 294 - - - - -LADY LILITH - - -"I became the spendthrift of my own genius, and to waste an eternal -youth gave me a curious joy. Tired of being on the heights, I -deliberately went to the depths in the search for new sensation ... I -grew careless of the lives of others. I took pleasure where it pleased -me, and passed on. I forgot that every little action of the common day -makes or unmakes character...." - -OSCAR WILDE: _De Profundis_. - - - - -LADY LILITH - - - - -CHAPTER ONE - -THE DEATH OF THE PHOENIX - - "Conceive of your life as an unfinished biography, and try to - discover the next chapter and the end." - - J. A. SPENDER: "THE COMMENTS OF BAGSHOT." - - -"Within ten years five of us will be married and five will be dead," -cried O'Rane, writing rapidly. "(Every one of us will have made such a -fool of himself that it's _wishing_ himself dead he'll be.) One will -have had to cut the country. One will have lost all his money. As you -seem to like jam with your powder, I've said that one--and not -more--will achieve fame--by the mercy of God; one--and not more--will -make great money." - -The prophecy, delivered with apparent sincerity in the mellow atmosphere -of dinner to a score of men between the optimistic ages of twenty and -twenty-five, was, on the face of it, discouraging. He who achieved fame -and he who amassed a fortune were condemned, with the rest, to pass -through the contemplation of suicide or, at least, the prayerful -expectation of death. And the moment for the forecast was undoubtedly -ill-chosen. Seventeen of the twenty members of the Phoenix had spent the -last week wrestling with examiners in their final schools; O'Rane spoke -with the subconscious triumph of one who was not bidding farewell to -Oxford for another year; and, if a vote had been taken, nine-tenths of -his friends would have accorded him the scant portion of worldly -success with which Providence in his grudging prophecy would crown their -ambitions. - -"Dry up, Raney," growled Jack Waring. "It's all very well for you----" - -"It's a twenty-to-one chance I'm giving you," O'Rane pointed out. "You -might bring off the double event. And get a wife thrown in. It would be -no fun, if we all leaped to the top. 'When everybody's somebody, then no -one's anybody.'" - -Waring jumped up and turned to the president. - -"I have to report Mr. O'Rane for singing at dinner, sir. A good, -thumping fine, Sinks," he added. - -Jack Summertown intercepted the ruling. - -"On a point of order, sir; was that singing? If it was--oh, my Lord!" - -Sinclair rose majestically from the presidential chair and turned his -eyes from one disputant to the other. - -"The accused is acquitted, but he's not to do it again," he ruled -diplomatically. "I have to censure Lord Summertown for addressing the -Chair without rising." - -Ten suspended conversations were resumed, as he sat down; and Waring -reverted to his own gloomy thoughts. Unaccustomed to look more than a -day ahead, he was only beginning to recognize that in twenty-four hours -he would have gone down from Oxford for the last time and that within -four months he would have to begin reading for the bar. He had -interrupted his dressing an hour before to stare out of the window, -sprawling on the sill and dangling a collar and tie with idle hand. - -Outside, the setting sun of a late June day filled the Broad with sleepy -warmth and dyed the crumbling stone of the Sheldonian rose-red. In the -middle of the road two cabmen slumbered on their boxes, pillowing their -heads on their arms and leaving their horses to munch contentedly from -frayed nosebags and to twitch an ear or flick a tail at too persistent -flies. Rare groups of sight-seers approached the deserted gates of -Trinity and Balliol, sought inspiration from guide-books and vanished -diffidently from view. Oxford belonged to the ages; and for the first -twenty-fifth part of the twentieth century Waring had fancied that it -belonged to him. A hansom, overfilled by an American and her two -daughters, jingled lazily from Holywell; the driver exhibited a contempt -for Oxford no less profound than for America and waved his whip from -side to side in rough time with the scornful scraps of information which -he drawled through the trap. - -"Ol' Clar'nd'n Buildin'. Bodleian be'ind it. Trin'ty. Balliol." - -Three heads nodded and turned mechanically from right to left. The -driver paused for new instructions, and an anxious voice from inside -exclaimed: - -"Gracious! it's a quarter of seven! Say, how many blocks are we from the -depot?" - -The high nasal intonation seemed to shiver the warm repose of the -afternoon, and in another moment the Broad was echoing with life. A -stream of bicycles poured down Parks Road; blazers of every colour -flashed into sight and disappeared; men bareheaded and men in panamas, -men with tennis racquets and men with dogs, men in flannels and men in -tweeds, a few, even, still in white ties and coats of subfusc hue, -parading the bondage of the Examination Schools, all hurried back to -make ready for Hall. Oxford still belonged to them. At the gates of the -colleges, deserted a moment since, the heirs of all the undergraduate -ages assembled in careless disregard of their heritage; the last -bicycles were tumbled into place; the last rainbow blazers and -hat-ribbons vanished from sight; pipes were replaced in pockets, and -necks bared from the dingy embrace of tattered gowns. - -With a glance at the watch on his dressing-table, Jack Waring twisted -himself to catch the reflection of his bottle-green dress-coat. It was -the envied livery of the Phoenix Club, which--consistently with its -name--died and came to life again once a year. At the end of every -summer term not more than one survivor remained; the following -Michaelmas the new president proposed and elected his own friends, -choosing one junior to carry on the life and traditions of the club at -the year's end. The institution had ensured for nearly two university -generations and was the one constructive effort of Lord Loring's life at -Oxford. With the grave self-absorption of nineteen he had demanded a -club to which none but his own friends had access and of which he could -nominate himself president and ordain the rules as he went on. He had -long wanted a pretext, he explained in his inaugural address, for -wearing a bottle-green dress-coat with brass buttons and white silk -facings; and his position as founder of the club would give him an -excuse for revisiting Oxford at the end of his lawful term. - -A faint frown of regret and perplexity hovered over Jack Waring's plump -and cheerful face, as he resumed his dressing. He had no fault to find -with Oxford, where he had done more than most men and all that could be -expected of any man. A case full of silver cups testified to his success -in college and university Grinds; he had been Master of the Drag and a -member of the Bullingdon; less than three days before he had shewn his -versatility by proceeding, without the ostentation of an Honour School, -to the degree of Bachelor of Arts. Colonel Waring had urged him to enjoy -himself, and the four years had passed very satisfactorily. - -"Eric!" - -"Hullo! Are you ready?" - -The door was kicked open, and Eric Lane sauntered in and inspected his -own clothes by the revealing light of the afternoon sun. He also was -frowning, for the sense of departure was heavy upon him too, and the -papers that day had not been to his liking. - -"Our final dissipation!" cried Jack, seizing him by the arm and -clattering down the narrow staircase into the Turl. "I say, Eric, I -don't half like the idea of not coming up next term; I was just -beginning to find my way about this place. There you see Lincoln. Here -we have Jaggers. I've never been inside Jaggers. Shall we make up a -party and go to-morrow?" - -A knot of Jesus men glared with the dumb fury which the small nations of -the world feel towards the Great Powers. A sing-song Welsh voice -commented devastatingly on the vanity of bottle-green dress-coats and -their wearers. - -"I can't go after _that_," murmured Jack with dignity. "Never imagined -they understood English. Ought I to go back and apologize?" He stopped -short in front of a haberdasher's shop and nodded gravely at the -seductive window. Club colours and college colours contended and clashed -with giant brown and yellow silk handkerchiefs adorned with white -bulldogs. "We might buy them a peace-offering." - -"I always wonder why you're not more disliked than you are," mused Eric. - -"People only dislike me until I've given them time to see that I'm right -and they're wrong," explained Jack complacently. "I was very unpopular -at New College my first term. They wanted me to row--just because I'd -rowed at Eton. You can't row _and_ hunt. I never did any of the things -they wanted; the people here are such sheep. Did I ever tell you that -the rowing push came to rag my rooms just because I chose to dress for -Hall? They said it was 'side.' Unfortunately, their spokesman was drunk, -so I had to ask him to leave. It's such bad form to drink more than you -can carry. Now any number of men dress for Hall. Sheep, just sheep. I -think the reason you and I get on so well together is that you don't try -to lead my life for me." - -"Oh, I'm used to you," Eric interrupted. "Ever since I can remember, -you've sat still and let every one else revolve round you. Your people, -Agnes, me----" - -Jack smiled at his reflection in the window. Though his -self-satisfaction annoyed women and older men, no one could remain -impatient with him for long. He was always too good-tempered to provide -sport and too sure of himself to mind criticism. The man who is content -to do nothing starts, too, with an advantage over the man who not only -wants something done but would like it done in his own way. In childhood -the threat that he would not be taken to a party unless he behaved -himself well had only once been used against Jack; his mother found -afterwards that he had genuinely enjoyed himself more at home; and ever -since he had won his own way by studied inertia. - -"You're so efficient!" he explained. "I should never have got through my -schools but for you. And you pack so well. By the way, you've looked out -the trains for to-morrow, haven't you? And arranged with Agnes for a -cart to meet me? I hate writing letters.... Shall we dig together in -London? If you'll find some decent rooms and a man to look after -us--Agnes will help you choose the furniture--and if you'll make -everything shipshape and comfortable, I'm hanged if I don't come and -live with you! There!" - -Eric held out his hand with affected emotion. - -"That's uncommon good of you! I thought you'd want me to choose some one -to live with me in your place." - -"I wish you'd find somebody to go to the bar in my place," murmured Jack -with a momentary return of his earlier gloom. "Can't _you_? The exams -are quite easy for a man of your powerful intellect, and you only have -to eat a few dinners and get called. _I_ should live at Lashmar as the -simple, old English country gentleman.... Hullo! we're late! You'll see -about paying the fine, won't you?" - -They crossed the High to a chorus of welcome flung at them from a -first-floor window over a pastry-cook's shop. Two sleek heads protruded -over the cushions in one tier, with three more, less lovingly cemented, -in the background. - -"Hurry up, Spurs," shouted the president. - -The name, applied jointly and severally to the two men, had passed -through ingenious refinements before reaching its present brief clarity. -If Waring's Christian name was Jack, his inseparable companion Lane must -be Jill; if Jack's surname was Waring, Eric's must be Gillow; the home -of the furnishing trade, if not of Waring and Gillow, was Tottenham -Court Road, which readily suggested Tottenham Hotspurs. An unexplained -intellectual craving was at length satisfied when the pair were renamed -"the Spurs." - -After their first term no one shewed the psychological curiosity to -wonder why so incongruous a couple lived together. Though neighbours in -Hampshire, they were from different schools and of different colleges; -the shrewd but consummately indolent Master of the Drag was the arbiter -of taste for sporting, ultra-conservative Oxford--already a personality -and almost a tradition; the fine-drawn scholar of Trinity was a recluse, -a dreamer and a rebel, with ambition corroding the fabric of a too frail -constitution. Outside the Phoenix they had few friends in common, for -Eric's disputatious poets grew silent under the breezy onslaught of a -more robust generation; Jack's intellectual hunger was satisfied by -Surtees, the text-books for his schools, the _Sportsman_ and _Morning -Post_; while Eric, who had divided the first ten years of his life -between his father's library at Lashmar Mill-House and a verandah at -Broadstairs, had read quickly, brooded deeply and taken up an attitude, -sometimes precocious but always clearly defined, towards problems which -as yet did not exist for Jack. On one side, the friendship was founded -on a worship of opposites; Eric never forgot that he had gone friendless -through six years at school because he was forbidden by his doctor to -play games. On the other, Jack found devotion a convenience; he -respected Eric's brains and needed some one to relieve him of minor -exertions and to make up his mind for him. Accordingly, though all the -fourth-year men in the University would have been honoured to live with -him, it was to Eric that he drawled, "By the way, have you arranged to -dig with any one next term? Well, do go and find some decent quarters, -there's a good fellow." - -"Hullo! No fine to pay after all!" cried Jack, as he burst into the club -dining-room and compared the number of covers with the members of the -Phoenix already assembled. "Who's coming, Mr. President?" - -"O'Rane and Deganway haven't turned up yet," answered Sinclair. "I've -just had a wire from Loring to say that he's motoring down with Oakleigh -and they'll probably be late. Summertown and Pentyre you can hear. It's -their idea of music," he added, as a free fight broke out over the piano -in the adjoining room. - -Jack studied the _menu_, inspected the wine on the side-board and -elbowed himself a place in the kneeling row at the open window. An -interrupted conversation struggled back to plans for the Long Vacation -and discussion of the schools. Sinclair, a stocky, simple-minded -sportsman, now pitifully embarrassed by his presidential duties, had -been chosen to play at Lord's for the University and for the Gentlemen; -after that he would tour with the Authentics till the end of the season; -and, until the following season, he would interest himself in the -management of his father's mines in Yorkshire. Knightrider and -Framlingham were destined for the army; Deganway and Pentyre were due to -cram for the Foreign Office; Draycott proposed to study art in Paris; -and Mayhew had forced his way into Fleet Street and the offices of the -"Wicked World." It was a wide dispersal; and all felt that they were -changing a life of proved comfort for something unknown and presumably -less easy. - -"What are you doing, Spurs?" Sinclair asked Eric. - -"I'm not quite sure. My people want me to try for the Civil Service. I -want to have a shot at journalism. You can't _do_ anything in the Civil -Service." - -"Who _wants_ to do anything?" retorted Waring from his window-seat. -"Late as usual, Raney.... I only want money and decent holidays.... -Sounds of a car, furiously driven. You'll have to fine 'em double, Mr. -President, if it's Jim and George; once for being late and once for not -coming in club dress. It is! Two dozen of fizz from each!" - -He withdrew his head from the window as the car came to a standstill. A -moment later Loring entered apologetically in morning dress, fingering -his moustache and smiling with pleasure at the volley of welcome; George -Oakleigh followed, peering with approval at the familiar beams and dingy -panels of the low-ceilinged room; while O'Rane strode across the passage -and brought the free fight to an end by putting the heads of the -disputants into chancery, the president rapped the table and tried to -allot the places. - -"Gentlemen! The toast of the Phoenix will be drunk in silence," he -proclaimed, as every one obstinately seated himself next to his greatest -friend. - -Sinclair waited until the sherry was served and then rose to his feet. -Of the twenty members present only O'Rane was staying up another year: -in obedience to ritual he remained seated in the vice-president's chair. - -"The Phoenix is dead," announced the president. - -"The Phoenix will rise again," answered the vice-president with awful -gravity. Then, as the others sat down, he added reflectively, "'Wonder -where we shall all be in ten years' time? 'Wonder what we shall be -doing? 'Wonder how many of us will be dead?" - -"You can always depend on Raney for an irresistible little note of -cheerfulness," commented Loring, as he pulled in his chair and looked -round to see who was present. - -It was then that O'Rane flung his prophecy at the head of the club. - -"Bah! You know as much about life as a Sunday School teacher!" he -retorted contemptuously, banging his hand on a bell. "Where's the -betting-book? And give me a pen, somebody. Let you mark my words. 'Mr. -David O'Rane bets the Marquess Loring ten sovereigns that within ten -years of this date five out of the twenty members present to-night will -be married. A further ten sovereigns that five will be dead----'" - -"Always the optimist," murmured Oakleigh from Loring's side. - -"I'll bet that every one of us will have made such a fool of himself -that it's _wishing_ himself dead he'll be.... A further ten sovereigns -that one at least will have had to cut the country. A further ten that -one at least will have lost all his money.... I'm only dealing in -averages. Ten years, I said; that's not much for any positive -achievement, but I'll bet a further ten pounds that one--and not more -than one--will have achieved what an independent tribunal considers -fame. A further ten pounds that one of us will make great money----" - -"That's sixty pounds," interposed Sinclair warningly. - -"But I shan't have to pay it," answered O'Rane, writing rapidly. He read -out a summary of the wager and passed the book for Loring to sign. -"Besides, I'm going to be the one who makes all the money. I hope you -won't be one of the five who die, Jim; or I shall have to claim against -your estate and all. Which of us will achieve fame in ten years? -Draycott as an Academician? I don't see it. Spurs as a judge? 'Don't -see it either. The Gander as an ambassador? The other Spurs?" He looked -round the table and went on quickly; half-unconsciously he had decided -that Eric Lane would be the first of the five to die. "I should mark -down Sinks as the first to marry; there's an appealing domesticity about -him. And we shall _all_ make colossal fools of ourselves; don't forget -that! Folly's the great leveller. Jim, I think you'd better give a -dinner once a year to the survivors just to see how we're getting on." - -"If I don't die or cut the country," Loring assented. - -O'Rane snapped the clasp of the betting-book and tossed it on a chair -behind him. - -"You're far too healthy and respectable," he grunted, concentrating his -attention on the cooling soup. "Besides, I'm reserving that for -Summertown. You know he's been sent down for good and all?" - -"A man cuts the country because of the disreputability of others," -answered Loring. "By the way, I'm not going to be fined for being late, -Mr. President, because I had a good reason. Also, the founder of a club -is never fined." - -"Let's hear the reason," suggested the president. - -"I've been taking the chair at a family council." Loring looked round -the table until he located his cousin Knightrider. "You ought to have -been there, Victor. I don't want to wash my dirty linen in public, but -Victor and I have a young cousin of twelve," he explained, "who's driven -her father out of one continent and is on the point of driving him out -of another. Crawleigh's a most dignified and worthy viceroy, and he's my -own uncle, and I wouldn't say a word against him; but a fellow on his -staff told me that he'd no more control over that child than over the -man in the moon. She does whatever she pleases; Government House is -turned upside down, and, if any one tries to coerce her, she just runs -away. They've pursued her across Canada and they've pursued her across -India. Now she's been sent home. The family council was convened to -decide what was to be done with her. All the uncles and aunts and -cousins met together; and I need hardly tell you that we got stuck with -her. So, if I disappear suddenly, you'll know that my young cousin has -been too much for me. If that isn't a good reason for being late, I -don't know what is." - -The president adroitly reserved judgement on a fine which he knew would -never be paid, and the conversation reverted to the former grim -discussion of the schools and vague plans for the future. Eric Lane felt -out of sympathy with his surroundings, for he alone lacked money and -influence and a ready-made niche. In ten years' time Deganway would be -progressing gently and comfortably in the Diplomatic; Summertown and -Pentyre, who were avowedly waiting for their fathers to die, would -either still be waiting or would have already succeeded; Framlingham and -Knightrider would be swallowed by the army, even Jack Waring would make -a career for himself at the bar or elsewhere, because men with his -backing were not allowed to fail. George Oakleigh would be in the House, -probably an under-secretary; Loring, with his position and an income -which fluctuated between a hundred thousand and a hundred and fifty -thousand a year in accordance with the yield of certain mines, might be -anywhere. - -"What are _you_ going to do, when you go down?" Eric asked O'Rane. - -"I haven't the least idea. That's where the fun comes in," O'Rane -answered buoyantly. - -"Starting behind scratch?" - -"Yes, that gives you an incentive. I wonder which of us will get to the -top first." - -"I wonder how one starts." - -"Oh, you'll write. I've never had any doubt of that. That rot I was -talking about averages wasn't _all_ rot; we ought to turn out one -genius, and you're going to do something very big. I declare to my soul -I'm not ragging! I've seen the things you wrote for _Cap and Bells_, -I've heard you talk and I can see you're on a different plane from the -rest of us. I could probably beat you at pure scholarship, but you've a -literary sense which I should never attain in a life-time. Do _you_ care -for a bet with me?" - -Eric shook his head; but he felt the need of encouragement, and O'Rane -was more serious than he usually condescended to be. - -"I won't rob you, Raney." - -"Robbery be blowed! You won't bet against your destiny. In ten years' -time you'll have beaten the whole of our generation, starting behind -scratch. And, God's my witness, I'd sooner have that than be born with a -title and a million pounds a minute like Jim. Hullo, they're off! Jim, -may I take wine with you?" - -He raised his glass and was quickly followed by Oakleigh and Summertown. -Loring flushed a little at the compliment of being chosen first. In -order of popularity O'Rane followed as a close second, with Waring -third. Pentyre, Summertown and Deganway toasted one another; Oakleigh -was honoured as an afterthought by half the table. There was a moment's -silence, as the glasses were recharged, and Jack Waring leaned forward -with a smile. - -"Eric? Best of luck." - -"Best of luck, Jack." - -Their eyes met, and both smiled. Then the interrupted dinner went on. -Oakleigh was detected, reported and fined for smoking without -permission; Pentyre was deprived of port wine for allowing the decanter -to stand at his elbow. A vote was taken, and Draycott was censured for -wearing a pleated shirt. Less constitutionally, Deganway was stretched -on the floor and deprived of his eye-glass amid falsetto protests. Then -the loving-cup went round, and all stood to drink the health of the king -and of fox-hunting, the president and vice-president, absent members -and "our glorious founder." Sinclair presented a seven-branch -candlestick to the collection of club plate; and Loring proposed and -carried a unanimous vote of thanks. - -"And now a little Gilbert and Sullivan from Raney," ordained the -president, as the last speech came to an end and he led the way into the -next room. - -Prising open a box of cigars, he sniffed it with the suspicion of -inexperience and proffered it diffidently to Oakleigh. O'Rane slid on to -the music-stool, while Deganway and Waring, Summertown and Eric sprawled -over the top of the piano with pipes doggedly gripped between their -teeth and with their chins resting on their arms, demanding of the -musician that he should give them "something with a chorus." Pentyre -withdrew to an armchair and fell asleep; the others formed themselves -into a circle round Loring and tried to talk against the music. - - - "_Long years ago, fourteen, may be, - When but a tiny babe of four, - Another babe played with me, - My elder by a year or more. - A little child of beauty rare, - With marvellous eyes and wondrous hair, - Who, in my child-eyes, seemed to me - All that a little child should be. - Ah, how we loved, that child and I, - How pure our baby joy! - How true our love--and, by-the-by_, - HE _was a little boy_!" - - -Waring, as "Angela" struck in with a deep, reproachful bass: - - - "_Ah, old, old tale of Cupid's touch! - I thought as much--I thought as much!_ - _He_ WAS _a little boy_" - - -"Patience" justified herself shyly. - - - "_Pray don't misconstrue what I say-- - Remember, pray--remember, pray, - He was a_ LITTLE _boy_" - - -O'Rane gave the "Wandering Minstrel" as a solo, followed by "A Pair of -Sparkling Eyes" and "Is Life a Boon?" - -Loring turned approvingly to George Oakleigh. - -"Raney's got a ripping voice," he said. "And he's in good form to-night. -All the same, we must be getting back, George, if you want to be in -London early to-morrow morning. It's very pleasant to see all these boys -again. Sad, too, very sad; the young lions with all their troubles -before them." - -"I suppose this _is_ absolutely the end," sighed Sinclair. "Shall I see -you at Lord's, Jim?" - -As the party began to break up, a chill of collective wistfulness -descended upon it, too strong for even O'Rane to dispel. - -"Yes, if you don't want me to watch the play. But I'll _look_ -intelligent." - -It was still so early when the straggling escort convoyed Oakleigh and -Loring into the safety of their hotel that an hour was agreeably spent -by each in accompanying every one else home. Jack and Eric reached the -Broad, only to turn back and take Deganway to Grove Street, and from -Grove Street they all proceeded by Boar Lane to St. Aldates. Here O'Rane -protested that he could not go to bed until he had disposed of Sinclair -in comfort. At a quarter to twelve the whole party, intact and a little -bored, found itself on Magdalen Bridge; Jack and Eric broke away at a -run up Long Wall, and the others, led by O'Rane, traversed the High for -the fourth time that night. - -The familiar rooms at the corner of the Turl were bare and disordered -with the signs of coming departure. The undulating floor of the -sitting-room was littered with paper and straw, with cases of books and -half-filled crates of pictures; on a dusting-sheet in one corner was -gathered a miscellany of broken pipes and perished pouches, tattered -note-books and sprung rackets, torn photographs, old shoes and a -policeman's helmet. Overflowing trunks and yawning Gladstone bags -projected from the bedrooms on to the narrow, gas-lit landing. - -"Nice, comfortable quarters," observed Jack, as he looked for somewhere -to sit. "It was quite a good evening, you know. The part I liked best -was when it was all over. Oxford looks quite decent at night." - -Eric had been trained to economy of enthusiasm in talking to Jack, who -would not have understood him if he had said that the Meadows on a May -morning or the Bodleian from All Souls, or the Trinity limes in leaf or -a pack of low, grey clouds racing across the sky behind Magdalen Tower -made him drunk with the consciousness of physical beauty. And he -wondered what he could ever have said to betray to O'Rane his secret -yearning for self-expression. - -"Our last night in Oxford," he murmured. - -"Oh, I think I shall come up occasionally and dine with the lads." - -Eric said nothing; but the sense of incongruity with his surroundings -still oppressed him, and he privately resolved that he would not revisit -Oxford until he had done something to put himself at least on the level -of his friends, perhaps above them. That night he lulled himself to -sleep with a vision in which he burst on the world as a new Byron and -took London by storm in a night. Comely heads turned and whispered his -name, as he strode down Bond Street; the windows were full of his -photograph; when he entered a room there was a hush of reverence for the -new novelist, the rising playwright, the last wit and latest fashion. -All his day-dreams led him to the stage. There, after twisting the house -to laughter and tears, he would nonchalantly allow himself to be called -before the curtain; after three gossamer epigrams, he would retire with -a perfunctory bow. And there would follow supper on the stage for George -Oakleigh, who was only a subordinate minister, and Loring, who was only -governor of a colony, and Jack, who was only a successful barrister, and -Knightrider, who was only a subaltern in the Guards, and Summertown, who -was only a third secretary on leave from a distant legation, and -Pentyre, who had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and had -_done_ nothing.... The vision was so stimulating that he resolved to -conjure it up again whenever he felt depressed. - -They were roused in the morning by the cheerful and insistent voices of -a cavalcade which reined in under Jack's windows for the last -opportunity of wishing him good-bye.... Unembarrassed by spectators, he -made a leisurely toilet and refused to be intimidated by Eric's -prophecies that they would lose their train. "There is sure to be -another," he pointed out, as he finished brushing his short, -mouse-coloured hair and satisfied himself that he was smoothly shaved. -Undergraduate Oxford was all too careless of its appearance, and Jack -secretly believed that slovenliness in clothes was the visible sign of -depravity in morals. Colonel Waring had said so, basing himself on his -experience in the army. Jack respected his father's judgement, because -it so often coincided with his own. - -He appeared in time to see Eric distributing the last tips and counting -the luggage as it was piled on top of the cabs. Waving good-bye to their -landlord and surrounded by their escort, they drove with self-conscious -solemnity to the station, cut a passage through the jungle of dogs and -cricket bags on the platform and bribed a porter to find an empty -first-class carriage and to lock the door after them. While Jack -possessed himself of the papers, Eric watched the familiar landmarks -fading one by one from view as the train steamed out of Oxford: Tom -Tower and the Cathedral spire, the reservoir and gasworks, the Abingdon -Road and Boar's Hill. The whistle of the engine as it entered Culham -sounded like the last chord in an operatic score. Oxford was over. He -remembered his shyness in first approaching it four years earlier and -wondered whether he would as quickly overcome the sense of loneliness -which filled his mind at the thought of working in London. - -"When do your bar lectures start?" he asked with a drawl which attempted -to emulate his companion's easy carelessness. - -Jack tossed aside the _Sportsman_ and yawned with lazy contentment. - -"I haven't the least idea," he answered. - -"I was thinking about rooms. I'm going up almost at once for a month on -trial with the _London News_. You've got no preferences?" - -"I'd trust your taste and judgement anywhere." - -Eric laughed a little impatiently. - -"You--are--the--laziest--brute--I've ever come across. Are you going to -behave like this at the bar?" - -Jack put up his feet and closed his eyes. - -"It's not half a bad idea," he mused. "I believe, if I let it be known -that I didn't want briefs, the solicitors would form up at the early -door out of sheer perversity. Everything comes to him who doesn't much -care whether it comes or not. You see, as soon as you want anything, you -increase the demand and raise the price against yourself; it's a great -thing to have studied political economy. If I ever marry it will be some -one who's madly in love with me and whom I can just tolerate. If you're -fool enough to try it the other way round, you're simply selling -yourself into slavery.... As a matter of fact, I'm not lazy at all, but -I refuse to fuss about unimportant things. I had all this business out -with the guv'nor two years ago; I'd got to do something for a living, -and he had all sorts of gold-lace jobs in contemplation--clerk in the -House of Lords, agent to my uncle at Penley, private secretary to this -man and that. I said it wasn't good enough. If I couldn't go into the -army like him, I'd go somewhere where I could make money. We haven't any -particular influence in the city, so I chose the bar; and I've every -intention of making money there. _That's_ important. But I can't wear -myself out looking for digs when I've a kind friend to do it for me. And -I never try to do more than one thing at a time. During the next few -weeks I shall stay with several very pleasant people. Lady Knightrider's -invited me to Raglan as usual; and I'm going to Croxton with the -Pentyres; and to House of Steynes with Jim Loring; and to Ireland with -George Oakleigh. I wish you'd come, too; I've got such a good -country-house manor, I should like you to see it." - -"I've got to work." - -"So have I--every bit as much as you," Jack answered aggressively. "But -I never believe in meeting trouble half-way." His voice became drowsy, -and he composed himself for sleep. "Wake me, when we get to Reading." - -Such philosophic detachment was a birthright, not to be bought or -borrowed; and Eric looked with a mixture of amusement and envy at his -slumbering friend. Some time in the autumn the bar term would begin, -there would be lectures and examinations, Jack would be called; later he -would pay a hundred pounds to an overworked junior for the privilege of -sitting in a pupil-room and confusing his head with such papers as he -was allowed to see; he would find chambers of his own and choose a -circuit and open it. And get together a practice--or fail. In the -meantime he slept with the sun shining on his face, trimly brushed and -shaved, smiling, rosy and round-cheeked as a plough-boy. - -Eric could not so casually leave the future to look after itself; and he -was preparing, with a highly-strung man's dread of altercation, for a -conflict with his family. Dr. Lane's suggestions were purely -scholastic--a fellowship, if possible; failing that, a position on the -staff of one of the great public schools. Either would give him security -and a chance of earning money at once. There must be other things, of -course, but a philologist lived too much out of the world to give -practical advice.... Mrs. Lane favoured the Civil Service; but Eric, -from the editorial chair of _Cap and Bells_, had lately made journalism -the fabric of his day-dreams. During his last term the editor of the -_London News_ came to Oxford as guest of honour at a dinner of the -Sherbrooke Club; with eye professionally skinned for rising talent, he -had been first amused and then impressed by his young host; there -followed a vague proposal of an article, and Eric had been careful to -thrust his foot into the yielding doorway of the paper until a month's -trial was suggested. - -A red-brick wilderness of villas warned him that they were running into -Reading. He prodded Jack awake, collected his luggage from the rack and -changed into the Basingstoke train. At Winchester a dog-cart, driven by -a stiff, military groom, and a pony trap, with an eight-year-old child -and her governess, awaited them. The luggage appeared unhurriedly and -was separated and stowed out of sight. Jack edged away after a shy -greeting to Sybil Lane, and a moment later they were heading through the -town for the Melton and Lashmar road. - -"Roll round some time and discuss those digs," Eric shouted, as the -pony-trap turned from the high-crowned Melton road and jolted into the -twilight of unreclaimed woodland whose youngest trees were old and -firm-rooted before the New Forest had begun to show the first green of -its leaves. - -"No, you come to me," Jack called back. "It's shorter for you, because -you walk so much faster." - -As the low lines of the Mill-House came in sight, Mrs. Lane rose from -her chair by the studded front door, closed her book and waved a -handkerchief in welcome. For the first time in his life Eric felt that -this was no longer his home. Lashmar and Oxford belonged to a youth -wherein he was not required to look for a career or to trouble about -money and ambition. Within a week he would be occupying chambers of his -own and earning his own living. - -"Well, dear Eric, I'm very glad to see you again. You're looking thin," -said his mother. - -"I'm all right, thanks. How are you, mother? Is the guv'nor working?" -asked Eric. - -The need for action was strong upon him, and he had to explain once and -for all that he aimed at something more than security and a chance of -earning money at once. - -"He's indoors." - -Eric ducked his head and entered the long, low house. It was dark after -the glowing June sunlight outside, chillingly cold, too; from the back -of the house came the gentle murmur of the Bort with an unchanging drone -of falling water and a regular double creak from the mill-wheel, like -the slow cadence of a grandfather's clock. Through the open French -windows of the dining-room he sniffed the stream's familiar scent of -decay, half-smothered by the coarse reek of a blazing patch of -marigolds. Lashmar Mill-House was, for Eric, a place where ambition was -brought to die. - -Without waiting to be disturbed, Dr. Lane rattled open the door of the -library and appeared in his shirt-sleeves, fleshless, tall and stooping, -with the gentle, brown eyes, black hair and aquiline nose which he had -handed down to Eric. An unkempt brown moustache drooped drearily on -either side of a long corncob pipe-stem, and his bony hands fidgetted -with an untanned strap round his waist. - -"I want to have a talk with you," said Eric to his parents. "I'm -starting work next week with the _London News_. Jack and I are going to -live together." - -Mrs. Lane nursed a well-founded suspicion that Jack preyed on her son's -scant vitality, but she shrank from confessing jealousy of his friend. - -"Let's have a day or two to think things over," she proposed. -"Journalism is very wearing." - -"But everything's arranged," Eric answered. - -And next morning he rose from breakfast and started through the Forest -to Red Roofs and the task of pinning Jack down to the joint -establishment in London. Every step on the familiar road was a gesture -of farewell. There was a recognized point in the two-mile walk where -even the smoke of the Mill-House chimneys was invisible; another point -where he had to jump from stone to stone across a furlong of marsh; and -another where the forest thinned imperceptibly and vanished. Over the -tops of the last trees appeared a row of small-bricked Tudor chimneys, -dusty-grey in the sunshine; then the deep red tiles of the gabled roofs; -then the house itself, three-quarters covered in creeper that swung in -the breeze and veiled the narrow windows with a curtain of tangled -green. It was the perfect frame, Eric thought, for a perfect picture of -country toryism; a social analyst could not look at the house without -peopling it in imagination with the cadet branch of a rankly -conservative family--conventional, godly, sporting, military and, by a -freak, unexpectedly evangelical--in a word, with such a family as the -Warings. The colonel was returning home from an early gallop; he reined -in his horse and walked beside Eric to the gate of the stable-yard, -erect and dapper, with a dictatorial voice and a hint of ill-temper in -his bearing, his face weather-beaten and the white of his eyes faintly -tinged with yellow. - -"Hullo! How are you? How's your father? How's the _magnum opus_?" he -asked, as he dismounted and walked towards the house. The three -questions never varied, and the colonel derived immense private -amusement from the thought that Dr. Lane had given thirty years of his -life to an Anglo-Saxon dictionary. "Jack tells me you're going to be a -journalist. Dog's life, I've always heard." - -"I hope it won't be only journalism," said Eric, who was sensitive -enough to be daunted by the misgiving which his proposed career excited -first in his parents and now in an unbiased outsider. "I hope to do some -rather more original work as well." - -"Original? That's bad! Seven-act tragedies and five-volume novels." -Colonel Waring had evolved the belief that young men could be coaxed out -of their natural shyness by well-timed jocosity. "You must excuse me, -I'm going to have my bath. You'll find every one in the smoking-room, I -expect." - -Eric escaped with relief and ran Jack to earth in the faded dining-room, -where he was finishing a late breakfast. His sister ministered to his -wants, keeping the food warm in a chafing-dish, plying him with coffee -and fetching him clean plates. Mrs. Waring, plump, idle and -self-indulgent, was fondly overhauling her son's wardrobe when Eric -entered the room. - -"Dear Jack, you can't go to Lady Knightrider's until you've ordered -yourself some new shirts. These are a disgrace," she protested. - -Jack nodded without looking up from his paper. - -"I know. I was waiting till I got home so that Agnes could write to my -man. I always forget his name. Hullo, Eric! You're bursting with energy -this morning. Have some capital kidneys and bacon?" - -"I came to talk about where we are going to live," Eric explained, -shaking hands with Mrs. Waring. - -"But I thought I'd left that to you? Why don't you and Agnes arrange -something?" Jack filled a pipe and strolled towards the open window. -"The guv'nor seems to have got me elected to the County Club; he rather -favours my trying to get a bedroom there." - -Eric felt a twinge of dismay. It was only natural that a club should -have been found for Jack, as everything else was found; but Eric could -not afford to let him slip away. Perhaps the suggestion was only a -diplomatic hint that, if he were troubled further, he would follow the -line of least resistance. - -"Oh, no! You're coming with me. If you've no preferences, Agnes and I -will go straight ahead." - -He motioned to the girl, and they went out into the garden together. -Agnes Waring, in company with her mother, had been brought up to believe -that Jack was the one person in the house who mattered; though -intellectually head and shoulder his superior, she had been kept at home -from the day when Colonel Waring demonstrated incontrovertibly that he -could not afford to send her to Newnham if Jack was to be given an -adequate allowance at Oxford. Once isolated at home, she had nothing to -do but to run errands for her father and brother. At her suggestion it -was now arranged that Eric should look for rooms in the Temple. - -Two days later he wrote that he had discovered an ideal set of chambers -in Pump Court, and for a week they worked to get it in order for Jack's -arrival in October. On the last afternoon Agnes looked on her completed -handiwork and sighed with satisfaction and envy. - -"If you're not comfortable, you ought to be," she declared. "Men are -lucky creatures. I wish I could change places with you, Eric." - -"So that you could wait on Jack?" - -"I should like that, of course.... I hope Jack does well at the bar. You -will make him work, won't you?" - -Eric shrugged his shoulders and looked into the silent little court. - -"Can any one make him do anything he doesn't want to? I wonder whether -he was wise to choose the bar. I wonder whether I was wise to choose -journalism, whether any of us.... We had a very cheerful dinner on our -last night at Oxford. There were about twenty of us, and one man bet -that in ten years' time five of us would be dead and a certain number -bankrupt. A certain number more would have to cut the country. So far as -I remember only one was to make anything of a success. Not an -encouraging forecast." - -"A very cynical forecast," Agnes distinguished. - -"Will he win his bet?" - -"Oh, a man of character can make anything of his life," she answered -with a glance of fleeting interest and affection which he did not see. - -Eric recalled the extraordinarily young faces at the last dinner of the -Phoenix. Their outlook was frivolous and their talk trivial. He was -already feeling older in ten days. - -"Do you get more than one man of character in twenty?" he asked. - - - - -CHAPTER TWO - -THE COMING OF LILITH - - "What private man in England is worse off than the constitutional - monarch?... I don't believe he may even eat or drink what he likes - best: a taste for tripe and onions on his part would provoke a - remonstrance from the Privy Council." - - BERNARD SHAW: "AN UNSOCIAL SOCIALIST." - - -The partnership in Pump Court lasted for more than four years. After -nicely judging the minimum of work which would carry him through his bar -examinations, Jack surprised his friends by closing the former life of -indolence with a snap. When assizes were on, he made an undiscriminating -round of the North Eastern circuit, conducting a dock defence as though -it were a state trial; in London he attended suburban county courts with -as much zeal as if he had been sent special. During the Long Vacation he -remained at the end of a wire; the Bar Point-to-Point was sacrificed -without a murmur, and invitations during his working day seldom -penetrated farther than the telephone in his clerk's room. - -Once a year, indeed, he consented to meet his friends at dinner with -Loring, but they were contracting new ties and professing enthusiasms -which he did not share. Framlingham and Knightrider had been drilled -into the professional rigidity and limited outlook of junior subalterns -in crack regiments: Oakleigh was a politician, Pentyre a man of leisure; -Summertown had abandoned diplomacy for the army--the life of a public -danger for that of a private nuisance, as Valentine Arden, the novelist, -complained in a moment of exasperation. Deganway, on the same -authority, rested in the Foreign Office by day and spent tireless -nights adding to the number of those who addressed him by his Christian -name. O'Rane and Mayhew were abroad. - -Had he ever felt the inclination, Jack professed to be without the time -or energy to take part in a social life of dinners and dances. -Exchanging one pose for another, he had ceased to be the arbiter of -"good form," as that is understood at Eton and New College, and was -aping the manners of an older generation; the new aloofness, like the -old, dispensed him from doing anything that he did not like and -gratified his faint but ineradicable sense of superiority. At night he -now chose the society of his own profession at the County Club and -steeped himself in forensic retorts discourteous and the aroma of -judicial wit; by day he chopped leading cases at luncheon in Hall and -smoked one cigarette in the Gardens, striding up and down with his chin -deep on his white slips and his hands locked beneath the tails of his -coat. He was too busy for week-end parties, too old to take his sister -to dances. - -"It doesn't do to be seen lunching at your club too much," he explained -to Eric, when at the end of four years he had decided that the -inconvenience of moving was less than that of continuing to live in the -Temple. "People think you've no work. Trouble is, I'm getting no -exercise. I think I shall have to move away so that I can get a walk in -the morning." - -Eric received the news with little surprise and hardly more regret. Jack -was in chambers before he himself got up in the morning and in bed -before the _London News_ began to print off. The dissolution would only -cost them an occasional half-hour's talk in the early evening and a rare -Sunday walk when Jack was not staying at Red Roofs. - -"Nineteen nine, nineteen five," Eric calculated. "We're twenty-six and -we've had four years here. By the way, are you dining with Jim -to-night? Give him my love and say I wish I could come too. It's no -good, if I have to run away after the fish. I remember your father -telling me that journalism was a dog's life. He never spoke a truer -word." - -"But you've done extraordinarily well," Jack insisted, rousing -reluctantly from the contemplation of his own career. "What are you? -Dramatic critic and assistant literary editor? And you're making a dam' -sight more than I am. I've decided to give up this twopenny ha'penny -criminal work. Otherwise I shall get left in a rut." - -Eric was thinking less of his routine work than of four dog's-eared -plays which he had sent the round of the London managers; a critic was -ever one who could not create. - -"The right people have died at the right time," he explained. "It's not -quite what I hoped, though." - -Jack knocked out his pipe and left Eric to finish his early dinner by -himself. It was the anniversary of their last Phoenix Club gathering at -Oxford; and for the last four years a dozen or more of them had -contrived to meet at the end of every June. So far, O'Rane's pessimistic -forecast had halted short of fulfilment; none was dead, none was -bankrupt, though Draycott was living at Boulogne with a warrant in -readiness for him, if he ever returned to England. Sinclair was married, -but the others had not yet found time for triumph or disaster. If Eric -enjoyed a good salary and a responsible position, they had been bought -with hard work, unsleeping contrivance and two severe illnesses; the -instant spectacular effect of Lord Byron's descent upon London remained -a day dream. - -"You'll be able to find some one to take on my room, won't you?" asked -Jack, with fleeting compunction, as he reappeared from his bedroom in -shirt and trousers. - -"I shan't try," answered Eric. "My books are overflowing into every -room.... And I loathe strangers as much as you do." - -Like Jack, he had soon found that it was impossible to play on equal -terms with men who did not pretend to work for a living; and Eric's rare -excursions from the Temple led him only to the supper-table of the -Thespian Club and occasional luncheons in Chelsea. In the days of his -apprenticeship to the _London News_, he had won the friendship of Martin -Shelley by attending first nights when, as happened three times out of -five, the dramatic critic was indisposed. For ultimate reward he -succeeded to a coveted position; in payment by instalments he received a -careless regard and full-blooded advice on drama and life. When -Shelley's ill-used brain and nerves had been flogged to activity and not -yet drowned, he would talk of theatrical art as a master. "Don't forget -what I'm telling you, Lane," he would say through a cloud of smoke and -whiskey fumes. "I've taught you what construction is--and dialogue--and -technique--and characterization. You could write a _successful_ play -to-morrow, but you must wait until you've filled a sketch-book or two. -You don't know live men and women yet; you're too much the maiden of -bashful fifteen. The public isn't ready for naturalism; so, if you want -to kill theatricality--which is what I've tried to do all my life--you -must do it with a play that's overwhelming. I could teach you a hell of -a lot, if I had time.... When I'm gone, fire in your application for my -berth so that no one else gets in before you and yet leave just enough -margin to keep the old man from thinking you pushed me under the wheels. -Not that I'd blame you, we've all got to make our way. But the old man -finds me rather an asset. My poor wife runs teetotal salons in Chelsea -on the strength of my name. I'll take you to one. You'll fill a -sketch-book with society smatterers alone." - -Eric went from courtesy and stayed from compassion. Mrs. Shelley, the -faded, pretty daughter of a Cambridge tutor who had left her a few -hundreds a year, threw herself tacitly on his mercy, as though he had -come to blackmail her with sordid tales of her husband's degradation. -They had no children; and she had set herself to make a life of her own. -So long as she could fill her house with the North Street school of -poets, the Fitzroy Square impressionists--and all who came humbly to her -for a chance of meeting them--she shut her eyes to her husband's -excesses and infidelities. He was required to act as decoy for new -literary and artistic lions, to appear at one party out of five freshly -shaved and decently habited, to lend her a hand when she could climb no -longer unaided and to accept a rare invitation in return to lunch with -Lady Poynter or the Duchess of Ross, when "the society smatterers" -wanted him to write up a charity _matinee_ or the amateur performance of -a Restoration comedy. - -Before and after her husband's unheroic death under a newspaper van, -Mrs. Shelley was Eric's single link with the world outside Fleet Street -and the Thespian Club. Jack's white waist-coat and button-hole were -occasionally a galling remainder of his own bondage. - -"God! this is a life!" he broke out, as he looked at the clock and -brought his dinner to an untimely end. "I never dine anywhere; I don't -speak to a woman from one year's end to another----" - -"Nor do I. It only encourages them," Jack returned, as he filled his -case with cigarettes and gave a final polish to his hat. - -"It would bring a little colour into one's life," said Eric, looking -with disfavour at the grimly celibate sitting-room. - -"Some people don't know when they're well off. I _can't_ dance and I've -nothing to say to the modern girl. Why they won't take 'no' for an -answer I can never make out. I suppose you _like_ women, Eric. Every -time you go to a theatre, you come back raving about somebody's dress or -pearls or eyes--honestly, you do! It's like a fashion article. I'm -beyond all that. I don't mind 'em when they're as old as Lady -Knightrider; they've ceased to be exacting then, and you can count on -them to see that you're comfortable and that you have plenty of -bath-salts. But the vulgar little atrocities of nineteen! I'm not -ragging; if you compare a girl like my sister Agnes, who's twenty-two, -with the hoydens who think they constitute London Society! Brains of -spidgers and manners of factory hands! In my day.... However, they're -all pure young girlhood to you. The Lord preserve you in your innocence -and keep you from marrying one of them! I must fly!" - -He ran down the stairs and hailed a taxi at the top of Middle Temple -Lane. Since the downfall of Draycott, the Phoenix Club dinners had lost -their old strict form and were no longer confined to members of the -club. As Jack entered the hall, Valentine Arden, a satirical -consumptive, was divesting himself of a violet-lined cloak, smoothing -his long straight hair back from his forehead, patting the tie that -wound twice round his collar and adjusting the straps of his trousers -under his insteps. There were other friends of a younger generation whom -Loring had acquired in his easy-going progress, but the older members -were meagrely represented. - -The first arrivals were already in the library, exchanging fragmentary -news of the absentees, when their host appeared with a preoccupied frown -and a jejune apology for his lateness. - -"Where's Pentyre?" he asked, as he looked round the room. "Here, my -friend, you'll get yourself into hot water, if you give any more parties -like your last one." - -"What's the row?" asked Pentyre in surprise. - -"Well, I won't mention names," Loring answered, "but one of your guests -has come to grief as the result of your last little gathering at -Croxton. I don't say that it's _your_ fault," he added, "except that you -ought to exercise more general control in your own house. There was a -certain amount of gambling, wasn't there? Some fairly big sums of money -changed hands? One man lost who couldn't afford to lose, I believe. It -may have been absence of mind or it may have been the only way out of -the difficulty, but the man in question signed his father's name on a -cheque instead of his own. The son is now on his way to one of those -'thoughtful islands where warrants never come.' D'you mean this is all -news to you?" - -Pentyre tugged at his moustache and shook his head in wide-eyed wonder. -The only sign of discord that he could remember had occurred between his -mother and Loring's own cousin, Barbara Neave. On the first night she -had stayed up after Lady Pentyre had shepherded the women of the party -to bed. In the morning there had been a gentle reprimand, but Lady -Barbara ignored it and persisted in staying up as long as any one would -stay up with her. She or one of the men--Pentyre could not remember--had -started poker, which they played until two or three o'clock in the -morning. - -"I've never heard a word of it," he said. Less than a year had passed -since he succeeded to his father's title and the ownership of Croxton -Hall. The social life of the county had been brightened; but there had -been one or two regrettable mishaps, and Loring always seemed to hear of -them. "How did you get hold of the story?" he asked with a touch of -bluster. - -"From the man's father in the first place; then from my cousin Barbara. -We're supposed to be responsible for her, and I tackled her about it. -She won nearly five hundred pounds from this wretched boy. Of course, I -made her disgorge it; but the fellow may be ruined for life. I told her -so pretty plainly, and she seemed to take it as an enormous compliment." - -"Who was the man?" asked Pentyre. - -"Well, it wasn't your fat friend Webster, and it wasn't John Gaymer; -they played poker before they could walk. I think you can guess now. -Really, Pentyre, if you admit people of that kind to your house.... That -girl will be the death of my poor mother. Thank goodness, Crawleigh's on -his way home! D'you know, in the four years we've been nominally in -charge of her we've been asked to have her removed from three different -schools? Once it was for holding a table-turning _seance_ in her bedroom -after lights-out, and twice simply because they didn't know what to do -with her. She's a holy terror. But I've got rid of her now, so let's -have some dinner and forget all about her." - -The three-hour discussion, which had been brought to an end by the -dressing-gong, was only the latest of a long succession of family -councils; but hitherto Lady Barbara had split the court of enquiry into -factions and escaped between the feet of the disputants. On this, as on -earlier occasions, she had won over her two aunts, but Loring proved -himself to be of sterner stuff. "It's no use her saying that it's just -as if she hadn't a father and mother of her own! She has,--and they'll -discover it to their cost," he said. "The immediate point is that, if -Barbara stays in this house, I go out of it. She's not in the least -sorry. You think she's crying, but she isn't. I've seen her do that a -dozen times when she wants to get round the servants. It's time some one -else had a turn of her. If you believe in her repentance, Aunt Kathleen, -you're welcome to her." While he dressed for dinner, the girl's clothes -were packed and disposed in Lady Knightrider's car. She herself came to -his door with a woebegone face, begging him to forgive her, for life -with Lady Knightrider involved discipline, religious exercises and -banishment for most of the year to Scotland or Monmouthshire. He refused -and felt so small-minded at using his authority against a child that it -was a relief to vent his ill-humour on a man. - -"This is all very well," said Pentyre stolidly, as they sat down to -dinner, "but I refuse to be bully-ragged because you can't keep your own -cousin in order." - -"I can't make out how you can be seen in the same street as Webster and -Gaymer," answered Loring. "To me they're everything that's wrong in the -life of the present day. Webster, Pennington, Lady Maitland, -Erckmann----" - -"You're so infernally narrow-minded." - -"If it's narrow-minded to dislike a noisy little clique of rich cads who -try to dominate society by being one degree more outrageous than anybody -else." - -A murmur of dissent made itself heard; but Loring warmed to his work, -and the party divided into two camps and joined battle over the bodies -of their friends. It was a stimulating encounter and afforded -unrestricted opportunity for personal attack. For several years there -had been raging a secret warfare which Valentine Arden compared with a -tournament in a dark room between blindfolded combatants who did not -know why they were fighting. On the one side was a group of influential -and highly respected families led by the Lorings, the Knightriders and -the Pebbleridges, on the other the cosmopolitans. They were an -ill-defined host without leader or tenets. In every other capital of the -world they had found their place as a wealthy and cultured class, -excluded from the houses of the historic aristocracy but forming an -artistic aristocracy of their own. In Paris, Vienna and New York Sir -Adolf Erckmann was a social power; he would not, indeed, be found with -the Princesse de Brise or Mrs. Irwin T. Churton, but he was known and -reverenced in a world of music and pictures which did not know Mrs. -Irwin T. Churton or the Princesse de Brise by name. - -In England there were no such recognizable lines of demarcation. -Erckmann was received by the Duchess of Ross, because she wanted him to -subsidise a French theatre for London and hoped that he might be induced -to take Herrig on a long lease; he was blackballed for the County Club, -because the committee disliked his race, his accent, his friends and his -too frequent appearance in the Divorce Court. With one foot in a -Promised Land, from which the society of Paris, Vienna and New York had -excluded him, Sir Adolf lifted the second; it was at this point that the -battle was joined, and both sides fought blindly. The cosmopolitans were -not always fortunate in their manners or their allies; and to Loring -their very toleration meant the invasion of society by "a noisy clique -of rich cads." Their antagonists were no less unfortunate in a few of -their prejudices; and the cosmopolitans claimed with some reason to be -fighting against a Philistine oligarchy. As there was not even a common -ground of dispute, the warfare degenerated into indecisive skirmishes, -and the discussion of it into embittered personalities. - -"They're a bit hairy about the heel," said Summertown, "but they _are_ -alive, and some of their shows are great fun. Val can bear me out." - -Arden assumed non-moral detachment and explained that the novelist, like -the sanitary inspector, entered all houses with professional -impartiality. - -"They've no sense of responsibility and not much feeling for decency. I -don't want to make too much of this business," said Loring, as acrimony -slipped out of control and threatened the peace of the dinner. "But I -was thoroughly stirred up over that wretched boy and I felt it was time -to make a stand." - -"What are you going to do?" demanded Pentyre. - -"Well, I've been knocking about in London for half a dozen years, -watching these gentry, and I can see that _we're_ not assimilating -_them_. The egregious Pennington, that young swine Webster----" - -"Both of whom I've met in this house," interposed Pentyre. - -"I know. One gets roped in. Some one dragged me along to their parties, -so I had to invite them back. But I don't go any more. The danger _now_ -is that they'll assimilate us. I went through my mother's book a short -time ago and put a mark against certain names; and in future those -people will not be invited or admitted to the house. No doubt they'll -get on very happily without me, but so much mud is thrown at us in the -ordinary way of business that I can't afford to put up gratuitous -targets for the amusement of the gutter-press. Honestly, Pentyre, you'd -feel rather small, if the _Sunday Budget_ or _Morton's Weekly_ came out -with a 'Society Gambling Scandal.' Wouldn't you?" - -Pentyre adroitly evaded the question and continued his own bombardment. - -"Is your cousin's name in the condemned list?" he asked. - -"It will be, if I have any trouble from her again. What I can't get -people to see is that we're hanging on by our eyelids to such position -as we've got. A hundred years ago we were a class apart and above -criticism; nobody thought the worse of us, if we appeared at the theatre -with a notorious cocotte or drank ourselves gently under the table. Our -present accursed democracy was unborn. But, when once that came into -existence, we could only keep ourselves from proscription by saying very -loudly that we were still a class apart and were setting a standard. -Democracy's too lazy and snob-ridden to be very exacting, but it's had -its eye on us. George and his friends are conspiring to hamstring the -poor, decent House of Lords; and, if they succeed, the rot won't stop -there. I find life very pleasant, and it isn't worth a tremendous -upheaval simply for the amusement of behaving like a Bank Holiday -crowd.... Let's go and smoke in the library." - -Under the tranquilling influence of tobacco, Loring recovered his -good-humour and the controversy flickered to extinction. There was a -short attempt to revive and explore the scandal of Croxton Hall, but -Pentyre was secretly frightened by the possibility of seeing his name in -the papers; and he knew from long experience that there was no surer way -of achieving notoriety than that of telling anything in confidence to -those of his friends whose social importance was measured by their range -and freshness of gossip. - -"You're _too_ provoking!" Deganway protested shrilly, pinning him in an -embrasure and flapping irritably with his eye-glass. "You know it's not -fair to tell a story without giving all the names." - -"I didn't tell the story," Pentyre pointed out. - -"But I've asked Jim, and he won't say. Val! Do make him tell! He's being -so tiresome." - -Arden shrugged his shoulders and, with the outward frozen detachment -which had become second nature to him, retired to a table by himself -where he called for China tea and produced a pack of patience cards. -There were other means of investigating the poker episode, and he had -decided that it was more than time for the social satirist to make -Barbara Neave's acquaintance. For the merits of the controversy he cared -nothing, but his sense of humour was maliciously stirred in -contemplation of a self-consciously decorous clan stung into undignified -curvettings by a gadfly girl of sixteen. Though he ostentatiously -refused to be drawn into partisanship, the stiff blamelessness of the -interlocked Catholic families occasionally oppressed him; and the -material outcome of Loring's tirade was to stimulate his desire to -explore the domestic dissension at first hand. - -"One feels that Lady Barbara would repay study," he observed to Jack, as -they left the house together. "She is a new element in our worn-out -social system." - -"You must study her for me," answered Jack. "I agree with every word Jim -said. I'm too busy to go out much, but _some_ of the people I meet.... -My father says that twenty years ago they wouldn't have been tolerated. -But since the South African diamond boom and all the new money.... Of -course, the girl just wants slapping." - -"You have met her? No? One hoped that you would have effected the -introduction." - -"I avoid the present-day girl like the plague," said Jack. - -The following afternoon Arden called in South Street with a book which, -he assured Lady Knightrider, he had promised to lend her. Lady Barbara -was at Hurlingham with Webster; but, as she was expected back to tea, he -planted himself immovably in a chair and awaited her return. When at -last she came, he found her utterly unlike the rebellious school-girl of -his imagination. A childhood spent in public had matured her beyond her -years so that she had the looks of twenty-two and the self-possession of -forty. Instead of studying her, he found himself being studied; slender -and lithe as a boy, she was tall enough to look down on him. He found -her haggard with restlessness and a life of nervous excitement; her -tired eyes, ever changing in size and colour, brightened as she took in -his affectations of dress and mannerisms of speech; he felt that she was -harmonizing her pose with his and that her vitality and quickness had -already given her an advantage. - -"I've read all your books. Witty, but very artificial," she said, as -they were introduced. "The French do that sort of thing more easily, but -you've not read much French, have you? There are several things I want -to discuss with you. A play I've written." She drew off her gloves -jerkily, splitting the thumb of one. "Did you come to see me or Aunt -Kathleen? And you know Jim, of course. I want your opinion of him." - -"_He_ knows _me_," Arden distinguished, as he watched her carelessly -calculated movements. Within sixty seconds she had shewn herself -full-face and in profile, with a hat and again with two tapering hands -smoothing a mass of wayward hair. He had seen her wistful and tired, as -she came into the room, and again alert and galvanised at finding him -there. Yet she had certainly noticed his hat in the hall; probably she -had read the name and thought out her attack as she came upstairs. He -was charmed by her conscientious artifice. - -"You talk just like Fatty Webster's imitations of you! That's so clever -of you! But why do you do it? You've arrived. There's no need to be -eccentric now. But perhaps you've grown into your own pose? In that case -you're right to express yourself in your own medium. Life is simply -self-expression, isn't it? The discovery of the Ego, the refinement of -the Ego, the presentation of the Ego." She nodded quickly at a portrait -of her father in Garter robes. "It would never do to be submerged by -that kind of thing. I'm always so sorry for Royalty." - -As he hesitated for an answer, she put her hands to her throat, -unclasped her necklace and threw it out of the window. Arden sprang -across the room and looked down into the street to make sure that he had -seen aright. A District Messenger-boy approached, whistling; he explored -the necklace with his foot and finally picked it up. - -"My dear, what _are_ you doing?" cried Lady Knightrider in amazement. - -"I went flying to-day," Lady Barbara answered, as she poured herself out -a cup of tea. - -"Flying!" - -"Yes, I didn't tell you beforehand, because I was afraid of a scene. -Besides, I should have done it, whatever you said. Johnnie Gaymer -promised to take me up. I haven't been near Hurlingham. Don't bother, -Mr. Arden." - -"But why----?" Valentine began, startled out of his invertebrate -placidity by a sensationalist more original than himself. - -"Because I wasn't killed. I love that necklace more than anything in -the world. It was given me when I was recovering from typhoid and every -one thought I _must_ die.... The engine stopped in mid-air, and I made -sure I was going to be killed. Johnnie thought so, too. I felt I owed -something to Nemesis.... I've known you by sight all this season, Mr. -Arden. You weren't at the Poynters last night, by any chance? I couldn't -go, because I was in disgrace. And Lord Poynter sent his car this -morning with a wreath of lilies, because he was afraid I must be dead." - -The short, disjointed sentences, flung out rapidly as she helped herself -to cake, demanded all Arden's attention and left her aunt far behind. -Lady Knightrider hurried belatedly to the window and then stretched her -hand to the bell. Lady Barbara took her arm soothingly and led her back -to her chair. - -"Your disgrace was our diversion," said Arden. - -"Did Jim tell you about it," asked Lady Barbara. "How like him! I'm -beginning to think he's naturally cruel. Or unnaturally. Conscious -cruelty is what divides men from animals.... Aunt Kathleen, if you fuss, -I shall scream; I've been badly frightened and I hated throwing it -away.... I'd sooner die than hurt any one.... Have you ever flown? I've -wanted to for years; I felt it would be a new sensation. Won't it be -awful when we've done so much that there are no sensations left? Aunt -Kathleen's quite irrepressible, isn't she?" - -After an interval of indecision Lady Knightrider had hurried out of the -room and downstairs. Arden looked at his watch and prepared to follow -her. - -"One always lies down before dinner," he explained. - -"You're going--just when we've been left a moment together?" she asked -with a smile that had less of amusement than of artistic sympathy. -"That's a brilliant effect. Not one man in a million would have thought -of it. We must meet again. Why did you come at all? What had you heard -about me? I don't recommend Aunt Kathleen's cigarettes." - -She offered him her case, and Arden lighted one. - -"A poker party was mentioned at dinner last night," he told her. "One -casually wondered who the man was." - -"Claude Arkwright. Jim says I've got his soul on my conscience. Any more -questions?" - -Arden laughed and for a moment shed all his mannerisms. - -"Yes. What's behind all this?" he asked. - -"All this what? All this me? What I do?" Lady Barbara met him -unreservedly on his own chosen ground of sincerity, and her voice and -smile changed. "_I'm_ behind it. Come, you're quite clever enough to -understand. I want to enjoy life and know life and meet people and read -books and do things.... I won't be treated like a minor Royalty. The -world's full of Jim Lorings. Wherever I go, some one says 'Not there, -not there, my child.' And then! _Then_ I go quite mad! You'll like me, I -think. Good-bye." - -"Good-bye, Lady Lilith." - -"Lilith? Who was she? Wasn't she Adam's first wife?" - -"She existed before Man tasted of the tree of knowledge; before good and -evil came into the world," said Arden impressively. - -"_I_ remember. I hope you won't become sententious. That went out with -the last of the Wilde plays." - -Lady Knightrider was standing in the hall, plump, white-haired and -perplexed, peering through her lorgnettes into the street. The -messenger-boy had disappeared, and the necklace with him. - -"He will take it to Scotland Yard," predicted Arden reassuringly. "And -then Lady Barbara will throw it away again for fear of cheating Nemesis. -One despaired of meeting honest superstition in these degenerate latter -days." - -"I've never heard----," began Lady Knightrider. One crime jostled -another and confused her mind. "Crawleigh will be furious if he finds -out she's been flying." - -Arden walked back to the Ritz, wondering whether the fuller study of -Barbara Neave justified him in giving away points by betraying interest -in her. His preliminary diagnosis discovered energy with no outlet, -premature experience with unsated curiosity; public life held no mystery -or attraction for the only daughter of a viceroy; unless Lord Crawleigh -set himself to gain a dukedom, there were no social heights to scale; -the family was too rich for her to be troubled about money; and so -energy sought its outlet in making and receiving new sensations. This -was well enough at sixteen or seventeen, but after another five years -emotion-hunting...? He was still undecided when he encountered her a -week later at Covent Garden, sitting with Summertown and Webster on a -sofa outside Lady Maitland's box and having her fortune told by Sonia -Dainton. Her setting was of more interest than her occupation, for -Summertown and Miss Dainton were leaders of the younger cavalry in the -cosmopolitan army; they echoed the noise and reflected the insistent -glare of Sir Adolf Erckmann without sharing his solid prestige as a -critic and patron of art. Webster was a sodden, characterless youth, who -bought his way into toleration which he mistook for popularity. Arden -wondered what Loring would say if he found his cousin in such company. - -"The discovery of the Ego?" he enquired. - -"Hullo! We're having such fun!" said Lady Barbara. "Miss Dainton's -wonderful! I've had two bad illnesses, and something is going to happen -soon which will change the whole of my life. I'm going to have an -enormous success of some kind. And then an enormous tragedy. I'm very -artistic and full of intuition. I've got a strong will and a great -influence over people. Go on, Sonia." - -"The line of heart--give me your other hand a minute," said Sonia -Dainton. "Yes, the line of heart hasn't begun yet. When it _does_!" - -Lady Barbara withdrew her hand abruptly. - -"I don't believe you know anything about it, Sonia. Are there any good -palmists in London, Mr. Arden? I collect fortune-tellers. Let's go -somewhere to-morrow. Father will be back in England next month, and then -I shan't be able to do anything." - -"You believe in all this?" Arden asked, remembering her action with the -necklace and wondering how far she was trying to beat him at his own -game of extravagant effects. - -"Oh, implicitly. Don't you? And I do want to find out all about the -future. Let's devote a week to it and try _every one_." - -"I might spare you two days," he answered, as he passed on to his box. - -At the end of the first Arden's curiosity was satisfied. Lady Barbara -was a study in crude contrasts. While she pained her family by sceptical -indifference to religion, there seemed nothing that she would not -believe, provided only that it did not come to her from the lips of a -priest. As they drove from one clairvoyant to another, she revealed a -curious knowledge of necromancy; she had read every book that she could -find on Satanism and the Black Mass and would talk of astrology and the -significance of dreams with grave conviction. But the cult of the -fortune-tellers was inspired primarily by a desire to discuss herself -and to be discussed. A single morning exhausted the possibilities of -amusement from such a source, and her companions were less diverting -than herself; Sonia Dainton dropped out when she found herself accorded -second place, Summertown played a thin stream of monotonous jocosity -over the survivors, and Webster fell asleep with an air of duty well -done when he had provided luncheon for every one, discovered a new -clairvoyant and driven the party to her at breakneck speed in the latest -of the racing cars whose purchase constituted the overt business of his -life. - -They were to have met again with Lady Knightrider at the end of the -season; but, when Arden and Jack Waring entered the train for Raglan, -Loring awaited them with a grave face and pointed to a column notice in -his paper, headed "Serious Flying Accident." - -"Thank Heaven, it happened when she was with her people and not with -me," he began. "That's my silly little fool of a cousin again! She got -that fellow Gaymer down to Crawleigh Abbey; and, when her parents' backs -were turned, they went off for a jaunt to Salisbury Plain. The -manoeuvres were on, so they brightened them up by flying so low that the -inspecting general bolted and the troops scattered in panic. There'll be -the deuce to pay for that alone. Then, on the way back, they came down -in the New Forest and got hung up on a tree. Gaymer's broken a -collar-bone and two ribs; and Barbara's badly shaken and bruised. Here's -an opportunity for your literary genius, Valentine; help me to draft a -telegram of sympathy which will shew at the same time that I think she -richly deserved all she got." - -The accident was Lady Barbara's formal introduction to England. -Throughout 1909 there was an official pretence that she was not yet out; -she would still be no more than seventeen when her parents returned, and -both Lady Loring and Lady Knightrider refused to present her before -that. The baptism of blood in the New Forest made her name and face -known to every reader of every illustrated paper. "The ideal _debut_ for -her," exclaimed Loring in disgust. "I can see her spending the rest of -her life trying to live up to it." - -Four days later he came into Arden's room with a letter which he threw -onto the bed with a grim smile. - -_"Dearest Jim,_ - -_"It was sweet of you to send me that wire. I've strained my back and -covered myself with bruises, but it was worth it. Fear is a wonderful -sensation; I believe it's the strongest of all the emotions. I certainly -feel that I shall never again get that sublimated degree of fear. I got -Death. (D'you spell Death with a capital D? I always do--from respect; -Death will outlast God.) You heard I had concussion? I knew I was dying -and that one step would carry me over the dividing-line. There was a -black curtain, like a drop-scene; and I knew that, as soon as that -lifted, I should be dead and on the other side. I said to myself I -wouldn't die. When I came to, the doctor was frowning terribly, and I -heard him mutter, 'Just about time, too, young lady.' I wonder whether -you'd be sorry, if I died, Jim. When I had appendicitis at Simla, you -couldn't get through the streets for the people who were waiting to hear -how the operation had gone off. The wires were blocked for three days -with enquiries._ - -_"I'm to be allowed out at the end of the week and hope to be well -enough to come to you at House of Steynes with father and mother._ - -_Your loving Barbara."_ - -Arden smiled as he handed back the letter. - -"Characteristic," he commented. - -"Oh, very! Not a word about Gaymer. Or the feelings of her parents. -She's had two new sensations and she can't be sure whether she'd get as -good a press for her death here as in India. Crawleigh will have his -hands full. You've not met him? Well, it's one thing to govern India and -another to keep a little devil like that in order." - -A month later, still in the detached spirit of the social satirist, -Arden allowed himself to be introduced to Lady Barbara's parents in -Scotland. He was anxious to study her family setting, for Lord Crawleigh -was already beginning to be regarded primarily as the father of his own -daughter and only in afterthought as a distinguished public servant. -Fifteen years earlier he had first shewn the administrative brilliance -and incapacity to work with colleagues which impel a man to a -viceroyalty or the leadership of a disgruntled party of one on the -cross-benches. In Canada, in Ireland and in India he had been publicly -admired and privately abhorred. Without the backing of long established -authority, however, he was thrown on his own resources; and paper-work -genius proved itself powerless without palpable force of character. -Over-sensitive to his personal dignity, he treated his wife and children -with the pomp and despotism of Government House; according to Loring's -description, councils were convened to decide what train should bear -them from London to Crawleigh Abbey; the cook's shortcomings were -minuted to Lady Crawleigh for observations and appropriate action; the -servants were pinned to the straight path of their duties by -proclamation, and the household books were scrutinized with an -exhaustive particularity not vouchsafed to the preparation of an Indian -budget. - -It was the self-protective assertion of a man sensitive to his physical -inadequacy. Lord Crawleigh's domed head, ascetic face and rimless -spectacles were impressively intellectual, but he degenerated as he went -lower. The bottom half of his face was confused with a straggling blonde -moustache intended for an operatic viking; his body was too short, his -legs too long; and, when he became excited, his voice rose querulous and -shrill. But the viceregal manner carried him far. Lord Neave and his two -younger brothers had been taught obedience at Eton; Lady Crawleigh, as -her passivity and plumpness hinted, suffered from a family streak of -laziness, which she shared with Lady Loring and Lady Knightrider, and -from twenty-five years' experience of her husband, which she could share -with no one. It required Barbara's temperamental irreverence and gipsy -craving for liberty to break down the imposing forms and spirit of her -father's rule. The boys, who could be caned while she remained immune, -sheltered themselves behind their younger sister; and, with a woman's -genius for tactical alliances and strategical choice of ground, she -explored and profited by the weak places in the enemy's system of -defences. Her father's public position and private dignity were her -strongest accessories. "She can always blackmail him by threatening a -scandal," as Loring explained. - -So long as she had her own way, Arden discovered a rule of peace and -mutual affection. Lady Barbara hated to be on bad terms with any one; -and her parents were humanly, if reluctantly, proud of her. Throughout -his visit to House of Steynes, she dominated the party by her vitality -and versatile charm. Loring was in the early stages of devotion to Sonia -Dainton and disappeared as long and often as possible to escape his -mother and sister, who were trying to avert an engagement, and Lady -Dainton, who was forcing it to a head; and in his absence Arden watched -Lady Barbara posing herself in the middle of the stage, methodically -sharing herself among the guests and holding her own with all. It was -the fruit of early years, during which she had lived consistently in -public, meeting men of every profession and country, listening, -remembering, learning and giving her best in return. She shewed a nice -appreciation of personality and varied her attitude with her audience. -In talking to Arden himself she still gravely met pose with pose and -extravagance with extravagance. - -"D'you feel you know me adequately now?" she asked him on the last -night. "Mr. Deganway told me you were going to write a book about me." - -"And you replied, 'Only one?' It is unfortunate that Meredith has -already taken 'The Egoist' as a title." - -Lady Barbara turned slowly, as though he were a mirror, and gave him -time to appreciate her slender height and lithe figure. One hand -directed attention to her hair, as she brushed away a curl from her -forehead; and she looked at him sideways with her fingers pressed -against one cheek so that he should see the size and deep colour of her -eyes. - -"D'you think I'm unduly vain?" she asked. - -"Genius demands vanity. But one comes back to the old question: what is -behind it? One thinks of you in six years' time and asks oneself what -will be left. You have been everywhere, Lady Lilith, and met every one -whom the world considers worth meeting--they were not too numerous? -No?--and you have read so much.... In six years' time you will be the -best known woman in London, but there will be nothing left for you to -do." - -"There are always new experiences. When I had that accident in the New -Forest, a man came from the other end of England, because he'd fallen in -love with my photograph. He said he couldn't marry any one else after -seeing me." - -"It is surfeiting to be easily loved," Arden sighed. "One does not shoot -sitting birds. Some day, perhaps, Lady Lilith will meet a man who goes -to the other end of England to avoid her. That will be a new experience. -She will follow him, of course. To find a heart will be the greatest -experience of all. One will watch your career with interest." - -"And describe it? Or are you afraid to risk my friendship?" - -"The only book that could offend Lady Lilith is one in which she does -not appear." - -For the next six months Arden was compelled to study her through the -press. Loring went abroad for the winter in his yacht, Lady Knightrider -withdrew to Scotland, and Lord Crawleigh moved his seat of government -from Berkeley Square to Hampshire. Despite the rival claims of a general -election, however, she secured creditable space in the daily and weekly -papers. A ball at Crawleigh Abbey was followed by an abortive rumour of -her engagement to her cousin Lord John Carstairs. A prompt and -unambiguous disclaimer was issued, but the findings of the commission, -which Lord Crawleigh appointed under his own chairmanship to investigate -his daughter's conduct, were such that he deemed it prudent to transfer -his seat of government from Hampshire to Cap Martin. A series of -photographs from the Riviera correspondent of the 'Catch' shewed her -walking demurely with her father, playing tennis and participating less -demurely in a battle of flowers and a fancy-dress carnival. - -In the spring of 1910 public interest was deflected to another branch of -the family, for Loring's engagement to Sonia Dainton was announced. But -by that time, as Arden pointed out, a man had only himself to blame if -he did not know all that was to be known of Lady Barbara Neave. - -"How poor Jim must loathe all this self-advertising," said Jack Waring, -when he met Arden at the County Club to discuss the engagement. "I've -never even seen her, but I've had _her_ and her _hats_ and her _clothes_ -thrust under my eyes by these infernal papers till I'm sick of them. -She's talented, she's charming. I know all the things she said to all -the big pots in India. When she is twenty-one she comes in for all her -godfather's money on condition that she marries a Catholic.... I suppose -there must be a public for this kind of stuff, or the papers wouldn't -print it; but she's on the level of a musical-comedy star. Arden, my -lad, I'm an old man, but I swear people had a little more dignity and -restraint in my young days. The one good thing about the court mourning -is that she doesn't get so much opportunity for her antics." - -"She'll emerge again, when it's over," Arden predicted. "Meanwhile, -London is becoming very tiresome. Has life lost its savour? Are we -growing old? One would give much for the tonic of a good scandal." - -"There'll be no lack of that," Jack prophesied, "judging from the people -I see in London nowadays." - - - - -CHAPTER THREE - -THE SPIRIT OF PAN - - "A maid too easily - Conceits herself to be - Those things - Her lover sings; - And being straitly wooed, - Believes herself the Good - And Fair - He seeks in her." - - FRANCIS THOMPSON: "ANY SAINT." - - -"D'you remember once saying that you wanted the tonic of a good -scandal?" asked Jack Waring one night three years later. "It was soon -after King Edward's death." - -"And we were all very respectable and dull." Valentine Arden roused from -sleep, blinked at the clock and rang for a whiskey and soda. "One -recalls it. There is a difference between court mourning and the second -coming of Christ, but the English are the last people in the world to -recognize it. And there is a difference between taking a tonic and being -pelted to death with medicine bottles. Since those days one scans the -paper each morning to see what new reputations have been lost. Who has -made the latest Roman holiday?" - -"Oh, it's this old business about your friend Barbara Neave." - -Jack threw the paper to Arden and took up another in which he could -read, with insignificant verbal changes, a second and equally gratifying -account of his own prowess in the Court of Appeal that day. Three years -earlier he had talked to Eric Lane of abandoning his unproductive -criminal work on circuit; he now wondered whether he dared abandon -circuit work altogether and concentrate on his London practice. After, -perhaps, six years more he would be wondering whether to risk his whole -practice by applying for silk. Success was none the less gratifying -because he had backed his own determination against the disparaging -anticipations of his friends. Jack knew as well as any one that he was -not a great lawyer; but natural shrewdness gained him a reputation for -sound judgement; slowness passed for caution; and the inelasticity which -saved him from seeing all round a case was reinforced by an obstinate -refusal to let go the single point which he had grasped. More than one -over-astute witness in those three years had entered the box with -assurance and left it in dismay. - -Only those who had known him longest wondered occasionally whether his -practice had not been bought at the price of his soul. The plea of work -and a ponderous affectation of age excused him from any effort to widen -his interests. As old a friend as Eric Lane was allowed to drop out of -his life; he refused to enter a new house and on one pretext or another -reduced the number of the old, until any time that he could spare from -work was divided between his club and his home in the country. At the -first his friends were at liberty to visit him, if they chose; but he -was obviously happier with the two Chancery silks and the one Indian -judge, all of them twice his age, in whose company he dined nightly. And -the influence of Red Roofs was even more lamentable on a man who was -born self-centred and opinionated; Mrs. Warning and Agnes idolized and -spoiled him, the colonel crystallized an intolerant conservatism of -ideas which was better justified as the mature experience of a -middle-aged soldier and country gentleman than as the untried prejudice -of a thirty-year-old barrister. "A man may be a prig or a bore or both," -said Pentyre at a time of temporary estrangement, "but he needn't be so -infernally pleased with himself about it." The school of sport and -fashion which Jack had once led at Oxford entertained the same feeling, -if it expressed it with more disappointment and less candour. - -"The coroner would seem to have spoken with visible emotion," commented -Arden, trying to disguise his relish as he read the paper which Jack had -thrown to him. "One wishes one had stayed to the end." - -"I've no doubt she'll try to use it as another advertisement," Jack -grunted. "What her unfortunate people must think.... _And_ what the -younger generation is coming to. It's a good thing for Jim that he's -being spared all this." - -"Yet he also has unselfishly contributed to the general diversion," said -Arden. - -Three years had passed since Sonia Dainton delighted her friends by -becoming engaged to Loring, and two since she astonished them by -breaking off the engagement. He had at once gone abroad and was reported -to be still cruising aimlessly in the East. The social ghouls had hardly -sated themselves with gossip, when Webster entangled himself with the -proprietress of a dancing academy and was constrained to pay damages for -breach of promise; and, while this case was still being discussed, Jack -Summertown proceeded to occupy the press for three days with an enquiry -into a series of minor outrages inflicted on an unpopular brother -officer. Valentine Arden sat through the whole variety programme, -unamused and detached, watching his friends succumbing one after another -to epidemic madness. "The spirit of Pan is abroad," he explained -gravely. - -Lady Barbara Neave had flitted on the outskirts of each new scandal; -but, since her flying accident, she had contributed no scandal of her -own. - -For the first year of the three she opened her social circuit as -comprehensively as an unfledged barrister. Lady Crawleigh carried her -from Milford to Kenworth, from Warmslow to Lenge and from Cheniston to -Granlake. Lady Barbara's interest in social analysis was roused and fed -by her tour of the great houses; they required a technique different -from the absolutism of Government House and the unaided personal -ascendancy of London; and, if she remained unabsorbed into the new -atmosphere, at least she returned to Crawleigh Abbey with a mature -country-house philosophy and clear-cut ideas of what to avoid and -extrude from her own parties. The second year was devoted to romantic -exploration. At the end of the court mourning she met a pleasant -undistinguished soldier on furlough and chose, for no better reason--so -far as her parents could see--than that he was already married, to fancy -herself in love with him. Their few meetings--and still more their -emotional parting--convinced at least the theatrical side of her -temperament that she had broken her heart in a hopeless passion. Always -thin, she artistically allowed herself to waste. For twelve teeming -months she passively accepted the worship of all who were intrigued by -her attitude of mystery and unresponsiveness; then native impatience -broke through the unconvincing crust of cynicism, and she returned to -London in a dangerous state of expectancy and unsatisfied excitement. In -the absence of an overt scandal, her father hoped that she was sobered -from the tomboy who had spread devastation through his three viceregal -terms of office; the lesser optimists opined that she was only awaiting -adequate opportunity. - -Disaster overtook her in the summer of 1913; and, whatever other -criticism was made, no one could deny that she won notoriety in the -grand manner. The facts, as disclosed in court, revealed that Sir Adolf -Erckmann had given a ball at his house in Westbourne Terrace. Lady -Barbara decided within a few minutes of her arrival that the party was -over-crowded and tiresome. Finding her slave Webster unoccupied, she -suggested that he should drive her to another dance in the country and -return to Westbourne Terrace when the congestion had been relieved. As -his own car was gone home, they explored the line until the unknown -chauffeur of some one else's car was persuaded to take them to -Rickmansworth, wait half an hour and bring them back. Lady Barbara -promised that there should be no awkward consequences, if they were -discovered; Webster substantiated her guarantee with a five-pound note; -and, by the time that they had further cajoled him with a stimulating -supper of champagne and cutlets, the driver's last reluctance was -overcome. - -The story was liberally punctuated with questions on the general -propriety of a girl's bribing a strange chauffeur and stealing an -unknown car, with comments, too, on the dignity of their carrying a -bottle of champagne and a plate of cutlets into the middle of Westbourne -Terrace. There followed a digression to discover how much had been -consumed; Lady Barbara and Webster asserted unshakably that the -chauffeur was sober and that, if his driving became erratic at any -point, this was due to his admitted ignorance of the route. - -While the question of sobriety was left in suspense, the expedition was -reconstructed to the moment when the car reached a fork in the road and -the chauffeur turned to Webster and asked "Right or left, sir?" Examined -on the question of speed, Lady Barbara was sure that they were not going -more than fifteen or twenty miles an hour; twenty-five at the outside, -Webster conceded unwillingly; they could not see the speedometer. It was -suggested, however, that they must have calculated how long the double -journey would take; they had even noticed when the car started and when -it stopped; a damaging calculation shewed that their average pace was -thirty-seven miles an hour and that, if they drove slowly out of London, -they must have reached forty-five or fifty miles an hour in the -country. And they had not told the man to moderate his pace; it even -seemed that they had encouraged him to drive faster. - -At the fork in the road Webster called out, "To the right, I think"; -then he saw that he was mistaken and shouted, "No! the left." In trying -to change direction, the chauffeur drove into a wedge-shaped brick wall -and was instantly killed. Lady Barbara and her companion escaped with a -severe shaking and a few scratches from the broken glass of the -wind-screen; the front of the car was smashed beyond repair. - -The accident took place in open country without a house in sight. As -soon as they saw that the driver was dead, Lady Barbara spread her cloak -over the crushed head and broken face; Webster's nerve was gone, and she -left him, whimpering, to guard the body, while she went in search of -help. An early market-cart came to their rescue, and they rumbled slowly -back to London, shivering in their thin clothes and glancing over their -shoulders at a pair of twisted legs in black gaiters, which protruded -stiffly from beneath a blood-stained cloak. - -The news swept through London in the evening papers, and Lady Barbara -was inundated next day with enquiries and messages of sympathy. So -grudging a critic as Jack Waring contended warmly at the County Club -that, apart from her silliness in rushing away to the country in the -middle of the night and borrowing a car without leave, she was really -not to blame; and it was a dreadful experience for any girl. By -comparison with Webster she had kept her head and behaved very properly, -taking the body straight to a hospital, communicating with the widow, -making herself personally responsible for a liberal pension and -undertaking to replace the shattered car. Before night two papers had -published sympathetic interviews with her, reproducing in her own not -undramatic words the abrupt transition from a careless drive to violent -death, the slow passage of a funeral procession between barren grey -fields, the silence and desolation of the night, the early-morning chill -which beat on her unprotected arms and shoulders and the haunting sense -of helplessness which dominated every other feeling. Inset was one -photograph of her in evening dress and another with hollow cheeks and -big ghostly eyes, in the subdued black frock which she had worn to -receive her interviewers; for these Jack blamed the notorious vulgarity -of the Press. - -Admiration changed again to pity when the inquest opened. Sonia Dainton, -who attended as an act of friendship, reported that the coroner was -underbred and ill-tempered; Lady Maitland, who felt no curiosity but did -not want Barbara to think that her friends were deserting her, added -that he was a natural bully; and the Duchess of Ross, who hated any -unpleasantness and only went--with Lord Poynter, Mrs. Shelley and Val -Arden--to give the girl confidence, brought back word that, to the best -of his ability and the utmost of his despotic functions, he was resolved -to humiliate Lady Barbara, to discredit her associates and, without -respect of persons, to put such a brand on her family and herself that -they would never again dare to shew themselves among decent men and -women. The witness learned on the first day that she was a pampered and -spoiled child; _blasee_ and restless, she would do anything for a new -excitement; with that absence of rudimentary decorum which some people -appeared to think "smart," she had lawlessly appropriated a car--the -coroner wondered what she would think if any one took one of her -father's cars "just for a joke"--she had helped to make the driver -intoxicated, thereby shewing characteristic disregard for the safety of -mere ordinary people who might also want to use the road; she or her -companion--was it usual for a girl to ride about at night unattended in -this way?--had incited the chauffeur to drive at a reckless rate of -speed. And the price of this prank--the momentary diversion of the Lady -Barbara Neave, daughter of the Marquis of Crawleigh, one time -Governor-General of Canada, Viceroy of India and Lord Lieutenant of -Ireland--was the hideous death of a man who left behind him a widow and -four small children. Lady Barbara, who naturally thought that money paid -for everything, was graciously and of her abundance trying to compute -the dead man's cash value to his wife. The hearing was adjourned for a -week, as Mr. Webster was indisposed by the shock of the accident. - -Had the coroner been inspired by malice, he could not have waged a -deadlier warfare than by taking three days for the inquest and allowing -intervals of a week for the case to be discussed. The stream of sympathy -ran dry; and, if no one criticized Lady Barbara to her face, every one -chattered about the enquiry and took his time from the coroner. -Repenting his precipitate tolerance, Jack Waring told the two Chancery -silks and the Indian judge that it was absurd for Crawleigh to say that -the man was abusing his position and stirring up class prejudice; when -one looked back over the last few years, one remembered a dozen things -which Lady Barbara had been allowed to do for no better reason than that -she was Lady Barbara Neave; but a line had really to be drawn somewhere. -If Crawleigh disliked having mud thrown at him in public, he should -exercise his authority with the girl; her friends were wholly -impossible.... - -By the time that Webster was well enough to give evidence, the tide was -in flood against him. The breach of promise case was fresh in the public -mind; and, if it could not relevantly be brought up against him, it had -at least familiarised his appearance and history and made a dark -background to his examination. Mr. Webster was a young man; he did not -work for his living, as he had considerable private means; in fact, he -had nothing to do except to spend money and amuse himself. Pressed to -state what good he was effecting for himself or the world at large, he -could only say that he was interested in the theatre and fond of -motoring--another instance of this small, rich, insistent class whose -social importance varied in inverse ratio as its public usefulness. Put -shortly, his object in life was to kill time, to avoid boredom. - -The story of the night drive was rehearsed a second time, as the coroner -wished to know who had proposed it; and the suspended question of the -driver's sobriety was brought up for retrial. A bottle of champagne had -been mentioned; had Mr. Webster and Lady Barbara partaken of it in their -idyllically democratic picnic? Mr. Webster had dined at his club; could -he remember what he had drunk with his dinner? His bill would no doubt -shew that. - -On the second adjournment a sordid note had been introduced, alienating -the last sympathisers and sinking a tragedy in a drunken frolic. No one -acquainted with Webster would associate him with a temperate life; those -who saw him for the first time in court with twitching hands, a puffy -face and flickering eyelids drew their own conclusions. If it was a -shock to look at Lady Barbara and to hear it suggested that she, too, -had been hardly accountable for her actions, the shock was not wholly -displeasing to those who believed in the rottenness of so-called -"society." - -"They say I've murdered the man," she whispered to her father, as she -left the court. "They've made the foulest insinuations about Fatty -Webster and me. Now they say I drink. There's not much left, is there? I -shouldn't be surprised if the people in the street hooted me." - -Lord Crawleigh chewed his blonde, viking moustache and hurried her -across the pavement into a closed car. He had never been present at an -inquest before; and a voice had murmured that the coroner was working -for a verdict of manslaughter. A nondescript crowd, dotted with cameras, -waited in a half-circle outside the court; it was curious, but at -present it was silent. Valentine Arden paused at the door and -ostentatiously raised his hat. He, too, would not have been surprised to -hear hooting; and he was disappointed to have no vivid contrast for his -gesture of chivalry. He wondered whether Lady Barbara was missing the -hostile demonstration; it would have been a new sensation.... - -On the third day she appeared once more in a black hat and dress and sat -with her veil up, waiting for the verdict and the coroner's comments. -Arden decided that she was modelling herself on Marie Antoinette and -hoped that she would be given an opportunity of speaking. At the end, -the jury found that death was due to misadventure; the reporters closed -their note-books, and Lord Crawleigh reached for his hat. Arden left at -once for fear of spoiling his earlier effect by repetition, but the -evening papers reported the invective of the coroner in full. - -_"I suggest to the representatives of the press that it is their duty to -give the widest publicity to this case. In an experience which goes back -for a good many years now, I have never regretted so bitterly that I -have no power to punish those who by wanton carelessness or evil -disposition contribute to the death of a man or woman as surely as if -they had killed him with their own hands. We have had an illuminating -picture of the life and habits of some of those who traditionally expect -us to look up to them for an example. If these people are too idle or -vicious or brainless to live a life which shall be of use to the -community, there should at least be power to restrain them from becoming -a source of public danger. The proper treatment for such incipient -hooligans and reformatory children is the birch-rod: I wish I had -authority to order it. Rank and wealth can only be defended if they -impose obligations: to these bright ornaments of the leisured classes -they only afford opportunities. There has been far too much of this kind -of thing lately, and I hope I shall never again be required to deal with -so disgraceful a case. These young hobbledehoys, unchecked by any -domestic discipline, unrestrained by common decency, owing no -obligation to any one, a law unto themselves, are a new and poisonous -growth in our social life. They fulfil no useful purpose, there is no -room for them."_ - -"There _was_ a hostile demonstration in the street," Arden announced, as -he came to the end of the report. - -"How she must have enjoyed it!" grunted Jack. - -"One wishes one had stayed to the end. The court was not unlike a gala -night at Covent Garden. You have read the descriptions of the dresses? -No?" - -"All this only encourages her," Jack pointed out. "I'm about the one man -in London who's succeeded in not meeting her, but, if there's ever a -revolution, that young woman will have done more than any one else to -bring it about. And she'll be photographed getting into the tumbril; and -some one will interview her on the scaffold. On my honour, I can't see -what amusement she gets out of it." - -"Emotion, drama, limelight, romance," Arden suggested. "Lady Barbara may -be sure that every one in London is talking about her at this moment; -London is her stage." - -"Well, she'll have to retire from it after this," said Jack. - -"She will re-emerge," Arden prophesied. - -Both predictions were fulfilled before the end of the summer. Lord -Crawleigh held his hand until the inquest was over, because he could not -trust himself to deal even justice while the offence was fresh. For -three weeks he was equally indifferent to Lady Barbara's tragic -attitude, the sympathy of friends and the infamies of a hostile press: -more than one anonymous letter reached him, to be read with a frown and -silently filed with the documents in the case; and it was reported that -a reference to his family had crept into the patter of a music-hall -comedian. In the rich silence of a choleric and expressive man the -nerves of family and retainers stretched to breaking-point. - -On the morrow of the verdict he assembled his wife and children in the -library, rehearsed the charges against Lady Barbara and made known his -will. Henceforward she was to go nowhere unless attended by her mother, -one of her brothers or her maid. The family would proceed to Crawleigh -Abbey that day and would remain there until further notice. The ball -which Lady Crawleigh was giving would be cancelled; his daughter was to -refuse all invitations already accepted and to accept no more. At the -end of the season she would stay in no house unless one at least of her -parents accompanied her. - -As he ended, Lady Barbara stole a glance round the hushed library. Her -three brothers were silent and submissive; her mother helpless and -pained, like an "honest broker" who saw the nations of the world flying -at one another's throats, when she had exhausted herself to keep the -peace; her father's eyes were burning, and he dragged at one side of his -moustache as though he were trying to tear it out by the roots. In every -altercation, great and small, Lady Barbara had to fight single-handed. - -"But, father, you seem to think this was my _fault_!" she cried in -bewilderment. - -Lord Crawleigh handed his wife a paper with fingers that trembled. - -"Here are the dates and trains," he said. "You will go to the Abbey by -the 4.10 from Waterloo. I shall join you at the end of the session." He -turned to his daughter without trusting himself to face her dark, -reproachful eyes. "I contemplate taking you to Raglan in August and -House of Steynes in September, if your aunts see fit not to withdraw -your invitation----" - -"But how long is this going on?" Lady Barbara interrupted. - -"I cannot permit any discussion," he answered in something that was half -a whisper and half a sigh. - -Lady Barbara looked at him reflectively and went to her room. When she -came of age, in little more than a year's time, he would have no means -of coercing her. Without waiting a year she could go to Harry Manders -and demand to be given a part; he had offered her one in her own -duologue. But the tension of the last three weeks and the dazing -examination and attack at the inquest had left her uncertain of herself. -A day or two at the Abbey, even though she were snatched away in the -middle of the season, would give her time to find her bearings and -discover what people really thought of her. - -The more she pondered, the deeper grew her bewilderment. If all had gone -well, the dash to Rickmansworth and back would have been regarded as a -wholly innocent diversion in the course of a tiresome evening; on her -return every one else would have regretted that he had not come too; -even the borrowing of the car was venial, for the owner refused to -accept any compensation, though the insurance company might well make -difficulties; even he regarded the expedition as a joke, which had -unhappily turned to tragedy, and was far sorrier that Lady Barbara -should have been upset than that the chauffeur should have been killed. - -If the facts, then, were innocent, she was being persecuted by the -coroner and threatened with persecution by society at large for an -accident to which she had contributed nothing. The chauffeur was sober -enough to drive through dense traffic on the Harrow Road; Webster--she -remembered his words--had looked at his watch and said through the -speaking-tube, "You can let her out a bit now, I should think. We don't -want to keep you out too long." The charge that any one of them was -drunk would have been more insulting if it had been less grotesque. And -for this the coroner had suggested that she should be ostracized. And -her simple-minded father imagined that there were other simple-minded -souls who would take such a Jack-in-office at his own pontifical -valuation. - -She almost hoped that they would, so that she might force them in -triumph to acknowledge her innocence. To start as an outcast and win her -way back was a dramatic dream which almost made her wish that she was -guilty. To become an outcast might be as dramatic as to rise from -obscurity to a pinnacle of fame.... Napoleon owed half his place in -history to St. Helena. - -An undistracted fortnight at the Abbey cooled Lady Barbara's resentment -and checked the more romantic flights of her imagination. Her father's -judgement was clearly at fault; to run away was to admit herself in the -wrong. By the time that she had got herself into perspective, the season -was so near its end that she did not think it worth while to make a -demonstration and to occupy her room in Berkeley Square by force. But -the late summer and autumn lay before her, and, when her father came to -the Abbey for a week-end in July, she informed him that she had not yet -cancelled any of her arrangements for staying with friends. - -"You will remain here till we go to the Riviera in February," he -answered. - -"But, father, I'm not going to. This is quite serious. I've been here a -month without seeing a soul; I should go mad, if I had to vegetate for -another seven months. If you won't let me go, I'm afraid I must go -without your leave." - -"That may not be as easy as you think." - -"What d'you mean?" - -Lord Crawleigh unlocked a red leather despatch-box, turned over his -files and produced a sheet of paper which he spread before her. - -"This is a copy of a cable which your cousin has sent to his mother from -Surinam. I had intended taking you to House of Steynes, but that is out -of the question now." - -_"Please arrange that Barbara and her friend are not admitted to my -house. This applies to Monmouthshire and Scotland as well as London."_ - -Lady Barbara handed back the paper and tried to laugh, but she knew -that her expression was out of control. If the news had reached Surinam, -it had reached every cable-station on the way; and the operators had -hardly done feasting themselves on the inquest before a message, signed -"Loring" and mentioning her by name, added a dainty titbit to the -savoury repast. Sooner or later it would be common property that her own -cousin had slammed his door in her face for fear of contamination; the -family would be divided into those who knew her and those who publicly -refused to know her; she would become a test-case for disreputability. - -"Jim has his own standards of loyalty, hasn't he?" she commented and was -infuriated to find her voice trembling. "He's usually so keen on the -family that I shouldn't have thought he'd have wanted to take the whole -world into his confidence. One good thing, he can't call _me_ -self-advertising after this. Have you seen the darling boy's mother? Is -she--_proud_ of him over this?" - -"She was as much shocked as I was that you should have made it -necessary." - -"I? Father, you can't make me responsible for _this_. But is she proud -of his chivalry? And I suppose _you_ didn't make a fight for me? I must -see her. I want to tell her about the accident." She pressed her hands -to cheeks which were still hollow from the anxiety of the last two -months and looked at her father over her finger-tips. "I'd never seen -any one killed before, I'd never seen a dead body; and I couldn't sleep -at night, because of it. I kept seeing that unhappy woman's face, too, -when I had to tell her that her husband was dead. I didn't ask for -sympathy, but I thought perhaps my own father and mother might have seen -that I wasn't exactly--enjoying myself, that I was ill, worried out of -my mind. If _I_ had a daughter, I should have felt for her, I think, -when a foul-mouthed little reptile hinted that she was _drunk_ and that -her _lover_ had helped her kill an innocent man for her own amusement. -Never a word! Do you know that for three weeks you only said -'Good-morning' to me, father? Even if I was guilty a hundred times over, -it wouldn't have compromised you to be sorry that I was suffering. I -don't complain. You at least left me alone. But Jim waits till I'm -beaten to my knees, waits till I'm bleeding--and then hits wherever he -can see a bruise or wound. That _wasn't_ necessary, father." - -Lord Crawleigh rearranged his papers without answering. He was himself -so much humiliated by his nephew's cable that he had hardly thought how -it might affect Barbara. She was always most formidable when she stood, -as now, with drooping head, composed and subdued, speaking in an -undertone and rejecting in advance any sympathy that he might belatedly -offer her. She had learned in childhood to fight men with their own -weapons and to fall back on her sex when the battle was going against -her. He had seen her trading on pathos a hundred times with her mother -and aunts, using to full advantage a pose of tired frailty, a wistful -mouth and big eyes which filled with tears at will or flashed black with -indignation; she could droop her head and body until she looked like a -tortured martyr, or cough until she looked consumptive. Almost certainly -she was acting now, but her passion for romance and a dramatic impact -led her to act without knowing it. - -"If you had behaved properly, this would not have happened," he threw -out with weak, inconsequent irritability. - -"It's too late now. Are you going to House of Steynes? Do you allow -people to say that they'll be glad to see you on condition you don't -bring your daughter with you? And will you invite Amy and Aunt Eleanor -here to meet somebody who can't be admitted to their house?" - -Lord Crawleigh had enough imagination to see the more obvious -consequences of his nephew's ultimatum; but he could not devise an -effective reply, and it was merely exasperating to have his own -disadvantage explored and stated by Barbara. - -"I talked to your aunt. She says she daren't go against Jim's wishes. -After all, they're his houses. She's writing to him----" - -"To intercede for me?" Lady Barbara interrupted scornfully. "When next I -enter House of Steynes, it will be on his invitation. And, before I -allow him to invite me, he will apologize." - -"It's no use taking _that_ line," cried her father testily. Her last two -sentences had exceeded the probable limits of sincerity, and he swooped -before she could escape into a convincing pathos. "If _any one_ ought to -apologize----" - -Lady Barbara caught sight of her reflection, full-length, in a mirror, -with her father fidgetting at her side. He looked insignificant, almost -ridiculous, with his domed forehead and straggling blonde moustache, his -short body and long legs. She wanted to make him see himself and to play -up to their two reflections like Metternich and L'Aiglon in the mirror -scene. - -"I can only apologize for the fact of my existence," she sighed. "I was -_not_ responsible, father, and you know it. And, instead of standing up -for your own daughter, you let her be insulted. I can't do anything with -people who stab in the back, but I'm ready to meet every one! I _will_ -meet them. If they want to insult me, they can insult me to my face." - -The embargo on Lady Barbara's presence only extended to the houses -controlled by her cousin. In August she went to stay with Lady -Knightrider in Raglan and was received with demonstrative affection. A -gentle reaction had set in, inspired directly by Lord Crawleigh and -aided by all who felt that Jim Loring's precipitous cable had placed the -family in an intolerable position. Working in a sympathetic atmosphere, -Lady Barbara enlisted her aunt's support in a campaign which was to -rehabilitate her or at least to shew whether she stood in need of -rehabilitation. As soon as they returned to London for the autumn, Lady -Knightrider undertook to give a dance and to insist that Lady Loring -and Amy should come; if Jim were home by then, she would make him come, -too, and the whole ridiculous quarrel would be forgotten. Lady Barbara -intended to go farther than the settlement of a family difference. The -party should be a challenge to all who felt disposed to criticise her; -she was determined to appear side by side with Webster and to give them -their opportunity; and any one who declined to come would have to shew -convincing justification for his refusal. - -The invitations were sent out six weeks in advance; Lady Knightrider -reasoned with those who made excuses, sent reminders to those who had -accepted and surrounded herself with a staff of energetic lieutenants. - -"_You're_ coming on, Val, aren't you?" asked George Oakleigh -distractedly on the night of the ball, as he prowled hungrily through -the County Club with a list in his hand. He had undertaken to bring six -men and was bribing them beforehand with dinner. - -"A doubt has crept in," Arden replied uncertainly. "One invitation may -be attributed to hospitality; four suggest panic." - -"Well, if there are too few men, you'll be all the more popular; if -there are too many, you can go home early. Gerry, I'm counting on you." - -Deganway paused for an instant on his way to the cloak-room. - -"My dear, I wouldn't miss it for anything." - -Oakleigh added a tick to his list and hurried after Jack Waring. They -were still disputing, when Eric Lane was announced. - -"I don't dance, I can't talk and I want to go to bed," said Jack firmly. - -"You can go after half an hour," Oakleigh promised. - -"Well, I'll come for one cigar, if Eric comes too. I'm an old man, -George; I haven't been to a ball for ten years." - -At eleven o'clock Oakleigh convoyed them securely into the drawing-room -of Lady Knightrider's house in South Street. By the test of numbers the -dance promised well, for the house was already crowded and Lady -Barbara's relations were in full attendance. Her triumph was left -incomplete by the absence of Webster, but he had been snubbed more than -once in the last few months and was waiting for time to heal his -reputation. She had spent the afternoon arguing with him until she felt -her dignity compromised, and the embers of her ill-humour smouldered -through the night. - -By prearrangement Jack escaped to the smoking-room for a cigar, while -Eric unbosomed himself of news which had been choking him for three -days; Harry Manders had accepted a play, which was to be produced in the -following autumn; after eight years of disappointment the daydream was -being realized. They were still bandying congratulations and thanks, -when the smoking-room was invaded by Deganway and a girl. - -"Isn't that the famous Lady Barbara Neave?" Eric whispered. - -Jack half turned and shook his head. - -"Don't ask me. I'm shortly starring at the Halls as the one man in the -world who doesn't know her and doesn't want to. I think it must be, all -the same. Gerry seems to be getting called over the coals for -something." - -Lady Barbara's annoyance with Webster was spending itself on Deganway. -There were long silences, broken by deferential squeaks of small-talk -from him and restored by petulant rejoinders from her. She treated her -companion with a contempt that was almost insolent and jumped restlessly -to her feet, as the band began to tune up. Deganway hurried after her to -the door, and the calm of the smoking room was only disturbed by -half-heard music and the sound of high, rapid voices on the stairs. As -his second cigar burnt low, Jack looked at his watch and beckoned Eric -from his chair. - -"Come and say good-bye; then you can drop me at the club," he -suggested. - -They steered a tortuous and apologetic course through the couples seated -on the stairs and looked hopelessly for Lady Knightrider. In their -absence the drawing-room had filled to overflowing, and the landings and -balconies were packed to the limit of their capacity. As the next dance -started, Deganway entered, blinking in the light, from one of the open -French windows; Lady Barbara was still with him, but, as the music -began, she was claimed and taken away. - -"First time I've ever seen you indulging in frivolities like this, -Jack," he said, letting fall his eye-glass and hunting for his -cigarette-case. - -"Well, I don't dance, and the conventional alternative is to talk to -young women," answered Jack. "I confess that I can imagine less dreary -pastimes--for both." - -"That depends on the woman. I've spent most of the evening with Babs -Neave. My dear, there's plenty of excitement in talking to _her_! Care -to meet her?" - -"I'm going home as soon as I've found Lady Knightrider," Jack answered. - -"It'd pay you to talk to her for a bit. Let me introduce you! She's -awful good fun--doesn't care a damn what she says or does----" - -"That's her general reputation," interrupted Jack. - -"Oh, you mustn't believe everything you hear about her. She's quite all -right _really_; awful nice girl. Let me introduce you!" - -Jack shook his head and took Eric by the arm. - -"My dear Deganway, I've no doubt she's everything you say, but I don't -care a great lot for the Websters and Penningtons and Welmans and -Erckmanns and all that gang that she goes about with. They're such -devilish bad style. Good-night." - -Deganway grinned maliciously. - -"I've a good mind to tell her what you said. Do her no end of good. And -I should get a bit of my own back after the way she's been ragging me." - -They stood talking by the door until the music stopped. Then Jack and -Eric turned and went downstairs, while Deganway sidled up to Lady -Barbara. - -"No, you're tiresome to-night," she told him, when he asked for another -dance. "Who are those two going out? I don't know them." - -"The fair one's Jack Waring----" - -"Well, I should like to know him," Lady Barbara interrupted. "I'm tired -of everybody." - -Deganway hurried obediently out of the room and returned a moment later -with a smirk of satisfaction. - -"Try again, Babs," he suggested. "Waring's not taking any." - -"Do talk intelligibly, Gerry!" - -"Well, I told him _before_ that he ought to meet you. I said what good -fun you were and what he was missing and all that sort of thing----" - -Lady Barbara shivered at the blunt catalogue of her charms. - -"What did he say?" - -By natural compensation Deganway atoned for certain defects of -intelligence by an excellent power of mimicry. He gave not only Jack's -lilt and phraseology, but his facial changes and rather prim, -tight-lipped smile. - -"I tried him again," he added, "but he said he _must_ go to bed. I don't -believe he wanted to meet you." - -Lady Barbara smiled composedly, but the brusque rebuff, brusquely -quoted, wounded her pride as nothing had done since Jim's cable. Some -one had taken up the challenge, as she had feared--or hoped. - -"Sorry he's so hard to please," she answered lightly. "You can give me -some supper, if you like. Who and what is he? A candid critic is so rare -that I should quite like to meet him." - - - - -CHAPTER FOUR - -APHRODITE DEMI-MONDAINE - - "What rage for fame attends both great and small! - Better be d----d than mentioned not at all!" - - JOHN WOLCOTT: "TO THE ROYAL ACADEMICIANS." - - -"_The Princess Juanita dawned upon respectability like Aphrodite rising -from the gutters._" - -According to Mrs. Shelley, as quoted by Eric to George Oakleigh and the -author, this was the opening sentence of Valentine Arden's "New -Jerusalem," and she had given a luncheon party on the strength of it. -Since her husband's death, Eric had edged gently away from her -self-conscious artistic menagerie; he had been recaptured for a moment -after the Coronation, when his father was knighted for "eminent services -to the study of Anglo-Saxon" and he could himself be introduced as "the -son of Sir Francis Lane, you know"; and it was no sooner hinted that a -play of his had been accepted by Harry Manders than she dragged him back -into his cage with a tacit order to stay there until his public interest -was exhausted. - -It was Mrs. Shelley's practice to read every book of importance on the -day of publication; it was her ambition to know all about it before it -was written. The new satire, she informed her guests, had engaged -Arden's energies for two years and presented a picture of London society -under the empire of Sir Adolf Erckmann and the cosmopolitans; the forces -of respectability had not escaped the impartial lash of his ridicule, -and almost every character was a portrait. Mrs. Welman waltzed -unmistakably over the glittering pages with Sir Deryk Lancing; Lord -Pennington, Jack Summertown and the Baroness Kohnstadt flitted from -place to place like the chorus of a musical comedy, and every scandal of -the last ten years was described or mentioned. If the book were ever -published, Mrs. Shelley was convinced that the heavens would rain writs -for libel; certainly no one would continue to know the author. She had -reasoned with him, but he was apparently tired of London and -contemplated impressing his personality on New York. - -While no one was secure, Eric gathered that the greatest speculation -surrounded the identity of "Princess Juanita." Mrs. Shelley maintained -that the character must be intended for Sonia Dainton, who had joined -the Erckmann faction when she broke off her engagement with Loring; Lady -Maitland, who was still smarting in the belief that Arden had sketched -her for his earlier "Madame Chasseresse-de-Lions," had no doubt that he -was now squirting his poison at Lady Barbara Neave. "A man like that," -she told Mrs. Shelley, "would never waste time on a commoner like Sonia -Dainton when he could besmirch the daughter of a marquess and tickle his -wretched provincial audience by calling her a princess." Her bitter -words were repeated to the author, who announced that he was giving his -book the sub-title "Commoner and Commoner," and dedicating it to Lady -Maitland. Only when he was tired of his friends' good advice did he -admit that the satire existed but in his imagination. - -"One is taken altogether too literally," he complained to his friends in -the smoking-room of the Thespian Club. "A grim, cultured hostess, -spectacled young poets having their own poems explained to them by Lady -Poynter, a dinner which one ate and tried to forget, furtive confidences -on the wine from Lord Poynter, a succession of _longueurs_--you see the -scene? Chelsea.... Earnestness.... Ill-assortment.... Without any wish -to _epater le bourgeois_, one played with an idea, developed it, -invented characters, let fall a phrase.... Perhaps one has allowed good -Sir Adolf to obsess one's mind.... It was not a remarkable phrase; but -one could hardly have caused a greater stir if one had telegraphed -anonymously to one's friends--"_Fly. All is known._" Lady Knightrider -almost offered one a blank cheque to stop publication. A _jeu d'esprit_ -must be labelled before it is offered to the English." - -"Well, I'm glad the book's not going to be published," said Oakleigh. -"That little gang's had quite enough advertisement without any help from -you." - -"One hates to disappoint Lady Barbara," answered Arden reflectively. -"Undeniably she compels a reluctant admiration. She has lived in three -continents--in regal state; she has met every one and done everything; -in her leisure she has written plays, selected poetry, exhibited -caricatures--not altogether contemptible--of her family and friends, -patronized new schools of decoration, invented new fashions of dress -and, as all the world knows, worn them. What remained? One met her first -some years ago and asked oneself that question. It is still unanswered!" - -"At present she's bolstering up two or three dozen people who are only -received on the strength of her name," Oakleigh replied. "And she's -going to find that her name isn't strong enough to carry them." - -"These people go to her head," Arden replied with disgust. "One credited -her with more detachment." - -The campaign of rehabilitation had not been an unqualified success. Lady -Knightrider aimed at reconciling Barbara with her relations rather than -at reconciling her relations with her friends. There was an implied -threat that she must choose one or the other; and a prevalent feeling -was crystallized by Jack Waring, when he said that she was not worth -knowing at the price of having to know her disorderly retinue. While she -welcomed the concordat, Lady Barbara could not explain to Sir Adolf -Erckmann that he was her fit companion one day and unfit the next; she -might gently repel a cosmopolitan here and there, but she could not -refuse all their invitations always; loyalty imposed its obligations, -and stronger than loyalty was an impatient desire to tell other people -to mind their own business. Yet the concordat might have endured, if the -discussion of Arden's hypothetical book had not impelled Lady -Knightrider hot-foot from Mrs. Shelley's house to his rooms at the Ritz. -Not content with her legitimate relief at finding that "Princess -Juanita" was no less a myth than "The New Jerusalem," she confided to -Arden that dear Barbara _did_ go about with "really rather dreadful -people"; some one at her party had said that the girl's friends were -such that he preferred not to know her. So long as she associated with -them, it was only too probable that there would be another -unpleasantness of some kind. - -"I really think it my duty," she said on leaving, "to drop a little hint -to my sister." - -The nods and winks of verbal warning are apt to take on an exaggerated -significance when defined in black and white. On receipt of the letter -Lord Crawleigh motored to London and opened a new commission of enquiry -to investigate the personal desirability of his daughter's associates. -If Lady Barbara was at first bewildered, she was in no way daunted, for -in the endless intermingling of groups throughout London she could -usually find a sponsor for the most draggled of her friends. Sir Adolf -Erckmann's private life might lead him into the Divorce Court, he might -even be the "vulgar, common fellow" that her father described, but he -had dined in Berkeley Square as a member of Lord Crawleigh's -Departmental Committee on Indian Currency Reform. Lady Crawleigh always -went to the vulgar, common fellow's famous musical parties in Westbourne -Terrace. Lady Barbara had originally met Mrs. Welman at a performance of -"The School for Scandal," organized by Lady Maitland for charity, and -had naturally accepted the implied guarantee; it was not against civil, -canon or moral law for a woman to have been on the stage. Those who, -like Webster, could not so easily be defended were pushed into the -background. The battle of wits ceased to be amusing when Lord Crawleigh -repeated his threat that Barbara would not be allowed to go anywhere -unless she were suitably chaperoned. The dreary banishment at the Abbey -lingered in her memory as a summer stolen out of her life. As her -patience ebbed, she decided that there must be an end of these -inquisitions. - -It was easy to trace her present plight through Lady Knightrider to Val -Arden; but there was some one behind Arden, for her father claimed to -have chapter and verse for saying that people were refusing to know her -so long as she associated with her present friends. With a shock of -surprise she recalled a self-satisfied young man who had in fact met her -invitation to be introduced with a drawling, "Thanks very much. She may -be all you say, but...." - -It was incredible that one bumptious boy could do so much harm.... Even -when the commission adjourned without arriving at an agreed report, Lady -Barbara felt that a vendetta was being forced upon her.... - -She had no plan of campaign and knew nothing of her adversary but his -name. Apart from Gerry Deganway she did not know of any one who was -acquainted with him; and Deganway had done enough harm already without -being given new opportunities. But, if the vendetta required resource, -resource should be forthcoming. She called on Sonia Dainton the day -after her father's inquisition and proposed that they should go for a -drive. As the car entered the Park by Albert Gate, she pretended to -recognize a face and said: - -"Wasn't that Jack Waring?" - -"I didn't see," Sonia answered. - -"It was like him--though I don't know him to speak to." - -"You'll find him very sticky. He's a great friend of your cousin Jim. -When we were engaged, I used to see a certain amount of him. He's a -heavy, Stone-Age creature; when he and Jim and George Oakleigh put their -wise old heads together, there was nothing they wouldn't disapprove of!" - -"I hear he's been good enough to criticize _me_," said Lady Barbara -carelessly. - -"When he doesn't even know you? What did he say?" asked Sonia. - -"Oh, what does it matter? Some one started a story the other day that I -took drugs. Li Webster heard a woman say, 'I was told by a friend who'd -been to the same dressmaker; her arm was all red and pulpy; I believe -she's been doing it for years and that's why she always wears long -sleeves at night.' Have you _ever_ seen me in long sleeves, Sonia. I've -got much too good arms! And, if I wanted to take the beastly stuff, -shouldn't I have it injected where it wouldn't shew? I _did_ want to -meet that woman--just to tell her to use her brains. And, if I ever meet -your friend Mr. Waring----" - -"My dear, he's not _my_ friend! I was asked down to Croxton for the hunt -ball at the end of this month; I made Bobby Pentyre tell me who was -going to be there and, when I saw Jack Waring's name, I said 'nothin' -doin'.' I know those hunt balls! Vermilion men in pink coats.... Jack -will be just in his element; he'll support a wall and tell everybody -that he doesn't know any of 'these modern dances,' as though it were -something to be proud of." - -Lady Barbara laughed mechanically and sorted the new information into -its appropriate pigeon-hole. She was dining and going to a play that -night with Summertown and his sister; Sally Farwell's passion for -Pentyre had become a habit, and, if he did not reciprocate her passion, -he could hardly refuse her friend an invitation for the ball. Once -within the same house as Jack Waring, she had decided nothing save that -he could not be allowed to walk through the world with his nose in the -air, saying that she or her friends were "bad style." - -A week later she arrived at Croxton Hall and explored the terrain for -the engagement. Waring, she learned, came once a year into -Buckinghamshire from old habit, because he had hunted with the Croxton -from Oxford; he was returning to chambers by the breakfast-car train -next day. She had few hours for making her effect; and they were further -reduced when Jack drove up three-quarters of an hour late to find that -the house-party was already dressed and busily adjusting its -relationships. Lady Pentyre scrambled through half a dozen introductions -in as many seconds and hurried her guests into the dining-room, without -giving him time to dress or even to see who was there; Barbara, standing -a little behind the others, escaped notice; and, when she found herself -seated by prearrangement at his side, she had to introduce herself. - -"I believe you're a great friend of Jim's," she began. "He's a cousin of -mine, and I've often heard him speak of you." - -Jack was already disconcerted by having to dine unwashed and in a tweed -suit; and his embarrassment increased as he guessed at her identity. For -a while he would only talk disjointedly of Jim Loring, varying his -conversation with apologies for his tweed suit; he had been kept late -with a consultation, and, when he began to change in the train, two -women got in at Bletchley. Barbara fastened on the consultation and with -deft questions encouraged him to talk about his work. She had sat next -to so many shy young men at official dinners that she could put any one -at his ease. At her prompting and wholly unconscious of it, Jack -discoursed of the bar in general and his own practice in particular for -three-quarters of the dinner and was agreeably surprised to find her so -intelligent a listener. - -"I oughtn't to be here, really," he confided. "I haven't the time or -energy for this kind of thing, but the Croxton's an old love of mine, -I've not missed a Croxton ball since I was at Oxford." He was tempted to -describe his first Croxton ball; but it was a long story, and he -discovered that he had been monopolizing the conversation. "You're a -great dancer, I expect?" he said with the indulgence of early middle -age. "I look forward to watching you to-night." - -Lady Barbara began to shake her head and then stopped with closed eyes -and a bitten lip. - -"I'm not going," she answered. "I've had such an awful headache all -day." - -"I'm so sorry! I don't dance myself, but I hoped you might spare me one -or two for sitting out. If you're _interested_ in law--the bar's by no -means the dry-as-dust life some people think." - -Talking to her was so easy that Jack had half determined to ask if he -might have supper with her. Of the rest of the evening he could dispose -comfortably enough by gossiping with old Gervaise, who had been in his -father's regiment, and the other veterans of the hunt. Lady Pentyre -never regarded him as a dancing man in making up her numbers. It would -not be half so easy to find common ground with Sally Farwell or Grace -Pentyre; without meaning to be unsympathetic, he felt that Lady Barbara -might have chosen any other night of the year for her headache. - -"It'll be better, when you get there," he prophesied encouragingly and -wondered whether she would mistake his convenience for her own triumph. -So far he had not looked at her, but he now stole a glance out of the -corner of his eye and saw a straight, thin nose, haggard cheeks that had -a pathetic fascination for him and a mouth which drooped wistfully; the -lips were red, her eyes a velvet black, fringed with long black lashes -and shaded with dark rings, changing colour and size like a cat's. The -white, hollow cheeks combined with the dark eyes and red lips to -suggest ravaging dissipation or ill-health; he would never be surprised -to be told that she was consumptive. And he could not understand how any -one so thin could be so attractive. - -She caught him watching her and forced a smile. - -"I've only been doing rather too much lately, I expect," she said. - -"That I can well believe. But after dinner--I say, have you had -_anything_ to eat?" - -"I had some melon.... But I'm not very hungry. If I _don't_ go, don't -tell Aunt Kathleen--Lady Knightrider, you know--will you? She gave me -this dress specially and she'd be so awfully disappointed." - -"Jolly dress," Jack answered, looking unanalytically at something which -he could only remember afterwards as being generally black--with bits of -silver here and there--and little transparent triangular pendants -hanging down from shoulder to elbow. "I hope you'll be able to come." - -"I shan't be able to dance," she sighed. "Every time I turn my head--Oo! -I did it then! It's like a red-hot needle at the back of the eyes...." -She picked up her gloves and held out a hand, as the butler announced -that the cars were at the door. "I'll say good-night and good-bye. I -hope you'll enjoy yourself. And I hope I've not been too unutterably -boring." - -Jack felt her hand pulling gently against his. - -"When I'm trying to persuade you to come on with us?" he asked. - -Lady Barbara shut her eyes in a second spasm of pain. - -"Do you really want me to?" - -"If you're up to it." - -"I will, if you want me to," she promised. - -For many years longer than Jack could remember, the Croxton Ball had -taken place in the vast and half-derelict "King's Arms," once famous, -with its long coffee-room and unlimited stabling, as the best -posting-house in the county and the beginning of the last stage for -coaches running from the east and northeast coast through Oxford to -South Wales and the west. Once a year the dingy grey-stone hotel, -filling one side of the market-place, blazed with unaccustomed light; -and the barrack of stables behind awoke to welcome the procession of -tightly-packed cars that explored their way with long white fingers down -the broad, uneven village street. - -Jack changed his clothes and joined a shivering group by the fire in the -Commercial Room. Lady Barbara was sitting apart, sniffing a bottle of -salts and gently repelling those who tried to engage her for a dance. - -"She oughtn't to have come," murmured Lady Pentyre, who neither -understood nor forgave her son for this eleventh-hour addition. After -the disgraceful episode of the poker-party, she had vowed never to have -the girl in her house again; and these later scandals were no -recommendation to leniency. But, before she could hint at her -objections, she was told that the invitation had already been issued. -"If she's beginning a chill or anything----" - -Jack crossed to the distant chair and was welcomed with a smile. - -"How nice you look in that coat!" Lady Barbara cried. "Are those the -Croxton buttons?" - -"Yes.... May I sit and talk, if you didn't have too much of me at -dinner? I feel responsible for bringing you here, you know." - -"But I love doing what people ask me! It's my greatest self-indulgence. -When are they going to begin, and what's all the fuss about in the -hall?" - -A babble of angry voices floated through the open door--criticism, -suggestions and conflicting orders. The Secretary came in frowning and -snatched at all members of the Committee within reach. - -"I'll never go to those people again!" he thundered. "After all these -years, too. Band hung up on the road. Wrong train. They won't be here -for half an hour!" - -A murmur of disappointment swelled through the room, eddying round the -hall and rising from group to group on the stairs and in the ball-room. - -Lady Barbara sat up alert, without any trace of headache or fatigue. The -red lips were parted expectantly, with a gleam of small white teeth. - -"I'll play!" - -She darted from her chair, humming to herself and only pausing to -crumple her scarf into a ball and to toss it with her gloves to Jack. He -caught it mechanically, wonderingly. In a moment the grave-voiced girl -with the tragic eyes and hint of consumption had transformed herself -into something untamed, with shining eyes and irresponsible -restlessness. He listened to her voice growing fainter on the stairs, -then looked with some embarrassment at the crumpled scarf and gloves. - - - "Sometime, somehow, somewhere-- - How should I know or care?-- - It is written above - That fortune and love - Are waiting for me somewhere..." - - -The strict waltz rhythm was slightly modified to give scope to the -voice; but no one had began to dance when Jack went upstairs, and Lady -Barbara had to break off and say: - -"Do begin, some one!" - -"We want to hear you sing," murmured a diffident voice. - -"Rubbish! What d'you like? Ragtime? A waltz?" - - - "When you are in love, - All the world is fair; - Hearts are light with laughter gay; - Roses,--roses all the way..." - - -Bobby Pentyre and Sally Farwell edged through the door; Summertown and -his partner followed, and within two minutes the room was -three-quarters full. Jack squeezed his way forward for a better view. -Lady Barbara played tirelessly, modulating from waltz to waltz, humming -a line here, whistling two bars there, until the Master panted up to the -piano and cried "time." She laughed and sat back on the music-stool, -softly fingering the keys and looking round the ball-room to see who was -there. Jack stood self-consciously stranded by the door, assuring -himself of the line of his tie, pulling down his waistcoat and glancing -at the hang of his knee-breeches. Her eyes met his, and she smiled. - -"Say when you want me to begin again," she called out. - -"Give us just a moment," begged the Secretary. - -She struck a chord and threw "Lord Rendel" at them with such tragic -intensity that, at the end, Summertown raised a husky view-holloa of -applause and the decorous group at the door clapped noiselessly. Jack -always freely confessed that he knew nothing of music, but he felt -bathed in delightful irresponsibility, as Lady Barbara mingled old -English ballads with plantation songs and jolting ragtime with waltzes -which seemed to draw his heart out of his body. She was gloriously free -from self-consciousness. After two false starts, which were not lost on -her, he crossed the room in the wake of a little party which went to beg -for its favourite tunes. - -"Awfully good of you to play like this," he said, as the others edged -away. "I hope you're not making the headache worse?" - -"I love making people happy." She stretched out her foot and pulled a -chair beside her stool. "Tell me what you'd like me to play. D'you know -"Deirdre of the Sorrows"? Not the play, but the waltz. Little O'Rane -wrote it. You know him, I expect, he's a great friend of my cousin Jim." -At the first chords of the waltz, couples from all round the room rose -and began to dance. Jack threw one leg over the other and pushed his -chair a short way back, faintly and belatedly embarrassed to find -himself marooned on the dais by her side. "Mr. Waring----" - -"Yes?" - -"I want to ask you one question. You needn't answer it, unless you -like.... And then we'll leave it alone. I'm not as bad as you expected?" - -Though he had warned himself at the beginning of dinner to be untiringly -on his guard, Jack looked up with a start. She was absorbed in the -music; her head was bowed, and she only raised it to glance with -half-closed eyes at the dancers, occasionally concentrating on one -couple and regulating her time by theirs. - -"You've answered your own question. Rather inadequately," he added. - -"Thank you ... I wish you danced! You're missing such a lot!" - -"Am I? Lady Barbara, why on earth did you ask me that?" - -Her head drooped lower over the keys. - -"Because it hurt so!" she whispered tremulously. "Am I so vulgar?" - -"Do you imagine you're quoting me?" - -"Oh, Mr. Waring, be honest! You despised me before you met me. Do you -now?" - -"It's the last thing I should dream of doing." - -"Well, wasn't it rather unfair--before you even knew me? It's done me a -lot of harm ... and it hurt so terribly. If you were just to say you -were sorry----?" - -Her humility was so unexpected as to be bewildering. - -"My dear Lady Barbara, I've only seen you once before!" he exclaimed. "I -_did_ say something about you then; I criticized the people you went -about with, if you're referring to that." - -"Then you don't despise _me_?" - -"You're the greatest revelation I've ever had." - -As the waltz quickened to the coda, a stout, flamboyant figure appeared -in the doorway, attended by a sallow escort armed with music-cases and -instruments. The Secretary ended a warm exchange of invective to cross -the room and thank Lady Barbara. Refusing to give an encore to the -waltz, she bowed to Jack and hurried out of the room. - -Half-way down the stairs he overtook her and asked to be allowed to sit -out the next dance with her. - -"We can hardly leave it like this, can we?" he urged. - -"Like what? I must get some air! My head will burst, if I don't!" - -She ran across the hall, rattled at the door-handle and hurried into the -Market Square. The December night air lashed him like a jet of icy water -and cut through his clothes; thirty yards ahead, Lady Barbara was -running with arms outstretched and jumping from side to side over the -grey-black puddles of dull, frozen water. A group of chauffeurs by the -village pound removed their pipes and watched her; then replaced them; -then removed them a second time as a second figure, in pink coat and -knee-breeches, pounded along the echoing street. Once she glanced back -on hearing the sound of footsteps; then ran on without changing her -pace. They had overshot the last house and were facing an unhedged -expanse of roots and crisp furrows before he overtook her. - -"I say, what _are_ you doing?" he panted, angry at being made -conspicuous by her aimless freak. - -Lady Barbara pressed a hand to her side, breathing quickly. Her hair had -blown into disorder, her bosom was rising and falling; and once she -kicked off a shoe to caress a bruised foot, balancing herself with her -other hand on his shoulder. - -"Impulse," she answered. - -By moonlight her eyes were black; and, as she panted gently, her parted -lips and rounded cheeks made a child of her. It was at least her third -incarnation since eight o'clock, but Jack had lost strict count. As she -squeezed the pebble out of her shoe, he noticed the provocative -whiteness of her shoulders and the softness of her hair. His own pink -coat and knee-breeches added the last touch to his discomfiture; and he -knew that he could never equal her in creating the unconventional in -order to master it. - -"I was afraid your head might have made you faint," he murmured, -consciously fatuous. - -"It was only partly my head. Sometimes.... Did you see "_Justice_"? You -remember the man in solitary confinement? He _knew_ he mustn't pound on -the door; he _knew_ he'd be punished, if he did. He pounded all the -same.... I've got too much vitality; I seem sometimes as if I'm in -prison...." She shivered and gave a slight cough. "Is it very cold?" - -"Not more than ten degrees of frost. I thought of bringing you a cloak, -but I was afraid of losing you. If you don't come back at once, impulse -will land you in double pneumonia." - -She slipped her arm through his and began to walk, with a slight limp, -back to the hotel. - -"We had a gipsy in the family, though no one's ever allowed to mention -her," she announced abruptly. "D'you call me pretty? I think you would, -rather. Val Arden says I'm the 'haggard Venus.' Well, any looks we've -got come from her." - -"With a dash of temperament thrown in. Suppose we go a _bit_ faster and -then look for a fire? You're quite well enough to dance now." - -"But I'd sooner talk to you. A girl told me the other day that you -were--what was the word? 'sticky'; you never had anything to say, you -were prim and old maidish----" - -"I'm no good at ordinary social patter," he interrupted. "But you'd -hardly apply that term to our conversation to-night." - -They strode incongruously down the broad village street, past the group -of expectant chauffeurs and into an ill-ventilated box described as the -"reading-room." Both were emotionally out of breath, and the lights of -the hotel made Jack self-conscious; he stole a sidelong glance at her -and waited for the next change. Wistful appeal passed into effervescent -irresponsibility; the self-possession of a woman of the world alternated -with the radiant joyousness of a child.... And six months earlier she -had left a German Jew's ornate carnival to drive with a sodden debauchee -in a stolen car and had impaled an unknown chauffeur on the grey angle -of a jutting wall in Hertfordshire. And there was the aeroplane -accident; and the poker-party; and a dozen other things.... His glance -held admiration as well as curiosity, and she smiled with glowing -friendliness. - -"Aren't you going to dance at all?" he asked. - -"I didn't come here for that.... Now I'm going to pay you a compliment. -I got myself invited because I heard you were coming; I wanted to give -you a chance of judging me at first hand. There's an opportunity for -returning the compliment, if you care to take it." - -Jack looked at her with a surprise which he tried to veil, as he -reminded himself again that he must be on his guard. - -"I only hinted that your friends weren't good enough for you," he -answered. "Knowing who you were and the positions your father had -held----" - -"Dear Jack, don't drag in father! Isn't that what I have to fight -against? Having my personality submerged by his dead pomp and glory?" - -Her use of his Christian name startled him; and she watched with -amusement his stiff attempt not to seem startled. - -"I'd sooner think of you as Lord Crawleigh's daughter than as Sir Adolf -Erckmann's friend." - -Her eyes half closed, and she looked at him through the long black -lashes. - -"I believe you're falling in love with me." - -Jack lazily threw away the end of his cigarette, dusted imaginary specks -of ash from his breeches and rose slowly to his feet. - -"I was only thinking what I should feel about you, if you were my -sister," he said. "Ought we to be going upstairs? Lady Pentyre's rather -concerned about you." - -"I'll reassure her," said Lady Barbara. "Don't bother to come up; you -won't be dancing." - -Though she had a reserve of self-control for scenic emergencies, he had -snubbed her so wantonly that she darted like a black and silver moth out -of the room before he could mark a change of expression. Jack followed -in time to see her locate Lady Pentyre and take the chair by her side. -The warm, scented air of the ball-room struck and flushed his cheeks -like the heavy breath of a hot-house. Summertown, waltzing by, -disengaged one hand and whistled shrilly on his fingers above the boom -and wail of the band. - -"Missing two, Babs?" he called out. - -Lady Barbara pressed her hand against her eyes, then drew it away and -shook her head. - -"I'm not dancing to-night," she answered. - -Lady Pentyre turned to her with mingled anxiety and impatience. - -"Aren't you feeling any better?" she asked. - -"I can't say that I am. When I stand, the floor goes up and down; and, -when I sit down, the room goes gently round me." - -Jack was leaning aimlessly against the door, and Lady Pentyre beckoned -to him. She had no intention of leaving her son to make a fool of -himself with Sally Farwell; and, if she told him or young Summertown to -take Lady Barbara home, she would next hear that all three had fallen -down a shaft in Durham. - -"Mr. Waring, you're not dancing! _Do_ you think you could find one of -the cars and take this child back to bed? I hardly like to send her -alone, you know, and every one here has a party of her own to look -after." - -Jack bowed with adequate graciousness, but Lady Barbara intervened with -a vigorous refusal. - -"I couldn't think of dragging him away," she exclaimed. "This is the -only ball he ever comes to; and he's been looking after me so much that -he hasn't had time to see any of his friends." - -"But he can be back within an hour," Lady Pentyre urged. "It's still -quite early." - -Lady Barbara looked uncertainly at Jack, waiting for him to become more -inviting. His face expressed no concern, and he was patiently gaining -time by consulting his watch and looking from one to the other of them, -as though he had no personal interest in the decision. - -"Would that be agreeable to you?" he asked her at length. - -"I don't feel that I have any right to spoil your evening." - -"_Illness_ is hardly within your control, is it?" - -She walked downstairs with a novel sense of failure and a misgiving that -she had overestimated his stupidity; yet a man must be more than -ordinarily stupid not to appreciate her after the trouble that she had -taken. Insisting on an open car, she settled herself in one corner and -looked thoughtfully at her companion's reflection in the jolting mirror -of the wind-screen. Valentine Arden, who allowed disparagement to become -a disease, told her to her face that she had genius; George Oakleigh had -said that she had "the clearest-cut personality of her time." And these -things were industriously repeated to her. - -_Rather Lord Crawleigh's daughter than Sir Adolf Erckmann's friend_.... -But Lord Crawleigh's world had no place for any woman who was above the -average. In Canada, in Ireland and in India she had tasted greater -personal success before she was sixteen than London could offer her in -a life-time. She had seen the government of India at very close -quarters; and, after that, it was impossible to feel Sonia Dainton's -elation at bobbing to Royalty at the Bodmin Lodge ball in Ascot week. At -other times and in other places, dusty, long streets, dazzling white and -quivering with heat, had been cleared for her and lined with picked -native troops; in an Empire crowded with immemorial soveranties she had -been the only daughter of a man who was vicegerent of the Emperor-King. - -"You spoke too soon in saying you didn't despise me," she murmured. - -They had covered but two of the ten miles, and Jack instinctively -avoided altercation. He was no longer interested in a girl who -deliberately invited herself to the same house, singled him out and -detached him, in an open car and a north-east wind, to pick a quarrel or -justify herself. - -"If you're feeling ill, why don't you try to go to sleep instead of -making conversation?" he suggested. - -"I'm not _making_ conversation!" she answered impatiently. "You attacked -me on such slender evidence that I was wondering whether you'd any -better excuse for attacking people like Sir Adolf, who's a very fine -musician----" - -"And an impossible bounder," Jack interrupted. "My father pilled him at -his club ten years ago; if he put up again, _I'd_ pill him; if he got -in, I'd _resign_." - -"And I suppose you'd 'pill' Villon and Benvenuto Cellini and -Verlaine----" - -"I would, if they were friends of Erckmann," Jack answered cheerfully. - -She shivered and lapsed into silence. Talking to Jack was like -explaining colour to a blind man. She had never sought out the Erckmann -circle; it was one of innumerable circles which a connoisseur in life -patronized and sampled for its distinctive atmosphere. Her god-father, -Dick Freyton, had kept a string of race-horses at Oxford and taken a -double first; he had dined with the Queen one day and entertained a -party of comedians and jockeys the next; he had been a gentleman-rider -and an ambassador, a soldier and a collector of early printed Bibles, a -competent sportsman and a more than competent poet. Touching life at -every angle, there was an Elizabethan spaciousness about him;--Loring's -father did not forbid him the house because Bessie Galton took her -company to Liverpool and he invited them all to stay with him at -Poolcup. Freyton was too big to be compromised. And the world had -developed so fast that nowadays a woman could touch life at as many -angles; for some it was the only thing to do. The queens of the salon -were dead, the political hostesses were dying. There was room for one -universalist. - -They drove to the lodge of Croxton Hall in silence. It was only when she -saw him dropping asleep that she fanned the discussion to life. - -"It's men like you who kill art in this country," she sighed. - -"I can never see why there should be a special code of morals for a -fellow because he grows his hair long and plays the fiddle," Jack -answered, as he helped her out of the car and rang the bell. - -While he explained their return to the butler, Lady Barbara let fall her -cloak into a chair and walked to a glowing fire at the end of the hall. -In the fender stood a tureen of soup and an urn of cocoa; behind her a -big table was invitingly set with sandwiches, cake, fruit, syphons and -decanters. Jack watched her for a moment and then explored the table -critically. - -"Is there anything you'd like me to bring you?" he asked as he chose a -cigar and poured himself a brandy and soda. "Don't forget you've had no -supper." - -She looked at him over one shoulder and sighed contemptuously. - -"_How_ characteristic! The indecent irregularity of missing a meal! I -eat because I love nice things; one gets a new emotion sometimes. When -we were at Ottawa, father took me down to Washington, and one of the -secretaries at our embassy fell in love with me. We met at twelve and he -was in love with me by a quarter past. I suppose he was a man of method, -like you, and never declared his passion under half an hour, so for five -minutes we talked about food, and he asked me if I'd ever tasted -Baltimore crab-flake. I hadn't. His car was at the door of the chancery, -we both got in without a word; at 12:23 we were flying down Connecticut -Avenue. We drove to Baltimore without a stop, had our crab-flake and -returned to Washington in time for me to have a good rest before dinner. -When father began looking for me, some one explained that I'd been taken -to see the Congressional Library, and everything was all right till the -papers next day came out with great head-lines--'Breakneck Race for a -Crab-Flake.' 'Just Bully, Says British Governor-General's Daughter' Then -there was the usual unpleasantness.... But the crab-flake _was_ a new -emotion." She turned from the fire and joined him at the table. "If I -start eating caviar, I never stop." - -The butler returned to announce that her maid had gone to bed and to ask -whether she should be called. - -"Oh, it's all right, thanks," she answered. "I'm feeling much better." -She had talked herself into good-humour and, when they were alone again, -she looked at Jack with a smile. "Are you enjoying yourself? You look so -bored. What shall I do to amuse you?" - -She pulled a chair to the fire and beckoned him to her side. - -"I'm sorry to seem ungracious," said Jack, as he put down his empty -glass, "but I've been commissioned to send you to bed." - -"But the others won't be back for hours!" - -"Exactly. Barring the servants, we're alone in the house, and it -wouldn't look well for us to bolt away from the ball and then sit here -talking all night." - -Lady Barbara sprang from the chair and faced him with amazement in her -eyes. - -"My dear creature, do you imagine you're compromising me?" - -"That's a strong word. I'm some years older than you, Lady Barbara," he -added meaningly. - -"But if you _knew_----" - -Jack interrupted her with a shake of the head. - -"If you're trying to tell me some of the things you _have_ done, you may -spare yourself the trouble. I used to think you were being swept off -your feet by the people you went about with. The more stories you tell -me, the more I'm tempted to wonder whether you don't set the fashion. -Some one's frightfully to blame for not pulling you up, though I know -Jim did his best. Does it make no difference to you when a man like that -refuses to have you inside his house?" - -Lady Barbara walked slowly to the table. - -"You must apologize for that, Mr. Waring." - -She imagined that she was contending with one man over a single hasty -sentence; but behind Jack stood his father, his father's regiment and -his father's club, all honestly conservative and gently self-approving. -Behind the sentence there lay in support a social philosophy framed in -days before England was corrupted by the uncertain morals of the east -and the uncouth manners of the west. - -"Isn't it true?" demanded Jack, unabashed. "He cabled to his mother from -Surinam after the motor smash and that inquest. I wasn't told the exact -words, but you _haven't_ been to the house very lately, have you?" - -He was so certain of himself--he was always so certain of himself--that -the question rang out like a taunt. Lady Barbara felt her self-control -weakening. - -"And your informant?" she asked, still trying not to yield ground. - -"I've really forgotten. Obviously no one in the family. So, you see, -there must be several people who know. For what it's worth, I have _not_ -handed the story on." - -"How chivalrous!--And to a girl that you'd never met!" - -"I didn't want Jim to be mixed up in a fresh scandal. And you've driven -this country near enough to revolution as it is." - -He picked up his hat and was starting towards the stairs, when an -unexpected sound stopped him, and he turned to see her burying her face -in her hands. It was a surprising collapse in one who seemed to be made -of steel, though he wondered whether the tears were an artifice or a -novel indulgence of emotion. - -"You _didn't_ mean what you said!" she sobbed. "Please say you were only -punishing me for taking you away from the ball!" - -"I've not the least desire to punish you. You've got great qualities; -you were charming at dinner, you're kind and good-natured, you can be -fascinating when you like. And then you spoil all you are, all you might -be and do, by tricks unworthy of a chorus-girl. Arranging this meeting -at all to smooth one ruffled feather of your vanity. The sham headache. -Calling me by my Christian name the first time we meet. Things of that -kind. That's not the _grande dame_, Lady Barbara." - -She began to collect her gloves and cloak. - -"I'm sorry," she said with trembling lips. "You won't be troubled -again." - -"If you were sorry, you wouldn't try to be dramatic. Your 'curtain,' -like your repentance, is only the latest form of the Baltimore -crab-flake--a new emotion, a new indulgence.... Look here, I shall be -gone before you're up to-morrow; won't you part friends?" - -He crossed the hall with a smile and held out his hand without fear of -a rebuff. She looked at him and had to confess herself at fault. His -heavy overcoat was hanging open, and in his knee-breeches and pink coat -he looked slim and boyish; he was a booby at dinner and a clod at the -ball; outside his own profession he had no more knowledge or ideas than -a schoolboy. Yet she submitted to his criticism almost in silence. - -"Won't you part friends?" he repeated. - -Lady Barbara could not let him ride off so complacently. She pressed one -hand to her side and groped her way to the table; as she leaned against -it, the friendliness died out of his smile. - -"I shouldn't do that again, if I were you," he counselled, reverting to -his slightly nasal drawl; and this time she could have cried without -feigning, for she was tired and humiliated by her consistent failure. - -"I _am_ ill," she protested. "Needless to say, you don't believe----" - -"My dear Lady Barbara, the worst of taking people in by lies is that -afterwards they refuse to be taken in by the truth. That always means a -dreadful muddle for everybody." - -There was no trace of anger in the indolent voice; a lazy, superficial -smile played still over the composed face, but she felt that she had -touched his vanity, which was so petty that he could allow no one even -to chaff him. - -"I say, you _are_ revengeful," she cried. "Just because, in the most -harmless way----" - -"I don't mind any one making the most complete fool of me--once," he -interrupted. "A very moderate sense of humour carries that off. One -doesn't want to make a habit of it, that's all. And I always think it's -a perilous thing to begin playing with the truth." - -"So you'll never believe anything I say?" - -"We're so very unlikely to meet that it hardly matters. Won't you shake -hands?" - -She held out the tips of her fingers and, as he released them, caught -him by the sleeve of his coat. He noticed that she was biting her lip -and had either improved her acting or lapsed into sincerity. - -"Are you like Jim?" she asked. "D'you despise me so much that you refuse -to meet me?" - -He looked carelessly at his sleeve, but she refused to understand the -movement of his eyes. - -"I should be honoured to meet you. Only I never go anywhere. Lady -Pentyre and Lady Knightrider are about our only two links." - -"And I suppose Jim will have me turned out of _their_ houses, when he -comes back. If you knew how I hated having people angry with me.... Will -you meet me, if I don't have any of my objectionable friends, if I'm on -my best behaviour----" - -"I don't think that your experience of my society can be so alluring as -all that," he laughed. - -"I've never allowed any other man to lecture me as you've done!" - -"Ah, but you invited it. You don't want me to come merely for a -continuation of the lecture." - -"Perhaps it won't be necessary." - -Her voice and eyes softened appealingly--and then became charged with -perplexity, as Jack gently removed her fingers from his sleeve. - -"Another new emotion, Lady Barbara?" he laughed. "You won't easily -convince me that I've changed your character in a night." - -"You interest me," she murmured, with a puzzled frown. - -"Ah, that rang true! But I'm no good at the modern business of -discussing people with themselves. A man like Val Arden does that so -much better.... Lady Barbara, are you _ever_ going to say good-night to -me?" - -"In a minute. Will you come to Connie Maitland's Consumptive Hospital -_matinee_ after Christmas? It's at the Olympic, and I'm dancing there. I -_do_ want you to appreciate me!" - -Jack reflected for a moment and then smiled lazily. - -"I'll come to the _matinee_, if you'll promise _not_ to perform," he -answered. "If I'm not in court.... I know I'm old-fashioned, but I call -it intolerable for you to blacken your eyes and rouge your face and make -sport for any one who cares to spend a guinea or two for the chance of -gaping at you. It cheapens you. I'd as soon put on tights and tie myself -in knots on a strip of carpet outside a public-house." - -Barbara leant against the table in helpless amazement. - -"You're more of a Philistine than my own father!" she cried. - -Jack smiled imperturbably. - -"And what would you think if Lord Crawleigh came to that same _matinee_ -and gave a display of juggling with billiard-balls?" - -"I should die happy," Barbara answered with a gurgle of laughter; then -more seriously, "But why on earth shouldn't he? If he can do it, if the -thing's all right in itself, why should the professionals have the -monopoly? I'm very good." - -"No doubt. But, if you had no more idea of dancing than I have, people -would still flock to see Lady Barbara Neave. Now do you understand why I -loathe the whole life you lead?" - -When, late that night, she thought over the long succession of snubs and -insults, Barbara chose this as the most wounding. She had recited and -danced, acted and sung on occasions innumerable, always hearing and -feeling that she was meeting the professionals on their own ground; -they themselves hurried to congratulate her, and she fancied vaguely -that she was paying the stage a delicate compliment. - -"I've never been told that I hawked my father's position about for -advertisement," she answered quietly. - -"It's the result." - -He picked up his hat again and again held out his hand. - -Lady Barbara locked her fingers behind her back and turned away. - -"I don't like the feeling that you'll ring for carbolic as soon as I'm -out of the room!" she said. - -"D'you think I should?" - -"You wouldn't wait!" she cried, springing round as though she were going -to strike him. - -Jack's growing surprise merged in a novel sense of helplessness. The -girl had wholly lost control of herself. Her pupils were dilated, her -cheeks white with anger and fatigue; one hand gripped the back of her -chair, and the other rolled her handkerchief into a tight ball. Not for -the first time that night he felt that a man had only himself to blame -for getting on to such terms with a woman. A lion's cage could be -entered or avoided at will.... - -Yet he could not escape the feeling that even at the white-heat of -passion she was enjoying her scene. - -"Do part friends," he begged. "I shouldn't presume to criticize you, if -I didn't think you worth it. I ask you--as a favour--to come to that -_matinee_ with me. Will you?" - -Lady Barbara could not decide whether to try once again to punish him; -she dared not admit that she was daunted, but she was certainly puzzled. -At one moment he insulted her, at another he hoisted her on to a -pinnacle and mounted guard below. - -"Would you like me to come?" she asked. - -"I should love you to." - -"I'll come, if you want me to.... Now I think I _shall_ go to bed. It -would be a tragedy if we had _another_ scene. Good-night, Mr. Waring." - -"Good-night, Lady Barbara." - -She looked at him steadily before turning to the stairs, still undecided -whether to be angry or intrigued. Jack went into the library, chose -himself a book, undressed slowly, read for ten minutes and dropped -instantly asleep. Lady Barbara stood for many minutes in front of a long -mirror, admiring the black and silver dress and watching the gleam of -her arms and shoulders as she moved. Then with careless impatience she -loosened the dress, leaving it to fall and lie in a tumbled heap by the -fire; shoe followed shoe, stocking followed stocking; her maid would -repair the havoc in the morning, and it was a relief to lapse into -untidiness after so many hours of Jack Waring's orderly influence. -Pulling an armchair to the fire she began to brush her hair. Six hours -before, as her maid had brushed it for her, she had rehearsed the -meeting with Jack up to the point when he apologized for his presumption -in criticizing her. If only she had stopped then! But he was wholly -different from her preconception of him; fully as 'superior'--and with -as little reason--but disappointing as an intellectual antagonist; he -was commonplace in mind and yet had a certain blunt stubbornness of -character, a refusal to be stampeded--together with an indifference -which still piqued her. - -And the indifference was broken by a solicitude which he expressed in -terms to earn himself a horse-whipping. Her eyes were blinded by a hot -rush of shame when she remembered her gentle words and appealing voice -at the piano. "_I'm not as bad as you expected?_" Humility was a -pleasant emotion, but a losing card. At their next encounter.... - -She laid aside the brush and sat staring into the fire. The room grew -gradually colder, but she did not notice it. Only when her ears caught -the sound of subdued voices on the stairs did she rouse with a shiver -and jump into bed. - - - - -CHAPTER FIVE - -NOBODY'S FAULT - - "Cock the gun that is not loaded, cook the frozen dynamite...." - - RUDYARD KIPLING: "ET DONA FERENTES." - - -As a matter of form and to wash her hands of personal responsibility, -Lady Pentyre sent next morning for the local doctor. His advice--to take -things quietly for a few days--enabled Lady Barbara to keep her promise -to Jack with a good conscience. "_They say that I have been doing too -much_," she told Sir Adolf Erckmann, "_so I'm afraid I shan't be able to -come to your party on Thursday...._" On the same plea she wrote to Lady -Maitland, promising to attend the _matinee_ but regretting her inability -to play an active part. When she had taught Jack to appreciate her, it -would be time enough to shew him that her friendship was adequate -guarantee for her friends. - -On returning to London she angled without success for a first-hand -report on him. To her earlier half-dozen words of disparagement Sonia -Dainton added a break-up price for the family. The Surinam cable -precluded consultation of Amy Loring, and Phyllis Knightrider could only -affirm that Jack went every year to Raglan for a few days' fishing--when -she was away and there was none but men present. - -"I believe he's hopeless with a mixed party," she went on. "If you were -told to bring a man anywhere, you'd never dream of asking _him_." - -"Well, I think that's better than being the first man that everybody -thinks of," Barbara answered. "God created Gerry Deganway to be the -eternal fourteenth at dinner." - -"Val Arden once said that God invented bridge so that Jack Waring might -say he didn't play it," Phyllis went on. "That sums him up." - -Lady Barbara was wondering whether the unintelligent appreciation of -such a man was worth having, when Jack once more wantonly put himself in -the wrong. After writing to remind her of the day and time of the -_matinee_, he had gone about his business. She mislaid the letter and -telephoned to his chambers to find out where she was to meet him. An -unwelcoming Cockney voice answered that Mr. Waring was engaged and -invited her to leave a message. - -"I won't keep him a moment," answered Lady Barbara. - -"Mr. Waring doesn't like being called to the 'phone when he's got a -consultation on." - -She hardly knew whether to be angrier with Jack for his hide-bound likes -and dislikes or with the officious clerk for his interference. - -"Will you be good enough to say that Lady Barbara Neave wants to speak -to him?" she said in a voice of authority. - -"I'll see," the clerk mumbled reluctantly. "Hold on, please." - -She was not accustomed to being kept waiting, and Jack or the clerk kept -her waiting so long that the Exchange enquired once whether she had -finished and then cut short the call. She hung up the receiver and -waited for the connection to be re-established. There was no sound for -five minutes; they did not think it worth while to remember her -existence or to recall that she had expressed a wish to speak to Mr. -Waring, that she had been ordered to wait.... Taking down the receiver, -she repeated the number. The same unwelcoming Cockney voice greeted her. - -"I was trying to speak to Mr. Waring," she explained, "but I was cut -off." - -"Mr. Waring's ingiged--Oh, were you the lidy who just rang up? Mr. -Waring says, Would you be kind enough to leave a message?" - -Half an hour earlier Lady Barbara had been undecided whether to -telephone herself or to arrange the meeting through her maid. Now she -felt that, whatever it might cost her, she must speak to Jack without -intermediaries. And, if he were engaged in a consultation (or whatever -the absurd thing was called), so much the better. - -"No, I don't want to leave a message," she answered. "I want to speak to -him privately." - -The new attack seemed only to consolidate the hateful clerk's already -strong position. - -"Oh, I thought it might be business. Mr. Waring never speaks to any one -privately on the 'phone." - -"Will you kindly ask him to make an exception, then?" - -"I'm afride it's no good," answered the clerk with undisguised boredom. -"And Mr. Waring won't be best pleased, if I go in agine." - -While Jack should pay for his pleasure to the uttermost farthing, it was -undignified to prolong an altercation with a Cockney voice, especially -as she was gaining nothing. - -"Mr. Waring asked me to go to the theatre with him. Will he kindly let -me know when and where I'm to meet him?" - -The words were repeated slowly, as the message was written down. - -"When-and-where-you're to meet him. Very good. If you'll give me your -number, I'll find out and 'phone you as soon as the consultation's -over." - -"But I want to know now! I've got arrangements of my own to make!" - -It was no longer the deliberate high voice of authority. Grievance was -merging in anger. - -"I don't like to go in agine.... But he can't be long now. If you'll -give me your number...." - -The Cockney voice suggested a mean, back-bent creature with bitten nails -and cunning eyes, a Uriah Heep, cringing but sinister. She did not care -for him to know that she had lost her temper; only this and the need to -punish Jack for his latest indignity kept her from refusing to accompany -him to the theatre. - -"Oh, ask him to write," she answered with attempted carelessness. - -As she ceased speaking, her maid came in to say that Mr. Webster had -called. They had not met since their quarrel on the afternoon of Lady -Knightrider's dance; and she was secretly relieved at the hardiness of -his ill-humour, for of all men he least repaid the discredit which she -earned by being seen in his company. At best he was a good-natured, -plastic slave with a ubiquitous car and a knack of securing seats in -theatres and tables in restaurants when others failed; at worst he was -an enigmatic sensualist, who attracted her because he privately -frightened her. They met first on the common ground of an interest in -spiritualism, later as companions in misfortune; Sonia Dainton alleged -that he was always inviting chorus-girls to his rooms and giving them -too much to drink for the amusement of hearing what they would say; some -one else added that he smoked opium, and an agreeable air of mystery -surrounded an otherwise disagreeable young man. After their last quarrel -Lady Barbara had decided to give him up; and she only wavered now -because she wanted a whipping-boy and felt that she was in some way -scoring a point against Jack by receiving him. - -"I'll see him--up here," she told her maid. - -Her face was still flushed from the telephone altercation, and she -posed herself carefully, backing the window, but with the curtains -thrown to their widest extent, so that Webster's oedematous eyelids -blinked as he crossed the room and held out a plump white hand. - -"New car d'livered t'day," he wheezed. The habit, induced by -intemperance, of slurring the major parts of speech and omitting the -minor survived even in his sober diction. "'Wondered if you'd care come -spin." - -"Oh? _I_ was wondering whether you'd been ill." - -"Ill?" He shook his head and coughed. "No. Only too many cigarettes. -Care come?" - -"Not till you've apologized for your behaviour to me, Mr. Webster." - -"Haven't least idea what mean, but I'll apologize. Always ready -apologize." - -As a whipping-boy he was too spiritless to be satisfying, and Lady -Barbara addressed herself to the invitation. Since the accident and the -inquest she had not embarked on any expeditions with him. Indeed, on the -evening before she went into court, she had deliberately broken a prized -Venetian vase and whispered to herself--or any one who was -listening--that, if she emerged without discredit, she would never go -with him again. Nemesis had accepted the vase and played false on the -bargain. But, while she might fairly feel herself released from her -promise, she was oppressed by premonition that disaster would overtake -her if she risked her luck again with Webster. - -"Where are you going to? I'm waiting for a telephone message," she -answered. - -At that moment the bell rang; and, as she picked up the receiver, she -felt guilty towards Jack Waring; in part she had undertaken to drop her -"objectionable friends," in part she felt that, if he were with her, he -would stop her going.... But his clerk had been unpardonable.... - -Gaymer's voice invited her to dine and go to a theatre with him. She -accepted and impatiently replaced the receiver. - -"I'll come for a short time," she answered and felt that she was defying -Jack. "I must be back for tea, though." - -"Have tea my place. Madame Hilary coming. Know who mean? Perfect wonder -that woman. Doesn't use medium; makes you, me, any one medium; throws -you in trance, and _you_ do talking." - -The _seance_ was more alluring than the drive, for Madame Hilary had -been famous in necromantic society for more than a month. Lady Barbara -had been generally forbidden by her parents to dabble in black magic, -and a special warning had been issued against Madame Hilary, whose -methods had made her notorious, if not as a new witch of Endor, at least -as an accomplished blackmailer. - -"Is she good about the future?" Lady Barbara asked. "I don't want to be -told that I've lived in distant lands, sometimes among the palms, -sometimes in sight of the snows. I know that better than she does." - -"_She_ don't tell you anything," Webster explained. "_You_ do all the -talking, and we listen. Better hear some one else first; people -sometimes more candid than they like--afterwards." - -He chuckled maliciously and followed her downstairs. For an hour they -drove round Richmond Park, and, as the light began to fail, he turned -back to London and brought her to his flat by the Savoy in time for tea. -The drowsy joy of rapid movement through the air had calmed her nerves -and blown away her ill-humour; she was too tranquil to quarrel even with -Jack Waring. - -As she entered the smoking-room of the flat, the early premonition of -disaster returned. It was an unwholesome place after Richmond Park on a -December day.... Webster himself, white-faced and orientally impassive, -in a frame of yellow down cushions and a heavy atmosphere of burning -cedar-wood, was a sinister mystery-monger and purveyor of forbidden -fruit. She came to him for excitements and experiences which the world -conspired to keep her from obtaining elsewhere. An unwholesome man.... -If anything happened, she had only herself to blame.... Yet nothing -could happen, unless the new clairvoyant told her something horrid about -the future.... She was not going to run away from a clairvoyant.... - -The warm rooms, thickly curtained and heavy with scented smoke, were -already half-full. Sonia Dainton and Jack Summertown were on either side -of the club fender with cigarettes in their mouths; the Baroness -Kohnstadt, with something of her brother Sir Adolf Erckmann's build and -colouring and with all of his guttural intonation, was impressively -describing Madame Hilary's powers; Lord Pennington, with a tumbler of -brown brandy and soda in one hand, swayed insecurely on one arm of a -chair and discharged amorous darts at a weak-mouthed girl with big eyes -and a high colour, who giggled in apprehensive appreciation; on the -other sat Sir Adolf, bald, bearded and fleshly, competing with -Pennington for her attention. Involuntarily Lady Barbara paused in the -door-way. If Jack Waring heard that she had been to Webster's rooms on -such an errand in such company.... They were not worth it.... - -"Hullo, Babs!" "Babs darling!" "Liddle Barbara!" "How ripping!" - -The usual chorus of welcome greeted her and mounted to her head. Sonia -Dainton was kissing her extravagantly. Sir Adolf lurched forward to -praise her looks and dress, Lord Pennington to repeat and laugh at any -phrase that she let fall. Doing nothing, saying little, simply by being -herself, she dominated them until the door opened a second time and a -gaunt woman in a clinging black dress and hat like an embossed shield -rustled into the room. Her great height and noiseless movements -diverted attention from Lady Barbara; she threw up her veil with a -clockwork gesture as though she were ripping it from her face. Webster -advanced with a bow and was preparing to introduce her, when she stopped -him with a second mechanical fling of the hand. - -"Ah, no! You tell me who they are and then you say, 'Madame Hilary is an -impostor; she knew a little before--and she make up the rest.' Is it not -so? For an exhibition I like better to know nothing." Her eyes flashed, -as she looked round on one face after another. "You, Mr. Webster, I -know--your name, at least--but these others I know not at all. It is -well. And I like better for you not to tell me. But you are all waiting! -While I drink this tea, you shall decide who first is to make trial." - -She sat down, unembarrassed by the stealthy examination to which she was -being subjected on all sides, and, unpinning her veil, shewed a narrow, -lined face with sunken cheeks, an aquiline nose and eyes that were -lack-lustre after their initial flash. Too well-bred to seem bored, she -displayed at least a want of interest which chilled the spirits of the -party and left her ascendant. Webster was flustered at having to -stage-manage the _seance_; for Sir Adolf was so diffident and Sonia so -unsympathetic that he had difficulty in finding volunteers. Lady Barbara -at once offered herself, but seemed impressed by his whispered warning -that she had better first see what surprising exhibitions people -sometimes made of themselves. - -"Here, I'll start the bidding," cried Jack Summertown, jumping up from -the fender. "Don't pinch my simulation-gold watch, any one. Only fair to -warn you, ma'am," he went on to Madame Hilary, "that I think all this -jolly old spiritualism is a fake. What do I have to do? And may I finish -my goodish cork-tipped Turkish Regie?" - -Madame Hilary, suddenly appreciating that she was being addressed, -seemed to awake and assume new vitality. Shewing neither offence nor -amusement at his scepticism, she motioned Summertown to a chair and drew -her own opposite to it. - -"Yes, go on smoking. It does not matter." She looked round the room with -another clockwork movement, switched on a reading-lamp, so that the -light shone straight into her own face, and then plunged the rest of the -room in darkness. "All that is needed is for you to look at me, into my -eyes. Never take your eyes off mine. I like better for you not to try, -not to will yourself. I shall ask you questions, and you will answer -them. Questions about the past. I like better for you not to be -sympathetic. Try _not_ to answer my questions. And, when I have -persuaded you to answer them, I shall ask you more questions--about the -future. And you will answer them, too. And afterwards I will tell you -what you have said. So you will come to know the future." - -She paused to draw breath, and Summertown, obediently looking into her -eyes, finished his cigarette and tossed the end into the fire-place. He -was still smiling a little; but the room was grown silent, and every one -was looking at him; the gaunt, narrow face before him, grimly serious, -discouraged levity, though it sharpened his desire to expose her as soon -as she began her tricks. And for that the easiest thing was obstinately -to answer none of her questions. - -"You would that I explain?" The deliberate affectation of broken English -was the accepted convention of an English actress playing the part of a -Frenchwoman; every one in the room was conscious of the artificiality. -The voice was unmodulated and monotonous. "In all ages men have tried to -read the future. By the stars and by crystal balls and cards and numbers -and pools of ink.... What can a pool of ink tell you? The future lies in -yourselves. Within your bodies are seeds of new life--innumerable; and -each seed holds innumerable other seeds of new life--generation after -generation, seed within seed. He who put them there ordained that the -Future should lie buried in the Present, as the Present lay buried in -the Past--and as the Past lies buried in the Present! It is hard for Man -to unbury the Future. Man has not been ready to face the light, and I--I -who help you to see that light have never seen it myself. Even I do not -know how glaring is that light.... But, as the seeds of the Future lie -in you, so the knowledge of the Future lies there also. Man _knows_ all -the Future, as Man _holds_ all the Future within himself, but he has -forgotten. It is within his unconscious. _I_ do not know it, but I can -help you to remember. I can tell you nothing, not even your name, but -you can tell me everything about yourself, Past, Present and Future. -What is your name?" - -Lady Barbara started with surprise when the abrupt question cut through -the sleepy drone of mock-mystic jargon. Summertown was trapped into -seriousness, for he answered promptly: - -"John Antony Merivale-Farwell. I'm usually called Jack Summertown." - -"Why are you called Jack Summertown?" - -"Well, you see, Summertown's the guv'nor's second title. Thirty per -cent. on your bills, and not a dam' thing else." - -He looked obediently into the unwavering eyes, but Lady Barbara felt -that his familiar colloquialism was a deliberate effort to break up the -atmosphere of pretentious mystery. - -"And your father?" - -"Well, he's rather at a loose end at present. He was Councillor of -Embassy at Paris, and they offered him Madrid, I believe; but he'd been -ill for some time and so he chucked in his hand. Oh, _who_ is he? -Marling. Earl of." - -"You are married?" - -"God, no!" - -"You have been in love?" - -Summertown hesitated and then answered quietly: - -"Oh, well, yes, I suppose so." - -"Tell me about it." - -Lady Barbara, watching his face as he gazed into Madame Hilary's eyes, -became conscious of a change in expression; Summertown might have been -drunk. His eyes were glazed, his features set and his forehead moist; he -spoke cautiously, too, as though fearful of a trip in articulation. - -"It sounds rather sordid," he began diffidently. "She was an awful -pretty girl--in a shop. Flower-shop. I palled up with her.... I expect -you'll think me an awful cad; I never meant to marry her. It would have -meant such a hell of a row at home.... To do myself justice, I told her -that. She knew who I was; she said that didn't matter.... The thing -lasted for a year--nearly. And most of the time I went through the agony -of the damned. Ask any one who thinks he knows me; you'll be told I -haven't a soul to save and I'm the village idiot and all that sort of -thing. All I know is--I wouldn't go through it again. I loved the girl; -and I always felt that she was all right till I came along--and then I -corrupted her; and though I sweated to get her to marry me, we both knew -it would be God's own failure.... And the end was the most sordid part -of the whole business. When I lay awake at night--I _did_, -honest--thinking I'd dragged her half-way to Hell, another feller turned -up. Number One. I was Number Two--or Ten--or Twenty.... That was -nineteen-eleven, but, if you sat up till midnight telling me how rotten -she was, you wouldn't be able to make me forget her. Wish to God you -could!... But we _were_ dam' well man and wife for a twelvemonth." - -He laughed jerkily and grew restless, as though he were looking for the -usual cigarette. Lady Barbara felt an overbalancing pull and discovered -that she had been making her fingers meet in the soft flesh of Sonia -Dainton's arm. Madame Hilary was triumphing. None of them could say when -Jack Summertown had passed under her influence; apart from his pallor -and glazed eyes, he had not changed; but there was a collective, -sympathetic shudder through the room, as he told his stunted romance in -characteristic colloquialisms. "Hell of a row at home.... A -year--nearly.... All I know is--I wouldn't go through it again.... And -then I corrupted her.... Dam' well man and wife for a twelvemonth...." -And then the jerky, cynical laugh. It was Jack Summertown's manner of -describing an unsuccessful meeting at Hawthorn Hill. - -"You cannot forget her--but you will find some one else?" The -unmodulated voice was pitiless. - -"Oh, generally speaking, yes. I mean, one wants to keep the jolly old -family going. But I've not got much time with this war." - -"This war?" - -"Well, the general bust-up. I'm in the army, you know, and I shall get -finished off as soon as it starts. Goodish early door for me. Hardly -seems worth it.... At least, I mean, if the girl cares for you, it's a -bit rough to leave her a widow at the end of a week." - -"Then you are going to be killed quite soon?" - -Lady Barbara held her breath until she felt that her heart must stop. -The others were doing the same. Only Madame Hilary ladled out her -questions with a voice as mechanical as her gestures. - -"Oh, almost at once." - -"Stop!" - -Lady Barbara could not tell whence the cry had come. Had they conjured -up a spirit? Was God Himself cutting short their quest? But she did not -believe in God.... There was a bustle of confused movement, followed by -stupefied inertia. Lord Pennington, after flooding the room with light, -was seen to be propping himself against the door; Madame Hilary sat -blinking rapidly, so like a lone cat surrounded by reluctant terriers -that little imagination was required to see the arched back and to hear -the spitting tongue. Lady Barbara gripped her chair with both hands, -overcoming fear. Only Webster, who had seen the experiment before and -exulted in the sense of shocked terror around him, contrived to purge -his face of expression. - -There was a long silence. - -"Well, that's that," gulped Pennington, with an unconvincing laugh. - -Lady Barbara's brain was working so quickly that she had time to see and -reflect on everything around her. These men who were always drinking -made a sorry mess of their nerves; Pennington was hardly less -incapacitated than Webster had been when they dashed into the jutting -grey angle of wall. And Sonia, who did not drink but lived on -excitement, was almost hysterical.... - -"Reached end of chapter," murmured Webster, glancing covertly at the -late medium. "What deuce want spoil everything?" he demanded, in a -hectoring aside, of Pennington's late giggling companion.... "Who'd like -go next?" - -Summertown had been peering lazily in search of cigarettes, but his -host's question roused him to activity. - -"Don't be in such a hurry, old son," he called out. And, turning to the -hypnotist, "You were talking about the jolly old seeds. Big fleas and -little fleas...." - -Madame Hilary glanced at him and then, carelessly, at the group between -the fire-place and the door. She was too well-bred to shew triumph. - -"You tell me you doubt. Good!" she answered Summertown. "I try to -explain just my theory. Now, in every man there are seeds of new life, -and each seed contains seeds of other new life, of the Future...." - -Webster waited until he saw Summertown nodding intelligently; then he -joined the group by the door. - -"What do you think of it?" he asked, like a conjuror. - -The Baroness Kohnstadt shuddered. - -"Ach, derrible!" - -"It's the same old game," said Pennington, with newly recovered valour. -"She pinned herself down to something fairly definite, but, before -anything comes along to kill Summertown, she'll have vamoosed and set up -in Harrogate as a beauty specialist. Agree with me, Lady Barbara?" - -"I don't know what to think--yet," she answered. "We mustn't let her -tell him, of course...." - -As she stood up, her knees were trembling. - -"But nobody believes in it _seriously_," protested Sonia Dainton with a -white face. - -"_I_ do." - -They had been joined by Lord Pennington's giggling companion of the -armchair. Her eyes were bigger, and fear had washed away the colour from -her cheeks. - -"Let me try next, Fatty," she implored Webster. - -"Why?" - -"I want to." - -"But why?" - -She moved out of earshot and waited for him to join her. - -"I want to," she repeated. "I won't say anything that I oughtn't to." - -Webster laughed harshly. He did not want to hear the girl unfolding her -history before an audience. - -"Keep out of it, Dolly; only make fool yourself," he advised. "You're -such little coward----" - -"I know!" She seemed to take the sneer as a compliment. "But I'm -gingered up now. I _want_ to know! I want to know if I'm going to die. -They said I was, but they only did it to frighten me and get me away to -a sanatorium. I'm going to find out!" - -While Webster was still sluggishly trying to make up his mind, she -darted past him and presented herself to Madame Hilary. Summertown -yielded place reluctantly and joined the group at the door. Before the -lights were lowered, the Master of the Ceremonies found time to whisper, -"Cut it short. Others want turn, too. Leave out Past and Present; it's -Future she's interested in." - -There was a rustle of dresses and a squeak of castors, as the audience -settled into chairs and the lights were lowered. After the same initial -silence the same droning voice pronounced the elementals of the creed. -"Though men have tried by the stars and by crystal balls, by cards and -numbers and pools of ink, they have not hitherto looked for the Future -within themselves...." - -"How long does this tripe go on?" Summertown enquired so audibly that -the girl started and turned towards the shadowy group by the fire. - -Madame Hilary pushed back her chair and rose to her feet with dignity. - -"Please! I cannot continue--like this." At a murmured apology she -consented to sit down again, and the momentarily human voice became lost -in the professional drone of the mystic. "Keep your eyes on mine--so! It -is all I ask. I like better that you resist, that you determine not to -answer my questions. But, if you look into my eyes, you will tell me all -that I ask you. You must. You are telling me now! You are telling me now -your name! It is--that name?" - -"Dorothea Prilton. I'm called Dolly May on the stage." - -"And you have been on the stage since long?" - -"Three years." - -"And how old are you?" - -"Nineteen." - -"And why did you go on to the stage?" - -"Oh, I always loved it! It's everything in the world to me! And a -gentleman friend said he'd introduce me to the manager of the Pall -Mall." - -There was a tinkle of broken glass, as Webster's elbow swept an ash tray -to the floor. - -"And you expect to play great parts? What are you acting in now?" - -"Well, I'm out of a shop at present. It's such killing work, you know. I -had to break one contract and go into a nursing-home; and I've never -really pulled up since. One doctor says it's lungs, and another says -it's heart. I was never very strong, and my friend had an awful time -with me. Sometimes at the end of the show, he had to give me an -injection in my arm to pull me round. Of course, it saved my life, but I -think it affected the heart, you know. The doctor was very angry, but I -said to him, 'It's all very well for you to talk, but you weren't there -at the time; I was just dying.' I shall be all right when I've had a bit -of a rest." - -"And you expect to play great parts?" Madame Hilary repeated. - -There was no answer. As the silence lengthened, the audience looked -critically at her; she had spoken hitherto with the prattling candour of -her class, and the question was hardly an assault on her professional -diffidence. - -"And are you in love?" pursued Madame Hilary without pity. - -The girl looked at her in silence but still without any expression of -resentment or confusion. - -"Are you never afraid of meeting some man and having to retire from the -stage?" - -At the third silence Summertown observed loudly: - -"This is a blinking frost, you know. I _said_ it was, from the -beginning. She can't make you answer, if you don't want to." - -The penetrating voice brought Madame Hilary to her feet a second time. - -"Mr. Webster! Where is Mr. Webster?" she demanded. "Please! I cannot go -on--like this. You ask this gentleman to go away, and I continue. -Otherwise, no! I cannot." - -"Oh, I say, no offence meant, you know," Summertown pleaded. - -"I cannot," Madame Hilary repeated firmly. "Mr. Webster----" - -The sense of the meeting, expressed in murmured protests, was against -Summertown. - -"Oh, all right! I'll go," he sighed. "You goin' to break away, Babs? -It's an absolute frost," he whispered. "Anyone seen a goodish billycock -or bowler, not to mention a cane, a rich fur coat--Oh, my God!" - -He had turned on the light to look for his belongings and, while the -others ringed themselves about Madame Hilary with speeches of condolence -and apology, he alone had leisure to see that Miss Dorothea Prilton, -known on Pall Mall programmes as "Dolly May," sat dead in the chair -which he had occupied ten minutes before. - - - - -CHAPTER SIX - -THE SHADOW LINE - - "A drunkard is one that will be a man to-morrow morning, but is now - what you will make him, for he is in the power of the next man, and - if a friend the better." - - JOHN EARLE: "MICROCOSMOGRAPHIE." - - -"I knew it.... Yes.... Of course...." - -Lady Barbara found herself repeating the words aloud, though no one -listened to her. Now that disaster had come, she remembered her -premonition; and it gave her a start over the others in recovering -self-possession, so that she remained motionless instead of pathetically -trying to charm the dead girl back to life. Only Webster and Summertown -were making any show of keeping their heads. Madame Hilary had become -hysterical; Lord Pennington, mottled and tremulous, was charging -distractedly to and fro with a decanter of brandy; and Sonia Dainton, -shrinking from the body, sobbed quietly to herself by the fire, while -Sir Adolf towered over her, gesticulating with plump, white hands. - -"Lock door," whispered Webster. "Tell 'em not s'much dam' row." - -He felt the girl's pulse, hurried lumberingly into his bedroom and -returned with a shaving-mirror, which he held before her lips. Then he -closed the staring eyes and covered the face with a handkerchief. - -"Heart failure," he pronounced. "Always had weak heart. Excitement. I -tried stop her, you _heard_ me try stop her!" - -At the note of pleading in his voice, Madame Hilary's lamentations -redoubled in vigour, this time in the unmistakable accent of Essex. - -"Before get doctor, better decide story put up," Webster went on more -collectedly. "Short and simple, _I_ suggest. All having tea here----Said -she was feeling tired----Went pale----Suddenly stopped middle -sentence.... Less said about Madame Hilary, better. Best of all, send -her away now. Know what coroners are." - -At sound of the formidable word Lady Barbara clutched frantically at -Summertown's elbow. - -"Will there be an _inquest_?" she whispered. - -"Can't help it. That's bad enough, but, if there's anything of a _post -mortem_, we may find ourselves in the soup. 'Deceased died as result of -sudden shock.' _What_ shock? _Why_ shock? I don't at all know that we -can afford to let this woman go." He wrinkled his snub nose; and his -cheerful, rather dissipated young face was grave. "Don't at _all_ know," -he repeated. - -The ink-and-whitewash smell of the court came to life again in Lady -Barbara's nostrils; and she heard the coroner once more urging the -reporters like hounds on to their quarry. She would again appear side by -side with Webster to explain away another gratuitous death. Twice in one -year.... And it was not her fault. - -"I can't stand it, Jack," she whispered. "I can't! I can't!" - -He looked at her in surprise, for it was generally accepted that she -could never lose her nerve. - -"Jove! yes. I'd forgotten," he answered. "Here, Fatty!" Webster hurried -to them anxiously, and Summertown became elaborately calm and practical. -"Look here, old son, _you've_ got to go through with this; the body's on -your premises. And Madame must go through with it, because they may find -all sorts of funny things at the _post mortem_. When all's said and -done, you and I didn't kill her, and there's no reason why we should get -the credit of it. _I'm_ in with you to the end. I think Pennington and -Sir Adolf and the Baroness ought to stay to make a quorum, but we'll -talk about that later. Point is--Babs must clear out before the vet. -comes; she's never been here, we know nothing about her; we must stick -to that and, if need be, swear to it. And there's no need to drag Sonia -into the business." - -Webster reflected with slow mind, rubbing his fingers against the pad of -his thumb, as though they still felt the dead eye-lids of the girl who -had at last escaped him. - -"Woman's tough customer," he warned them. "Blackmail you quick as -thought. And looks bad--much worse--, if any one stays away inquest." - -"We'll trust that she's too much rattled," Summertown answered. "And she -doesn't even know who Babs is." - -"Bet your life she does," Webster answered. Seeing Lady Barbara's -undisguised fear, he deliberately played on it, as his price for -allowing her to escape the inquest. "If she don't, dam' soon find out." - -Future blackmail seemed a less evil than present exposure; and Lady -Barbara only wanted to break away from the sweet-smelling, hot room and -to avoid the sour-smelling, hot court. Summertown looked to her for an -answer; but her eyes were blinking quickly, and two tears rolled -unchecked down her cheeks. - -"Here, if _you_ break down, you'll do us all in," he said, glancing -furtively round the room. "Sonia's no more use than a sick headache; -you've got to take charge of her and clear out before any one lodges an -objection. Make certain that you've got _everything_ before you go--no -incriminating muffs or gloves. Now remember! It doesn't matter a damn -where you've been, but you've not--been--here. I'll explain to the -others. Get home or somewhere and establish a good fat alibi; we'll give -you a start before we send for the vet." - -With the shrill moans of Madame Hilary still pulsating through their -heads, he pushed them out on to the landing and locked the door. Sonia -ran headlong down the passage until she was caught and schooled to a -careless saunter down the stairs and through the hall. - -"Come home with me," Barbara ordered. "Jack's quite right about the -alibi." - -"But, Babs----" - -"If you start talking, I shall scream!" - -They found a taxi in the Strand and drove to Berkeley Square. Barbara -ostentatiously ordered tea, and they subsided into chairs without -speaking. The shock of death was spent and could not be repeated. Dolly -May--if that was her name--was dead; surprisingly, horribly dead, but -there was no more to be said about it, and Barbara could now recall -without a shudder the still face and staring eyes.... She wondered what -they were all doing now, whether the doctor had come.... And what had -really happened--not only to the girl, but to Summertown? Even death was -not so terrific as the power which Madame Hilary seemed to exert. - -"Have some tea, Sonia, and try not to think about it," said Lady -Barbara, hoping to restore her own tranquillity. - -There would be days of agony, while she waited to see whether she would -be called as a witness and required to explain her flight. Madame Hilary -was not the woman to drown alone; and, though the men had shewn -magnanimity and _esprit de corps_, one never knew what would come out in -court, one never knew how far to trust people whom the tolerant -Summertown himself always described colloquially as "a bit hairy about -the heel." Lord Pennington ... the upward-striving baroness ... Sir -Adolf ... Webster, who was an unplumbed pool of iniquity. She would -always be a little at their mercy; and, without trying to injure her, -people always gossiped. - -Sonia Dainton abruptly set down her cup and buried her face in a -cushion. - -"It was--Fatty closing her eyes," she explained with a gulp; and Lady -Barbara, in trying to comfort her, found herself crying in sympathy. - -They were steadied by the bell of the telephone and a crisp voice, which -for once was refreshing in its self-assurance. - -"Mr. Waring," it announced. "My clerk told me you were expecting me to -ring you up. Didn't you get my letter? I said I'd meet you by the -box-office at five to two." - -Lady Barbara looked in bewilderment at her watch; less than three hours -had passed since her altercation with the Cockney clerk. - -"I'm afraid I lost your letter," she answered, almost humbly. "Five to -two. I'll try not to be late." - -"I warn you that I never wait for any one," Jack laughed. "Was that all -you wanted to talk to me about?" - -In the first reaction from severe fright, she was prepared for an -outburst of anger against the first victim--Sonia, for breaking down -like a little fool; the Cockney clerk for his impertinence; and Waring -himself as the mainspring of all evil. She had only gone to the flat -because she felt that she was scoring a point against him. No one had -ever behaved with his indifference--which was more galling than blunt -rudeness; no one had ever equalled him in aloofness and -self-sufficiency. His stubborn unquestioning faith in himself won her -reluctant admiration. It was a new experience to find a man whom she -could not twist round her finger at first meeting; if _he_ had attended -the _seance_, she felt that Dolly May would still be alive; he -would--somehow--have intervened; perhaps he would even have persuaded -her to stay at home. She would give five years of her life to have met -any one with authority to stop her.... - -Sonia had ceased crying and was sniffing miserably at her handkerchief. -The sound irritated Lady Barbara to the verge of hysteria; if the little -fool could see what she looked like with pink eyes and a red nose.... - -"What are you doing?" she asked Jack. - -"To-night? I'm dining at the club," he answered with the same crisp -assurance. - -"You wouldn't like to dine here?" It was an impulse which she had no -time to examine, but Jack's voice, which she had never noticed before, -destroyed hysterical images and brought her in contact with reality. -"I'd promised to go to a play, but I'm not in the mood for it," she -added. - -With her disengaged hand she wrote down "Gaymer" to remind herself that -she must be excused going to the theatre with him. If her name were -mentioned at the inquest, she did not want to hear the coroner -explaining to the reporters that she was in her stall before the doctor -had finished his examination of Dolly May's dead body; even if her name -went unpublished, she did not want Summertown to feel that he had stayed -at his post while she pusillanimously escaped and ran off to amuse -herself. - -"Thanks very much," Jack answered, "but I don't think I will. You know, -I hardly ever dine out. And I couldn't talk up to your level for three -minutes." - -"Well, shall I do the talking? I want somebody to talk to; I shall be -all alone." - -There was a perceptible pause; and Sonia, finding the one-sided dialogue -uninteresting, looked at her watch and began collecting her furs. - -"Well, I don't think I very well can, you know," said Jack, "if you're -all alone." - -"Not in my own house? I must say, you are the most extraordinary person! -There _are_ men--strange as it may seem--who would give a good deal for -the chance of having me to themselves at dinner." - -"I'm sure of it. You're wasted on me." - -Candour and conceit were so nicely matched in Jack Waring that Lady -Barbara could not tell from his voice whether he was laughing at her. - -"I've asked you _once_ to come," she sighed. "I'm so used to getting my -own way that I thought that would be enough." She broke off into a cough -and gave Sonia time to get out of the room. "If you want to see whether -I've got any pride, I haven't--just now. I ask you again. I told you I -wasn't in the mood to go to the play; I'm worried out of my mind. But I -don't fancy being alone all the evening. If it's too much _trouble_ -to--talk up to my level, don't come. But I should like you to." - -There was a moment's laughter--deliberately mocking or ingenuously -unrestrained; she could never make out whether Jack was naturally or -intentionally stupid. - -"I can't resist the pathetic, Lady Barbara. What time shall I come?" - -"We might dine about half-past eight. If you want to meet mother and -make certain that I'm not compromising you, come earlier." - -The taunt was left unanswered; but it was noticeable that Jack arrived -in Berkeley Square at eight o'clock, when the car was at the door and -the door itself open. In the hall Lord Crawleigh was being helped into a -fur-coat, and a blushing young footman was paying the penalty of -inexperience, clumsiness and some one else's hasty dinner. Lady -Crawleigh steered a course round the storm-centre and approached the -stranger with the outstretched hand of hurried welcome. - -"Mr. Waring? You must forgive our running away like this; the wretched -play starts at a quarter past eight. Babs will be down in a moment. You -won't keep her up late, will you? We've got to go on to a party at the -Carnforths, so I must leave you to see that she goes to bed in good -time. She's rather overdone." - -With a flying introduction to Lord Crawleigh, she rustled down the steps -and into the car. Jack was shewn into the morning-room, where he -smoothed his hair, straightened his tie and settled down to the evening -paper, paying as little attention to the Japanese prints on the walls as -he had done in the hall to a pair of historic porcelain vases which -appeared from time to time at loan exhibitions and were beyond price. At -Oxford and in the Temple his attitude to art was one of toleration, -ungrudging and unpatronizing. "I suppose it's all right," he would say, -when Eric Lane tried to interest him in a new discovery. "Not my line of -country, though." - -Lady Barbara came down, as he was finishing the report of a case in -which he had appeared that day in the Court of Appeal. He was too much -engrossed to notice that she was ten minutes late. - -"'_Blame me not, poor sufferer; that I tarried_,'" she began. "I had -such an awful headache that I could hardly get up; and I thought it -would be straining our friendship if I asked you to dine with me in my -room. There's not the least need for you to ask if I'm feeling better," -she pouted. - -Jack laughed and laid his paper tidily on the table. - -"Sorry! I--I warned you I wasn't a social animal. I hope you're all -right now." - -"Better. I feel rather as if some one had been putting hot coals at the -back of my eyes." She paused and looked at him invitingly. - - - _"'But thy dark eyes are not dimm'd, proud Iseult! - And thy beauty never was more fair.'_ - - -Some people _never_ take their cues." - -"I haven't a book of the words, I'm afraid." - -"And you've probably never heard of Matthew Arnold." - -"Oh, yes, I have. He translated Homer or something. My tutor was always -quoting him." - -"You're wonderfully banal at times, Mr. Waring." - -"Well, I warned you that I shouldn't be able to stay the course," he -answered unabashed. - -They dined in amicable dulness. Lady Barbara, who generally shewed a -knack of knowing what she wanted and going straight for it, could not -define what had made her invite him. His conversation was a minute-gun -fire of laboured conventional questions about theatres, the House of -Commons and her plans for Christmas. She lacked the lightness of spirit -to banter him about his Cockney clerk, still less to work up a scene out -of her conversation on the telephone. The humiliation of the Croxton -Ball seemed very far away; and, now that she was face to face with him, -she found it hard to believe that she had sat half the night staring -vengefully into the fire and plotting to punish her glib critic. He was -tough of hide as Fatty Webster.... - -The name, flashing through her mind, conjured up a picture which she had -striven to forget--a hot, scented room with men and women shrinking -against the walls, a dead girl in the middle and a convulsive, -hysterical witch opposite her. She wondered whether they were still -there, what the doctor had said.... - -"I hadn't time to see the paper to-night," she said. "Was there anything -in it?" - -"I don't think so. We won our appeal--the Great Southern Railway case; I -don't know whether you've been following it--but they're sure to take it -to the House of Lords. Otherwise--oh, your friend Webster seems to be in -trouble again." - -Lady Barbara felt as if he had struck her over the heart. - -"What's he been doing?" she asked after a pause. - -"Well, this time I think he was more sinned against than sinning. He had -some people to tea in his flat, and one of them was inconsiderate enough -to die on the premises." - -"Oh, how dreadful!" She was quite satisfied with her inflection. -"Where's the paper? Herbert, will you get me the evening paper out of -the morning-room?" - -"It's only a line or so in the stop-press," Jack warned her. - -"But I want to see who was there!" - -He looked at her closely, for her voice had risen in excitement. When it -was too late, she realized that it would have been more natural to ask -who had died. Before Jack's eyes her own fell, but she had time to -wonder again whether he was stupidly incurious or deliberately -secretive. There were moments when his "superiority" seemed more than a -manner, when she felt bare and trapped. The placid, round-cheeked smile -might have belonged to a cheerful ploughboy, but the commonplace grey -eyes were sometimes intelligent and always watchful. - -When the paper came, she felt that he was looking through her, and her -hands trembled. - -"Did you know the girl?" he asked. - -"I met her once--for a moment. What a horrible thing to happen!" - -"You must be glad you weren't there." - -"What d'you mean?" - -As the indignant, frightened question broke from her, she felt that she -was behaving like a stage criminal and betraying herself because the -audience expected it of her. It was a barrister's business to lure you -on with innocent questions.... She was convinced that Jack knew -everything and was playing with her. - -"You always used to go about with him," he pointed out; and she wondered -what base satisfaction one human being could derive from torturing -another. - -"It's curious the way you dislike people without knowing them," she -answered. "Now, shall I behave like a perfect Victorian and leave you to -your wine while I do a little embroidery in the drawing-room? I haven't -_got_ any embroidery and, if I had, I couldn't do it. Or would you like -me to sit with you?" - -When it was too late, she knew that she wanted to escape and collect -herself before he went on with his inquisition. - -"You won't smoke while I'm drinking port-wine, will you?" he asked -without answering her question; and his impudence determined her to -throw away the opportunity of retreat. - -She prepared a crushing retort, discarded it for one more crushing and -suddenly realized that in her present state he could beat her and very -easily make her cry. If she cried, too, he would only think that she was -acting.... - -"Please let me have _one_ cigarette," she begged. "I'll go to the other -end of the room." - -As she walked away to the fire-place and stood with her elbow on the -mantel-piece and her head half in shadow, Jack thought for a moment of -asking her to come back; but he was not wholly reconciled to the -practice of smoking among women, and Colonel Waring had taught him that -to drink a vintage wine with a tainted palate was even less excusable -than to enter a church without removing one's hat. - -"Wouldn't you like a chair?" he asked by way of compromise. - -"I prefer standing, thanks. Mr. Waring, I told you on the telephone that -I was worried out of my mind. I don't know how much you've heard, but I -was _with_ Fatty Webster when that girl died. Did you know that?" - -The placid, plough-boy smile faded slowly; and, as he raised his -eyebrows, Lady Barbara appreciated that she was betraying herself -gratuitously. - -"I only know what's in the paper. What happened?" - -She retained enough judgement to see that she must now tell him -everything, enough prudence to exact a promise of secrecy. As she -described Madame Hilary and the _seance_, she could see prim disapproval -on his features, deepening with every name and incident in the story. -For a man with no great range of facial expression, he succeeded in -conveying categorical contempt for her manner of life, her friends and -herself; and she forgot her troubles in a warm rush of anger. - -"Just let me understand," he interrupted, as the story drew to an end. -"Are you coming to me for advice, do you think I can help you? Or are -you just entertaining me with your latest escapade?" - -Lady Barbara gripped the edge of the mantel-piece to keep control of -herself. - -"Perhaps I thought I might get a little sympathy," she answered. - -Jack lay back in his chair, pushing away his wine-glass and reaching for -his coffee-cup. He chose a cigar and pierced it; and every act in its -deliberation and absorbed care for his own comfort set her on fire to -ruffle his exasperating composure. - -"I should have thought the others had a prior claim on any sympathy -that's going about." - -"I'm afraid no amount of sympathy will bring the dead back to life," she -answered in a whisper. - -"I wasn't thinking of her. But the others did at least stand their -ground." - -"You mean I deserted my friends?" she demanded furiously. - -"Well, of course you did,--if they are your friends. It wasn't your -fault, but it wasn't theirs, either. Because your own record of inquests -doesn't court enquiry, you're allowed to cut and run." - -"I couldn't have done any good by staying." - -He made no answer until he had found matches and lighted his cigar. It -was evidently important that the coffee and brandy and tobacco should -march abreast; evidently science and art went to the skilled lighting of -a cigar; a man--or at least Jack Waring--could not be expected to attend -to other people's troubles until he had made sure of his own comfort. - -"Ah, there I disagree," he said at length. "It would have made all the -difference in the world. First of all you'd have proved that you _were_ -the sort of person one can go tiger-shooting with--it wasn't a -particularly _proud_ thing to do, was it?--and then you'd have proved -to yourself that you'd got the moral courage to refuse a cheap -surrender; and you'd have learned that eccentric amusements have to be -paid for at blackmailing prices: you could go into court with an easy -conscience, if you'd been having tea at Rumpelmayer's and the girl had -died there. In the next place----" - -Lady Barbara turned her head slowly and succeeded in stopping him -without saying a word. - -"I should be careful, if I were you, Mr. Waring," she recommended, as he -paused. - -"My dear Lady Barbara, you introduced the subject. You can't have all -the fun of posing as a candidate for sympathy.... If you'd stayed, it -would have changed your whole life. There would have been such an outcry -that you'd have been broken; people simply wouldn't meet you. Not only -Loring House would be closed to you----" - -A coffee-spoon rattled onto the floor, as she turned on him again. - -"I _won't_ be spoken to like this!" - -"It may come yet, of course," Jack went on reflectively, hardly noticing -her furious interruption. "These things always _do_ get out----" - -"Are you trying to frighten me?" she asked. But she was frightened long -before he entered the house. This was the kind of mishap to bring her -months of ill luck.... - -Jack was angry without shewing it or guessing the reason. The young -actress's death shocked him less than Lady Barbara's easy acceptance of -it. To her and to Sonia Dainton, to Erckmann and the baroness, to -Webster and Pennington, the dead girl was a nonentity from another -world; they were sorry that she had died so young, they were shocked -that she had died at all; but, had she been a Kanaka or Lascar -bunker-rat, they could not have troubled less to wonder whether she had -mother or sisters to mourn her; she was a super from the theatrical -underworld, and her ill-judged time and place of dying had put them -into a very embarrassing position. When Jack hinted at a social boycott -of Barbara, he was threatening, what he only lacked power to enforce; -she deserved punishment, and, if he could not punish her as she -deserved, he could at least get far away from her to a society which -took death seriously. - -"I'm not sufficiently interested, I'm afraid," he answered with languid -boredom that thinly veiled his disgust. - -"But you'd like to see me 'broken', you'd feel so superior----," she -taunted. - -He looked at his watch and slowly pushed back his chair. - -"Why you invited me I don't quite know," he mused. "Surely not to help -you out with one of your little dramatic scenes?... Now, about -to-morrow--will you be up to coming to this show?" - -"No! And even I might think twice before going to a theatre while that -girl's still unburied. That's why I'm here now, why I gave myself the -pleasure of asking you to dine with me.... And you may be quite -comfortable in your mind; you won't ever need to risk your reputation by -being seen in my company again." - -Jack could see that her nerves were sadly unstrung, but he could not -understand the restless vanity which always posed her in the limelight -ahead of the world in novelty and extravagance and yet so lacked -confidence that she was wounded if any dared criticize. - -"I accept my dismissal," he said good-humouredly. Nothing would induce -him to give her the satisfaction of a parting scene. His training at -home, at Eton and at New College taught him that an Englishman might -legitimately display every quality but emotion. "I warned you that I was -not a social success." - -"Have you tried very hard? You always talk to me as if I'd no more -feeling than that table." - -Lady Barbara needed concentration to analyze him. She knew that a man -is usually cruel only to those whom he likes or loathes; and it dawned -upon her that, when an unsocial animal consented to meet her at all, he -would not try to hurt her unless he cared for her. - -"I'm not going to join your musical-comedy chorus of adulators, when I -think you ought to be soundly whipped; I'm not even going to say, 'Oh, -that's Barbara Neave's way; she's always a law unto herself.' I think -that's the thinnest excuse.... Why did you insist on telling me about it -at all? It's like some one boasting that he smokes a hundred cigarettes -a day.... But your mother said I was to send you to bed early. Good-bye, -Lady Barbara." - -She walked with him into the hall and watched his elaborate and -characteristic care in arranging his scarf. - -"I seem to have failed again," she sighed; and this time there was an -unaffected wistfulness in her voice. - -"What were you trying to bring off?" he asked harshly. - -"I hardly know.... I'm _not_ trying to make a scene now, but don't you -think you've been a bit hard on me? I was a fool ever to have anything -to do with Fatty Webster: good. I was a fool to go to that _seance_: -good. If you like, I was a coward to come away. But what actually -happened was just bad luck, and you've been talking as if it was my -fault. I didn't enjoy it very much, I don't like thinking about it; it's -just possible that it was a very horrible shock. I wasn't asking you to -approve of it, but you might have been a little bit more sympathetic." - -Her lips were trembling, and Jack remembered with consternation the -night of the Croxton ball when he had made her cry. Then and now he had -said nothing that he wanted to retract, but all reasonable discussion -ended when tears were brought in as an argument. - -"It must have been beastly for you," he assented. "I should have been -more sympathetic, perhaps, if I'd thought that it would have any -permanent effect on you." - -"Don't you think it will?" - -"I shan't be there to see," he laughed. "I've been dismissed." - -Barbara sighed and reminded him of her headache by drawing her hand -slowly across her eyes. Since the night of the ball, when he sat beside -her at the piano, he had forgotten how beautiful her hands were. - -"You made me lose my temper. I'm sorry, if I said anything rude. There! -Do you want to be dismissed?" - -The softening in her tone was infectious, and Jack smiled. - -"I like you, when you're like this. But the more we meet, the more I -shall ruffle your plumage. Why on earth did you ask me to dine with you -to-night?" - -Lady Barbara looked at him and looked away before answering. To put her -feeling into words was at once to overstate it; but she had hovered that -afternoon on a shadow-line and for the first time in her life she had -lost confidence in herself and reached out towards some one strong -enough to help her, perhaps strong enough to check her. It was an -impulse inspired by the contrast of Sonia sobbing in her chair and -Jack's assured voice on the telephone; the impulse would pass, when her -nerves were steady again, but her spirit was changed and no longer -self-sufficient. - -"I wanted to tell you that I couldn't come to the theatre with you -to-morrow," she improvised and wondered whether he would trouble to -notice the glaring inadequacy of the excuse. She wondered, too, why she -had chosen Jack rather than another.... "Mr. Waring, once in a way I -give a party at Crawleigh; no officials, no politicians--just my -friends. I'm arranging one quite soon. Will you come? Just for the -week-end. It won't interfere with your work." - -Jack hesitated and fingered his hat in embarrassment. - -"You know, I'm no good at that sort of thing," he grumbled. - -"But you like talking to me,--when I'm on my good behaviour." - -"How long will it last?" - -"As long as you're there," she laughed. - -"In other words, you're going to make _me_ responsible?" - -"Doesn't that appeal to your missionary spirit?" - -Jack looked at her and decided that even a formal protest would only -feed her vanity. He stared abstractedly at her as though she were a -horse led out for his inspection. Suddenly she smiled, and, as her face -lit up with vitality and mischief, the haggard expression vanished and -left her beautiful. Perhaps the smile had come in answer to an -unsuspected light of admiration in his own eyes; perhaps she was a -better actress than he thought and could transform herself at will; no -one could gain her reputation as a coquette without earning it and -working for it. - -"It isn't fair to abuse me for behaving badly," she pouted, "if you're -too lazy to make me behave well." - -"I have a living to earn. You'd want one man's undivided attention," he -answered. - -"But I should be very repaying." - -"You'd be amusing for a time. But it would be a wearing life; I'm -doubtful even about this week-end." - -"But you'll come?" - -"If you haven't quarrelled with me or got into any fresh scrape by -then." He turned on the door-step to shake hands with her. "When you -marry, Lady Barbara, I shall send your husband my warmest -congratulations." - -"Thank you. I think that's the first time you've come near doing me -justice." - -"As a wedding-present," he continued, "I shall send him a little -silver-mounted dog-whip." - - - - -CHAPTER SEVEN - -A MATTER OF DUTY - - "My lord master, you have heard the design I am upon which is to - marry.... I humbly beseech you ... to give me your best advice - therein." "Then," answered Pantagruel, "seeing you have so decreed - and taken deliberation theron ... what need is there of further - talk thereof, but forthwith to put into execution what you have - resolved." "Yea, but," quoth Panurge, "I would be loth to act - anything therein without your counsel had thereto." "It is my - judgment also," quoth Pantagruel, "and I advise you to it." - "Nevertheless," quoth Panurge, "if you think it were much better - for me to remain a bachelor, as I am, than to run headlong upon new - hare-brained undertakings of conjugal adventure, I would rather - choose not to marry." "Not marry then," said Pantagruel. "Yea, - but," quoth Panurge, "would you have me so solitarily drag out the - whole course of my life without the comfort of a matrimonial - consort? You know it is written Vae Soli; and a single person is - never seen to reap the joy and solace that is found among those - that are wedlockt." "Wedlock it then, in the name of God," quoth - Pantagruel. "But if," quoth Panurge, "..." - - _Rabelais: How Panurge asketh counsel of - Pantagruel whether he should - marry yea or no._ - - -A week before Christmas, Loring cabled to his mother that he was on his -way back to England; in the spring of 1914 he landed at Southampton and -travelled unobtrusively to London while his yacht proceeded to Glasgow -for overhauling and repairs. And, from the moment when his cable was -received, an unconscious adjustment of relationships began, -crystallizing in a series of informal family councils. - -Ever since the ultimatum from Surinam, Lady Barbara had not set foot in -House of Steynes or Loring House. It was plausible to pretend that in -Jim's absence his mother was not entertaining, but on his return all -three branches of the family decided that they could not afford the -scandal of an open breach and of a Catholic house divided against -itself. Lady Crawleigh enlisted the support of Lady Knightrider and made -an attack in force on Lady Loring. Thirty years before, the three -sisters had, each in her own way, been celebrated; Lady Crawleigh had -the good looks, Lady Knightrider the good temper and Lady Loring the -brains; and their marriages, one after another, to a Scottish baronet -and two of the richest Catholic peers in England were felt to be -fundamentally satisfactory. As they had begun, so they went on; Kathleen -Knightrider bore a daughter and a son, Eleanor Loring a son and a -daughter, Doreen Crawleigh three sons and two daughters, of whom the -younger died in infancy. The three husbands were above criticism in life -and position; if Sir Charles Knightrider was little more than amateur -landscape-gardener and ornithologist, Lord Loring was very nearly at the -head of the Catholic laity in England; while Lord Crawleigh's succession -of great offices, which he not only filled but adorned, would have -satisfied the most ambitious woman. If the individuality of the three -wives became merged in their husbands, they still made a strong social -combination. - -"I hear Jim's on his way home," said Lady Crawleigh without preamble. -"When he comes, Eleanor, we shall have to make peace between him and -Barbara." - -"I'll talk to Jim," answered his mother doubtfully. "But you know how -obstinate he is." She was divided between loyalty to her son and pity -for her sister, who could not enjoy having to plead like this for her -own daughter. "I do hope this will be a lesson to dear Barbara." - -"I hope so, too," sighed Lady Crawleigh. - -If she spoke without conviction, it was because her brain was giddy with -successive shocks. The secret of Dolly May's death was kept for exactly -five days after the inquest. Then a gaunt woman, giving no name, -demanded to see Barbara and, on hearing that she was in the country, -bearded Lord Crawleigh, who promptly threatened her with attentions from -the police. All previous courts of enquiry were trivial by comparison -with the inquisition now erected; but, as the attack developed, -Barbara's resistance developed equally, and she warned her parents that, -on the day when she came of age, she would move into a house of her own -where she could receive friends of every complexion and practice magic -of every colour. If the form of the threat was old, its clarity and -vigour were new; Barbara had less than six months to wait for her -majority and independence. - -Lady Crawleigh was still reeling under the shock of one scandal averted -and a second in prospect, when her energies were claimed by a new -problem. From an untraced source came the report that Barbara was -becoming very intimate with young Waring. He had spent a week-end at the -Abbey, unobtrusively burying himself in the smoking-room for most of the -time; and Barbara had included him in big and small dinner-parties in -Berkeley Square. Save that he was a Protestant with only the few -hundreds that he earned, he was unexceptionable; Eton, New College and -the bar covered past and present, and for the future he stood second in -succession to Penley and his uncle's title; in temperament and character -he was reported to be dull and wholly dependable. It was a paradox of -Barbara's position, her mother felt, that, when the interlocked Catholic -families had been ruled out, she seemed to have no associates except -nonentities like Gerald Deganway and John Gaymer, who were family -furniture rather than friends, or young politicians, like George -Oakleigh, or literary freaks, like Mr. Arden, or the really rather -dreadful people like the stout young man with all the cars, Mr. Webster, -who was always getting her into one scrape or another: the less said -about them, the better. Barbara was lamentably gregarious in her -friendships, but in these latter days all girls were allowed so much -liberty, they seemed to know so much and to be so intolerant of -restraint.... - -Lady Crawleigh was not at present equal to a struggle on the question of -religion. The Church had become unyielding about mixed marriages; that -was the wretched Sonia Dainton's excuse for breaking off her engagement -to Jim Loring, and, when she had nothing else to disturb her mind, Lady -Crawleigh was haunted by the fear that Barbara, who was deplorably lax, -would make some terrible scandal by marrying a Protestant without -getting a dispensation. Of course, it would not be a true marriage, and -no Catholic would consent to know her,--but it was the sort of thing -that Babs would do. - -The untraced rumour, like many another, travelled far before reaching -those most intimately concerned. Jack Waring had devoted so many years -to a middle-aged pose and the ostentatious avoidance of all social life -that his own friends commented in outspoken amusement on his -recantation. In the winter months of 1913 he began to appear at dances, -though he still refused to take an active part. "Who's the man with Babs -Neave?" quickly became "Who's the man who's always with Babs Neave?" -and, before long, "Is anything going to happen about Babs Neave and Jack -Waring?" Derision at the fall of a misogynist passed through speculation -to resentment. - -"Jack simply monopolizes Babs nowadays," complained Summertown one night -in the New Year at a dance in his mother's house. He was aggrieved at -being unable to attract Barbara's notice and had summoned Deganway, -Arden and Oakleigh to a meeting of protest in the smoking-room. "Wonder -what she sees in him," he grumbled. "He's a good fellow and all that -sort of thing--capital company on a desert island, if you wanted plenty -of bar shop, but he's taking all the bubble out of her. I tried to rope -her in for my party at the Albert Hall, but, when she heard who was -coming, she refused. Damned offensive, I thought. Said that people had -been talking about her so much that she had to be very careful. And old -Jack nodded--you could see she was doing it to please him; it'll be an -awful chuck-away if she marries him." - -"She will not marry him," Arden predicted. "If for no other reason, Lady -Lilith has still to discover a heart." - -"What's she doing it for, then?" asked Oakleigh. "I'm very fond of Jack, -he's a thoroughly good fellow, but he's _rather_ a bore." - -"What man can choose from among a woman's motives?" demanded Arden. -"Perhaps she finds a difficulty in getting rid of him. There was a time -when she was certainly intrigued, when she pursued him relentlessly. -Perhaps she feels a glow of respectability from his presence; one's -cook, if not a _cordon bleu_, was recommended to one as 'a regular -communicant.'... Perhaps she chose him to see what she could make of -him, as _le Bon Dieu_ chose the Jews. But she will not marry him.... One -has a certain instinct." - -He shook his head sagaciously and dismissed the subject. But a new -mile-stone had been reached when four men could be found gathering to -discuss Jack's marriage to Barbara as even a remote possibility. Similar -discussions had for some weeks taken place in little groups round the -walls of the ball-rooms. Lady Knightrider, who had known Jack longest -and best, confided to a friend that he was an excellent influence, a man -who would stand no nonsense from the girl; he was fearless and unmoved -by Barbara's tantrums and had once spoken very sensibly when she revived -the absurd project of leaving her parents and taking a house by herself. -That evening Phyllis Knightrider epitomised and retailed a conversation -which she had not been intended to hear by saying to Barbara, as they -drove to the dance, "Mother's quite made up her mind that you ought to -marry Jack Waring. She says he's the only man she knows who can keep you -in order." - -The attack was opened three hours later from the opposite flank, when -Gerald Deganway put up his eye-glass and stared at Jack with an -affectation of shocked gravity. - -"My dear, every one's talking about you," he exclaimed. "It's becoming -quite a scandal." - -"_What's_ becoming a scandal?" asked Jack. - -"You and Babs Neave." - -"What a pity it is that people can't mind their own business!" - -Any one acquainted with Deganway knew better than to take his gossip at -face-value, but Jack was amazed to find that he had given material for -chatter and speculation even to Deganway. To be a friend of Barbara -Neave, as Arden once said, was like going for a walk with an arc-lamp; -but they had been frigidly circumspect and restrained. Two week-ends at -Crawleigh Abbey, perhaps six dinners in London and twice that number of -dances, where he looked in at supper-time and left after an hour, -covered their public intimacy. For a moment Jack was roused to violent -irritation towards Deganway, then he dismissed the irritation in -gratitude for the warning. There was no time to lose, if this kind of -nonsense was being talked, and he stationed himself at the door of the -ball-room and pounced upon Barbara at the end of the dance. - -"You're not really hungry, are you?" she asked, when he suggested that -they should have supper together. - -"I want to talk with you," he answered. - -Barbara started imperceptibly. Jack was less self-possessed than usual; -of any other man she would argue from a varied experience that he -meditated proposing to her. - -"I'll come down, if you like," she answered gently. She always achieved -success with Jack when her voice grew caressing and she promised to do -a thing, if he liked. "I hope I'm not in disgrace?" - -"You? Oh, no. I'm going away on circuit to-morrow, though," he said, -tidying away a litter of dirty plates from the only unoccupied table. - -"When will you be back?" - -Jack helped her to a cutlet as though he were serving out rations, -sprinkled his own with salt, cut his roll in two, prospected for a clean -glass and poured out some champagne, which he tasted cautiously, with a -murmured, "'04 Bollinger! It's a crime to waste that on a ball!" For a -man not naturally greedy, supper was very absorbing. - -"I shall be away for a week or two," he explained, precipitately adding, -"at least." - -Barbara's eyes were on his face, but he had no attention to spare from -the cutlet. - -"Ring me up, when you come back, and suggest a night for dinner," she -said. - -"I shall have a good deal of work to do when I get back. I've been -getting very slack lately. _And_ dissipated; you've been making me keep -too late hours." - -Barbara sighed wearily. - -"As if I 'made' you do anything! Will you be back before Easter?" - -"Oh, yes." - -"Would you like to come to Crawleigh for Easter?" - -He went through the same ceremonial with a second cutlet and then said, -without looking up: - -"I shall be going to my people for Easter." - -Barbara raised her eyebrows and turned half away. - -"I apologize," she murmured. - -"Why?" - -"For bothering you with unwelcome invitations." - -This time there was no hesitation, though Jack was conscious that his -voice and lips were unsteady. - -"It doesn't do much good, does it?" he asked with a lop-sided smile. - -"What doesn't?" - -"Our meeting." - -"I thought you liked being with me; and I thought it gratified your -missionary spirit," she added tartly. - -"But does it do much good beyond affording a topic of conversation for -congenital idiots? I'm looking ahead, Lady Barbara." - -"What does that mean?" - -Jack glanced at her for the first time. He imagined that he could look -her in the eyes without embarrassment; but his hand trembled, and he saw -that he had spilt the champagne. She must have seen it, too; she could -be in no doubt of his meaning. He had intended to warn her that the -congenital idiots were coupling their names; and he had now to warn -himself that, if he saw any more of the girl, if she ever again looked -at him through smiling, half closed eyes, murmuring that she would do -what he wished because he wished it, he was quite capable of making a -fool of himself. It would not be serious, because any union between a -Catholic and the straitly reared son of bitterly Evangelical parents was -unthinkable; it would not be serious, because every one knew that -Barbara would soon have seven thousand a year of her own, provided -always that she married a Catholic, while he might hope very shortly to -be making seven hundred a year, which already had to pay for the rent of -chambers and club bedroom, share of clerk, subscription to Law Reports, -expenses of circuit, club subscriptions, food, drink, tobacco, clothes -and sundries. It would not be serious, but it might be very unsettling. - -"You see ... I'm--a practising barrister," he explained. "That means -that I work for my living and am looking forward to doing so for the -best part of my life." - -"And I've been wasting your time? I'm sorry, Jack. I like you, when -you're gentle and don't find fault with me. I didn't mean to be -selfish." - -She had not thought it prudent to use his Christian name since the -disastrous night of the Croxton Ball. - -"I've loved it," he answered. "I always told you that I thought a -tremendous lot of you. But I have to work. I sometimes think that, so -long as a man's decently dressed, a girl never bothers to think whether -he's got twopence a year or ten thousand," he added with a touch of -bitterness. - -"Can't you manage Easter at Crawleigh?" she asked. - -He picked up his gloves and offered her a cigarette. - -"Don't you understand?" - -"I don't understand about money; people make such an absurd fuss over -it. I understand that, as usual, you're making me ask twice for what -most men would give me without asking; and that's sometimes a little -humiliating. Still, you say I'm a law unto myself. Will you come?" He -still hesitated; and she leaned forward with her hand on his sleeve. -"Have I _ever_ refused to do anything you asked?" - -"I don't think you have," said Jack slowly. "I--shall be delighted to -come." - -He drove her home that night, wondering what she meant by saying in such -a context that she was a law unto herself. As the taxi left Berkeley -Square, he half thought of driving to the Temple and talking to Eric -Lane. But he had nothing to say and did not know what he wanted. He was -elated and a little frightened; never before had he so sorely needed -cold, brutal advice; and this question, which he did not yet dare to -define, was one which he would have to solve by himself. As he -undressed, he wondered what Barbara was doing, what she had meant, -whether she had meant anything.... - -He was away from London for three weeks; and in that time he -unhurriedly made up his mind to marry her. Lying awake in his berth on -the night train to Newcastle, he decided that he must have fallen in -love with her at the Croxton ball. As a bachelor his responsibilities -and troubles were confined within the four walls of his bedroom at a -very comfortable club; he lived like a prince on four or five hundred a -year; and he had never needed the companionship of a woman--least of -all, of a woman whom he had instinctively avoided for three years and -who quarrelled with him daily when they had at last met. He appreciated -now that they quarrelled because he could not bear to see her cheapening -herself, because he was already in love with her. - -And she must have fallen in love with him at the same time; though he -lectured her until she broke down and cried, she begged him to come back -and give her another chance. The night when she first invited him to -dine with her marked her transition to certainty, but it was only when -they were parting that their two certainties engaged and interlocked. -While he pronged his cutlet and sprinkled it with salt, eyes prudently -averted, each discovered that the other was becoming a habit; he liked -her sudden petulance and sudden softening, her restless changes and -lightning vitality; and he wondered in sudden humility what she, with -her charm and quickness, could see in him. Her family, hitherto -friendly, would be disappointed; for she could marry any one, and they -would murmur that she had thrown herself away on a poor man who might, -indeed, gamble his way into silk, but would never rise to the Bench, the -Appeal Court or the House of Lords. She would forfeit her godfather's -fortune by marrying a Protestant; and, if they were to live at all, the -Crawleighs must come to their aid. Perhaps the Crawleighs disliked mixed -marriages as much as the Warings.... - -Jack turned on the light and frowned at the imitation maple-wood -compartment. He must be prepared for a struggle. _Imprimis_ the -theological history of the Warings began with Zachary Macaulay, diverged -into abolitionism, collected and tidied itself under Lord John Russell -and the No-Popery movement and came to an inglorious and unseen end, -when the family purged itself politically of a whig taint. Mr. Kensit -was a tough, awkward mouthful, and, in the absence of a more restrained -leader, the Warings did their good to Protestantism by stealth. The -colonel fought an honourable fight for the Geneva gown; he talked of -"clergymen" and "communion-tables," where others lisped papistically of -"priests" and "altars"; and there were heated and unconvincing arguments -in the vicarage library about the ornaments rubric. But, if they no -longer took a part in public ecclesiastical controversy, the family -would choke at Barbara's name. The colonel was vaguely disquieted when -Jack, under the guidance of Jim Loring, drifted into "that Catholic set" -(he refrained from calling them Papists out of consideration for Jack's -feelings, but he frequently abbreviated their definition to "R. C's"); -to marry an "R. C." was hardly more venial than to marry a black woman -or to wear a ring in one's nose. And since this insolent _Ne temere_ -decree.... - -Jack had heard it quoted, but had never sought enlightenment lest he -should pour oil on the sinking fires. Colonel Waring treated religious -controversy as his safety-valve and needed no encouragement. But it was -time for Jack to find out where he stood. - -Val Arden was discovered unexpectedly in the hotel at Leeds, and Jack -invited him to dine with the bar mess after the first day of the -Assizes. - -"One was persuaded to deliver a lecture," the novelist explained. "The -hard-headed men of the West Riding will think twice before repeating the -venture; but it was an experience for them, and one escaped with one's -life. The North is very remote. One is still remembered in London? Yes? -One's friends are in reasonable health?" - -"They're bearing up," Jack answered. "Jim Loring's back in England." - -"A sadder and a wiser man, one hears. Well, if a man wants romance, he -must be prepared to pay for it. One feels that it is worth the -inconvenience of three years' exile not to be married to Sonia Dainton. -You know the full sad story? No? It should be a lesson." - -At dinner he weighted his gossip and airy moralizing with serviceable -information. Jack learned that a Catholic could only obtain dispensation -for a mixed marriage, if the non-Catholic undertook that all the -children of the marriage should be brought up in the Catholic faith. It -seemed an unequal stipulation, but the only alternative was for the -Catholic to defy the Church and to renounce his faith, which was no less -unequal. When Arden was gone to bed, Jack surveyed the problem from the -standpoint of his family, of Barbara and of himself. There would be a -bitter fight at Red Roofs and another at Crawleigh Abbey; but the -alternative was to give up Barbara. Neither of them submitted easily to -opposition. - -He returned to London a few days before Easter, only concerned to wonder -how a man prepared the ground before asking a girl to marry him; he had -talked vaguely of admiration, but he had never made love to Barbara. And -he must find out whether the Crawleighs regarded him as a _persona -grata_. And he must explain to Barbara his financial position and the -kind of life that a barrister led; and they must have a talk about this -religious business.... - -Barbara herself, and the party which she had gathered for Easter at the -Abbey, gave him generous opportunity. With Loring and his sister,--both -persuaded by their mother "to give Babs one last chance"--with -Summertown and Sally Farwell, Pentyre, Victor Knightrider, Gerald -Deganway, Charles Framlingham and a leavening of the Crawleighs' -official friends to entertain one another, there was no difficulty in -slipping away unobserved. So long as Barbara distributed herself -equitably at luncheon and dinner, no one seemed to miss her at other -times; and, as Jack did not play bridge, some one had to talk to him in -the evenings. - -She welcomed him with the mood and language of their last night together -in London. - -"Well, I hope the practising barrister made a lot of money," she said to -him the first evening after dinner. - -"I had rather a good assize," he answered. "My fair share at Leeds and -more than my fair share at Newcastle. In money, it wouldn't seem much to -you, but I'm quite pleased." - -A word of congratulation launched him on a conscientious survey of his -fees and cases from the delivery of his first brief. In succeeding -conversation he threw further slabs of information at her by schedule, -talking of himself with simple-minded absorption. Finance was polished -off the first night; the Waring family, three times sub-divided, -occupied the following day, and with healthy relentlessness he -overhauled Catholicism in particular and revealed religion in general. - -The conversation, if one-sided and monotonous, was at least amicable -until a smouldering brand from the theological bonfire, waved to life in -the kindling breeze of personality, set her ablaze. - -"Of course, the whole bag of tricks wants overhauling," said Jack of the -Established Church and its liturgy. "When a fellow's ordained, he _says_ -he believes all sorts of things that he doesn't, really. Every -congregation mouths responses like so many parrots, but if you tackled -any single member with a plain question, he'd have to admit that he -didn't believe the whole business exactly as it's set out in the -pleadings. Well, I've got a legal mind. If you say Christ _descended_ -into _Hell_ and on the third day _rose_ again from the dead and -_ascended_ into Heaven, I want to know if you mean it literally or -figuratively? That's one of the beauties of _your_ Church; you don't -admit any doubt or vagueness." - - - _"'What are the laws of nature, not to bend - If the Church bid them?'"_ - - -murmured Barbara. - -"You believe that?" - -"It was a quotation. I'm sorry." - -"It's a logical point of view. With us you pick and choose. In the -marriage service it's becoming the fashion for a girl to say she'll -'love and honour' her husband. Now, the Prayer Book says, 'love, honour -and _obey_.' If I were a parson, I'd refuse to go on with the service -until she'd said 'obey.'" - -"But if she doesn't mean to?" asked Barbara. "I think it's degrading." - -"If it comes to a tussle, the woman has to give in; so why is she -degraded by recognizing it and promising beforehand?" - -"She doesn't have to. You couldn't make me--even with a dog-whip." - -Though he affected a laugh, Jack had many times regretted the phrase. -Barbara kept it in the forefront of her memory and persistently threw it -down as a challenge to herself, when her natural independence flagged. - -"You'd obey me without that. You can't have two captains on one ship. I -don't suppose that any modern husband goes about saying, 'I order you to -do this'; he tries to dovetail their two lives into one----" - -"Then there wouldn't be much obedience, if I always got my own way." - -"That you certainly wouldn't do!" he laughed. - -"What d'you mean?" - -Jack looked down the long drawing-room and reflected before answering. -It was the last night of his visit to Crawleigh Abbey, and he was hardly -prepared for a declaration. Though he had conscientiously put Barbara in -possession of all material information, she had received it without -comment. In four days he had not brought her any nearer; sometimes it -seemed as if she were not trying to help him, and all that he had -achieved was to fall four days more in love with her. Instinctively he -felt that this was not the most favourable time for a parade of -authority; but he had defined his attitude towards every other relevant -issue, and it was tidier not to leave his task unfinished. Before -marriage or immediately after, he would have to indicate certain people -whom he did not care for her to meet, certain things that he did not -care for her to do. The theatrical connection, for instance, would have -to be cut; Colonel Waring often said that, thirty years ago, an actress -was never received at the big houses. Now there was a considerable -group, ranging from Manders at the top to quarter-bred anonymities at -the bottom, who regarded her as belonging to their world. - -"If you were married to me, I should change your mode of -life--drastically," he answered. - -"What do you find so very unsatisfactory in it?" - -Her tone was in itself a warning; but, if she challenged him to make out -his case, Jack could not refuse the challenge. - -"You're too big for your company," he began from the familiar text. -"Take me as a typical case. I knew of you years before I knew you; and -I--on account _of_ your friends, you know--I'd have gone miles to avoid -meeting you. To me--and the world at large--you were simply a girl who -forced yourself into the limelight and got up to mischief with people -that you simply ought never to have known. Since I've got to know you -and like you, by Jove, I'd give ten years of my life to get _un_said the -sort of things I used to hear about you. I remember thinking, before I -met you, 'If she were my _sister_....'" - -"What kind of things did you hear?" asked Barbara quietly. - -"I needn't particularize," he answered. - -Barbara shrugged her shoulders and relaxed her attention, only to -concentrate it again as she found him particularizing in merciless -detail. There were crimes, misdemeanours and sins of the spirit. The -stolen car, the mangled chauffeur and the endless, unforgettable inquest -were dragged to the light; Jack spared her the coroner's rasping -comments, but he could not resist another allusion to the Surinam cable. -There was a raided roulette-party, when Summertown had helped her into -safety by the fire-escape. (She found time to wonder how he had heard of -it; either Val Arden or Summertown was running up a bill against -himself.) There was an embarrassing encounter at a night club, where she -had gone with Sir Adolf Erckmann's party: all would have been well, if -Sonia Dainton had not come with Webster and if Webster had not been -drunk. As it was, there had been the makings of unpleasantness. George -Oakleigh had taken Sonia home, Webster had become quite helpless; and, -in trying to dispose of him, they had all attracted a good deal of -notice. Then there was the episode of Madame Hilary. So much for the -crimes. - -"You take a great interest in the movements of some one you despise," -commented Barbara. She wondered why she consented to listen to him, but -she was unequal to the self-denial of going away while she was being -discussed. - -"My dear girl, these things fly from one end of London to the other -almost before you've done them. You _won't_ recognize how well known you -are! D'you appreciate that I should let myself in for a first-class row -with my people, if I told them that we were friends? All rot, of course; -but there you are." - -After the crimes, the misdemeanours--the innocent things which she was -"too big" to do. The one tiresome phrase was reinforced by others as -insistent and tiresome. Some one--probably his stiff little sister--had -taught him the word "grisette." "That may be all very well for a -grisette, but you...." Some one--probably his mother--had divided a -girl's behaviour into what was "hoydenish" and what was not; Barbara -felt that she had all the markings of a pedigree hoyden. He contributed -a few phrases of his own, assuring her gravely that this or that was -"simply not done, you know;" and, as other men drew breath before -embarking on a new sentence, he introduced every new count in the -indictment with an apology that was but a veiled further reproach. "I -expect you think I'm an awful prude.... I may be old-fashioned, but I've -always been brought up to believe...." - -After the misdemeanours, the sins of the spirit. - -"You admit that you're frightfully vain and spoiled," he began -pleasantly. "You admit that you expect every one to do exactly what you -want without even being asked...." He traced the deleterious effect of -such vanity on her character. Whatever was going on--from a pageant to a -sale of work--she must be in it; her photograph must be in every paper. -And, when there was no opportunity for public display, she made it, -forced it. Hence this chain of escapades; it was self-advertisement, -and, God knew, she was too big for that sort of thing. - -At first Barbara listened in amazement; then she became so angry that -her attention wandered, as she debated whether to stalk out of the room -or to turn on him with all her resources of invective. But to run away -was to spare him his punishment. He should apologize for each word, on -his knees. And when he had made recantation, he could go. - -"If you were my wife, I should have to change all that," he ended. - -Barbara touched her cheeks and was surprised to find them cool. - -"You've--rather made mincemeat of me," she sighed, because a sigh loosed -some of her pent anger, and she could not be sure of her speaking voice. -"Jack, in addition to the vanity, do you think I've got any pride?... -Let's go and see how the others are getting on. It's such a pity you -don't play bridge." - -As he got up, Jack touched her hand. - -"I say, have I said anything to offend you?" - -"A fly isn't 'offended' when some boy pulls its legs out one by one. -_Please_ let go my hand, Jack! You must admit I've listened patiently; -I've not said a word in my defence--I suppose you think there's nothing -_to_ be said;--but I don't feel I can stand any more.... Or do you want -to make me cry again?" - -Her eyes opened and shut quickly; and, by the time that she turned to -him, they were filled with tears. - -"Barbara! It had to be said some time! But I honestly didn't mean to -hurt you. Listen----" - -"Not in my own house! I _do_ count for something here! Don't make me -cry! Don't humiliate me before all of them! It's only to-night. You need -never see me again." - -Her sudden abasement inflamed him as though he had struck her and she -were begging for mercy. - -"Barbara! forgive me! I want to say something to you." Though both were -speaking almost in whispers, there was a change in his voice. Barbara -looked at him mistily through a film of tears and saw that he was going -to ask her to marry him before she was ready. When the time came, it -should be of her choosing; and they would not be at one end of a room -with three bridge-tables at the other. - -"No! I want to talk to you. May I? It's my turn, Jack." As she smiled at -him, a tear trickled down her cheek, and she brushed it away with her -hand. He stared at her without understanding, for, though she could be -regal or pathetic, she seemed incapable of ill-temper or resentment. -"Don't you see that, with father, I was brought up in the limelight -since I was a child? Try to imagine how much I've always done and then -tell me if I'm likely to be content with--well, the very domestic life -you say your sister leads. Remember, too, that I've a passion for some -things, which you could never understand. You don't like Sir Adolf, no -more do I, but I'd go anywhere for good music. And, more than that, I'd -be friends with any one, if he had temperament and interested me. I want -the _whole_ of life.... If a thing's not _wrong_, I don't care whether -it's unconventional: if there's nothing wrong in roulette, if I play it -under my father's eyes at Monte Carlo, I'll play it in London; and, if -there's a silly law to drive an innocent thing under ground, I'll play -it under ground. '_Publish and be damned. Your affectionate -Wellington._' I admire people who are too big to mind what's said in the -servants' hall.... But don't let's wrangle on our last night! I'm sorry -if I've disappointed you." - -As she took a step towards the bridge-tables, Jack felt that he was -losing her; yet he would only stultify himself by an apology. - -"I'm afraid I don't put things very happily," he compromised. - -"No more than that?" - -"Well, it's your turn now." - -"I could never criticize one of my guests." - -She gave him time to see that no reply was possible, then took another -step towards the bridge players. More strongly than ever he felt that he -was losing her. - -"I hope I shall be one of your guests again, Barbara." - -She shook her head and smiled with tired gentleness. Jack discovered -that she was capable, in her quiet passages, of great dignity, which -contributed to his general conception of her as "big" and punished him -more completely than if she had lost her temper and made a scene. - -"But you can't like hurting me.... And I've tried to be so sweet to you. -You don't want to come again?" - -"But I do." - -He hoped to hear her say "Why?" so that he could recover ground and -secure a good jumping-off place for their next meeting. - -"Then I'll ask you. I told you at Croxton that I loved doing what people -asked. We shall be coming up to London next week. But I shall never make -you see my point of view." - -"I think I've made you see mine." - -Barbara turned away without answering, and Jack interpreted her silence -as surrender. She whispered good-night to her mother and went to her -room for fear of insulting him in public. Everything could be forgiven -except this last blatant, avowed assumption that he had bullied her into -submission. His punishment became a matter of duty. - - - - -CHAPTER EIGHT - -A MATTER OF PLEASURE - - "But what will not ambition and revenge - Descend to? Who aspires, must down as low - As high he soar'd, obnoxious, first or last, - To basest things. Revenge, at first though sweet - Bitter ere long, back on itself recoils...." - - MILTON: "PARADISE LOST." - - - "_My Dear Barbara,_ - - "_I have seen so little of you lately that I don't know what your - movements are. Are you expecting me at the Abbey next week-end? And - shall I find you at Ross House on Friday? I particularly want to - talk to you._ - - "_Ever yours_, - "JACK WARING." - - -The letter, written nearly a month after Barbara's Easter party, was -Jack's first documentary admission that a state of war had been -proclaimed and that he was tardily conscious of it. On returning to -London, Barbara invited him to dine, as she had promised; but she -invited so many other people at the same time that he had little -opportunity of talking to her. In the excitement and rush of the early -season, as she darted from dinner to play and from play to ball, it was -impossible to catch her in a serious mood. Jack followed at a -non-committal distance and tried to get her to himself occasionally for -a moment at supper; but, after he had made two of these abortive -attempts, she explained with gentle reproof that it was hardly fair to -expect her to give up dancing because he himself refused to learn; if -he wanted to see her, he could wait and take her home; she would not be -later than three or perhaps four.... After two experiments, Jack changed -his tactics; he could not stay up all night, if he had to be in court -next day at ten o'clock, and there was little intimacy or romance in -driving home with a girl who either dropped asleep or treated the taxi -as an omnibus for distributing her friends about London. - -When they met, her good-humour and friendliness reassured him, but they -met so seldom that he made no progress. Letters were unsatisfactory, for -he was afraid of saying too much and always wanted to write "without -prejudice" at the head of the sheet. She never answered more than one in -three; and, though he wrote about himself and his work, she hardly -responded to his suggestion that she had a right to know what he was -doing and that he had no less a right to expect her to be interested in -it. This, he decided, was the fruit of twenty years' spoiling; the -effort--if need be, the abasement--must come on his side. - -After a week in which he did not meet her at all, Jack convinced himself -that love could not be conducted on a limited liability basis; no man -achieved passion and saved his face at the same time. It would have been -easier to treat marriage like a casual invitation to dinner and to say -"Will you marry me? No? Well, it does not matter; I thought I'd just ask -you ..."; but a woman was not to be won until she saw that it mattered -more than anything else. After deep thought and with momentarily -increasing reluctance, he went to an address which he had found in the -_Morning Post_, paid three guineas and for a conscientious hour at a -time practised steps and pranced round a studio off the King's Road with -two fluffy sisters who taught him a little of dancing and much of -humility. From the first they despised his clumsiness and resented his -lofty refusal to talk, smoke, drink tea or take them out to dinner; but -their dislike and contempt were nothing to his own sense of shame. Once -back in the County Club, a man among men, deferentially--as became a -young member--asking the chairman of the Wine Committee whether they had -enough of the '84 Dow to sell it by the glass, he wondered what Mr. -Justice Maitland or old Bertrand Oakleigh would think if they dreamed -that he was lately escaped from an abomination called Effie, who -revolved in a sticky fog of cheap chocolates, and a vulgarity named Dot, -who called him "old boy." If Summertown or Gerry Deganway caught him -slinking away from chambers to be told that his knees were too stiff or -that he must hold his partner more tightly.... Jack blushed hotly and -wondered why he had not been taught to dance as a child. - -And for all his pains he got little credit. At his next meeting with -Barbara, he chose one of her favourite waltzes and suggested that she -might "risk it" with him. In the infinitely small chatter of the tired -woman round the walls it was remarked for a week that Jack Waring, who -did not usually dance, might very often be seen dancing with Babs Neave. -Val Arden accosted him with surprise and congratulated Barbara in his -presence on having humanized him. - -"But _I_ haven't done anything," she answered. - -"You said it was rather pointless for a man to come to a ball, if he -didn't dance," Jack pointed out. - -"And you did this to please me," she laughed. "How long did it take? -Only a fortnight? I wonder how long it would take you to learn bridge. -There's such a mob of people everywhere that I've made it a rule never -to dance till after supper. George Oakleigh's collecting a table now." - -As so often lately, this was not the moment for a man to advance his -suit, but Jack could not decide whether Barbara, like all the girls in -these restless, neurotic months, was too much excited to be serious or -whether she was deliberately tantalizing him and deferring surrender to -set a higher value on herself. As secretly as he had learned dancing, he -set himself to master the leads and returns of bridge. Starting with -"Auction for Beginners," he proceeded painfully to "Advanced Auction -Bridge," and challenged his parents and sister to an experimental game -during his next week-end at Red Roofs. The experiment was not repeated; -Colonel Waring, who carried into bridge the formalism and irritability -of a whist-racked youth, told him that he did not seem to have a "card -head," and, after a night of helpless anger against the unreasonableness -of women, Jack launched his ultimatum to Barbara with an indignant -resolve that she should not trifle with him any longer. - -There was little enough of the love-letter in his few words and -colourless phrasing, but Barbara felt a tremor as she read them. The -letter awaited her, with others, when she came home after a party; she -read it first, then poured herself a cup of cocoa, then read the others -and came back to it. This, then, was his capitulation to a woman of such -ill-repute that he dared not confess to his own parents that he even -knew her. - -"_My dear Jack_," she wrote in reply. "_Yes, I shall be there on Friday -and look forward to seeing you._" - -It read naturally, but gave her hypercritical mind the sense that she -was meeting him half-way; she would not let him say that his broadest -hint had been a warning. - -"_My dear Jack_," she tried again. "_I've promised faithfully to go to -the Marlings on Friday; there's rather a panic there, because poor dear -Lady M. thinks that every one will desert her for Ross House--it's her -own fault for choosing that night. If I can possibly get away, I shall -look in for a few minutes. If not, we shall meet at the Abbey next day. -Of course, we're expecting you then._" - -Though this read even more naturally, Barbara was not wholly satisfied. -She left the letter in the hall, then retrieved and carried it into her -bedroom to see how it looked by morning light. As she undressed, she saw -with surprise that there was an unaccustomed flush on either cheek and -that her lips were tightly compressed. Jack had hurt her even more than -she appreciated; and he was now going to be taught his lesson. The -"haggard Venus".... The sight of her thin face and deep-set, glowing -eyes made her feel a tragic actress in spite of herself. She was -word-perfect in the scene, for she had rehearsed it every time that his -bluff, sweeping condemnation had touched her vanity. No doubt he would -still try to be bluff and off-hand, but she was resolved to make him -plead humbly and to take back every reproach, one by one. - -Barbara sat down before an open window in her bedroom; outside, the -silent night was like a hushed and darkened auditorium for her speech. - -"But we've nothing in common! You know you hate the life I had. I'm -afraid I can't alter it, Jack. You'd take away all my friends, but they -interest me; I've got music and books and pictures in common with them. -Even if you got over your dislike, you'd hate to sit in a corner while -we talked about the things that do mean everything to me. And I'm afraid -I should always be shocking you. I've _told_ you that I _must_ have -every new experience; I'd sooner be dead than live a sort of half-life, -_afraid_ to do this, _afraid_ to do that--just because no one had done -it before. I've got too much vitality.... Jack, you've seen eagles in -captivity? Well! That's what would happen to me if I couldn't spread my -wings and soar, soar, soar.... If I married any one who didn't soar with -me. You wouldn't like to hear people say, 'She's grown so old and -lifeless since she married.' - -"I can't make out how you ever came to fall in love with me, thinking -of me as you do. There are hundreds of girls just as pretty--much -prettier, in fact. Sally Farwell. Sonia Dainton. I'm vain and I'm not -going to pretend that I don't think myself much higher than _them_, but -it's the things which put me higher that you'll never appreciate--never, -never, never! You think they're wrong or cheap or vulgar.... Jack, -you're in love at present, you're not seeing clearly; but you know in -the bottom of your heart that you'll never change me. Well! Do you want -to spend the rest of your life with a woman you despise, do you want to -despise the mother of your children?... Yes, you actually used the -word--it hurt me so much that I'm not likely to forget it--but, if you -like, I'll try to forget it, I'll _say_ I forget it.... Of course, I -_forgive_! My dear, this is much too important for us both to have any -silly little personal feeling.... And, whenever you say I'm 'big,' I -hope it means that I've got a big soul, that I'm generous.... Dear, I'm -not asking you to apologize, but you admit you said that I was vulgar? -And now you say it's untrue? Well, _I_ haven't changed? It's love.... -But love doesn't last for ever. To be happily married, you want common -sympathies, common tastes--something that will last for ever, when -love's burnt out. - -"I suppose I ought to be--flattered that you think well enough of me to -want to marry me.... Sometimes you were a little hard on me.... But -flattery ... one's own _amour propre_ is so small.... I can't marry you, -Jack. No! Nothing you could ever say or do.... How you ever fell in love -with me, thinking as you do.... Or _did_, rather. You don't think quite -so badly of me now. But our happiness--for all our lives--No, please, -Jack; don't say anything! You must never speak of this again, of course; -I think it would be better for us not to meet. It's bound to be -difficult, you know ... difficult and painful. I don't mean that you're -to cut me in the street, but if we allowed ourselves to drift -_gradually_ apart.... And now don't think I'm heartless, if I tell you -that you'll get over this. Time heals all things, Jack. You're hurt now; -it's as if I'd hit your head and the blood were running into your eyes. -But in time.... We'll say good-bye now. You may kiss me, if you like, -Jack, but--I think you'd better not. The best thing you can do is to -forget all about me." - -As she sat in a carved chair, whispering the words to herself, the drama -of the scene swept Barbara off her balance and left her breathless. The -flush had died out of her cheeks, and all emotion was concentrated in -the trembling whisper of her voice and in her eyes, tragic, tortured and -black, staring through the window into the silent auditorium of the -night. - -And Jack, who called her theatrical, never admitted that she could -act.... - -The wind set her shivering, and she pulled the curtains together. The -rehearsal had excited her, and, when she got into bed, there were -gestures, which she felt she could improve, and phrases, which stood in -need of polish. Jack would not appreciate the subtilty of the scene; he -would go away--perhaps not quite so well satisfied with himself, but -vaguely grateful for her gentleness in blunting the edge of -disappointment. He would feel sure that she had been very wise, very -maternal; and, if any one questioned him out of curiosity or a desire to -be sympathetic, her bitterest critic would become her staunchest -champion. "It was rather a wipe in the eye for me," she could imagine -his saying, "because I was very hard hit; I am still. After all, there's -no one to compare with her.... But I thought she behaved awfully well; -and it couldn't have been easy for her; I'm not really sure that she -didn't feel it more than I did--I mean, she saw I wasn't enjoying -myself much and she did everything she could.... I was conscious at the -time that I'd never loved her so much, I'd never appreciated what I was -losing until I lost her. Of course, I always knew that she was -_big_...." - -Many men had proposed to her, but none had done justice to his -opportunity. She wondered how Jack would begin.... Men never troubled -about a setting--or a time; they procrastinated and procrastinated until -the car was at the door or the train was starting. If she were in his -place, there would be splendour of setting and superb eloquence of -rolling, romantic phrases. There was colour in the world when Cyrano de -Bergerac swung down the street, quarrelling and making love, or when he -stood dying and already preparing his bow to the Court of Heaven. But -nowadays all emotion was starved; men were ashamed even of emotion's -gestures, the bloom and the beauty of language. Barbara picked up a -volume of Shakespeare and read where the book opened of its own accord. -"Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the -looks of an empress; take me by the hand, and say 'Harry of England, I -am thine': which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I -will tell thee aloud 'England is thine, Ireland is thine, France is -thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine; who, though I speak it before his -face, if he be no fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the best -king of good fellows.' Come, your answer in broken music.... You have -witchcraft in your lips, Kate: there is more eloquence in a sugar touch -of them than in the tongues of the French council." - -Barbara sat up in bed, clasping her hands round her knees and thinking -of days when colour still shone in the world and when she made a part of -it. India still lived gorgeously. She could still conjure up her -triumphant arrival at Bombay, the roll of the saluting guns, the guard -of honour, the lined streets and majestic progress of the new -viceroy.... - -On the evening of the ball she was careful to dress in such fashion that -she should not seem to have taken any extra care, but her maid looked at -her with undisguised admiration, and at dinner Lady Crawleigh woke to -articulate enthusiasm. Barbara smiled to herself, as she put on her -cloak and fastened a spray of orchids in her dress. Every one seemed -eager and excited: her mother had more than once brought Jack's name -into conversation without venturing farther: and, of course, all the -world loved a lover. From Phyllis Knightrider she knew that her aunts -looked with hope and relief on the determined, steady young man who had -at last been found to keep her in order. She wondered what they would -say when he disappeared without explanation.... She wondered how Jack -would begin and whether he would come first to Lady Marling's to make -sure of not missing her. Catching sight of herself in a mirror, she -smiled again, though she was beginning to feel a little nervous. She -wondered how Jack had been spending the first part of the evening.... - -At half-past eleven he arrived to find her surrounded by four men of -whom each claimed that she had promised him the next dance. - -"I came to see if you were thinking of starting for Ross House," Jack -explained. "Have you got your car here?" - -"Mother's taken it on," she answered. "But Sir Deryk--you know Sir Deryk -Lancing, don't you? Mr. Waring--Sir Deryk's offered me his. We'll give -you a lift." - -Jack hid his disappointment under an adequate bow and accompanied her -downstairs. Young Lancing's presence disquieted him. Though numberless -men made rival calls on her, there had so far been no serious cause for -jealousy; but Lancing had so much in his favour that Jack felt an insane -desire to establish something discreditable against him. He was young, -healthy, good-looking and highly gifted; Barbara had more than once -quoted him as an authority on music; he was something of an -archaeologist; and his black-figure pottery at Aston Ripley was no less -famous than his collection of eighteenth-century miniatures. He was -worth between twenty and twenty-five million pounds, he was a baronet; -and he was unmarried. Their tastes harmonized; every one would say that -it was a most suitable alliance. And some would whisper that she had -come very near to throwing herself away on Jack Waring. People ought not -to be allowed to be so rich.... - -He strode bare-headed on to the pavement, feeling helpless and trying to -persuade himself that he was only nervous. As they drove to Ross House, -he watched and listened to Lancing and Barbara, envying them their ease -and wondering whether it was fair for two people to exclude the third -from conversation by choosing an impossible subject. Rimski-Korsakoff -... Ivan le Terrible ... Chaliapin.... While Barbara got rid of her -cloak, he consciously tried to make friends with Lancing; they had -apparently been at Eton together and had overlapped at Oxford. There was -no harm in the fellow; though he was unutterably bored and made no -attempt to hide it, he could not be dismissed as a conceited ass.... -Barbara took an unconscionable time to shed one cloak.... And, when she -returned to the hall, a newly arriving horde was already engulfing her. - -"The first one's mine, isn't it?" Jack called out anxiously. "You -promised it me in the car." - -The anxiety was almost hysterical, and other people must be noticing it. - -"Yes. And then Sir Deryk," answered Barbara. "Then Jack Summertown. Then -Gerry. George?" She gave Oakleigh a quick smile over an undulating sea -of heads and held up four fingers. "No, _missing_ four! Jim? Missing -five! What an _appalling_ crowd! I don't see any prospect of supper." - -"May I have that with you--after Jim Loring?" asked Jack. Then he -lowered his voice. "I don't see much prospect of that talk with you." - -The voice was peevish, and other people must be noticing that, too. - -"My dear, you'll have enough of me this week-end. Take me upstairs -before I'm trampled to death." - -As they pressed forward to the door of the ball-room, Jack gripped the -banisters to make sure that he was awake. At one moment he was staring -at the broad shoulders of the man in front of him, the next down his -collar; fluttering hands tidied away vagrant wisps of hair and buttoned -gloves. Waves of scent met and blended with the dominant sweetness of -the carnations which wound in clustering chains about the banisters. -Above and before them boomed a far-away voice, announcing names; and -between the shrill clatter of surprised recognitions came the -strangulated music of a frantic band. - -"You'll certainly be trampled to death, if you try to get inside," said -Jack. "Let's sit it out somewhere." - -She nodded, but, when he had shaken hands with the Duchess of Ross and -was trying to cleave a passage, Barbara was deep in conversation with a -pale, underhung youth; and he felt a second twinge of jealousy. She -talked until the music stopped, while Jack fingered his tie and strove -vainly to keep out of other people's way. - -"You know him, don't you?" Barbara asked, when at last the rapt -conversation came to an end. "My cousin, Johnnie Carstairs. He's been -out in Rome for the last three years, but now he's being transferred to -the Foreign Office." - -Jack nodded without speaking and continued to look for standing-room. -After his letter it was almost inconceivable that she should not know -what he wanted to tell her; yet she light-heartedly abandoned him for a -cousin whom she could see at any time, talking as though the fellow were -on his way to the scaffold; and their promised moment together was -relegated to the end of the evening; and in this hurly-burly it was -almost too much to expect that they could find an inch of space or a -minute of uninterrupted conversation. - -"I can see _one_ chair at the far end, if we can get through to it," he -said. - -"The music's starting," she answered doubtfully. "We'd better get back, -I think." - -"No, they're playing the same thing. It's only an _encore_." - -"Oh, then do let me have it with Johnnie! I haven't seen him for such -ages. You don't mind?" - -She had spied a thinning in the crowd and was half-way to the ball-room -door before he had an answer ready. Noting the number of the dance, Jack -went downstairs and tried to be philosophical over a cigar; but his -nerves were unsteady, and, though there was an endless hour and a half -to wait, he had to hurry back every few minutes to make sure that he was -not missing the promise of supper with Barbara. It was irritating to be -so restless--and doubly irritating to feel that others were noticing it. -Jim Loring came into the smoking-room and settled himself for a -comfortable talk, only to find that his companion had run away -unceremoniously in mid-sentence. These people had no sense of the -important; life to them was powder and patches and dance music--less -than that, for they stayed up half the night to smoke furtive cigars and -ostentatiously shut their ears to the dance music. And Barbara was -flitting from one man to another, when their two lives were in the -balance. - -In one of his wanderings to and from the ball-room Jack found Deryk -Lancing, ticket in hand, by the cloak-room. - -"You off?" he asked with secret relief. - -"Yes, this sort of thing bores me stiff. Can I drop you anywhere?" - -"Well, I'm booked for supper with Lady Barbara." - -"Oh, you might remind her that she cut me." - -He moved away, whistling drearily to himself and leaving Jack grateful -for his absence. There was no rivalry to fear from Lancing. Gerald -Deganway came up, swinging his eye-glass distractedly and calling for -his hat. - -"My dear, this sort of thing's killing me, positively killing me!" he -simpered. "This is my third ball to-night, and I've got to go to two -more. The Marlings, the Tavitons, this place, the Fenwicks--Oh, no! I've -been to the Fenwicks; I'm almost sure I started there. I shall be such a -wreck to-morrow, a mere bundle of nerves! But Helen Crossleigh will -never forgive me, if I disappoint her. _You_ don't look as if you were -enjoying yourself much. I believe some one who shall be nameless has -_cut_ you! I _believe_ that's it." - -He laughed shrilly and dug Jack roguishly in the ribs with the gold knob -of his cane; then set a resplendent hat at a jaunty angle and fluttered -through the hall, murmuring, "Taxi! Oh, some one must get me a taxi! I -shall break down and cry, if I don't get a taxi." - -Jack watched him smilingly but with cold rage in his heart. If he had to -wait hour after hour, fretting with nervousness and fuming with -impatience, he might at least have been spared the inane facetiousness -of Deganway. - -"A little more of this, and something will happen to my brain," he -growled to Val Arden. - -"It is the chatter of the Bandar-Log, aimless, restless, incomplete," -was the answer. - - - "'Here we sit in a branchy row, - Thinking of beautiful things we know; - Dreaming of deeds that we mean to do, - All complete, in a minute or two-- - Something noble and grand and good, - Won by merely wishing we could. - Now we're going to--never mind, - Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!'" - - -Jack nodded and tried to smile; but it was no matter for jest when he -remembered that he had himself chosen this time and place for asking -Barbara to marry him. - -"One is reminded of our good Lewis Carroll's White Rabbit," Arden -observed, as he watched Deganway's flurried exit. "You play piquet? No? -One would have challenged you to a game. As against bridge, the absence -of vulgar abuse is noteworthy and welcome.... One likes to see the young -people enjoying themselves, but these entertainments are only moderately -amusing. One looked to Lady Lilith in old days to create a diversion, -but your dire friendship has sobered her. Of course, one has one's -bed...." - -He sighed and tossed down the ticket for his hat. So many people were -leaving that Jack looked apprehensively at his watch and hurried -upstairs. Only one dance separated him from supper with Barbara; but, -when the music began, she had forgotten her promise, and he had to stand -for a quarter of an hour while she waltzed with Charles Framlingham. As -he went forward to claim her at the end, Summertown advanced from -another corner and forestalled him. There was nothing new in such -behaviour, and Jack realized that he would only look ridiculous, if he -shewed impatience or jealousy; but he felt that he was losing his temper -and that she saw it. The heat of the house tired him, and he was hungry. - -"Wait _one_ more, Jack, and then you may take me home," she called out, -as she swept past him. - -"Aren't you going to have any supper?" - -"Oh, I'd quite forgotten about that." - -She passed out of earshot, breathlessly and with shining eyes. If she -remembered that he wanted to talk with her alone, if she guessed what he -was going to say, he could not understand her behaviour; it was very -feminine, but it was also rude and extraordinarily inconsiderate, -exasperating him without in any way intensifying his love; if she -thought that he wanted simply to compete with Deganway in vapidness or -Arden in affectation, well, she was a fool; he had given her the -broadest hints. He caught sight of himself in a strip of looking-glass -and found that he was frowning; without that signal he knew that he had -lost his temper. - -"I forget everything, when I'm dancing," was Barbara's nearest approach -to an apology on her return. "I promised to have supper with this child, -too; let's all go down together." - -She went on ahead of them before he could say anything; and, as -Summertown shewed no sign of yielding to a prior claimant, Jack pulled -off his gloves with careful deliberation and followed her into the -dining-room. Though he tried to overcome his ill-humour, their minds -were not in tune with his. Barbara prattled unceasingly, Summertown kept -up a monologue of his own, and, when they tried to infect him with their -own lightness of heart, he could only nod or shake his head or smile in -dumb fury that she could play with him in the presence of a spectator. -Women, he decided, must be innately cruel, for, though she was clearly -trying to anger him, it was not mere mischievousness. - -"I must have one more dance with this child," she cried at the end of -supper, with a glance of invitation at Summertown. - -"Then I don't think I shall wait," said Jack. - -The tempo of her dialogue was retarded for half a beat but her -expression was unchanged. - -"Oh, but didn't you say you'd got a message for me or something?" - -"I can give it you at the Abbey to-morrow." - -She looked at him with amused surprise. - -"Jack, you're not grumpy with me because I cut your dance--or, at least, -you say so? You may have another, and this child can come later. Let's -go somewhere where it's cooler and where I can have a cigarette." - -It was a trifling encounter, but, inasmuch as she saw that he had lost -his temper, Jack felt worsted. He swore that he would keep control of -himself, however much she exasperated him. He was less tired and more -certain of himself than before supper, and for some reason his -nervousness had transferred itself to her. The change was apparent from -the moment that they were quit of Summertown. She became tense in manner -and a little frightened, no longer laughing; and he ceased to fancy that -his hints could have been wasted on her. - -"Where are we likely to be undisturbed?" he asked, as they hurried -purposefully up the stairs. "You know this house better than I do." - -"Oh--anywhere," she answered rather breathlessly. - - - - -CHAPTER NINE - -THE JUDGEMENT OF SOLOMON - - "The King hailed his keeper, an Arab - As glossy and black as a scarab, - And bade him make sport and at once stir - Up and out of his den the old monster.... - - One's whole blood grew curdling and creepy - To see the black mane, vast and heapy, - The tail in the air stiff and straining, - The wide eyes, nor waxing nor waning.... - - 'How he stands!,' quoth the King.... - 'We exercise wholesome discretion - 'In keeping aloof from his threshold.... - 'But who's he would prove so fool-hardy? - 'Not the best man of Marignan, pardie!' - - The sentence no sooner was uttered - Than over the rails a glove fluttered, - Fell close to the lion, and rested: - The dame 'twas, who flung it and jested - With life so, De Lorge had been wooing - For months past; he sat there pursuing - His suit, weighing out with nonchalance - Fine speeches like gold from a balance. - - Sound the trumpet, no true knight's a tarrier! - De Lorge made one leap at the barrier, - Walked straight to the glove,--while the lion - Ne'er moved, kept his far-reaching eye on - The palm-tree-edged desert-spring's sapphire, - And the musky oiled skin of the Kaffir,-- - Picked it up, and...." - - ROBERT BROWNING: "THE GLOVE." - - -Though he seemed to be leading the way, Barbara urged Jack by suggestion -up a side-staircase and through a billiard-room to a broad _loggia_ -overlooking Greenhill Gardens. There were two chairs and a table with -cigarettes and champagne cup; the night air blew chillingly with a scent -of spring leaves, and the music reached them as a reverberation -mingling with the distant traffic of Piccadilly. - -"I say, you won't catch cold, will you?" Jack asked. - -Barbara smiled to herself. He would never have thought of the wind or of -her, if his match had not been blown out. - -"Oh, we shan't be here long enough for that." - -Jack lighted the cigarettes and settled himself elaborately in his -chair, with one leg thrown over the other. - -"I wanted to talk to you. I think you know what it's about." - -She had intended to be thrown off her balance with surprise, but the -bluntness of his opening did not invite ingenuousness. - -"I hope I'm not in disgrace," she answered meekly. "You--rather frighten -me, when you're so mysterious. You're not going to say anything -unpleasant?" - -"I hope you won't find it unpleasant. Look here, the best thing will be -for me to say what I've got to say, ... and then you.... I mean, if you -interrupt, you'll throw me out of my stride. Barbara, I've told you what -I'm earning; and one naturally hopes that it will increase almost -automatically year by year. As you know, I'm _not_ a Catholic----" - -"Jack----" - -He flapped one hand at her with nervous impatience, drew furiously at -his cigarette and looked away over the garden and house-tops to the -shadowy Park. - -"You mustn't put me off my stroke, Barbara.... These are the two big -obstacles that all the world will see. Well, I can assure you that I -shouldn't be talking to you like this, if you hadn't--in a way--given me -the right to.... At first I couldn't stand you at any price whatsoever. -Then there was a night when I said to myself that I should have to be -careful. It was when you rang me up and invited me to dine with you -alone--after that business in Webster's rooms. At first I was perfectly -furious; you seemed to be taking that luckless girl's death so calmly -and thinking only of the hole _you_ were in. And then--I don't know; -something changed. I began to feel sorry for you, I felt extraordinarily -fond of you; I told myself that I should have to watch out. -Then--something you said--it was when you invited me to one of your own -special parties at the Abbey; I got the feeling that you liked me, -rather. Was I right?" - -The question came so suddenly in the middle of his halting narrative -that Barbara started. So far the scene was not developing at all as she -had expected. She could interrupt, confuse, stop him; but there was no -way of bringing in the open-eyed amazement which she had planned; he -seemed to be putting the responsibility on her. And, when he brusquely -told her not to interrupt, she felt strangely disposed to obey him. - -"Was I right?" he repeated, turning to look at her. - -The customary self-satisfied smile had disappeared, and he was frowning. -Barbara chose to fancy that he must take on the same expression with a -fighting case in court. - -"Yes, I quite liked you," she answered. "I always liked you, when you're -not trying to shew me that everything I say and do----" - -He cut her short with a quick uplift of one finger. - -"Good! Well, when you shewed me that, I took stock and began to look at -things from another point of view. I suggested to you--as fairly and -fully as I could--the chief obstacles; money ... and so forth. If -you--or your people, through you--had thought that insuperable, then -there was nothing more to be said. I felt I must give you the -opportunity of entering a _caveat_. I need hardly say that, knowing you -as I did.... I mean, if you wanted to marry a man, you wouldn't mind if -he were a beggar. Would you?" - -The new question again startled her by its abruptness. She had a -misgiving that he was pressing her into a corner. - -"Would you?" he repeated; and she half expected to hear him browbeating -her. "It's a simple question.... Yes or no.... I want you to tell the -jury.... Remember you are on your oath. Come now ... yes or no...." - -"Of course not. But, Jack----" - -He stopped her with another jerk, as she had foreseen. - -"I knew that. The next thing was--I suppose 'suitability' is the best -word. I mean we lead different lives, our outlook's different in some -ways. I had to consider what chance of success we should have together. -Well, you sometimes say that I find fault with everything you do; I -think you see now that I've never said a word that your father hasn't -said to you a hundred times. It's what everybody was saying, and I think -everybody's glad to see that you've come round to their point of view. -We all felt that you were too _big_, you know...." - -He hesitated and looked away, frowning again as he tried to remember the -sequence of his argument. Barbara shivered instinctively at his -hackneyed, hated phrase, but she was struck silent by the sheer audacity -of his patronizing assumptions. - -"Jack----" she began, but he again held up his hand. - -"I don't know whether I ought to have gone to your father," he resumed. -"It seemed rather getting hold of the wrong end of the stick to talk to -a woman's father before you've talked to the woman herself. Of course, -one naturally goes to him for his _assent_. I happen to know that your -people, like you, saw what was in the wind, and, as they were good -enough _not_ to pitch me into the street...." - -"Jack! Please!" - -Barbara leaned to him with her hands appealingly outstretched. In a -little while he would rob her of her last cue. By no abuse of language -could such pleading be associated with passion, but he was quoting her -against herself until it seemed as if she had almost begged him to -marry her. - -"I've nearly done," he said, smiling for the first time; then he paused -to collect himself for a concise summary, and she could have laughed -hysterically at the spectacle of a plodding young barrister trying to -argue her into marriage. His voice had never changed in timbre; and, if -he had occasionally hesitated over a word, he had never lost the train -of thought. His chair was as discreetly remote as when he first sat -down, one leg thrown comfortably over the other; and he had not thought -fit to use one whisper of endearment. - -"I don't want to hear any more!" - -"You must." - -"But, Jack, you're not in love with me!" - -He laughed good-naturedly, as though he were humouring a child. - -"I expect I'm the best judge of that. Well, you admit that I'm not -wholly repellent to you; the difference in religion can be accommodated; -I'm not altogether penniless. I want you to marry me, Babs." - -"I can't." - -She flung out the words as soon as he gave her a chance of speaking. -With his dogged, relentless attack, it was surprising that he left her -an opportunity of answering; she would hardly have been astonished if he -had taken her firmly by the arm and led her home to announce their -engagement. - -"That means you _don't_ care for me?" - -There was no sign of perturbation; but he was watching her closely. One -careless word would enable him to demonstrate that she had coquetted -with him for her vanity's sake; his memory was relentless, and she could -not pretend to convince herself that she had behaved merely as if she -"quite liked" him, when a hundred people were gossiping about them.... -And he had a passion for demonstrating things; he seemed to be -addressing an invisible jury beyond the pillars of the _loggia_. - -"My dear Jack, how could you ever _dream_ of marrying me--thinking of -me, as you do?" she demanded with a breathless attempt to start her -speech and to overwhelm his massive arguments with rhetoric and drama. - -"Let's stick to facts. I do dream of it. I want to." - -"But you disapprove of everything I do, you think I'm vulgar, cheap. Oh, -you've said it, Jack; you've used those words. They hurt much too much -for me to forget them easily." - -"I'm sorry to have hurt you," he interrupted. "But I think you _have_ -come round to my way of thinking." - -"I'll forget them--I'll try to," she went on, gabbling her speech -murderously. "This is much too important for us to think about our own -wretched little _amour propre_; and, when you say I'm "big," I always -hope it means that I'm generous, forgiving. But, Jack, you despise -me--or you _did_--the woman that you want to be the mother of your -children----" - -"You _have_ changed. Otherwise I shouldn't want to marry you." - -Barbara walked to the edge of the _loggia_ and stood with her hands on -the stone parapet, looking down on to the shadowy foliage of the -gardens. She could no longer force into service the speech that she had -rehearsed and at any moment she might expect to hear him say--in his -horrible jury voice--"Then am I to understand that you never meant -anything seriously, that this was all an elaborate trick? Was that your -means of vindicating yourself? And do you feel that it has been -successful?" He shewed a disconcerting mastery and a no less -disconcerting restraint; she was not allowed to interrupt, and, when he -had posed a question, he held her to it, waiting silently for an answer -and blocking the loop-holes of irrelevancy. - -"Why do you say you can't marry me?" - -She turned to find that he was still by the table; he had risen as she -rose, but without following her, without disturbing his deadly, -businesslike composure. - -"We should be miserable." - -"D'you mean I'm wrong? _Don't_ you care for me?" - -"'CARE'? I'm thinking about _love_! You don't know what love _is_! All -the time you've been talking.... So cold and collected.... If you were -in love with me, you'd want to take me in your arms, you'd be -transfigured, there'd be radiance, glory in your eyes, you'd hold me as -if you never meant to let me go!... You--you talked like a leading -article; you never even said you loved me." - -"I thought we might take that as read." - -"But look at you now! If you loved me, you wouldn't want to keep away; -you wouldn't be able to." - -"I've got a certain amount of self-control." - -"To resist something that's not a temptation?" - -She came slowly back to him and stood gazing up into his face. As on the -night when she had darted from him at the Croxton Ball, her cheeks were -white and hollow, her eyes were nearly black; it was the morbid, -feverish beauty of a consumptive kept alive by force of will. The spray -of orchids rose and fell with her breathing, and he could have caught -and encircled her slender, boyish figure with one arm. - -"You're looking _divine_ to-night," he murmured. - -"Is _that_ all you've got to say?" - -"No! I'm responsible for you at this moment. And, if I were you, I -should think twice before you blaspheme against the Holy Ghost again. -You don't doubt that I love you." - -Barbara pressed her hands against her cheeks, throwing her head back and -closing her eyes. - -"I wish I could," she whispered. "I was trying to, trying to make you -doubt it so that you wouldn't mind so much. If I could have made you -think that we were just friends.... Jack, you _must_--before it's too -late. You've made a mistake, you're exaggerating everything! Just -because you've hardly met a girl before, you think you're in love with -me. Because I'm pretty, because I amuse you ... I'll be ever so humble! -I'm nothing--nothing but a great friend. If you go away, you'll see it -like that; when you come back, we shall still be friends, but you'll -wonder how you ever imagined you were in love with me. You're not, Jack! -You must tell yourself you're not." - -"I don't understand, Barbara." - -"I'm trying to help you. I can never marry you; and I want you to see -that you're not losing anything. You don't _really_ want me. Oh, you -_don't_, Jack!" - -"Why do you say you can never marry me? _Don't_ you love me?" - -Barbara had expected the question for so long that it had lost half its -force before reaching her. Her mind moved quickly, as it had done all -the evening, and she could anticipate Jack's slow change of expression, -his dawning realization and then her punishment. There was no -give-and-take, when he lectured or attacked; no neatness of phrase, no -delicacy of sarcasm or irony, no intellectual joy of battle. He dealt -the bludgeon blows of one who seemed to boast that he was not clever but -tried to be honest. She felt suddenly frightened for her pride and for -herself; and she knew that he would beat her as conscientiously as he -had tried to win her. - -"Love isn't everything," she answered. - -"I'm waiting to be told what the obstacle is." - -In another moment he would have summarized for the third time all -possible objections to the marriage and his own complacent disposal of -them. She could not bear that again. - -"Jack, you're not a Catholic," she cried. - -"I know. I told you that from the first. But we can arrange that; I'll -do whatever is necessary. It's a nuisance, because I expect your people -loathe the idea of your marrying a heretic as much as mine loathe the -idea of my marrying a Catholic. Fortunately, we can ignore them." - -"I could never marry a man who wasn't a Catholic." - -She clutched wildly at the promise of escape, and Jack betrayed emotion -for the first time in a gape of astonishment. - -"But your own church--if you still call yourself a Catholic--doesn't go -as far as that." - -"I don't care. It _should_. It's lying to your soul, if you believe one -thing and let children believe something else that you _know_ to be -false. There's no sympathy of spirit when each thinks the other wrong -and sneers privately.... I _can't_ talk about this, but you _see_ now -why I tried to stop you.... Jack, do take me home! I feel as if I -couldn't stand any more!" - -She turned convulsively and hurried back to the parapet of the _loggia_. -Jack picked up a cigarette, which he regarded absently, frowning again. - -"You could never marry a man who wasn't a Catholic?" he repeated. - -"No. Jack, don't let's talk about this any more! If I'm to blame for -making you unhappy.... Oh, try to forgive me! If you let me think I'd -spoiled your life---- Please take me home." - -He roused himself from contemplation of the gilt name and address on the -cigarette and walked with her into the house. - -"Is your car coming back for you?" he asked with a detachment that she -admired. - -"Yes. You can take it on, if you like. Or perhaps you'd rather _not_ -come with me.... I suppose you won't be coming to the Abbey to-morrow?" - -"I intended to." - -"Jack, it can't do any good!" - -"Do you withdraw the invitation?" - -"I'd rather you didn't come. Later on we may be able to meet.... You -won't believe me now, but time is a wonderful healer----" - -He interrupted her with a laugh of grating boisterousness. - -"Is there anything to heal?" - -It was after four o'clock when Barbara returned home alone from Ross -House; but, though she went quietly to bed, Lady Crawleigh interrupted -her undressing. The Duchess of Ross was the latest busybody to wonder -audibly whether young Waring was serious, and it was high time for the -girl to know that people were talking about her. - -"There was such a mob that, when Jack and I had got away from it, we -didn't go back," sighed Barbara wearily, to explain her lateness. "I -wish Eleanor Ross didn't know quite so many people. Oh, mother, Jack -can't come to the Abbey this week-end. He's writing to you, but he asked -me to give you that message." - -Lady Crawleigh picked up a pendant, head-band and bracelet of fire-opals -from their scattered hiding-places on the floor, trying not to seem -either too much surprised or too indifferent. Then she knelt, with a -cracking of knee-joints, to search for the missing half of a pair of -ear-rings. Barbara, she reflected, had evidently done one thing--or -perhaps the other--or even neither; mercifully she could not do both. - -"He's really no business to chop and change like that at the last -moment," she complained. "What's happened?" - -"He's kept in London," Barbara answered. "Don't bother to look for those -things, mother; Merton will be so disappointed, if there's nothing for -her to tidy. She always waits till I'm fast asleep, _really_ tired, and -then throws tepid tea at me with one hand and knocks over all the -furniture with the other.... I can hardly keep my eyes open. You'll let -me go to sleep, won't you?" - -Lady Crawleigh scrambled to her feet and came to the side of the bed, an -undignified, shrunken figure in a blue _peignoir_ and satin slippers, -with grey-black hair secured in thick short plaits. - -"My child, is anything the matter?" - -Barbara was lying with one bare arm over her eyes, as though the light -hurt her. She had not waited to brush her hair, and the room was -littered with furiously scattered clothes. - -"I'm only tired," she said. "I've never known anything so hot as that -place." - -"Well, go to sleep." Lady Crawleigh shewed no sign of leaving the -bedside. "On the whole perhaps it's just as well that he _isn't_ coming -to the Abbey. Some one was saying to-night----" - -"Mother, I'm not going to marry Jack!" - -Lady Crawleigh's eyes opened with innocent surprise. - -"My darling, who ever said anything about it?" - -Barbara laughed hardly. - -"You were going to, weren't you? I thought I'd save time. Jack.... I've -had a--remarkable evening, but I don't think I want to talk about it." - -Lady Crawleigh changed the lights, but she continued to hover between -the bed and the door, picking up a glove here and a stocking there, -glancing stealthily at Barbara and flogging her imagination to guess -what had taken place. The girl was a little exacting with men, and there -might have been a quarrel; but it was rather drastic for Jack to default -from the Abbey at the last moment. He had possibly received an -unexpected rebuff; but then the rebuff was unexpected by every one, for -Barbara had shewn him all the encouragement that a woman could give. -Possibly she had encouraged him too much and received a rebuff -herself.... - -"Darling----" - -"I'm _so_ tired, mother." - -She seemed without resistance or power to assert herself, as though she -had been bullied and beaten. Lady Crawleigh felt a need to protect her, -as she had not felt it for ten years; Barbara was usually stoical with -bodily pains, and a wound to her pride or an ache at her heart was -shared with no one. - -"Yes, darling, I won't keep you awake, but has there been any -unpleasantness? I mean, I have to think about the future--about inviting -him here." - -"Oh, there's no reason why you shouldn't invite him. He can please -himself whether he comes or not." - -Lady Crawleigh hesitated a moment longer, then tip-toed to the door and -turned off the lights. Nothing was to be learned from Barbara at -present. - -No elucidation came from the letter of apology which she received from -Jack next day. He was unexpectedly detained in London, but hoped that he -might be forgiven and invited again some time later in the summer. It -was a question of private business, which would keep him very fully -occupied for some weeks. He would have given longer warning, if -possible, but the business had only come to him in the middle of the -night, as it were.... Lady Crawleigh tore up the letter impatiently, -then pieced it together and read it with perplexed attention. If there -had been no quarrel, no rebuff, no unpleasantness, he would not -underline this private business and hint that he did not want to be -invited to the house for the present; if there had been a quarrel, it -was incomprehensible that he should ask to be given another chance later -in the summer. - -But for the phrase, "I've had a remarkable evening, but I don't think I -want to talk about it," Barbara might simply be tired. Certainly, she -was in excellent spirits next day, and the whole party at the Abbey -revolved round her and shone with her radiance. On their return to -London she threw herself as insatiably as ever into all that was going -on. The only difference now was that she never danced with Jack, because -he had disappeared; and she never mentioned his name. Others also -remarked his disappearance, and, though the excuse of private business -was bravely presented, they at least were not satisfied. Lady Crawleigh -suggested inviting him to a musical party, from which it might have been -noticeable to exclude him; Barbara raised no objection, but Jack replied -from his chambers that he was unfortunately compelled to refuse all -invitations at present. - -It was mysterious and annoying, for an absurd amount of gossip was -swirling and eddying among the weary, chilled women who sat night after -night round ball-room walls. Deganway professed to have seen an -impertinent paragraph in the column of _The Sphinx_ headed "Riddles for -Our Readers"; and, for every one who enquired what had happened to Jack, -Lady Crawleigh knew that a dozen must be asking themselves why Barbara -had made so public an exhibition of herself, if she did not mean to let -anything come of it. And there was an added mystery and vexation when -Jim Loring said: "I've the best reason for knowing there's nothing to -worry about," in a tone which shewed that he was himself deeply worried. - -He met his aunt on the morrow of a confession which lasted from ten -o'clock until two next morning. Jack had invited himself to dinner at -Loring House, stipulated that no one else should be present and pledged -his host to secrecy. - -"I can't quite trust my own judgement," he drawled, when they were -alone after dinner. "A new factor, you know.... I haven't quite adjusted -myself to it.... I don't suppose it's any news to you that I want to -marry your cousin Barbara? Well, I've every reason to think she would -marry me to-morrow but for the unfortunate circumstance that she's a -Catholic and I'm not." - -Loring involuntarily winced and looked away, recalling his own shipwreck -on a similar rock, the months of dull agony and the empty years of -wandering, which had but lately come to an end. It was the first time -that they had met alone, and Jim was more than three years older; new -lines were visible at the corners of his eyes, his face and body were -heavier and more inelastic. A note of bitterness broke over-often -through the habitual irony of his voice, as though his spirit were still -raw under its dressing of tolerant boredom. - -"If any one knows anything on that subject," he murmured, "you've come -to the right man. Have you--actually put it to her?" - -"Oh, yes. We're hung up on that. Barbara says that she could never marry -a man who wasn't a Catholic." - -"But that's absurd! The Church itself----" - -"So I told her, but she goes one better than her Church. Jim, I feel -that there's the makings of a first-class tragedy, if we're not very -careful ... and very clever. I want to marry her more than anything in -the world. There's nothing--I think there's literally nothing I wouldn't -do to bring it off. She--well, we went into it pretty thoroughly the -other night. I could see she was torn in two.... I--didn't press it. I -knew that, if she felt as strongly as that--in her bones--, I shouldn't -sweep her off her feet, however much she seemed to be convinced at the -moment. It didn't look like being permanent. I had to find some other -way out." - -He paused and relit his cigar. The door was ajar, and Loring got up to -close it; then, instead of going back to his chair, he took a turn up -and down the library, with his chin on his chest and his hands thrust -deep into his pockets. Three years ago he had come back to that room -from his last farewell with Sonia Dainton; he has distractedly summoned -George Oakleigh to advise him and had paced up and down, up and down, -flinging half-smoked cigarettes into the fire-place. And Oakleigh, whom -he had invoked for help, would only tell him brutally that love was over -and that he must set his teeth and face it.... Now again no other advice -was possible. - -"I'm dam' sorry, Jack," he muttered. - -His voice quavered in sympathy, because their tragedies had so much in -common. He had never lost his heart to any one but Sonia, as Jack had -lost his only to Babs Neave; they had been immune for the first thirty -years of their life, and they were paying for their self-denial and -their affronting indifference to woman. Jack probably enjoyed exposing -his soul as little as he had done with George. - -"It's rather a mess, isn't it?" said Jack. - -"What are you going to do? Look here, we're old enough friends for me to -talk freely to you. It hurts like hell at the time, but one _does_ get -over it. As you know, I went abroad for some years and tried to forget. -I should be--_embarrassed_, if I sat next to Sonia at dinner to-night, -but I shouldn't get the same tug at the heart that I got when I just saw -her for a moment in the distance--at the Coronation. You'd better go -away." - -Jack smiled and then turned his head, finally resting his chin on one -fist and staring at the empty fire-place so that his face should be -hidden. - -"I'm not going away," he answered. "I've every intention of marrying -Barbara. I feel that we were made for each other." - -"But what are you going to do?" Loring repeated, as he paused again. - -"I propose to become a Catholic." - -Loring started and sat down on the arm of a chair without speaking. -Jack's natural stolidity was a guarantee against melodrama. - -"You can't do that, Jack," he said at length. - -"We know several people who have." - -"I won't criticize them, because they may already have been Catholics in -everything but name. They're entitled to the benefit of the doubt. But -you and I have talked religion a hundred times. It wouldn't be straight -dealing." - -"Then I'm glad I've not talked religion with any one else. There'll be -no one else to give me away. _I'm_ entitled to the benefit of the -doubt." - -"No one would believe you; Barbara certainly wouldn't; and you'd never -be able to impose on yourself. You'd always feel dishonoured, Jack." - -There was a long silence, in which Loring was visibly the more -embarrassed. Jack smoked his cigar tranquilly, looking ahead of him at -the fire-place and not striving to pose either as hero or as cynic. - -"My dear Jim," he answered at length, "if this were an _easy_ question, -where I could trust my own judgement, I wouldn't inflict my troubles on -you like this. I won't pretend I _like_ it. If you could suggest a -better way.... Now, when once the thing's done, there's no discussion; I -don't question Barbara's _bona fides_ and I won't let her question mine. -Any children will be full-blooded Catholics, and the question will never -be raised again. I've completed a formality; she will in fact marry a -Catholic, which is what she's sticking out for, and I'll see to it that -no shadow of difference ever arises from religion. It's not easy, God -knows. Incidentally, the entire world will say I'm marrying her for her -money and getting converted so that she shan't forfeit it. Always a -pleasant thing to hear.... However, necessity knows no law." - -"That's tied round the neck of every crime and immorality in the -world's history." - -Jack looked up with the first sign of interest that his face had shewn. - -"You really think that would be a crime? I've come to you for your -opinion. A crime against Barbara?" - -"Against yourself. I don't think it would affect her. Do you know -anything about the course of preparation before you're received into the -Church? You'll have to tell one lie after another, weeks and weeks of -them. And, when you've been received, you'll have to continue. D'you -propose to go regularly to Mass? Will you go to Confession?" - -Barbara's reputation for laxity was widely known and disapproved. - -"I'll do whatever my wife does," Jack promised. - -Though he pretended to keep an open mind, he was inviting criticism only -for the satisfaction of demolishing it. Loring was still shocked and -doubly shocked that he could make no impression on his friend's stubborn -insensibility. - -"Have you discussed it with your people?" he asked. - -"I've discussed it with no one. It'll be hell for them, of course." - -"They won't be taken in." - -Jack smiled a little ruefully and took up his position in front of the -fire-place, facing his friend. - -"They won't be taken in," he agreed. "They'll hate it. _I_ hate it. It's -a lie, a chain of lies. I don't expect that I shall ever be able to -invent excuses or tell myself a fairy-tale to get round it. The best I -can say is that it's the only means and that the end must justify the -means. I can't defend myself, Jim." - -It was difficult to reason with a man who admitted every charge in -advance, and Loring was puzzled to know why they were arguing at all. - -"You're committing a crime against yourself--and making your family -perfectly miserable," he pointed out. "I know people rob and murder, -when they're in love, but why come and tell me about it?" - -"I wanted you as a barometer--for my own sanity. _Have_ I lost touch -with reality?" - -"I think you're quite mad. I've been through it myself; and I was just -as mad. The best advice I can give you is to go away from Babs for three -or six months and see how you feel. If it's as bad as ever at the -end.... No, I'm damned if I take the responsibility of encouraging you; -I feel as badly about it as that." - -Both started guiltily as the butler came in with a tray of decanters and -glasses, and Jack murmured, "Jove! It's getting late." When they were -alone again, he took a second cigar and flung himself into an arm-chair. - -"We might make a present of this to Eric Lane," he said grimly, "for one -of his plays. I've never before been up against a thing where there was -so little chance of compromise. Or, if I have, I've always said, -"There's only one possible thing to do," and I've tried to do it. D'you -remember Raney's cheerful prophecy my last night in Oxford? Within ten -years we should all have made such fools of ourselves that we should -wish we were dead. Nine years ago. Your undergraduate is a sexless -creature; we none of us thought then that a mere woman could mess up our -lives.... Well, I've had a run for my money." - -"There's only one possible thing to do here," said Loring emphatically, -holding him back as he tried to change the subject. - -"You weren't such a sea-green incorruptible three years ago." - -"When _I_ made a fool of _my_self.... There's no comparison. I was -prepared to flout the Church and marry without dispensation; it wouldn't -have been a valid marriage in the eyes of the Church, and the whole of -Catholic society would have cut me. But I never offered Sonia to change -one faith for another or to pretend that I had." - -Jack sprang violently out of his chair and strode to Loring's sofa, -standing over him with legs apart and arms akimbo. - -"But if she'd insisted? You've got to be honest about this." - -Loring looked up at the unwontedly white face and burning eyes above -him; then he looked away, whistled to himself and shrugged his -shoulders. - -"I'd have done it," he answered. - -"Well, that's how _I_ feel now." - -"And if Babs were married already?" - -Jack turned away with a mirthless laugh. - -"Damn you, Jim!" he cried. - -"Not a bit of it! You _would_ stop short of some things." - -"But then I should be injuring another man." - -"He might rejoice to be rid of her. And here you're injuring yourself." - -There was a long silence, and Loring tried to ease it by filling two -tumblers with brandy and soda. Jack returned to his chair, drawing -furiously at his cigar and rapidly smoothing the back of his head. - -"I'm not going to give her up," he said at length. - -"You can at least go away and think it over. Don't meet her. Work as -you've never worked before. Mark you, the best thing is to go _right_ -away. She won't help you a bit. Women are cruel and women are selfish. -If she's made up her mind that she can't marry you, she'll do the next -best thing for herself and take good care that she gets all the time, -attention, affection that she can out of you. And your nerves will -crack. If you live within telephoning or writing distance, you're done -for. _I_ saw that for myself. When I got back to England a few months -ago, I only consented to stay in London when I heard that Sonia had gone -abroad. She'd have tried to get on _some_ kind of terms with me. If I'd -still been smashed up, she'd have wanted to have a look at her -handiwork; if I'd completely recovered, she'd want to see whether she -still had the power to cast a spell over me. And, if she felt she'd done -me a great wrong, she'd have wanted to vindicate herself. Women drown -bad consciences in self-justification. Will you go away?" - -"I'll think about it. Jim, did _you_ know that Babs took her religion so -seriously?" - -"No, but then I don't know her at all well." - -"I'm taking all she says at face-value, allowing for a little natural -rhetoric----" - -"Well, I shouldn't--with any woman," Loring interrupted. "Look here, -Jack. You and Babs have got yourselves into a tangle. You can get out of -it by refusing to see her again--which you won't entertain; or by -perjuring yourself--which I hope and pray you won't do; or by _her_ -climbing down a bit. One of you has to make the sacrifice; and I'm -inclined to think Solomon would have said that, if she's not prepared to -climb down--you're not asking her to do anything that the Church -forbids--she's not in earnest, she's not worth having. Solomon would -have said that, if she put you in the second place, she didn't want -you.... I wonder whether she does. For all I know she's just made up her -mind to add your scalp to her belt. Why the deuce did she let you -propose to her--you did _actually_, didn't you?--if she meant to bring -up this objection at the last minute?" - -"It was only when _I_ began to trot out the objections that she -recognized them. Jim, this is a question of instinct; whether a woman's -really in love with you or whether she's only pretending may be _felt_, -but no one can _prove_ it. I take it--though I've had no -experience--that there's always a moment when a woman surrenders, not -only in words but with all her being. If you'd ever broken in a horse, -you'd know what I mean. It's like that with her." - -Loring raised his eyebrows in passing surprise at the comparison no less -than at Jack's assurance. - -"Well, I'm glad to hear it," he said without conviction. "If you're -right, she'll climb down. If she won't climb down, it means she doesn't -want you." - -Jack pondered for a while without answering; then he looked at his watch -and jumped up with a murmur of dismay. - -"Jim, d'you know it's just on two?" - -"I wonder what time it was when I'd finished pouring out my troubles to -George that night! I hope it's going to be all right, Jack, though a -mixed marriage is a hideous gamble. And Babs is a fair gamble in -herself. And I wish I felt as certain of her as you do. Mind, three -months----" - -"I don't commit myself to any specific period," Jack interrupted, as -they went into the hall. Barbara had the obstinate vanity of a spoilt -and wilful child; after refusing to yield on one point, she was capable -of sacrificing even her own happiness to sustain her refusal. - -"If she holds out for three months," said Loring gravely, "it'll mean -that there's something in her life bigger than you." - -Jack laughed and ran down the steps into Curzon Street. That she wanted -him was never in doubt since her first advances at the Croxton ball. - -"Good-night, Jim, and many thanks. You'll hear from me before I die." - -"Best of luck, old man," Loring called back, with such heartiness as he -could force into his voice. - - - - -CHAPTER TEN - -VINDICATION - - "Casilda: But it's so undignified--it's so degrading! A Grandee of - Spain turned into a public company! Such a thing was never heard - of! - - Duke: My child, the Duke of Plaza-Toro does not follow fashions--he - leads them." - - W. S. GILBERT: "THE GONDOLIERS." - - -At the beginning of June Jack received a letter in a well-known -hand-writing from a familiar address. - - -"_Pump Court, Temple, E. C._ - -"_Have you ever done your duty by the University of Oxford? I mean, have -you ever taken your M. A.? I haven't, though I ought to have years ago, -and I'm sure you haven't, either. What do you think about going up next -Degree Day? I'll find out when it is and order rooms and pack your -suit-case and take it to Paddington and buy a ticket and generally -nursemaid you, as I used to do in the days before you were a social -success. I never see you nowadays either on the Winchester train or in -London; they say that you have deserted your various clubs for the -gilded saloons of Mayfair. Let me know what's happened to you. Ever -yours,_ - -_Eric Lane._" - - -Jack welcomed the diversion and wrote an enthusiastic acceptance. For -some months he had been too much occupied with Barbara to spare regrets -for Eric, but he was sorry to feel that they were drifting apart. And -the invitation gave him an excuse for spending a long week-end out of -London. Since the Ross House ball he had held no communication with -Barbara; since his unburdening of soul to Jim Loring he had avoided -every one who might ask him why he was in hiding or report to her that -he had been tracked down. Lady Knightrider tried once or twice to secure -him for dinner, but after a few failures she accepted his plea of -private work. And very soon the inquisitive had other food for their -curiosity. Arden concentrated his attention on a possible match between -Loring and Miss Hunter-Oakleigh; Summertown threw needful light on a -newly discovered intrigue between Mrs. Welman and Sir Deryk Lancing; and -Deganway confined his energies to scandalous speculation about a motor -tour which Sir Adolf Erckmann was conducting in South Europe with his -sister, young Webster, Sonia Dainton and others of less stable -reputation. - -"Delighted to come" Jack wrote to Eric. "Let me know the day and the -train; everything else I leave to you. It's ages since I saw you." - -However far the gossip had spread, it was unlikely to have reached Pump -Court. But, if he felt secure from impertinent questions, Jack would -have paid a high price to meet any one who could give him tidings of -Barbara. Until six months before, he had been content with his own -company, but the daily close intimacy had set up an itch for -confidences. He wanted to know how she was and what she was doing, -whether she was missing him. In three weeks there had been no sign of -capitulation. And he depended for news of her on chance paragraphs in -the illustrated papers. Eric entered the train at Paddington with the -current number of the _Catch_, containing a full-page photograph of her -in eastern dress. There was also an Albert Hall group in which she -figured with half a dozen of the very people who were not good enough -for her. It was disappointing, and others were disappointed too. - -"_I've no news for you, but I've been thinking over this business a -good deal_," Loring had written two days earlier. "_I can promise you a -very friendly reception from the family, if and when you do adjust your -differences with Barbara. My aunt, Kathleen Knightrider, is in despair; -she says you were the only person who ever had any influence over Babs. -Now that you've disappeared, she's picking up with all the old lot. -Crawleigh's afraid to protest, because he doesn't want to precipitate a -row. She comes of age in a few weeks, and then no one can stop her...._" - -Jack was wondering with vague dissatisfaction how much more time to give -her for making a move, when his hand was forced. On returning to London -after the week-end, he lighted on a photograph with the description, -"_Lady Barbara Neave, Who is Giving a Sensational Ball. See p. 7._" He -turned to the page indicated and read a gossipy half-column over the -signature of "A Woman About Town." - -"_A mad world, my masters! But an amusing one, don't you think? The -oldsters say 'What next, what next?' but the youngsters always have -'next' up their sleeves, and it's always better than the last. Youth for -ever! We had the Shakespeare Ball, and the Regency Ball threw it into -the shade. Then the Young Bachelors took the field--and were driven from -it (with full honours of war, and all thanks to you, dear young -bachelors, for a glorious evening) by The Rest. Mrs. Leo Butler gave her -Night in a Persian Garden, and Lady Hessler retaliated with her Daybreak -Dance, which started at four--it's still going on, for all I know. A mad -world! And the oldsters are being attacked by the madness. These -'boy-and-girl' dances were squeezing them into the cold, so they gave a -ball to themselves where only the married could hope for admission. 'The -Hags' Hop,' said irreverent Youth and bided its time for revenge. And -now it is coming--in Ascot Week. I rub my eyes, for the World and His -Wife will be at the Bodmin Lodge ball, as they have always been and as -their fathers and mothers were before them._ Ascot Week? Bodmin Lodge? -_One would as soon compete with the Royal Enclosure as with the Bodmin -Lodge ball. Yet--it is not the whisper of my faithful little bird, but -an engraved card--'Lady Barbara Neave, At Home.' Fancy Dress, she says -in one corner. At the Empire Hotel. And my little bird tells me that it -will rival and outshine the Jubilee Ball at Devonshire House, when we -were all tiny tots. If I know anything of Lady Barbara, it will be the -ball of the season. Youth for ever! But it is a mad world. 'What are our -girls coming to?' the oldsters ask. 'A girl giving a ball!' 'And a -wonderful ball it will be,' say I. Best wishes, Lady Barbara!"_ - -Jack assumed that Barbara must be organizing a ball for some charity and -thought no more of the announcement until he met Loring at the County -Club that night before dinner and was hurried into the cool and deserted -billiard-room. - -"I say, _have_ you seen about my precious cousin's latest freak?" Loring -began. "There's been the most colossal row!" - -"I saw an announcement about a ball in one of the papers," Jack -answered. - -"_One_ of them! She's got it in every rag in the kingdom, morning and -evening, penny plain and twopence coloured. Barbara's thorough; I'll say -that for her. There's no going back." - -He paused to fan himself and ring for a glass of sherry. - -"What exactly was the row?" asked Jack. - -"Well, you know, she's coming of age next week; and the Crawleighs -thought it was a good opportunity for working off old scores. Nominally -it was to be Barbara's party, but, when they started on their list, she -found that some of her more objectionable friends were being cut out. -I've no doubt Crawleigh did it as tactlessly as possible, and Barbara -took it as a challenge. Both sides fought the question on principle, -Crawleigh lost his temper on principle, Babs--on principle--kept hers -and said that, if her friends couldn't come to the house, she'd give a -party for them elsewhere." - -"Characteristic," Jack murmured. - -"Very. It sounded like an empty threat, but that little devil--she _is_ -a little devil, Jack. If I were in your place, I'd no more think of -marrying her than of marrying a wild animal--well, she was going to make -this an Austerlitz or a Waterloo--no drawn battles for Babs; she -deliberately chose the night of the Bodmin Lodge ball and invited -everybody she'd ever heard of. I got my card within twenty hours of the -original row." - -"Are you going?" - -Loring laughed grimly and postponed answering the question. - -"She's thorough!" he repeated. "I was still at breakfast, when she came -in; I gather she's doing a house-to-house canvass. 'Jim darling, you're -coming to my party, aren't you?' she said. 'I want it to be a success.' -'I am not,' I said. 'I heard about the row and I think you're behaving -abominably.' 'It'll look bad, if my own--loving--cousin stops away from -my coming-of-age ball,' she said, her eyes simply gleaming with devilry. -'Jim, if you all go against me, you'll spoil my party, and father'll -think he's won. Then I shall go away and live by myself; and that -_would_ make a scandal, which you'd hate.' I told her that she was a -little devil--in case she didn't know it before. Then she came behind my -chair and put her arms round my neck; and I called her a number of other -things. Mark you, I dislike her; I think she's intrinsically unsound, -but I'm not in the least surprised that you fell in love with her; she -knows her job so well. She said with a tear in her voice--and in her -eyes; if you ever see her blinking quickly, it's just to make herself -cry.... All right, but you may as well know these things _before_ you -marry her--she said, 'Jim darling, I love you, but you _do_ make it hard -for us to be friends.' I told her again that I wasn't coming to her -ball. She sighed and began putting on her gloves. At the door she turned -round and said, 'Jim, you know the little paragraph "Among those -present..."? Sometimes it's "Among those who accepted invitations...." -_I'm_ going to have a special paragraph--"Among those who _refused_ -invitations was the Marquess Loring."' Then she became a hundred per -cent. devil; she was thoroughly enjoying herself. 'I won't let it stop -at that! I'm going to have this thing properly advertised. In the -morning you'll see wonderful descriptions and pictures of the ball--and -that paragraph. And the evening papers will comment on it--all the -disreputable ones; I'm the greatest friends with all the really -disreputable papers. And next day you'll see pictures of yourself in the -disreputable daily papers--"Lord Loring, Who is Reported to have said -'Damned if I do!' when _his cousin_ Lady Barbara Neave invited him to -her ball." I don't want to do it; it'll be a great deal of trouble; but -this quarrel has been forced on me, and, if you drive me to it, I shall -go through to the end.'" Loring sighed and fanned himself again. "You -can't argue with a woman, when she's like that. I said I'd come. My -mother and Amy came in, and she talked them over inside two -minutes--left them with the idea that the Crawleighs habitually tied her -to the bed-post and took a cat-o'-nine-tails to her (I wish they would); -then she went off to continue the house-to-house canvass. It's -heart-breaking!" - -Jack listened with relief to the end of the tale. He had feared -something worse, but he would almost rather hear of Barbara's -misbehaving herself than not hear of her at all. - -"There's no great harm done," he suggested. - -"It's a toss-up. She can't blackmail everybody as she blackmailed me. -God knows! you can do most things in the year of grace 1914, but an -unmarried girl, with parents living, _doesn't_ give balls on her own. -Any number of people have rather raised their eyebrows in talking to me -about it. If it's a success, there's about a six-to-four odds-on chance -that people will think it rather a joke, Barbara's latest freak. But, if -the thing's a failure, if any one starts a movement against it, then -Barbara will declare war on society. Don't make any mistake; this isn't -a fit of temper, it's a phase in her natural development. I've seen it -coming for a long time; she wants to be in the position where a thing -becomes right because she does it; she's always disregarded the law and -now she wants to make the law. If the girl only had _sisters_! They -_might_ keep her in order.... You know, there's a certain magnificence -about her; she's surrounded herself with every natural difficulty she -could find--Bodmin Lodge; she's raiding the Pebbleridge preserve in -broad day-light, she's asked Lady Pebbleridge to come on after her own -party. Fancy dress--she's set herself to rival the Devonshire House -ball.... Jack, is that the girl you want to marry? D'you imagine you'll -ever be able to control her? If you'd seen her standing by the door--it -was Joan of Arc giving the signal for battle." - -"She can't blackmail me." - -"What else is she doing now? She's blackmailing every one." - -"Well, obviously I can't stop it until communications are -re-established." - -"Then for the love of Heaven----No, I won't say that." - -"Go on." - -Loring looked at him closely and shrugged his shoulders. - -"I wonder whether _you're_ responsible for this new outbreak of hers? -This is the way she used to behave a year ago and for some time before -that. Then she dropped it. Now she's started again.... My difficulty is -that I don't know if she cares for you, if she's capable of caring for -any one. This may be her vindication--to shew that she _can_ do -anything. Or she may be fond of you, she may feel she's lost you. She's -got the pride of a spoilt child. I think now, though I didn't think it -when you dined with me, that she'll never climb down voluntarily. -_Possibly_ she's trying to forget you." - -Jack roused with a jerk and then dropped his head between his hands. He -had never imagined that she was as lonely as he had been. - -"What d'you suggest, Jim?" - -"I don't know. If she's gone Berserk on your account, I warn you that -she's in the mood to marry the first man in the street who's kind to -her. _I_ felt like that after the break-up with Sonia. This ball is only -a symptom." - -Loring ceased staring out of the window and glanced down at his -companion. Jack was still sitting with his fists pressed against his -temples, motionless and silent. A member flung open the door, peered -round the room and withdrew. As the clock chimed eight, Loring looked at -his watch, scribbled a telephone message and rang for a page. - -"You've shifted your ground since last we discussed this subject," Jack -observed at length. - -"I don't know...." - -"Oh, yes. You want me to stop the Berserk phase. You think I'm at the -bottom of it? Well, I've got my share of pride or vanity or whatever you -like to call it. I've asked her once, and she turned me down because I -wasn't a Catholic. I'm not going to call daily, like a milkman. Do you -want me to go to her and say I'm a Catholic?" - -Loring shook his head resolutely. - -"I'm not going to take the responsibility of that." - -"Responsibility be damned! You've taken the responsibility of saying -that I've brought about all this trouble and that, apparently, I'm the -only person who can stop it. You're not naturally sanctimonious, Jim, -but you've got a wonderful passion for not committing yourself. Will -you take the responsibility of not repeating our conversation to -anybody?" - -Loring looked up with startled eyes, but the door slammed before he -could answer. - -For perhaps three days the success of "The Children's Party," as -Barbara's costume ball came to be designated, hung in the balance. Some -of those who might not have objected to the ball itself disliked -Barbara's association with it and the salvo of press welcome which -advertised a private party as though it were a public charity. But, -while her critics murmured, Barbara was telephoning, writing and driving -round London to divide and win over the enemy, always using the promises -of her first victims to persuade the others. If Lady Loring consented to -come, who less exalted had the right to raise her voice? Because it had -never been done before, was that a reason why it should not be done now? -Novelty and organization effected much, curiosity more; for Deganway, -with his genius for discovering other people's secrets, published abroad -that there had been civil war in Berkeley Square and that the ball was -Barbara's declaration of independence. - -"The Crawleighs simply don't know what to do!" he exclaimed gleefully on -the fourth day of the campaign. "Positively _everybody's_ coming--except -the Pebbleridges, of course; I saw Harriet Pebbleridge yesterday, and -she's _perfectly_ furious." - -"One was told that the parents were formally invited," said Val Arden, -"but it was made clear that they must comport themselves as guests. Lady -Lilith would receive alone. You are thinking of looking in, George? Yes? -One had some difficulty in deciding on a suitable costume. A Modern -Financier--after our good Sir Adolf Erckmann? Were one's health more -robust, one would be tempted to give a party 'As Others See Us' and to -insist that one's guests should each personate a friend. Chastening, -chastening! One would expose oneself to indifferent parodies by Lady -Maitland, whom one has had the ill fortune to offend...." - -For ten days the theatrical costumiers were kept busy. Historic dresses -were disinterred, chain armour was taken down from the walls; and there -was bitter rivalry between those who simultaneously selected the same -character. When every one had made his choice, Barbara intimated that -she would like photographs of all; and for another week the studios were -thronged. It was agreed at the outset that no one would go to Bodmin -Lodge and the Empire Hotel on the same night; and, as the discussion of -costumes ruled out every other interest, Barbara found herself besieged -with requests for invitations; to be omitted was to be disgraced; and -she had the gratification of sending belated cards to more than one -critic who in the first excited hours had protested that brute force -alone would send her to the Empire Hotel under such auspices. - -"It's her Austerlitz and my uncle's Waterloo," said Loring to Jack, when -they met two days before the ball. He was careful not to ask what his -friend had been doing since last they met. "It's her great vindication; -Crawleigh's _asked_ to be allowed to come--to avoid a scandal. She's -stampeded London; everybody's accepted, and I believe they'll all come -for fear people will think they've not been invited. It's as bad as -that." - -"There's one person who didn't accept," said Jack, with a crooked smile. - -"She invited you? Well, it would have been rather pointed to leave you -out. And she wouldn't be human, if she didn't want you to see her in her -triumph." - -"I shall depend on you to tell me all about it," said Jack. - -"Oh, I shall just shake hands with her and then go straight home to -bed." - -As the day approached, the excitement redoubled until Barbara herself -began to fear an anticlimax. Only the need of registering her triumph -prevailed over physical exhaustion and sustained her in the stifling -hostility of Berkeley Square. Her father and mother drove with her to -the hotel and were formally announced. They would have liked to loiter -near her and to suggest that they were the hosts and were indulging -their daughter's whim, but Barbara urged them into the ball-room and -returned alone to her place at the head of the stairs. There for an hour -she received and tried to keep count of her guests. Congratulations -poured in upon her; she was complimented on her enterprise, her looks, -her dress. - -"No one but you would have _thought_ of doing such a thing," cried Lady -Maitland admiringly. - -"Oh, I expect a great many people thought of it, but I was the only one -who _did_ it," she answered, and the phrase comforted her. - -Bobbie Pentyre, who had been sent to spy out the nakedness of Bodmin -Lodge, arrived late with the report that it was almost deserted and that -Lady Pebbleridge, black with rage, had announced that she would never -give another ball, if people deserted her at the last moment like this. - -"She said that your leavings weren't good enough for her," he added. "I -thought that was rather rude to the people who had toiled all the way -out to Knightsbridge, so I handed it on to any one who I thought would -be interested, and that emptied the house quicker than ever." - -"I'm sorry if her party's a failure," said Barbara, "but--if people -prefer coming to me...?" - -She walked with him to the door of the ball-room. The crowd was too -great for dancing, and her guests were parading four abreast, until she -should give the signal and march at their head to supper. Inside the -doorway her father was standing in the robes of John, first baron, Lord -High Chancellor of England. She went up to him and slipped her arm -through his. - -"Am I forgiven, father?" she asked with a smile. "You know how I hate -people to be angry with me." - -"It's all very well to ask for forgiveness when you've got your own -way," said Lord Crawleigh with a vengeful tug at his blonde moustache. - -"But, if I want my own way, haven't I inherited that from you?" she -asked gently. "It's no good trying to bully me, because I won't be -bullied. You admit now that there was nothing very sinful in this ball?" - -"I didn't say it was sinful," Lord Crawleigh returned sharply. "I said -that such a thing had never been done before. There was no precedent." - -"But every one will do it now!" she cried proudly. "That you won't see, -father; I _establish_ precedents." - -"I don't see it and I won't see it." - -Barbara sighed and looked down on him with half-closed eyes and drooping -mouth. - -"Don't you like to see me happy, father? Won't you kiss me and say I'm -forgiven?" - -Lord Crawleigh stiffened and drew away, as Loring came up from behind, -pushing open his visor. - -"Well, I've kept my promise, Barbara," he began coldly. "The prodigal -daughter scene didn't go with much of a swing, I thought." - -"The prodigal son never promised not to be prodigal again. He was tired -and hungry, poor boy, and nobody cared for him. _I'm_ tired, too; I've -been standing ever since a quarter past ten. And I'm hungry. Would you -like to take me down to supper?" - -Her pleading voice seemed to bring to the surface everything that was -hard in Loring's kindly nature. - -"Not in the least, thank you, Barbara," he said, "after the way you -blackmailed me into coming here. I've kept my promise and I should be -half-way home by now if I hadn't run into Violet Hunter-Oakleigh. I'm -having supper with her." - -"Ah, I invited her specially to please you. Every one says you're in -love with each other. She's a dear girl, but I think she's got fatty -degeneration of the conscience." She looked thoughtfully at her cousin, -and her face lit up with a mischievous smile. "Jim, darling! I only said -that to see if it would make you angry. So you are in love with her? -Well, I'm really very fond of Violet, even if she does cross herself -when I come into the room.... If you knew how absurd it was to look -angry in that costume! I'm not having a great success with my relations -to-night. Sometimes I wish father were just a little bit fonder of me." - -Loring turned away in disgust. - -"You tried repentance with him, and it didn't come off. For heaven's -sake don't try the pathetic with me. I'm not a responsive audience." - -"Nor a very intelligent audience either, perhaps. You never know when -I'm sincere. I _do_ feel it most frightfully that I never seem to get on -properly with mother and father; I love them--and yet I can't live their -life. The last three weeks have been horrible--one scene after another -until I was worn out; I was sent to Coventry. And to-night I felt -dreadfully tired and, though the ball's been a success and everybody's -been sweet, I felt horribly lonely; people were calling me 'dear' and -'darling' and saying how beautiful I looked, and all the time nobody -really loved me--heart and soul. I was quite sincere; I wanted to be -friends with father. Jim, won't you take me down to supper? I want to be -friends with you." - -She looked up to him with beseeching, tired eyes and disarming pathos. -Loring surveyed her gravely for a moment and then broke into a laugh. - -"So it was all leading up to that? My dear Barbara, if any one loved -you--heart and soul--which you wouldn't deserve, you simply wouldn't -recognize it.... I've already told you that I'm having supper with -Violet." - -"And you won't--ask her to excuse you?" - -"No." - -"She'd let you go, if you reminded her that this is my birthday party." - -"I shan't remind her." - -Barbara threw up her chin and clasped her hands behind her. - -"You think I can't _make_ you take me in to supper?" - -"I'm quite sure of it." - -"I see. Well, ride your ways, Laird of Chepstow. They are waiting for me -to head the procession. You had better take my place--with Violet. Tell -them that I am not going down. And, if they ask why, say that I begged -my cousin Lord Loring--as a present to me on my twenty-first -birthday--to take me down to supper. Say that I was tired and hungry. -You needn't say that you refused; they'll guess that." - -She walked a few steps into the room; and Loring, after a moment's -hesitation, followed her. - -"Do behave yourself, Barbara," he whispered irritably. - -"Am I misbehaving? No one else seems to have noticed it ... George! I -haven't the least idea what you're supposed to be, but you look -adorable." - -"I'm a Spanish nobleman, _temp._ Philip the Second," Oakleigh answered. -"You know, Armada and all that sort of thing. Barbara, I've been -commissioned to tell you that the poor old Duchess of Ross is faint with -hunger." - -"Ah, poor soul, so am I! Are you taking her down? How sweet of you! -She's so greedy and so malicious. I believe I told the band to play us -in with "Pomp and Circumstance." Form them up, George, and tell Murano -to begin." - -"But you'll have to lead off." - -"I'm not going to have any supper." - -"Why not? You deserve it, if anybody does." - -"I've not found any one who'll associate with me at supper." - -"D'you mean that every one's paired off and left you? That's monstrous. -Look here, I don't like to leave my present partner stranded, but, if -you can hold out for twenty minutes, may I come back and take you down?" - -Barbara looked at Loring out of the corner of her eye and thanked George -with a tired smile. - -"I shall be too faint to eat anything by then," she answered. "But it -was sweet of you to offer, and you're a living lesson in manners for my -cousin." - -Oakleigh looked from one to the other. - -"Hullo! Have you two been quarrelling?" - -"No, it's my fault. I've offended him," Barbara explained. "You see, -it's my birthday, and, ever since I was a baby, everybody's done -everything I wanted on my birthday. I wanted to have supper with Jim, so -I refused Bobbie Pentyre and Charlie Framlingham and Johnnie Carstairs. -Then I asked Jim, and I'm afraid he thought that a girl oughtn't to ask -a man to take her to supper--even her own cousin, at her own ball, on -her own birthday." - -There was a conciliatory laugh from Oakleigh, but Loring frowned with -ill humour. - -"That's not true, Barbara," he said. - -"I'm sorry, Jim; it was the only reason I could think of. When I first -asked you, I didn't know you were engaged." - -The two men looked at each other; and Barbara smiled a welcome to -Summertown, who came forward cautiously, with the tail of his eye on a -trailing sword. - -"I say, Babs, Murano wants to know whether he's to play the jolly old -march-past." - -"Oh, yes! Tell him to begin. You've got some one to take down to -supper? Good boy! Will you lead off? I'm not going down." - -Summertown's sword flashed to the salute and rattled clumsily back into -its scabbard. He returned to the orchestra, and Loring, after a survey -of the room to find his partner, followed quickly after him. Oakleigh -laid his hand persuasively on Barbara's wrist and lowered his voice. - -"Your ball's been such an astounding success that I hope you're not -going to spoil it for the sake of a quarrel with Jim." - -Barbara pressed his hand gently. - -"Dear George! I'm so fond of you! You always speak with the sweet -reasonableness of a man with numberless troublesome little brothers and -sisters. Don't worry about me! It may be a wrong-headed sort of pride, -but, when I've _asked_ a man for a thing, I'd sooner starve than take it -from anybody else." - -Over the drone of voices came the tap of the leader's baton. George -shuffled from one foot to the other, shrugged his shoulders and hurried -away with a lop-sided smile. The middle of the room quickly cleared -until Barbara was left by herself, with the procession pressed in twos -by the walls. As the first chord was struck, Summertown called out: - -"Once round and then down, Babs?" - -"Oh, twice, I think," she called back. "I want to see you all." - -As the couples moved forward, she retreated to an armchair on a dais by -the door, smiling down on them and returning their bows. There was a -stiff nod from her father, walking with Lady Maitland, and a sweet, -perplexed smile from her mother, who was with Lord Poynter. Oakleigh, -with the Duchess of Ross on his arm, again shrugged his shoulders, but -she had little attention to spare for him; immediately behind, Violet -Hunter-Oakleigh was walking with Val Arden. - -Barbara looked quickly round the room, and, as the procession completed -its first circuit, Loring came up and stood beside her. - -"I told Violet it was your birthday," he said abruptly. - -"And she let you go? I told you she would!" - -"Oh, no one's likely to fight over my body! And Violet's too well-bred -to make even a veiled scene. Besides, I think she understood--to the -uttermost farthing." - -"Then there's not the least need for you to be grumpy. Sit down on the -arm of my chair, but don't topple me over. Have you ever seen anything -quite so grotesque as poor Johnnie Carstairs? In case you don't know, -he's supposed to represent Danton." - -"I daresay. I don't want to talk about Johnnie Carstairs. Barbara, I've -had enough of these antics." - -He stood stiffly at a distance, towering over her and refusing to see -the hand that invited him to her chair. - -"Jim, are you angry with me?" she asked in surprise. "Remember, you -challenged me; you ought to take a beating in good part." - -"Oh, I don't greatly care how you behave to me, but I resent being made -an instrument of rudeness to others. You've got to apologize to Violet." - -"For giving her Val Arden instead of you for a partner? My dear, you're -about equally tiresome in different ways, but Val is far more amusing. I -rather expect Violet to come up and thank me. Do you like to challenge -me over that?" - -"I've no doubt that, if I challenged you to play leap-frog with Murano, -you'd do it. I don't challenge you to do anything." - -Barbara laughed softly. - -"Is my impetuous cousin learning prudence? Jim, you're a dreadful old -blusterer! From the distant security of Surinam you can be valiant--and -hideously cruel--Oh, yes, I've got a memory--like other people--and a -skin to be flayed--like other people--and feelings to be hurt--like -other people. And it hurts to be hit from behind when you're down--and -hit by your own family. You're not so valiant at close quarters--either -three weeks ago or to-night." - -The tail of the procession was drawing near, and she rose and stood -ready to fall in. - -"I didn't send that cable to hurt you particularly," said Loring. "I was -so disgusted that I didn't want to have you inside the house." - -"Yet I'm always coming to lunch and dinner--even to breakfast -occasionally." - -"Yes, your mother interceded for you. It won't work a second time. -Please understand that you are not a _persona grata_ at my house." - -Barbara laughed mischievously and then became menacingly emphatic. - -"If that's another challenge, my impetuous cousin doesn't seem to have -learned prudence! Jim, as a rule I don't interfere with you, and, if you -won't interfere with me, there's no need for us to quarrel. You were -good enough to call me a devil the other day; well, if you want your -quarrel, you shall have it. But you'll be beaten. I've beaten you -to-night, I've beaten father. I've _won_. And I've won because I go -straight ahead and, when I threaten a thing, I do it. Men seem only to -bluster. You. And father. You all think you can bully me. A man once -said to me that, when I became engaged, he'd send all good wishes or -something--and a dog-whip to my husband as a wedding-present." - -"Jack Waring said that." - -"Did he tell you? When?" - -"I've forgotten. We've discussed you more than once, and I've given him -a very candid opinion of you." - -Barbara tossed her head, but her eyes were enquiring. - -"What did you say?" - -"Oh, it varies from time to time, as you shew yourself in different -lights. Until this evening I didn't fully appreciate how vindictive you -could be." - -"And you're going to add that--with two more strokes of your delicate -brush? I'm afraid Jack thinks too highly of me to be convinced by your -picture." - -"Well, I'd hardly say that." - -"He doesn't talk about dog-whips any more. He doesn't abuse me and bully -me. It's no good, Jim. The moment any one tries to coerce me--it's like -slapping your hand down on an open wound; you set every nerve quivering -in rebellion. If you were gentle and kind ... George Oakleigh was -charming to me after you'd gone; I'd have done anything for him. I'd do -anything for you, if you behaved like that. I don't want to quarrel with -you or with any one; you'd find me great fun, if you'd only be friends. -Fancy going on like this--and on my birthday, too!" - -"After to-night I have no wish to be friends." - -For an instant her eyes narrowed and her lips hardened in a thin -straight line. Then she broke into a laugh. - -"Well, for to-night at least let's keep up appearances!" - - - - -CHAPTER ELEVEN - -THE LAUREL AND THE ROSE - - "And some say, that it was at that time Pyrrhus answered one, who - rejoiced with him for the victory they had won: If we win another - of the price, quoth he, we are utterly undone." - - PLUTARCH: "PYRRHUS." - - -The season ended in a riot of sound and colour before Jack received his -promised report on the "Children's Party." In the last week of July -Bertrand Oakleigh gave a dinner in Princes' Gardens to celebrate Deryk -Lancing's engagement to Mrs. Dawson and Loring's to Miss -Hunter-Oakleigh. It was Jack's first public appearance outside a club -since the Ross House ball, and he was riddled with questions by his -friends, who wanted to know whether he had been ill and, if not, why he -had been in hiding for two months. Before dinner began, he escaped into -a corner and asked if there was any hope of seeing Loring privately -before he went to Monmouthshire. - -"I should like a talk with you some time," he added. - -"Yes, I know you would," Loring answered, smiling a little wistfully. -"I'm taking Vi down immediately after lunch to-morrow, but, if you care -to come round to-night----? We'll get away as soon as we can, and, after -I've taken her home, I'm at your service for as long as you like." - -"Thanks. I'll be at your place between half-past eleven and twelve. When -are you going to be married?" - -"At the beginning of September, if there's no hitch. I see from -to-night's papers that there's every possibility of a row between -Austria and Servia, which is a bore, because we wanted to spend our -honeymoon in Dalmatia." - -When Loring entered his library at midnight, Jack was contentedly -smoking a cigar and looking at a richly illustrated book on trout-flies. -Closing the book, he accepted a brandy and soda and took up his stand by -the fire-place. - -"I heard you say you were giving a party at Chepstow," he began. "I was -wondering whether Babs was going." - -"Allowing for her rather erratic temperament, I should say 'yes.' I -didn't want her, but she's invited herself." Loring described the -'Children's Party,' ending, "After that, I decided to have no more to do -with her, but I was reckoning without Vi. As soon as the engagement was -announced, Barbara called and virtually persuaded her that _she'd_ -arranged the whole thing by inviting us both to her ball and opening my -eyes to the fact that I was in love. I wasn't in the mood then to -quarrel with my worst enemy, so I said she could come.... Jack, have you -seen or heard anything of her lately?" - -"Not since Ross House. What's she been doing?" - -"Oh, nothing in particular. She's won her laurels, and there's no -temptation. When all's said and done, the Children's Party was a big -idea. She's made a unique position for herself; there's no one of her -age, there's not an unmarried girl in England, who can compete with -her--my sister Amy, Phyllis Knightrider, Sally Farwell, even Sonia, who -makes the running for her; there are precious few married women, even -among the political lot and semi-public hostesses, who can touch her; -and, when it comes to a tussle between a girl of twenty-one and a woman -like Harriet Pebbleridge, who's as solid and well-established as the -Nelson Column, it's Barbara who wins. I'm told she's had a perfect crop -of invitations to become visitor or patroness or vice-chairman of -different things; she rules over committees on anything from a national -theatre to an art guild--and does it uncommon well, I believe.... How -do you stand with her now? You're very likely to meet, if you pay your -annual visit to Raglan." - -"That's why I asked. I want to." - -Loring was conscious that he had been talking rather volubly to postpone -what he knew Jack had come there to discuss; inevitably advice would -have to be given, an opinion expressed, responsibility shouldered. - -"Apart from a formal invitation, she's made no effort to meet you? Jack, -I _wonder_ whether she's been playing the game with you. It's -incomprehensible to me that a girl should let you get to the point of -proposing and then fall back on something that's either non-essential or -else so important that she ought to have warned you beforehand." - -"I'm afraid you're rather biassed against poor Barbara." - -Four years earlier, Loring knew that he would have been as immovable, if -any one had suggested that Sonia had a blemish. Oakleigh had tried and -failed; but he was right in trying.... - -"If you've said anything that's rankled.... She's vindictive, as she -shewed by making a scene over the cable episode twelve months later. And -she's full of mischief. And you, who take things rather seriously, -probably don't appreciate that nothing matters to her except the -moment--and her vanity. In effect the only thing she could find to say -about you that night was that she'd cured you of criticizing her and -talking about dog-whips. You've not seen her for a couple of months; why -not wait a bit longer? As I told you months ago in this room, if she -_wants_ you, she'll contrive to meet you in some way." - -"With her vanity?" - -"Yes, if she cares for you more than for her vanity. You see that I -can't very well keep her away from Chepstow, but I think you'd be wise -to postpone your visit to Raglan." - -The book of trout-flies was becoming irksome. Jack lifted it from his -knees and restored it to its shelf. Then he ranged for a moment in front -of the glazed cases, reading the titles and whistling to himself between -his teeth. - -"It's too late. I've taken the plunge," he said at last, without turning -round. "I don't propose to discuss it with you, Jim; but I shall -certainly come to your party, and the only thing I ask you to do is -_not_ to tell Babs I'm coming. I want to pick up the swords exactly -where we dropped them. You've nothing more to tell me about her? I've -been kept on short commons of news lately." - -The last few days had been so crowded with his own new happiness that -Loring had lost count of time; he had forgotten that everybody else was -not standing still; he had almost forgotten that the world held any one -but Violet and him. - -"I--wish--to--God you hadn't done it," he cried in spite of himself. - -"There was no point in waiting." - -"And if you're wrong?" - -"But I'm not." - -Jack's face, as he turned from the books, was composed and assured. - -"She never promised to marry you, if you _did_ become a Catholic," -Loring persisted. "You're banking so frightfully on some mysterious -instinct." - -"I'm as certain of her as you are of Miss Hunter-Oakleigh." - -"I was certain of Sonia four years ago. _If_ you're wrong?" - -Jack was silent for many moment before answering. - -"Well, she and you and I shall know about it; and none of us will have -much interest in talking about it.... For the rest--well, my poor family -will be spared a nasty jar." - -"You haven't told them yet?" - -"No, I thought I'd wait till I'd got something to shew for my apparent -lapse from sanity." - -When they parted, it was Jack who went to bed with a tolerably tranquil -mind and Loring who first tramped the library like a caged beast and -then put on his hat and wandered aimlessly into the streets. He was no -nearer conviction when Lady Knightrider called next morning to warn him -that there had been some unexplained friction between Jack and Barbara -earlier in the season and to ask whether it was politic for them to meet -at Chepstow. - -"Jack knows she's going to be with us," was all that he could answer. -"He asked specially; he's very anxious to meet her again." - -"Oh, well!... I only wanted to be sure that there was no -unpleasantness." - -"Unpleasantness?" - -Loring laughed incredulously; but, when his aunt was gone and he -returned to his letters, the word echoed maddeningly. - -As Jack had asked that Barbara should not be warned in advance of their -meeting, the Chepstow party had to be handled strategically at -Paddington. Lady Knightrider and Phyllis, Charles Framlingham and Jack -were in a reserved carriage at the back of the train, and Barbara was -deftly flanked by an obscuring bodyguard consisting of Arden, Deganway, -four maids and a footman. Whatever the outcome of their meeting, her -sense of the dramatic would have been excited if she had known that Jack -and she were in different parts of the same train, travelling to the end -of England for the last round in their long contest. For himself, Loring -only wished that he could get rid of Barbara and of her elaborate -atmosphere of mystery and intrigue; if she decided to marry Jack, he -would rather not have it said by the Warings that he had abetted their -son in a course which they would never condone: if there were any kind -of unpleasantness, he would sooner have it happen elsewhere than at -Loring Castle.... And in the meantime Barbara sat in her corner, -sparring impartially with Deganway and Arden. - -It seemed for a moment that he might get his wish and avert the meeting. -Lady Knightrider wrote two days later to ask whether the arrangements -for the ball held good. Her son had written from London to say that "a -man in the War Office" did not see how hostilities could be prevented. -The word was to be interpreted in its widest sense; an outbreak between -Austria and Servia was inevitable, and it was no less inevitable that -Russia should come to the support of Servia and Germany to the aid of -Austria. Then France would throw in her lot with Russia, and Great -Britain with France. The sequence was automatic and inevitable. The -diplomatists might possibly find a safety-valve, but, unless they did, -there would be war, "and that," proclaimed Victor Knightrider, "is where -we come in." - -"_It's all so unnecessary and so dreadful_," wrote his mother, "_that -one feels almost wicked to talk of things like dancing until we see what -is going to happen. Of course, you understand that, if the ball takes -place, I shall come; I'm so happy about you and dear Violet that nothing -would keep me away from a gathering like this. But, if you decide to -postpone it till a less stormy day...._" - -Loring debated with himself and with his mother, before deciding to -leave his arrangements unchanged. No one could pretend to be satisfied -with the political outlook, but war on Victor Knightrider's -all-embracing scale was inconceivable. - -"_Unless there's any change for the worse before Friday_," he wrote in -reply, "_I propose to go on._" - -The papers, morning and evening, confirmed him in his optimism. A world -at war had only to be imagined in order to be dismissed. It was not -until the late afternoon before the ball that George Oakleigh, O'Rane -and Summertown, deriving their information from different sources and -speaking with different degrees of conviction and gravity, persuaded him -that, even if the incredible did not take place, at least a great many -intelligent observers thought that it would. At Raglan no one shared -Lady Knightrider's alarms. Phyllis and Framlingham were as much resolved -not to be cheated of the ball as Jack was determined to meet Barbara. He -assured his hostess that Victor was only trying to make her flesh creep. -For two days Framlingham and Phyllis played tennis or motored together, -and for two days Jack walked up and down one bank of the stream that -bordered the Knightrider property, meditatively thrashing the water and -smoking one pipe after another. His luncheon he carried with him when he -left the house after breakfast; on both days Lady Knightrider drove -through the woods in her pony-carriage with a tea-basket and drove back -again because she lacked courage to ask him about Barbara. - -On the morning of the ball, the optimism of the preceding days declined -sharply. The news could hardly be called worse, because the papers -contained nothing but the death-rattle of the Buckingham Palace -Conference. But a presentiment of evil sprang up and was fed by crazy -invention and baseless gossip. Victor wrote again with extracts from the -prophecies of two journalists, the private secretary to a minister and -the same "man in the War Office." Jack received a gloomy letter from -Eric Lane, and Framlingham was warned to keep himself within reach of a -telegraph office. - -"It's too late for Jim to stop the thing now," said Jack. - -"He'd have been wiser to stop it at the beginning of the week. Of -course, he can't be expected to feel quite as I do. If we go to war, the -Guards will be sent out before any one. And that means Victor." - -It was tea-time before she desisted from the last of her vacillations, -and the car was ordered to the door. Wrapped in coats and dust-rugs, -they drove through Raglan in blazing sunlight and reached Loring Castle -as the first stars appeared. The men were still in the long -banqueting-hall, and Lady Knightrider put her head in at the door to ask -whether she might drink Jim's health. Jack stayed behind in the hall, -trying to get his bearings in a strange house. A sound of voices came to -him through an open door on the opposite side, and, without waiting to -take off his coat, he walked on tip-toe and looked in. - -Barbara was standing by the fire-place, a coffee-cup in her hand, -talking to Violet Hunter-Oakleigh. Slender and tall, a study in black -and white, ghostly and arresting, she might have incarnated herself from -an Aubrey Beardsley drawing. Her dress was raven's wing and silver, not -unlike the one that she had worn at Croxton; there was a gleaming band -around her hair, and silver heels to her shoes. As he looked at her, -Jack remembered Loring's phrase in describing a distant view of Sonia at -the Coronation, after their engagement had been broken off. He felt that -same "tug at the heart" and told himself that he must be steady; though -Barbara did not expect him, he felt sure that she would betray little -surprise and no embarrassment. - -Lady Loring was seated near the door, and, as they shook hands, Barbara -turned and caught sight of him. He could not see whether her expression -changed, but in a moment she had left Violet and was coming across the -room to him. - -"I never expected to see you here!" she exclaimed, holding out her hand -and watching him with eyes that were unreflecting pools of deep blue. - -"I'm staying with Lady Knightrider at Raglan, and she brought me over," -he explained. - -"I thought you must have gone abroad or something. You've quite -disappeared lately." - -"I've been rather busy." - -"No one seemed to know what had happened to you." - -As Lady Loring moved away, he examined her critically. - -"You're looking very well, Babs. And I've heard a great deal about -_you_." - -"You always had a talent for that," she laughed. "And for commenting -very freely on what you heard. What have you been doing with yourself?" - -"I'll tell you at supper, if you'll consent to have supper with me." - -He was speaking in the tone and terms that he had used in the old -days--before the Ross House ball, before the disastrous Easter gathering -at Crawleigh. - -"I've promised it to Val Arden," she answered in the same measure. "And -two other people, now that I come to think of it." - -"Well, promise me--and keep the promise." - -"But why should I disappoint them?" - -"I feel you owe it to me, after we've not met for so long." - -Barbara could not wholly hide from him that she was puzzled. - -"I'll--see," she said. - -"You used to be more gracious; you used to say, 'Yes--if you want me -to.'" - -"That was in the old days," she answered quickly and saw, too late, that -she had needlessly raised the temperature of the discussion. - -"Nothing's happened to change it, I hope," said Jack easily. - -After the first embarrassment of the meeting, he felt that he was -holding his own and that Barbara was mystified and uncomfortable. - -"Jack, you've not forgotten our _last_ meeting?" she asked. - -"It was at Ross House. We had supper together then----" - -"Well, you don't want to--repeat it, do you?" she asked deliberately. - -"I want to have supper with you again." - -She was undecided whether to be distressed or intrigued. Jack could -always arouse her combativeness by criticizing, or--as now--by coolly -taking her for granted. But she did not want to repeat the Ross House -scene. He had an unpleasant faculty of frightening her--and yet to be -frightened by him was not wholly unpleasant.... - -"You can find some one else far more amusing," she suggested. - -"I don't even know who's here." - -"But you didn't know I was going to be here." - -"I asked Jim--five days ago.... I came straight in here without even -taking off my coat. Barbara, may I have supper with you?" - -Insensibility, which was his chief characteristic, counted for much. A -brazen desire, which she could understand, to treat the Ross House -meeting as if it had never occurred might count for more. Barbara would -sooner have bandied epigrams with Val Arden or flirted with his -supplanter, but she felt that she would be unable to sleep until she -knew why Jack had disappeared for more than two months and then followed -her to a remote castle in Monmouthshire--and why he came to her, like a -needle to a magnet, without waiting to get rid of his scarf and coat. - -"I'll have supper with you, if you want me to," she said. - -A sound of voices behind him warned Jack that the men were coming out of -the banqueting-hall, and, as he hurried to get rid of his overcoat -before any of them could grow inquisitive about his surreptitious visit -to the drawing-room, the doors were flung open and the first cars -rolled into sight. Loring threw away the end of his cigar and ran -upstairs to help his mother receive their guests. A group of men -gathered round the open fire-place, pulling on their gloves and waiting -for the rest of their parties. Jack stood with them for a few minutes, -wondering what to do with himself until supper. He was in no mood to -dance or to debate the possibility of war or to chatter about Jim's -engagement or to discuss what he meant to do during the vacation. He -could only think of one thing at a time and he had not determined -whether they were to publish the news then and there or to wait until -they were back in London. He would have liked to proclaim it at supper -and to see every man and woman rising to drink their health, but he -decided, on reflection, that he must talk to Lord Crawleigh before -making the announcement. - -Phyllis Knightrider and her mother came out of the drawing-room and went -upstairs. He followed them and, in duty, asked for a dance; but, as soon -as it was over, he escaped to the terrace in front of the castle and sat -down by himself as far as possible from the door. Barbara's curiosity -was piqued; and, if he met her before supper, she would disturb him with -artless little questions instead of waiting to hear the whole story. -Yet, if she would trouble to think, there was no room for curiosity. - -"You are dancing? No?" said Val Arden behind him. "One can offer you the -half of a tolerable lair, not too near the music and adequately -provisioned." - -He led the way to a recess overlooking the ball-room and waved his hands -towards two armchairs and a table with cigars, coffee and liqueurs. - -"Aren't you dancing either?" Jack asked, as he sat down. - -"These young women may be less energetic in three, four hours' time. One -is waiting for the requisite mood of abandonment. One rejoices to meet -you again after this long time, even at the cost of losing Lady -Lilith's companionship at supper." - -"Well, I think I deserve it," Jack answered. "I haven't seen her for -months." - -"She is a little _difficile_ to-night. 'Out of temper' would be too -strong a phrase. But, you may observe, even the urbane Summertown is out -of favour." - -Barbara swept by them, as he spoke, and both heard her exclaiming -petulantly, "You're very tiresome to-night! I shan't dance with you any -more." Both saw them parting at the door; Summertown laughed -imperturbably, Barbara ran away and did not appear again until the -beginning of the next dance. - -She had found time to quarrel with four of her partners by eleven -o'clock and was prepared for a fifth and all-atoning quarrel with Jack -as soon as he claimed her for supper. The party at Loring Castle had -been delightful, until he came; for the last two months in London she -had felt like a released prisoner. Now the shock of meeting him again -had spoiled her evening; and, when she wanted to enjoy herself, she -could only worry her brain to find out why he had come. In the Ross -House encounter she liked to think that, by all public tests, she had -beaten him; but her victory brought her little satisfaction. When she -reconstructed the scene, something that was suspiciously like conscience -disturbed her. To pretend that she could not marry him because he was -not a Catholic was more serviceable than true. And to pretend that -religion meant anything to her was almost blasphemous, the sort of thing -that might bring her months of ill-luck. Any other excuse would have -been better, safer; at least she would not be inviting a judgement on -herself. Some things did undoubtedly make Providence angry; and she had -thought seriously of writing to Jack and saying that religion was not -the stumbling-block, that she had been flustered until she did not know -what she was saying. But then he would start again from the -beginning.... - -He had frightened her at Ross House with a simple and massive resolve to -get his own way; and it was fear rather than curiosity or annoyance -which was spoiling her evening for her. First he would arrange a -meeting, then discharge a proposal, then retire for more ammunition, -then arrange another meeting, and then.... She felt sure that he was -going to propose to her again.... It was so characteristic of his -methods that he should come early, engage her for supper--and then -disappear. If she "forgot" her promise and supped with some one else, if -she went to her room and locked the door, he would only wait until she -reappeared or else engineer a meeting in Scotland or the Isle of Wight; -he could not be avoided indefinitely. - -Loring found her standing by herself at an open window and told her that -she was looking tired. - -"Supper's just starting," he added, and she felt herself wincing. "I -needn't ask whether you've got a partner for it." - -"I don't know that I want any supper," she answered, looking round over -her shoulder. There was no sign of Jack, but punctually at the first -note of the next dance he appeared from space and claimed her. - - - - -CHAPTER TWELVE - -AN ERROR OF JUDGEMENT - - "And I,--what I seem to my friend, you see: - What I soon shall seem to his love, you guess: - What I seem to myself, do you ask of me? - No hero, I confess. - - 'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls, - And matter enough to save one's own...." - - ROBERT BROWNING: "A LIGHT WOMAN." - - -"Shall we go down before the crowd?" Jack asked. - -"Oh, don't let's miss this!" Barbara begged. "'Dixie, all abo-o-ard for -Dixie! Dixie! Take your tickets here for Dixie.'" - -"I've found rather a good table in the musicians' gallery," he confided. -"If we go now, we shall get it to ourselves." - -"Let's go downstairs like everybody else," Barbara proposed hastily. As -he revealed each new stage of careful preparation, she dreaded being -left alone with him. "Are you very greedy, Jack, or only hungry? I love -that one-step. Why did you drag me away in the middle?" - -They entered the banqueting-hall to the jig and stamp of rag-time -overhead; Barbara was still humming, as she drew off her gloves and sat -down opposite him at a corner-table. - -"You ought to be grateful to me for getting you a table before the rush -starts. I can't stand rag-time, myself. It's killed decent dancing. What -are you going to eat, Babs?" - -"Oh, anything." She wished that the tables were nearer together and that -the room were fuller. They were remote enough for Jack to become very -confidential, if he wished; and it was impossible to talk him down, if -he formally asked for five minutes of her undivided attention and -forbade interruption. She sought inspiration in vain from the vaulted -roof and high-placed gallery, the tattered standards hanging in double -row into the middle of the room, the rough stone walls half-covered with -panelling and the stained-glass windows at either end. To discuss -architecture with Jack was unprofitable at any time. "I _never_ expected -to see you here," she told him again. "What have you been doing since -last we met?" - -"When did we meet last?" he asked her once more, with a nonchalance that -made her look at him in amazement. - -"It was at Ross House, soon after Easter," she answered with rare -precision. "Don't you remember?" - -"Oh, perfectly. I wanted to be sure that you did. It was hardly an -evening that I should forget in a _hurry_." - -Barbara was frightened and relieved at the same time. His deliberation -and absence of embarrassment disconcerted her, but, in so far as his -manner was vaguely threatening, she was vaguely comforted. If he wanted -to punish her, she was well able to take care of herself; and she would -far sooner hear reproaches than pleadings, though for once she would -soonest of all be spared any kind of altercation. - -"And what have you been doing ever since?" she asked again. - -"I've just been received into your Church," he answered. - -Overhead the music stopped to the accompaniment of a double stamp; it -was as though the very orchestra were dumbfounded. After a moment's -clapping, it started again, and Barbara sat through the encore with -averted eyes and a frown of preoccupation, putting crumbs of bread into -her mouth and eating salmon which nauseated her. She was conscious of -mental cramp--and of nothing else, save perhaps that Jack was probably -looking at her to mark how she received the news. When the music stopped -a second time, there came a sound of voices from the stairs; and he -glanced apprehensively over his shoulder as the first couples entered -with flushed faces, pulling off their gloves and fanning themselves. - -"Will you marry me now, Babs?" he whispered. - -"I--_can't_!" - -It was something to find that she could speak at all; but, if he began -arguing, she was helpless. Rallying in desperation, she beckoned to -Arden and Phyllis Knightrider. - -"There's a table here," she pointed out. "Come and sit near me, Val, to -shew that I'm forgiven for breaking my promise." - -"One thought for a moment of starving oneself to death on your doorstep -in alleged Oriental fashion," drawled Arden. "It would have entailed -distressing privations, however, and one was persuaded by Miss -Knightrider against one's more romantic judgement." - -If Barbara could create a diversion, Jack determined not to be thrown -out of his stride by it. He began to eat his supper with a show of -relish which he felt to be incongruous after Barbara's emphatic and -unqualified refusal. There was nothing else to do, and it made the -absence of conversation less marked. Barbara had sent her salmon away -unfinished and, refusing everything else, was beginning to fidget with -her gloves; but, if he remained there all night, Jack was resolved to -outstay Arden and to keep Barbara there until she had explained herself. -In time she allowed him to give her some fruit. With every new couple -the high babble of conversation and laughter swelled in volume until -they were isolated in their corner. Behind the screen of voices Jack -leaned forward and touched her wrist until she looked up. - -"You say you can't. Why not?" he asked. - -The words and tone were as she remembered them more than two months -earlier, but this time there was no escape. - -"Because I'm not in love with you." - -She nerved herself to look him in the eyes so that he must be convinced -in spite of himself. For a moment there was no change of expression; -then, though the grouping of the features remained unaltered, the face -seemed to stiffen; lines discovered themselves from nose to mouth, and -the lips grew set and thin. Barbara gripped the seat of her chair with -both hands. Greater even than fear was respect for a man who could -control himself; for the first time she wished that she loved him, -because he was "bigger"--to use his pet word--than she had thought; she -would not mind telling him so, if it would do any good; she would not -mind telling him that he was bigger than she was, but nothing could do -any good now. - -Jack tried to speak, and she saw that he had to sip champagne before the -words would come. - -"That was not the reason you gave," he said at length. - -"It's the true reason." - -"Then the other was a lie? Jim thought it might be, but I said I knew -you too well for that. Then you've been lying to me all along? You never -intended to marry me?" - -"No." - -The hateful charge was used as a dispassionate definition. Jack refused -to grow angry, and Barbara felt her resistance wearing itself out -against him. - -"Jack----" - -He enjoined silence with the slightest movement of one hand and -reflected unhurriedly. - -"You always said that money didn't weigh with you.... I gave you every -chance of slipping in a friendly warning.... Why did you do this, -Barbara? If you never meant to marry me, why did you _deliberately_----" - -While he continued to speak with frozen self-restraint, she felt that -she could not bear the end of his sentence. - -"How was I to know?" she interrupted; and there was a note of sincerity -in her voice, for she had never imagined that he loved her to the point -of perjuring himself. "You say you gave me a chance of warning you.... -How was I to know? Up to the end--that night at Ross House--you were -abusing me and finding fault with me. You dared to tell me you'd said -nothing that my father hadn't said a hundred times! If you thought you'd -changed me.... You must have been mad; I let you abuse me because it -wasn't worth arguing about, I knew I was right, I've proved I was -right.... I know I haven't changed you and I never shall. You always -despised me so much, you said I was vulgar, shallow, vain, heartless.... -Did you expect me to understand that that was your way of shewing that -you were in love with me?" - -Jack touched his lips with one finger. - -"We needn't take the _whole_ room into our confidence," he whispered. -"So this was your revenge? I congratulate you, Lady Barbara.... Or were -you convincing me of my mistake? Oh, I beg your pardon! I didn't see you -hadn't finished eating." - -He laid his cigarette beside his plate and turned half round. Every one -else seemed to be enjoying himself prodigiously. Twenty shrill-voiced -conversations met and struggled; laughter swelled and died away. Some -one proposed Jim's health and tried to coerce him into replying. Lady -Loring appeared for a moment in the musicians' gallery, smiled -contentedly on her handiwork and withdrew. Their lightness of heart was -hard to bear, and the ecstasy in Violet's eyes was insupportable. Jack -turned back to his own table. He was not going to marry Barbara; if he -repeated it often enough, he might come to believe it; he was -desperately tired and could not think what to do next. - -A sudden hush, followed by a scrape of feet and the creak of moving -chairs, greeted the opening bars of a waltz. Plaintive voices enquired -for lost gloves, and in another minute Jack and Barbara had the room to -themselves. She gripped the chair harder, bracing herself to receive her -punishment; and, as he sat half asleep, she could have complimented him -on his refined cruelty in making her wait for it. Gradually he seemed to -see that the room had emptied, to guess that she expected him to speak; -his expression changed, and, with it, her own dumb readiness to take -whatever he might choose to mete out. There was still no anger, hardly -even resentment; but his mouth was pursed in disgust, as though a toad -had leaped on to his plate. Barbara felt herself aflame with desire to -justify herself. - -"I've finished now, if you want to smoke," she said. "Jack, I don't want -to reopen this, you _must_ see that it would be hopeless! You disapprove -of everything I do. You may be right: we won't discuss that. I'm a -gipsy, and you're--I don't know what you are." - -Jack reminded himself again that he was not going to marry Barbara. For -three months and more he had never doubted it; when Jim Loring frowned -and hesitated and let fall apprehensive uncertainties, he had answered -with easy confidence, as though challenged to declare his belief in the -solar system. Three minutes, or less, was a short time for readjustment, -but he was beginning to repeat the sentence with his brain as well as -with his lips. And so far he had not publicly disgraced himself in any -way.... - -"I don't think we'll discuss anything," he said. - -Barbara moved her chair, but he did not seem to notice it: he noticed -nothing, and the silence was unendurable. She asked for a cigarette, and -he gave her one, silently lighting a match. - -"I'm--sorry, Jack," she said at last. - -"You're losing nothing," he answered. - -"I'm sorry for your sake." - -"Ah, you can't afford the luxury of a conscience, Lady Barbara." - -"I thought you must have seen--after that night at Ross House...." she -began hurriedly, but her voice and courage died away. "Lady" Barbara -choked her. - -"You took pains that I shouldn't see. We needn't go through this again? -I took you at your word. You suggested one obstacle--one only,--and I -removed it." - -As he stood up, she saw him sway and for the first time understood the -size of what she had done. She and Jack did not believe that immortal -souls existed or could be imperilled, but if there _were_ a jealous God -who refused to have His name taken in vain.... - -"Jack----" - -"Shall we go up-stairs?" he asked. - -"I haven't finished my cigarette." - -She tried to speak again, but stopped at an outburst of singing in the -hall. "Geor-gie, what did you buy, what did you buy for Maud-ee?" -Summertown and Framlingham waltzed into the room and swung recklessly -between the tables to an accompaniment of falsetto small-talk. "Jolly -floor, what? Have you been to many floors this season?" "Oh, hardly any, -Miss Framlingham. I'm _quite_ a little country mouse. Here, I say, -what's the matter with this table?" Summertown subsided by the door, and -Framlingham scoured the neighbourhood for food and drink. Their noise -and high spirits were disturbing, but after one impatient glance over -his shoulder Jack turned round and looked at Barbara. She was sitting -lost in thought, with her chin on her hand, staring at the bubbles as -they rose in her glass--puzzled but at ease. The long, exacting season -had made her more haggard than ever, but Jack had learned to love and -yearn for this wan, fragile beauty; her eyes were bigger and darker than -usual, and a faint languor gave her added dignity. If he went on looking -at her, Jack felt that he might strangle her in a passionate gust of -jealousy and self-pity. - -The horn of a car sounded through the open windows, and he looked at his -watch. - -"Lady Knightrider wants to leave early," he said. "We've got rather a -long drive to Raglan." - -"Don't go for a minute, Jack. I've got something to say to you." - -It was that imperilling of soul--if there were souls and if they could -be imperilled. Reparation was needed, but, unless she promised to marry -him.... He would hardly want to marry her now.... - -"Can you spare me another cigarette?" she asked. - -He handed her his case and sat down, waiting without a change of -expression. Since he was not going to marry Barbara, everything else -seemed wonderfully trivial. He rather hoped that she was not going to -explain or apologize, because he was too tired for a scene, too tired to -argue, too tired even to nod or say "yes" and "no" in the right -place.... There was no point in sitting there, if she had nothing to -say. And three hours earlier he had decided that, all things considered, -it would be more proper not to announce their engagement until he had -Lord Crawleigh's formal assent.... - -There was a sound of other voices in the hall, and George Oakleigh -appeared in the doorway. He looked anxiously round the room and pounced -upon the bachelor supper-party at his elbow. After a moment's earnest -whispering, Summertown banged his fist on the table until the glasses -rang. - -"Not to put too fine a point on it, Hell," he cried. "One good -thing--you're in this, too, Charles, my lad." - -Framlingham emptied his glass and refilled it unhurriedly. - -"To declare war in the middle of supper is not the act of a gentleman," -he pronounced. - -The phrase drove away Jack's mental drowsiness; Barbara forgot that she -was even trying to think of anything to say; both sat upright. The -possibility of war had long faded from their minds, and they welcomed it -as a distraction. - -"Is it declared?" Jack asked. - -"Not yet," answered Oakleigh. "And we'll hope it won't be. But things -are looking pretty serious, and Summertown's uncle has called with a car -to fetch him back to barracks. I'm going to mobilize all of our -soldiers, but I don't want any fuss, or we shall spoil Jim's party. Help -to keep things going." - -He hurried away, and Barbara looked blankly at Jack. "War!" she -murmured. He said nothing; but his eyes, dull a moment before, were -shining with excitement. He looked at his watch and rose quickly to his -feet. - -"Good-bye, Lady Barbara." - -"But you're not a soldier!" - -"I must get back to London. I'm going to ask Summertown for a seat in -his car and then I must have a word with Lady Knightrider." - -He hurried away with scant ceremony, leaving Barbara standing by the -table. She began to collect her gloves and handkerchief, then sat down -and tried to think dispassionately. It did not matter that she was -beaten and that he could add "liar" and "coquette" to his other charges. -He would never tell any one how she had behaved.... But he had run away -without punishing her, and she wanted to be punished. Punished by _him_; -she could not hand herself over to Providence. For a moment she tried to -persuade herself that he was lying. But Jack was incapable of lying. Yet -for weeks he must have lied with a grim and sanctimonious face. The -world was standing on its head! She pictured his methodical, deliberate -conversion--the first interview and first lie, the elaborate instruction -in ritual and doctrine until he had told enough lies to convince the -priest, the final reception into the Church with a final lie that would -infallibly imperil a man's soul, if there were such things.... - -One sentimental idiot had shot big game in Uganda, when she would not -marry him. Another had kept his bed for a week, pretending a broken -heart. Jack said little; but, as she squandered his devotion, she felt -that it would never come again. Perhaps her fear of him was the shell of -love; certainly she would not have wasted ten minutes on a man who meant -nothing to her. "Di'monds an' pearls.... Di'monds an' pearl I have -thrown away wid both hands--and fwhat have I left? Oh, fwhat have I -left?" The words came in one of Kipling's stories, surely.... But she -could not remember. - -The hall filled again with the sound of voices, and she hurried out -rather than let herself be seen sitting alone and unexplained. Six young -officers were hastily wrapping themselves in overcoats and golf-cloaks -under the patronizing direction of Val Arden. - -"They cast lots for one's raiment," he observed to Barbara, "and -Summertown had the good fortune to draw one's violet-silk _surtout_. One -could not wish it a worthier occupant. There used to be an inside -pocket, and one recalls putting into it a trifle of _cognac_. They also -serve who only stand the drinks." - -Summertown was being dressed by his sister, who looked frightened in -spite of his easy flow of facetious reassurance. - -"Bless you, _I'm_ all right!" he cried. "They wouldn't hurt a little -thing like me, I should run away between their feet and get taken -prisoner. You'll hear of me next as the regimental pet of the Death's -Head Hussars. By the way, does anybody know who we're supposed to be -fighting? My jolly old uncle never let that out--sly old dog! Good-bye, -Babs! See you again soon." - -As they shook hands, she suddenly remembered the scene in Webster's -rooms when Jack, under the spell of Madame Hilary, talked of a war, -which was hanging over their heads, and of his own instant death. - -"Oh, my _dear_, I wish you weren't going!" she cried with such emotion -that Sally Farwell stared at her. - -"So do I. 'Haven't finished supper yet. Charles, my lad, d'you think -that, if we went back for just a _little_ one, we could manage to get -left behind?" - -Barbara turned quickly and walked towards the door. She knew that -Summertown would be killed.... Her scepticism was a schoolgirl's; she -refused to believe things because she was too ignorant to understand -them. For aught she knew, there might be a Soul of Man, for which Man -could be held to account.... - -Jack was talking earnestly by the steps, an overcoat and rug over one -arm. - -"I know nothing about the army," she heard Oakleigh say. "But any one of -these fellows would tell you. Or you can try O'Rane. He was saying after -dinner--in all seriousness--that, if Austria declared war, he'd raise a -Foreign Legion and go and fight for Servia. He was through one of the -Balkan wars, you know. But I can't believe there _will_ be any fighting; -it's on too big a scale, you'll have the whole world in flames. In your -place I should do nothing for the present." - -"But, if we _are_ brought in, we shall have to raise every man we can -lay hands on. I _am_ partly trained; I was in the corps at Eton." - -"I shall believe in war when I see it." - -Barbara walked past them down the steps. She had not tried to catch -Jack's eye; but he had seen her, and she hoped that he would follow her. -The broad terrace was littered with chairs, as the deck of a steamer -might be; but the night was turning cold, and she walked to the stone -steps at the end without seeing any one. Then she heard the sound of an -engine starting, and a muffled procession marched to the car. The murmur -of subdued altercation reached her. "Charles, my lad, you're taking up -too much room...." "I'm all right, I'll sit on the floor."... "That's a -goodish hat Phil's wearing! Phil, if you perch on the radiator, you'll -lend tone to the party...." - -She watched Jack coming slowly down the steps. An apology would be -merely insulting. There was only one possible reparation, and, though he -might not accept it, she must at least offer it; if he flung it back at -her, she would feel less guilty. Another hour, and she could think this -to rights. But George was already calling the roll. - -"Come along, Jack! You're keeping the whole show waiting," cried -Summertown. "'The stars are setting, and the caravan starts for the Dawn -of Nothing. Oh, make haste!' Or words to that effect." - -Barbara took a step forward, as Jack shook hands with Oakleigh and ran -across the terrace to the car. He might wound her vanity again, if she -could solace her soul with the knowledge that she had promised him all -that she had to give. - -"Jack!" - -Her voice was a timid whisper; the audience of jostling, laughing young -officers daunted her. What would they think of her, standing alone on -the terrace, running up to the car and insisting that she must speak to -Jack? - -George came down the steps and slammed the door. "_Right_ away!" she -heard, and the car moved slowly towards her. At the corner of the -terrace the head-lights swung dazzlingly on to her, and she threw up her -arm as though they would blind her. Some one began to sing, "Dixie! All -aboard for Dixie!" A voice murmured drowsily, "Dry up! I want to go to -sleep." The gears changed with a grind; Barbara looked up to see a -single red tail-light. - -"Jack! Before you go! I want to speak to you!" - -She was calling with all her strength now, but the beat of the engine -drowned her voice. - -"Jack! _Please_, Jack!" - -She hurried down the stone steps at the end of the terrace and ran a few -paces along the drive, repeating his name with a sob and stretching out -her arms to the vanishing pin-point of red light. - -George was still standing in the door-way when she returned at a limp. -For a moment she was afraid to speak lest she began to cry. - -"I've got a stone in my shoe," she announced at length. - -He smiled and offered her his arm. - -"You're looking tired, Barbara. Have you had any supper?" - -Only the kind and well-intentioned could ask innocent questions which -hurt like the thrust of a needle under a finger-nail. At one time it -seemed as though she would never escape from the banqueting-hall. - -"I've had supper, thanks," she answered, resting one hand on his -shoulder, as she felt for the stone in her shoe. Then she remembered a -similar act and attitude, when she and Jack stood breathless at the end -of the Croxton village street on the night of their first meeting; and -she limped to a chair. "It's dreadful to see all those boys going off. I -feel that _some_ of them will never come back." - -"But we aren't even at war yet," George protested. - -"Everybody seems to think we soon shall be. Didn't I hear Jack Waring -talking to you about trying to get a commission?" - -"Well, he wants to be prepared, of course. It's a military family, you -see." - -They walked upstairs together and stood in the doorway of the -ball-room. Colonel Farwell's car had come and gone very unobtrusively; -no one seemed to miss the absentees, and Loring and Mayhew, O'Rane and -Arden were holding the party together with tireless energy and zest. At -three o'clock Lady Knightrider and those who had long distances to cover -reluctantly sent for their cars, but the house-party and its near -neighbours danced indefatigably. At sunrise the curtains were flung -aside and the lights turned out; the last of many suppers was eaten on -the terrace at half-past four, and at five O'Rane organized a slow -march-past of the remaining cars in honour of Loring and Violet who -stood on the top of the steps, bowing with weary joyousness their -acknowledgement of the last toast. - -Barbara had been compelled at first to do her share of dancing, but, -when the band escaped to catch an early train back to London, she took -possession of the piano. It was again horribly like that first night at -Croxton, when Jack sat in some embarrassment by her side on the dais; -but at least she was not expected to talk or to pretend that she was -enjoying herself. When Arden joined her, she resigned the piano to him -and slipped upstairs to her room. She was down again a moment later, -trying to decide whether it was more intolerable to be with others or -alone. Her room was too tranquil and cool; she had been so happy, as she -dressed, so determined to enjoy herself;--and she had nothing on her -mind. Through the open window she heard Arden's hand and voice at the -piano, punctuated by burst of cheering from the strip of drive under the -terrace. The engines of the cars thrashed and beat, then grew calm and -jerked into sound again as one after another shot forward; Loring and -Violet were hoarse but inexhaustibly happy, and, as Barbara ran -downstairs, she told herself that she too wanted to congratulate them -again; in their present state they were too rare to be wasted. - -"What's the next item, Jim?" panted O'Rane, as she came on to the -terrace. His hair was disordered, his shirt and collar crumpled and his -arms full of the champagne glasses which the departing guests had tossed -to him after the final toast. But he was ready to go through the night's -revelry from the beginning. "I'll race you to the river and back!" - -"My little man, I assure you that you will do no such thing," Loring -answered. "If any one wants to dance any more, you can play to them; if -any one wants anything more to eat and drink, you can supply their -wants. _I_ think it's high time we were all in bed. _You're_ certainly -going indoors before you catch cold," he said to Violet. "And you, -Sally. And you, Babs." - -He rounded them up until Barbara alone remained behind with the chill -wind of early morning beating on her bare shoulders and chest and -blowing unchecked through her gossamer clothes. After the earlier -insufferable heat, this cold air with its burden of dew and -night-scented stock wrapped itself round her body like a bandage laid on -burning flesh. It purified, too, like a mountain torrent of melting snow -pouring over her arms and breast. Some girl in a book--it was by -Gissing, but she could not remember names to-night--had bathed naked in -the sea by moonlight--to cleanse her spirit because she had suffered men -to touch her body; this wind, as yet unwarmed by the orange sun of dawn, -served her in place of the kindly sea.... - -"If you _want_ triple pneumonia, Babs, that's the way to get it," said -Loring. - -His voice suggested a new train of thought, and she pursued it without -answering. Some young wife in a book--it was by Balzac, but she could -not remember names to-night--broke her heart because she fancied that -her husband had ceased to love her; no longer caring for life, she -worked herself into a violent sweat and stood in the dew by the brink of -a pond until she had given herself consumption.... But to take refuge in -suicide was to shew that you were unfit to have been born, that you were -unequal to life; this, even this night of horror, was a thing to be -mastered; Barbara luxuriated in life as a thing to be dominated and -enchained like a destroying flood or fire.... - -"It's such a wonderful morning, Jim," she said, as she turned. - -"Yes, but, as we've managed to get through one whole night without -quarrelling, don't catch a chill at the end and put the blame on me. I -thought, all things considered, that it went off very well." - -"I suppose so.... Jim, when I'm responsible for a thing, I never put the -blame on other people. You can't deny me courage." - -"My dear girl, I can't remember a single occasion on which you've taken -the blame for anything. Perhaps you'll reply that you never _were_ to -blame for anything, and we might argue about that for a very long time. -Come to bed; you're shivering." - -She walked with him into the house and looked wonderingly at the clock, -while he barred the door behind them. Six! It seemed hardly worth while -going to bed.... - -"Are you tired, Jim? Too tired to smoke a cigarette and listen to me -blaming myself?" - -Loring's heart seemed to sink. He had seen her with Jack and he had -listened to an eager but unconvincing story designed to shew that, in -Jack's eyes, it made all the difference in the world whether he motored -to Gloucester and arrived in London in time for breakfast or breakfasted -at the Castle or in Raglan and returned to London by a morning train. - -"I'll listen--with pleasure," he said. - -Barbara looked for a comfortable seat and led the way to a sofa in the -smoking-room. - -"I believe Jack Waring has discussed me with you?" she began. - -"I think he's told me everything that was to be told," answered Loring. - -"Including to-night?" It was an idle question, for Jim would have been -more Rhadamanthine if Jack had described the last disillusionment. -"Well, you know he asked me to marry him; and I refused, because he -wasn't a Catholic. He _is_ a Catholic now--in name; he asked me again -to-night, and I refused again." - -"Why?" - -Men preserved a rare sex-loyalty. Loring's tone was Jack's; his face was -setting with the same rigidity, and he would shew as little mercy. - -"I didn't feel I was in love with him." - -"Were you ever in love with him? A good many people thought you were." - -Barbara pondered deeply over her answer. - -"I could never be in love with any one who wasn't gentle with me.... -I--rather admired Jack, because he was clean and honest and had the -courage to say things that I'd have hit another man for----" - -"But you were afraid of him," Loring murmured. "Go on! You wanted to -shew him how wrong he was----" - -"I owed it to myself to shew him what I was _really_ like, not what the -halfpenny press thinks I am. He fell in love; and then, when he asked me -to marry him, I lost my head----" - -"But you never told him that you weren't in love with him," Loring -interrupted again. - -Barbara's eyes fell. - -"I'd lost my nerve as well as my head," she sighed. "He'd have thought -so much worse of me. I didn't see him after that until to-night; I -hoped it was all over. I told him again that I couldn't marry him and -then I told him the truth--that I wasn't in love with him. And -then--then he saw everything.... Jim, I'm not asking for mercy from him -or you or any one; I'm telling you the truth and I want to be judged on -that. Until to-night I honestly didn't know how bad it was, I didn't -know that I was anything more than some one who attracted him----" - -"You accursed women never do!" Loring broke in. "Well, go on! You played -with him and led him on and checked him till he proposed--men, -hard-headed men who aren't drunk, don't propose when they're merely -'attracted'--he proposed, and you told him an extremely ingenious lie -which I should have thought your extravagant superstition might have -kept you from telling. _Then!_ Then, when he pays you the compliment of -thinking you a woman of honour, you admit it's a lie. Go on, Barbara!" - -She shook her head slowly and leaned wearily forward, resting her chin -on her hand. - -"It's no good, Jim. If any one hits you often enough in the same place, -you cease to feel. You want to hurt me--I don't wonder!--but you can't; -I'm too bruised. No, _he_ said hardly anything. It wasn't necessary to -_say_ anything; he knew...." - -Loring strode to the table, picked up a cigarette and flung it back into -the box. He found that Barbara was watching him with wonder in her eyes -and waited till his indignation was under control. - -"And so you got a new emotion," he sneered. "Two, in fact. You played -cat and mouse with a man's happiness; and then you had the morbid -pleasure of letting yourself be flayed alive.... I should think it will -be your last emotion for some time." - -"As you like, Jim. But it'll be easier if I tell you everything and -_then_ let you criticize.... Jack hardly said a word. It was sinking -in; and it was sinking in with me, too. I'm not a coward, Jim----" - -"Oh, leave your vile little posturings out!" - -"I'm not a coward," she repeated patiently. "Standing out there a moment -ago, I thought how _easy_ it would be to get pneumonia and die and end -everything--_Don't_ say 'another emotion'! A coward _would_ have. But -I'd decided to accept the consequences. I was on the point of telling -Jack he could marry me, if he wanted to, when that car came and -everybody started running about.... I tried to catch him before he left, -I ran after the car.... That's all, Jim." - -Looking at her, he saw that she was indeed too much bruised to feel. - -"And now?" he asked. - -Barbara shook her head hopelessly and stared across the room out of the -window. - -"He can do what he likes with me. He can marry me and beat me. He can -sit--dear God! he can sit as he sat to-night, looking at me as though I -were a bundle of rags and sores that had thrown its arms round him. He -can tell people.... Or he can keep me to himself and sneer and torture -me when he's in the mood. He can take me and break my heart and fling me -away after a week, if he likes. There's nothing, nothing I won't do!" - -Her vehemence startled him for a moment, but her tone and phrasing were -too rhetorical to be convincing. - -"I admire your capacity for getting the last ounce even out of -repentance," Loring murmured. - -For a moment Barbara did not seem to have heard him; then she got up and -walked out of the smoking-room and across the hall to a studded oak -door. She rattled the handle for a moment and then came back. - -"Where's the key of the chapel?" she demanded. "You believe in -something, I suppose? And I suppose you admit that even I would stop -short of _some_ things. Give me the key! I'll swear to you on the image -of the Blessed Virgin----" - -"I don't think I should dip any deeper into that kind of thing if I were -you." - -"I'll swear by anything! You see those two matches? That's the sign of -the Cross. I swear by the Cross that I'll offer myself to Jack! And he -can do what he likes with me." - -"Wouldn't it be rather a waste of breath to talk like this to Jack?" - -"You mean I'm not in earnest? I swear to you, Jim, that I'll _beg_ him -to marry me, if he still wants to." - -The clock struck half-past six, and Loring shivered. - -"I wish to God you'd died before you ever met him!" he muttered. "What -the devil's the good of telling me all this?" - -"If I hadn't told you, nobody'd have known. _Jack_ wouldn't tell. I -wanted to commit myself before I had time to go back. Now I'll give the -whole of my life trying to make him happy, to atoning...." - -Loring caught her wrists and gripped them. - -"Leave him alone!" he cried. "It would be suicide if you married after -this." - -"If he wants me...." Barbara began again. "Jim, can't you see that I'm -trying to save my soul? He can have everything. I'm quite young, and he -can have all my youth and life, my looks, anything that I've got, -anything that I am. He can take it all--or he can fling it all back at -me." - -She stretched out her hands to him. Loring pulled her to her feet and -led her to the door. - -"Leave him alone!" he repeated roughly. - -Barbara left by the ten o'clock train, while the rest of the house-party -was still in bed. Her maid was well used to sudden changes of plan, but -she ventured to point out that the family was at the Abbey and that the -house in Berkeley Square was closed. - -"Well, it will have to be opened, then," said Barbara. - -She had not gone to bed, and there were dark rings round her eyes; but -she was clear-headed and determined. Her maid tried to tempt her with -breakfast before their long drive, but Barbara did not want to eat until -she had seen Jack. In the train she could hardly keep her eyes open; -but, until she had seen Jack, she did not want to sleep. Every one -seemed to be hurrying to London, as though there would be later news of -the war there; and she heard a far away babble of what Lichnowski had -said, what Kuhlmann had proposed for localizing the war.... But she was -wondering only what Jack was about. The luncheon-car attendant slid open -the door, but she shook her head at him; the idea of food nauseated her, -and she was glad to have the compartment to herself for half an hour. - -When her fellow-travellers returned, they found her with her head -against the window and her arms limply by her side. One of them hurried -away for water, and, when she shivered and opened her eyes, some one had -laid her flat on the seat, and a voice--the first kind voice that she -had heard for days--was saying: - -"Carriage a bit hot for you? Or perhaps you're not a good traveller. I'm -a doctor--or used to be. Just going up to see if the War Office wants -volunteers in case of war. I saw you didn't come along to lunch; when -did you last have anything to eat?" - -"I've really forgotten," Barbara answered. - -"I thought so. Well, a cup of coffee and a biscuit, eh? And I'll try to -get you a little more room." - -He whispered to the men who were standing in the corridor and -distributed them in the other compartments until he and Barbara were -alone. After the coffee she felt less sick and from Swindon to London -she was able to get some sleep. At Paddington the doctor wanted to take -her home, but she protested that her maid could do all that was -necessary, and he left her with an urgent recommendation to bed. - -Barbara thanked him for all his kindness and ordered two taxis. One took -the maid and the luggage to Berkeley Square; in the other she drove to -the County Club and enquired bravely for Mr. Waring. The porter replied -that he had left the club immediately after luncheon, and she made her -way to the Temple. Hitherto she had not dreamed that there would be any -difficulty in finding him; but Middle Temple Lane, narrow, cold and -almost empty, daunted her. It was the first of August, and the rows of -names painted at the foot of each staircase looked ownerless and -impersonal as grave-yard head-stones in the general desolation. As she -pattered up two flights of stone steps to Jack's chambers, the giddiness -which had overtaken her in the train returned and stopped her short with -a pain in her side. The walls were advancing and retiring, the banisters -swayed and the floor of the landing heaved gently like a pitching boat. - -When she felt steadier, she knocked at the door and waited patiently -until she heard feet shuffling in the distance. A pink-faced elderly man -informed her that Mr. Waring had gone away for the Long Vacation; he -spoke with a strong Cockney accent, and Barbara decided that he must be -the clerk with whom she had contended by telephone and whom she had -imagined to be obsequious and yet sinister, with red eyes, short hair -and bitten nails, a second Uriah Heep. - -"Do you know where I can find him?" she asked. - -"The first address he give me was at Raglan----" - -"Ah, but he came back to London last night. He's not been here to-day?" - -"No, miss." - -"Do you know his address in Hampshire? Do you think you could telephone -to find out whether he's there?" - -The clerk scratched his head and referred to a list of numbers pinned in -the passage by the telephone. Barbara had disturbed his afternoon sleep, -but she was an uncommonly pretty young woman, some one to relieve the -monotony of the moribund chambers; expensively dressed, too, and one who -would liberally repay a little trouble. His curiosity was whetted by her -coming to see young Waring; still waters ran deep.... - -"If you'll come in and sit down, miss," he suggested hospitably. "What -nime shall I siy?" - -"Lady Barbara Neave. You needn't--I mean, I don't want to speak to him. -It's just the address." - -"I see. Had the pleasure o' talking to you once before on the 'phone, my -lidy." - -"Ah, yes." - -Barbara walked into a shabby room with two scarred writing tables, a -threadbare carpet and four hard little armchairs. One wall was covered -by a book-case filled with Law Reports, old, discoloured volumes of the -"Annual Practice" and standard works on Pleading, Criminal Law and -Procedure, Real Property and the like. A few pounds would have freshened -the dingy room out of recognition and perhaps even given it a personal -note, but Jack was insensible to beauty and ugliness alike; he noticed -the peeling yellow wall-paper as little as he noticed the intoxicating -afternoon sun on the river; he had nothing in common with her.... She -remembered the promise which she had made to herself and began to look -at the papers on his table--long, white bundles tied with pink tape and -engrossed with old-fashioned lettering which she could hardly read. -These must be briefs, set out to look imposing, for many were grey with -dust. There was an unexplained red sack, embroidered with his initials -and fastened with a red cord; and a small black box with his name in -white letters, containing an absurd wig. This was his life, a life which -absorbed him.... - -Outside in the passage the clerk began a sing-song monologue. - -"Trunks, miss, please. Trunks, if--_you_--please. Is that Trunks? I want -Lashmar four seven. This is Holborn double four nine double-two. No! -_Nine!_ Double-four nine double-two. Thank you." He shuffled into the -room and smiled familiarly at Barbara. "They'll call me when I'm -through. Now may I get you a cup of tea, me lidy?" - -Barbara thanked him, but refused the tea. The Cockney accent was -intensified when he spoke on the telephone, and it reminded her once -again of the winter afternoon when she had tried to drag Jack away from -a consultation, the afternoon of her visit to Webster's flat. If she had -stopped then, there would now be nothing to regret or to repair. Her -fatal step was to invite him to dinner that night merely because she -wanted the support of some one solid and well-balanced. Since that day -she had never been able to decide how she felt towards him; she had been -unable to tell Loring a few hours before. If, instead of always -frightening her, he could have shewn a little gentleness.... George -Oakleigh, to whom she was nothing, always helped her into a cloak as -though she were the most fragile and precious thing in the world; and -she became rebellious and reckless, when any one was harsh to her. Jack -would order her home after a ball like a drill-sergeant; George came up -two minutes later and said, "I wonder whether you'll let me take you -home? You're looking so white and tired." It was more than a difference -of manner. Jack never realized that a girl could be hungry for -tenderness, but love was nothing without affection.... And love was -always easier to give than affection. - -The telephone rang, and the clerk reported that Mr. Waring was not in -Hampshire nor expected there for nearly another week. As Barbara walked -downstairs and drove home, she tried to think of any means of getting -into touch with him which her tired brain had not already suggested. At -worst she could always write, but she wanted to throw her pride at his -feet to be trampled and bruised, she wanted to look him in the eyes -without flinching or begging for mercy.... - -In the train it seemed as if the whole world were coming to London, but -London was now empty of every one that she wanted to see. Summertown, -who might have useful information, could not be found in his rooms or in -barracks; Framlingham was "expected back any minute." She called a -second time at the County Club, but Jack had not returned. And, after -dining by herself in her bare, half-resurrected bedroom, she telephoned -with carefully disguised voice. At the third failure, she abandoned his -club; to welcome humiliation from Jack was hardly the same thing as to -accept it from hall-porters and page-boys.... - -Though she was a night's sleep in arrears, she could not lie still in -bed. An old French clock with a squeaking, high note that reminded her -absurdly of Jack's clerk, struck midnight, one and two. She turned on -the light and reached for her writing-case. - -"_I don't apologize, because no apology is adequate; I don't seek -forgiveness, for, though I honour and admire and wonder at you and your -devotion to some one who never deserved a thousandth part of it, I don't -believe any one has the greatness of soul to forgive me. I am writing to -say that, if you still want me, I will do whatever you ask. I can never -make amends. But I will try with all my heart and soul and mind and -strength._ - -BARBARA." - -She threw the letter into the writing-case and turned the key. A second -sleepless night followed the first, but she was buoyed up by excitement -and the sense of a purpose to fulfil. The Sunday papers dragged war from -the middle-distance into the foreground, and, as she walked in a parched -and unfamiliar Park before luncheon, she felt that Jim would not be able -to keep away from London much longer. On Monday morning she heard that -he was returning next day, and on Tuesday afternoon she called at Loring -House. - -"Jim, I don't care what you think of me, but you've got to help me," she -began. - -He saw a pinched face lit by feverishly bright eyes, whose pupils -contracted and dilated as he looked into them. - -"I'm afraid this has rather come home to roost, Babs," he said gently. -"I'm sorry; honestly, I am." - -She was so broken-spirited that he found himself drawing her to him and -kissing her forehead. At the touch of his lips her muscles relaxed until -he was supporting her weight with one arm. - -"Ah, kiss my eyes, Jim!" she whispered. "They're aching so terribly! I -want to sleep; and I'm haunted.... What am I to do? I can't find him!" - -"I shouldn't try to. Babs, you know Jack always had the pride of the -devil; he's probably very sore. And this is the first time that a woman -has played any kind of trick on him; I don't suppose it'll be the last, -but you can be sure that he feels that the bottom's been knocked out the -universe." - -"But I want to help him! If I _can_ give him anything----" - -"He doesn't want you now." - -"After doing what he did? Jim, if I'd loved a man as he loved me, I'd do -anything to get him, to get him back! There'd be nothing left in life -without him!" - -"One thinks so at first. But, when love dies, resentment is a workable -substitute. Leave it alone, Babs. I must run away now, because I want to -talk to the War Office about taking a commission, if war breaks out. -Jack's doing the same.... By the way, I'm standing by to have House of -Steynes and the Castle and the place at Market Harborough turned into -hospitals. If you want something to do, you can apply to be taken on as -a nurse. In six months from now, when the war's over and forgotten, -it'll be time enough to move. I begged Jack to go slow and think the -thing out, because--frankly, Babs--I didn't know what you were up to; -and I beg you to think and go on thinking and to wait till you're cool. -You _hardly_ know what _you're_ doing now; and, if I know anything of -men, Jack's a raving lunatic." - -He moved haltingly to the door. Barbara followed with bent head. - -"And you want me to leave him like that?" - -"You can't mend things at present--if ever." - -"And in the meantime he may take a commission and go out----" - -"And be killed," said Loring, as she hesitated. "Let's face it." - -"And be killed," she replied. "Jim, I can't sit with my hands folded.... -What d'you think Judas Iscariot felt like during the Crucifixion?" - -Loring shrugged his shoulders and opened the door for her without -answering. For the first time that day he doubted her sincerity. It was -terribly in keeping with her love for the dramatic, the bizarre, the -sensational, the gigantic for her to be comparing herself with Judas -Iscariot.... - - - - -CHAPTER THIRTEEN - -A NOTE OF INTERROGATION - - "Fenced by your careful fathers, ringed by your leaden seas, - Long did ye wake in quiet and long lie down at ease; - Till ye said of Strife 'What is it?' of the Sword, 'It is far from - our ken'; - Till ye made a sport of your shrunken hosts and a toy of your armed - men. - Ye stopped your ears to the warning--ye would neither look nor - heed-- - Ye set your leisure before their toil and your lusts above their - need." - - RUDYARD KIPLING: "THE ISLANDERS." - - -"You've probably stirred up an ant-hill with the end of your stick -before now," said Eric Lane, shading his eyes and shifting himself in -bed until he could catch a glimpse of the Lashmar Woods in their riot of -autumn colour. "I feel that's what the Almighty has done here; we're -scattered in every direction, running about in wild confusion without -knowing in the least what any one else is doing. I feel amazingly out of -everything." - -He had already been seven weeks in bed at Lashmar Mill-House and was -white-faced and cadaverous, with bloodless lips and immense sunken brown -eyes. This was the worst breakdown that he had undergone since he was a -boy; but all danger was now over, and his voice was beginning to recover -its strength and music. Jack had walked over to sit with him. It was -their first meeting since they journeyed to Oxford together for their -degrees; Jack had been training in London and was wearing for the first -time the uniform of a second lieutenant. - -"How soon are you going to be allowed up?" - -"In another week," Eric answered. "I don't know when I shall be able to -start regular work again. I've had to chuck the paper. I don't think -they were sorry to get rid of me: there's been drastic staff reduction -in Fleet Street since the war. It's rather a bore, though. _If_ my -play's produced in the spring, _if_ it's a success, I may have some -money; otherwise I must live on my hard-earned savings and try to find -work. One of the government offices might take me. You know that -Oakleigh's in the Admiralty?" - -"Yes, and O'Rane's enlisted; and Jim Loring's a staff captain; and that -swine Webster is driving a car for the Red Cross. Even the egregious Val -Arden's taken a commission. I rather respect him--for the first time in -my life; he looks three parts gone in consumption, but he got round the -doctor. He wasn't going to have people saying that he was a funk, and I -think he felt that he'd led a footling life and that this was the -opportunity of shewing what he was made of. Most of us are feeling that -we've wasted a good deal of our time.... What did they spin you for?" - -"Overstrained heart. And, when I was examined, of course I was about -half an hour removed from my final collapse--which I think we will not -discuss.... Did you know Deryk Lancing? It was horrible about his -death." - -"Yes, I've been wondering whether it _was_ an accident," said Jack. "He -was so full of nerves that I should never have been surprised to hear -he'd gone off his head. But what an opportunity the war would have been -for him! Oakleigh told me that he was always worrying about his money -and wondering what to do with it. Well, the beauty of being in the army -is that you can't think about yourself; you're a tiny part in a gigantic -machine, and your individuality doesn't matter a damn to any one.... -When you think how every man and women you know was attitudinizing and -thinking about his own personality--Jack Summertown, Val Arden, -Deganway.... And the women were worse than the men. Everything -sacrificed for effect. Every one looking for new emotions. -Sensationalists.... You tried your personality on a new diet of -excitement every day. How amazingly _small_ it all seems when you -measure it by a war of this kind! Even the biggest thing of all. A man -devotes months and years of his life to engaging the affections of a -woman----" - -"Well, that charge can never be brought against you," Eric interrupted -with a laugh. - -Jack bent down and spent some moment in knocking out his pipe against -the fender. His parents and sister still did not know that he was even -acquainted with Barbara; but Eric might well have heard gossip from -Oakleigh or a dozen others. - -"Well, take Loring's case! _He_ spent years over that business with -Sonia Dainton. Then he got sane. Then he fell in love with Oakleigh's -cousin--engagement announced, flourish of trumpets, an immense ball in -honour of the occasion. The war comes along, and it all fades into the -background. I suppose they'll be married as soon as it can be arranged, -but the war's the important thing in his life now. He's transferring to -a service battalion as soon as he possibly can; with any luck he'll get -killed.... By the way, you saw that Jack Summertown had been knocked -out? In the first casualty list of all. _And_ Archie Stornaway. _And_ -Charles Framlingham. All three heirs to peerages, and two of them were -staying with the Lorings at Chepstow when I was there. If you'd been -told a year ago.... But, by Jove, this is pretty much what O'Rane -prophesied _ten_ years ago. What was his bet? One or two of us have gone -under, one or two are dead--with more to follow. One or two married. One -or two have made pretty fair fools of ourselves. O'Rane himself has done -well. And you're going to be our new playwright. _I_ wasn't doing badly -at the bar.... It all seems so small now." - -Lady Lane came in with tea, and soon afterwards Jack left. He was due -back in London to dine with Loring, who had written mysteriously to beg -him, as a great favour, to arrange a meeting the moment that he found a -free night. Jack guessed that Barbara was in some way connected with the -request, but he could not imagine what she wanted. For two months he had -divided his time between drilling and being drilled; there were new -friendships to form and new confidences to exchange; the questions that -mattered were the etiquette of the mess and the ethics of saluting--as -they had once been the code and spirit of a public school and, later, -the tone and rule of decorous society. Was the battalion to be sent out -as a whole or used for drafts? Undoubtedly you would secure greater -unity and _esprit de corps_ by keeping it intact; but the men were not -all equally trained, and the latest comers would set the pace for all. -There were heated debates between the rival sects, and the colonel was -claimed by both sides alternately. Once or twice Jack stepped aside and -smiled at the picture of himself working under a captain of nineteen and -taking a warm interest in mess politics. It was hardly the end that he -had imagined; but at least he had worked himself into iron condition -until his nerves were under control and he was too tired for -introspection. Loring's invitation was the first test of fortitude; the -library recalled their debates of other days, and, if he went there from -friendship, he was determined not to exhume something that had been -killed at Chepstow and buried by the war. - -"I'm glad you were able to come," Loring began. "I'll say what I've got -to say and get it over as soon as possible. I'm not doing this on my own -initiative. Have you seen Barbara lately?" - -"Not since your party. Jim, I'd sooner not hear another word on this -subject----" - -"I'm afraid you've got to, old man, for my sake. She's in London and -she asked me to give you this with my own hand." - -He held out a letter, and Jack looked at it in silence. The envelope was -addressed in pencil; the upright awkwardness in some of the characters -told him that it had been written, like so many others, in bed; a few -words were smudged, and this, with the bent corners, suggested that it -had probably been composed some time before. - -"I don't want it," he said after a long hesitation. - -If the mere sight of familiar handwriting could hurt him, he was -resolved to take no further risks with his painfully acquired fortitude. - -"You must take it," said Loring. "I don't care what you do with it." - -Jack shrugged his shoulders, unbuttoned a pocket of his tunic and -slipped the letter inside, as dinner was announced. - -"How soon are you chucking up your staff job?" he asked, to kill any -further discussion, as they walked out of the library together. - -When Jack returned to camp, Loring called on his cousin in Berkeley -Square. House and family were in tumult, for, when the Abbey was handed -over to the War Office, Lord Crawleigh was driven to spend the autumn in -London and he returned to find that it was one thing to urge his younger -servants into the army and another to be left without a single -able-bodied man to prepare for his coming. His wife was wholly immersed -in the management of her hospital; Barbara was training for her -certificate; Neave and the two younger boys had been given commissions -in the Guards, and daily life was so uncomfortable that he decided to -share his discomfort with the nation and to explain the origin and -meaning of the war in a series of addresses throughout the country. - -"Well, Jack dined with me to-night," Loring began. "I gave him the -letter." - -"Yes?" - -"He didn't want to take it at first, but I told him I'd promised to give -it him with my own hand." - -Barbara was unnerved by waiting, but she contrived to mask her curiosity -with indifference. - -"What did he say?" she asked. - -"He put it into his pocket." - -"He didn't read it?" - -"Not then." - -"And he didn't say anything? What did he look like?" - -"He was like he always is; no one would call Jack demonstrative." - -For all her studied indifference, Barbara shuddered involuntarily. - -"I know. He frightens me when he's like that," she whispered. "If he -ever flared up for a moment, I should feel that we were more evenly -matched.... He _will_ read the letter?" she persisted. - -"My dear Babs, how can I tell?" - -"Oh, of course you can't, but the waiting's so awful," she cried. "You -know what was in it? I kept my promise--the promise I made on the Cross -at Chepstow. If he wants me----" - -"Well, if he does? You still don't love him?" - -"I don't know. He fascinates me.... But that doesn't matter, I've given -him my promise----" - -"It seems to me to matter very much," Loring interposed drily. "I've -grown quite fond of you lately, Babs, and I don't want to see you -unhappily married. Or him, either. You say you don't know whether you're -in love with him, but there's a simple test: if you were free in every -way and could choose among all the men in the world, would you fly to -Jack like an arrow to a target?" - -"I don't know.... I think he might _make_ me come to him." - -"Against your will? Babs, you've either lost all your personality or -else you're in love with him." - -She shook her head in perplexity, frowning and smoothing out the -wrinkles with the back of her hand. - -"I don't know that it would be against my will. I can't make out. He -never loved me as I _wanted_ to be loved.... I never feel that Jack -could be gentle.... Do you know what I mean, Jim? There are some people -who seem to take loving for granted. They can't waste time on the little -daily tendernesses that are the glorious great tendernesses...." Her -voice faded away, and she sat staring in front of her until a change of -thought made her face resolute. "But it's not for me to find fault. If -he wants me...." - -"I wish to God I could do something to help," said Loring. - -"I must just wait, I suppose. I wish I knew what _I_ wanted.... -Sometimes I feel I'm going mad, Jim. I _can't_ get rid of his eyes, I -_can't_ forget the change that came over him when he _began_ to -understand what I'd done.... Has he gone back to camp? When d'you think -he'll write?" - -"My dear girl, you might just as well ask me how long the war's going -on! Perhaps he won't write at all." - -"What d'you mean?" - -Loring sank lower into his chair and stared at the ceiling. - -"I've been trying to think how I should feel in his place," he said. "If -he was simply infatuated about you, he'd go on believing in you until -you'd married some one else. On the other hand, he's ignorant enough of -women still to idealize them; and there's no bitterness like the -bitterness of your disappointed idealist. He may try to cut the whole -thing out of his life; he may tear your letter up unread, he may read it -and throw it in the fire without answering it.... What are you going to -do then, Babs?" - -"I belong to him until he throws me aside," she answered. "On my honour -and oath----" - -"I wish you weren't quite so ready with your extravagant oaths," he -interrupted. "You'll get into trouble one day. Jephthah took a similar -vow and lived to regret it.... Well, Babs, if there's anything I can do -to straighten things out, let me know." - -He got up and prepared to go. Barbara sat with her hands pressed between -her knees and her head bent. - -"I must wait," she whispered. "You go, Jim; I'd sooner be alone. You go! -I'll--just wait." - -Loring looked at her for a moment and then went downstairs. He could -have sworn that she could see her own drooping head and tired eyes in a -mental looking-glass and was enjoying her doubt and misery; as likely as -not, she would describe it to Jack, if they met. "Jim went away. I said, -'You go. I must wait.' And I waited...." A little of Jephthah's -daughter, the Lady of Shalott, Monna Vanna and Sarah Curran; tragic -pathos, tragic constancy, tragic hopelessness. By giving her the cue of -Jephthah's daughter, he had helped to destroy the illusion of -sincerity.... - -Barbara sat by herself for a few minutes and then rang for her maid and -began to undress. She had never dreamed that Jack would not answer her -letter. Though written on the night after she had failed to find him at -the Temple, she had kept it locked away for nearly two months, afraid to -send it and unable to say why she was afraid. Then Sonia Dainton had -called on her and, standing by the window with her face averted, had -talked of Jim's approaching marriage. "I hear he's going out to the -front fairly soon," she began. "I want to part friends with him--in case -anything happens. D'you think he'd see me?" "You can only try," answered -Barbara. That was a fortnight ago; some weeks later, on the eve of the -wedding, Sonia called at Loring House to beg and to receive -forgiveness. In the meantime Barbara profited by her own advice to force -herself into communication with Jack. It was all that she could do, if -she hoped ever again to know self-respect or even a quiet conscience. -She could make amends and give him his chance to embrace or spurn her; -that he would ignore her she had never imagined. - -The hospital at the Abbey opened three days after her conversation with -Jim; and Barbara at once volunteered for night work. Ever since the -party at Chepstow she had been unable to rest; Jack's haggard face and -fixed stare invaded her dreams, and, when she slept, it was to wake up -repeating some phrase that she had used to him. By going to bed in -daylight and lying with the blinds up and the sun on her face, she never -wholly lost consciousness; her brain was sentinel enough to rouse her, -if she began to dream of the banqueting-hall at Loring Castle.... - -When Jim's wedding took place, she wrote to offer him good wishes and -added in a postscript: - -"_I have had no news._" - -He wrote back, - -"_I have not seen him since that night. In a case like this, isn't -silence itself an answer? George heard that he was possibly going out -with a draft, but I believe this has been contradicted. Is there -anything I can do? I'll try to get hold of him, if you like, and ask him -what he's up to, but, while I don't mind exposing myself to a rebuff, I -don't see myself leading you by the hand to have your face slapped by -any one...._" - -"_Thanks, it's best to do nothing_," Barbara answered. "_I should be -hurt if he thought I was forcing myself on him._" - -At the beginning of 1915 Jim wrote on his own initiative. - -"_I hear Jack's gone abroad. George is my authority; I didn't see him -myself. I think you may feel that this squares the account. On the whole -I'm glad; and, if you feel as you did when last we discussed this, it's -the best thing for you._" - -A few weeks later Jim went abroad himself. So long as he was a channel -of communication, Barbara waved away the necessity of deciding what to -do if she were left with what he called a "cheque drawn but not -presented." Without him, loneliness sapped her courage; and she wrote -three extravagant letters, which, in the act of writing, she knew that -she would never send. Then she tried to forget. Then she centred her -hopes on seeing him, when he came home on leave.... - -A week before he was expected in England, Amy Loring called in Berkeley -Square to say that Jim was "missing." George Oakleigh had the news from -the War Office, and every one might be told except Violet, who was -expecting a baby. - -"_At this rate I sometimes wonder who will be left alive_," Lady -Crawleigh wrote to Barbara. "_Sonia has had one of her brothers killed -and the other wounded. Valentine Arden has been killed. Young O'Rane has -come back slightly wounded but without his sight. No one can ever take -their places. They are all equally splendid.... Poor Mr. Arden and Jack -Summertown.... Though a man may have been frivolous before, that does -not seem to keep him from shewing his true worth when the occasion -arises.... The war has been a great opportunity...._" - -Barbara's first thought was that, if Jim too were killed, there was one -person the less to share her secret. She was aghast to find herself even -playing with such consolation; but, as the weeks of silence became -months, she lost hope. With every new death or mutilation she was -becoming less and less equal to the great opportunity. Though she could -work as hard as any one, she came no nearer to justifying herself or -making atonement. The officers in the hospital sometimes refused to let -her do anything for them, because she had already worn herself out with -doing so much, but she was never tired enough to forget. Until she had -placated Providence, she would not be allowed to forget. And Providence -rejected her offering. - -In the summer she heard that Sonia Dainton was engaged to be married to -David O'Rane. - -"_He and I were sort of engaged when I was sixteen_," Sonia began. "_Of -course, neither of us took it seriously. At least I didn't, as soon as I -was old enough to think at all; perhaps_ HE _did. He_ SAYS _that he -always knew he was going to marry me and that for all practical purposes -we_ WERE _married from the time when I was sixteen. When I was engaged -to Tony Crabtree--I wasn't properly engaged; I don't believe I ever -thought I should marry him; but I was very young, and it was exciting to -be engaged. I believe_ NOW _that Tony only wanted to marry me because he -thought I should be such an asset to him in his career; thought of -course he was very much in love with me--David says that he knew all -about it and didn't trouble himself more than if his wife were flirting -with a man at dinner. Poor darling, he was very unhappy about Jim, -because he thought I might really marry him; but yet--he says--at the -bottom of his heart he always knew I shouldn't. Aren't men ridiculously -vain? But, Babs, isn't it wonderful to think of him waiting all those -years, standing aside, never trying to influence me, always quite -certain that_ ONE _day he'd marry me? Some time I'll tell you the whole -story and how he came into the_ HEART _of Austria, when war'd been -declared, to rescue me. He was terribly wounded at the beginning of this -year, and the doctors say there's no possibility of his ever getting his -sight back. You can imagine what that means; but he says he'd go through -it all again, if that were the only way of getting me! George told me -that, when David was delirious in hospital, he kept calling out my name -night and day. It's wonderful to be loved like that!_ - -"_We shan't have any money worth speaking of, and darling David thinks -he's committing the most awful crime in wanting to marry me at all. 'A -blind man with no visible means of subsistence ought to be quietly -knocked on the head,' he says. When he got back to England, he wouldn't -come near me, he wouldn't let me come near him; he says he couldn't -trust himself. And, poor lamb! I'm getting quite tired of hearing him -say that I'm throwing myself away and that I_ MUSTN'T _marry him.... -But, then, when he tells me that, ever since he was blinded, he's never -seen anything except me, there's no arguing about it, is there?_ - -"_He's gone back to Melton as a temporary master, and we're going to be -married in the school chapel. I should insist on your being one of my -bridesmaids, if I were having any, but it's going to be the quietest -wedding in the world. But I want you to think of me, Babs darling, and -offer me your blessing. I'm so very happy...._" - -Barbara read the letter twice and tried to forget it. Sonia could not -tell her too often how many men had been in love with her and how much -David adored her; there was little mention of love on the other side, -only the eagerly snatched tributes to a colossal vanity. Every one knew -that she had no heart. She justified herself and explained away her -early engagements and broken promises with a light brush. Women would -justify themselves, whatever they did! And Sonia was marrying with both -eyes on the auditorium, listening delightedly to the protests that she -was wasting herself. She was enjoying her sense of reckless generosity; -and, perhaps, like Val Arden and the others who hoped to atone by one -sacrifice for an empty life, she would welcome the sacrifice even -without the audience.... - -It was a heartless, horrible letter. If Barbara had been invited to the -wedding, she would have refused to go. She wished that she _had_ been -invited.... Yet Sonia was only doing what she had failed to do. Jack's -devotion was no less than O'Rane's, and she had thrown it away; she was -trying to atone for everything in one sacrifice, as Sonia had already -done. She might have been happy, like Sonia; she might have outstripped -Sonia by discovering a heart. Every one was falling in love and -marrying; it was time to discover a heart. Val Arden told her, when she -was sixteen, that this would be her greatest emotion.... - -The next day Barbara asked for leave to go up to London and choose a -wedding-present. She avoided her family, for her looks did not court -inspection and she could not afford to be torn away from the hospital. -The life at Crawleigh Abbey suited her too well to be disturbed; though -sometimes, as she came off duty and undressed in broad daylight, she -wondered when and how her strength would break. The other nurses never -wearied of telling her that she looked ill; the mirror shewed that her -body was wasting, even if she had not felt that even her stockings hung -loose. And there was a cough which had come mysteriously and as -mysteriously refused to go. - -On her arrival at Waterloo she telephoned to George Oakley and invited -him to lunch with her. He, if any one, would have news, he was fond of -her; and, ever since Sonia's engagement, she had felt that something was -wanting until she commanded an equal devotion and gave an equal -surrender. Of her, too, people were saying that she had no heart; she -was ready and more than ready to fall in love. - -"My child, you _do_ look a little wreck," George exclaimed, when she -called for him at the Admiralty. "This is a sad business about Jim. I -was very sorry for you all." - -"You don't think there's any hope?" - -"I tell his mother and sister that he's sure to turn up. If you ask me -whether I believe what I say.... It _is_ a holocaust and a half! O'Rane, -Jim, Tom Dainton, Summertown--Lady Maitland's eldest boy is back -wounded. And with the rest you feel it's only a question of time. Val -Arden lunched with me three days before he was killed, and I felt that -he _wanted_ to be killed. The thing had got on his nerves till he knew -he couldn't stand much more of it without going out of his mind. Other -people, again, seem to take the war like a game of rather irregular -football." He hesitated and then tried to go on without allowing a -change to come into his voice. "Jack Waring came to see me last week, -and I'd swear that he was enjoying the whole thing." - -Barbara's pulses hammered at sound of the name, and she dreaded to seem -too nonchalant. - -"How was he?" she asked, though it was rather of Val Arden that she was -thinking. Perhaps Jack, too, welcomed the chance of having everything -ended for him. She remembered that his eyes had suddenly shone, when -George came, grave-faced, into the banqueting-hall; he was making plans -for taking a commission three days before war was declared and three -minutes after he left her. It was in truth a new emotion to feel that -she might have driven him to constructive suicide.... - -"Positively keen to get back," said George. "Didn't...?" He was going -to ask, in some surprise, whether she had not seen him; the ball at -Chepstow seemed to have healed any breach between them. But it was not -his business. "Your mother tells me that your hospital is being closed," -he substituted. - -"Closed?" Barbara echoed in dismay. - -"The War Office finds it difficult to work." - -"But mother never told me! Oh, George! that's too awful! I can't get on -without it. I _must_ have something to keep me busy. If I start -thinking----" - -His eyes opened so wide that she checked herself. - -"My dear, the war's getting on your nerves," he said significantly. -"Doesn't Lady Crawleigh----?" - -Barbara blamed herself bitterly for letting her voice get out of -control; it was always happening.... - -"George, promise me you won't say you've seen me!" she begged. "I didn't -tell them I was going to be in London. I know I'm disgracing you by -looking like this, but, if mother saw me, she'd take me away; and I -should die, if I didn't have work to do." - -"I see. Well, I'm not a doctor, but you'll die remarkably soon at your -present rate. D'you know what I'm going to do when we leave here?" - -"Drop me at Cartier's, I hope." - -"If you like. And that's handy for Berkeley Square. I'm going to your -mother and I'm going to tell her what I think of your general -condition." - -"George, if you do that, I'll never speak to you again! And really, you -know, it _isn't_ any business of yours." - -"Except that I happen to be very fond of you. And, if you get ill.... -Dear Barbara, to please me, will you see your doctor before you go back -to hospital?" - -Barbara had so long looked on George as a kindly and comfortable bit of -universal family furniture that she was startled by the unexpected -softening of his voice. Perhaps he, too, felt that it was time to -cultivate a heart and to fall in love. She smiled with an approach to -happiness. Any hint of tenderness in a man's voice made her like a -flower opening its petals to the sun. - -"D'you like me, George?" she asked. - -"Not when you're looking like this. Now I only want to slap you and send -you to bed. Will you go to your doctor?" - -"If you like, I'll say that I'm going to him----" she began. - -"That's all I want," he interrupted. "If you gave a promise, however -extravagant, I should know that you'd always keep it." - -She raised her eyes to his and looked swiftly away. - -On the day after her return to the Abbey, the hospital was filled with -rumour and gossip. No new cases were to be taken; and, as soon as the -last bed was empty, commandant and doctors, nurses and orderlies were to -be transferred to the new government hospital at Sunbury. Lady Crawleigh -came down without warning to arrange for the reconversion of the house. -In the middle of the afternoon she went into Barbara's room to find her -with drooping mouth and wet eyes, crying in her sleep. The commandant -was flushed from her office and invited to explain; without waiting for -the hospital to be closed, Barbara was personally conducted to London -and sent under the care of Lord Crawleigh's sister to the sea. She made -no resistance; she did not even tell her parents that she was twenty-one -and that she refused to be ordered about. She seemed no longer to matter -either to herself or to any one else.... - -Before coming off duty for the last time, she said good-bye to each of -her patients and found herself presented at the first bed with a -pendant. - -"We had to get it in rather a hurry," explained the spokesman. "But we -hope you'll like it. We all wish you weren't going, Lady Barbara. It's -not worth being in hospital without you." - -"You dears, _I_ wish I wasn't going," Barbara cried with a quaver in her -voice. "Good-bye, and bless you all! No, I _won't_ let you kiss my hand! -I'll kiss yours." - -She walked from bed to bed, smiling until she reached the door; then her -composure deserted her, and she ran out crying. It was her fate to make -people fall in love with her, whether she tried or not--her fate, too, -never to be in love with any one herself. Jim, of course, would have -called this another experiment in emotion; he would have been very -scornful about the presentation and her tearful farewell, reminding her -that Florence Nightingale, her great prototype, had her shadow kissed, -as she passed down the ward. And next day, as she might almost have -foreseen, there were photographs of her in uniform: "_Lady Barbara -Neave, who has been doing splendid war-work at Lady Crawleigh's hospital -in Hampshire._" For the first time in her life she wanted to be left -alone and unnoticed, so that she could get into a train or walk about in -London without being recognized. - -Under the hourly care of a doctor she was no longer allowed to keep -herself awake for fear of dreaming. But there was nothing to occupy her -by day, and she brooded eternally on the workings of Jack's mind. A -letter from Sonia started the train. - -"_Bobs darling, the bracelet is divine! Thank you ever so much for it! I -didn't write before, because we've been so frightfully busy. I expect -you saw that we were married last week. Babs, I'm so happy! I'm at_ -PEACE _now. With David I feel so secure. I always_ USED _to think that I -should feel circumscribed, but the_ COMPANIONSHIP'S _so wonderful that I -don't want anything more. At least, I want to have children--lots and -lots of them; and I want David to go on loving me, as he does now; and I -want it always to be summer. But I wouldn't change David for any one in -the world; and I wouldn't be_ NOT _married._ - -"_Looking back on it all, I don't_ REGRET _anything and I suppose I -enjoyed myself, but it seems rather hollow now. We shall lead a very -quiet, humdrum life and we shall be frightfully poor, but I think that's -where the_ PEACE _comes in. If I'd married poor Jim--though I know he'd -have been the most adoring husband--I don't believe the privilege of -being 'the beautiful Lady Loring' (if anybody had troubled to call me -that!) would have compensated all the ceremony and fuss. I never felt a -thousandth part of the love for Jim that I feel for David. I suppose -that's the difference. All I ask now is to have David's love for ever -and to give him every ounce of mine and to make our lives one. It's a -silly thing to say, but, before I married, I never imagined how -extraordinarily two lives DO become one. We each of us know what the -other's thinking of; we carry on conversations where we only seem to_ -SPEAK _one sentence in three--everything else is understood. My dear, we -are so happy! You know how I love you, Babs; I only hope that you'll be -as happy as I am._" - -For all its irritating italics and ill-defined emotion, the letter -unsettled Barbara. She, too, would like to have children--"lots and lots -of them"; the papers pretended that this was an age-old world-instinct -and that Woman--in the abstract--was being impelled by an abstract -Nature to repair the life-wastage of the war; hence they deduced the -absurd scandal of the "war-babies," thus they explained the abundant -crop of "war weddings." Barbara's intelligence rebelled against -world-instincts as much as against abstract Woman and abstract Nature. -She wanted children because she wanted something of her own to love, and -her untapped reservoir of devotion had overflowed when she was nursing -the boys who pretended that nothing was the matter, when she could see -their eyelids flickering with pain. She yearned to lay their heads on -her breast and tell them to cry because it would do them good and -because she wanted to comfort them. - -And she did not see why Sonia should have so much happiness.... "_We -were married.... We've been so frightfully busy.... We shall lead a very -quiet, humdrum life and we shall be frightfully poor.... We each of us -know what the other's thinking of...._" Barbara writhed at the -possessive, participating plural. She was ready to be poor and to live a -quiet humdrum life, if she could share it; she appreciated the _peace_ -of marriage, so often underlined by Sonia, because it was what she -hungered to feel. Eight months had passed since Jack went abroad, twelve -since they parted. When she heard that he had been home on leave without -communicating with her, she felt sure that he would never communicate -with her; but, when the war ended, she must tender her promise again. In -the meantime she might fall in love with some one else.... - -The memory of Jack in the banqueting-hall at Chepstow was replaced by a -picture in which he stood, silent and forbidding, between her and some -one whom she strove passionately to reach. The image haunted her until -she jettisoned her last fragments of pride and wrote to him again. - -"_I sent you a letter nearly a year ago and I have never had an -answer_," she began. "_I don't think you can have read it, because it -would be such a horribly cruel way of punishing me, if you read it and -paid no attention. I don't think I asked for mercy or forgiveness, -because I didn't deserve either; but, though I behaved unforgivably, I_ -DIDN'T _appreciate until it was too late quite what I was doing and -quite how much you loved me. I don't want you to think I'm_ EXCUSING -_myself; I want you to understand that perhaps I do appreciate rather -better now and that I'm ready, as I was then, to do anything in the -world that you ask. I've taken a solemn oath. You may accept it -generously or refuse it generously; or, if you like, you can just -humiliate me--you know I'm vain and you know that's where you can punish -me best. Don't play with me! Sometimes I think I'm going out of my mind. -I want you to be just and, if you can, to be generous; it will be -generosity, if you are able to say that you forgive me, and it will be -justice, if you remember that I apologize and ask to be forgiven and -offer to do anything that you want--and that there's nothing more I_ CAN -_do. I don't_ DESERVE _consideration, but I need it_." - -Barbara knew that she was too uncertain of herself to trust her own -judgement, and the letter was put aside until her mood of abject -humility had passed. When she read it again, the terms of her own -abasement set her cheeks flaming, but there was no other way of winning -peace. She allowed five days for the letter to reach him and another -five days for a reply. For the first two nights she never slept; on the -third day Dr. Gaisford was summoned, and that afternoon she was -despatched to the sea for another three weeks' rest. While there, the -tenth day came and went without any reply. Barbara added an eleventh, -because letters lost a day in forwarding. It was no less barren than its -predecessors, but news came in an unexpected form on the twelfth. - -"_George has been dining_," wrote Lady Crawleigh, "_and I'm sorry to -say that he was once again the bearer of bad nexus. Poor Jack Waring is -the latest. He is reported missing. George had it from the family, -though it hasn't appeared in the papers as yet, and he told us in case -we wanted to send a line of sympathy. I don't know Mrs. Waring, of -course, but I felt I had to tell how sorry we all were. She replied at -once with what I thought was a very brave letter. It's a great shock, -but she's quite convinced that he's all right. Well, I'm afraid that, -after our dear Jim's death, I don't put any faith in these 'missing' -cases...._" - -Before she got to the end of her mother's letter, Barbara knew that her -first and strongest feeling was relief, though she dared not put it into -words. She wondered for the thousandth time why she had allowed Jack to -gain so strong an influence over her, then ceased wondering for fear of -persuading herself that perhaps, after all, she had loved him.... And, -if there _were_ immortal souls, if a man died with a lie to God still -unexpiated.... - -On her return to London she sought details from Oakleigh, but he could -only tell her that the company had been almost entirely wiped out. Two -subalterns were reported to be prisoners; but the Warings had received -no news of Jack, nor did the subalterns mention him. - -"I'm afraid he's gone, too," George sighed. Then he took her hand and -pressed it gently. "I can't say anything that will do any good----" - -"When will they know for certain?" Barbara interrupted. She was shocked -to find him treating this as her exclusive, personal loss. - -"Well, you never know for certain until some one reports that he's -actually seen him dead. That, of course, was what happened with Jim. -Until then, I suppose, one _is_ justified in hoping...." - - - - -CHAPTER FOURTEEN - -THE ANSWER OF THE ORACLE - - "Why, which of those who say they disbelieve, - Your clever people, but has dreamed his dream, - Caught his coincidence, stumbled on his fact - He can't explain, (he'll tell you smilingly) - Which he's too much of a philosopher - To count as supernatural, indeed, - So calls a puzzle and problem, proud of it - Bidding you still be on your guard, you know, - Because one fact don't make a system stand, - Nor prove this an occasional escape - Of spirit beneath the matter: that's the way! - Just so wild Indians picked up, piece by piece, - The fact in California, the fine gold - That underlay the gravel--hoarded these, - But never made a system stand, nor dug! - So wise men hold out in each hollowed palm - A handful of experience, sparkling fact - They can't explain; and since their rest of life - Is all explainable, what proof in this?" - - ROBERT BROWNING: 'MR. SLUDGE, "THE MEDIUM."' - - -It was not until his name appeared in the Roll of Honour as "missing" -that Barbara appreciated how eagerly discussed she and Jack had been. -The discreet sympathy of her relations would have been bewildering if -Lady Knightrider had not explained it. - -"I hurried round the moment I had the news! My darling child, you've got -to be very brave!" she faltered. "I know what you and Jack were to each -other." - -"Aunt Kathleen, I don't think I can talk about this," Barbara -interrupted quietly. - -"No...? It sometimes helps. I was always very fond of dear Jack, and -you _know_ how I love you! But I only came to tell you that you mustn't -give up hope----" - -"Thank you, dear!" - -Barbara realized suddenly that she was being forced into an assumed -intimacy which would have been comic at any other time. It was -impossible, however, to begin explaining to Lady Knightrider. - -"Did you see him when he was home on leave?" her aunt continued with the -persistency of one who, having come to harrow and to be harrowed, did -not propose to be baulked. - -"I've not seen him since that time a year ago." - -"Ah, no! You've both been so busy. His poor parents----" - -"They're the people to be sorry for," said Barbara. - -"Darling, you're quite wonderful!" - -Barbara had used the words to deflect the conversation from herself, but -her aunt gave her credit for such stoicism that she took a step towards -the door for fear that in another moment she would break into a scream. -Lady Knightrider followed her, and in the hall they met George Oakleigh, -embarrassed and trying to carry off his embarrassment with an air of -earnest bustle. - -"I'm absolutely at a loose end to-night, Barbara," he began. "I believe -somebody must have made peace or something; the Admiralty's not been as -slack as this since the first day of the war. I wondered whether you'd -care to come and have dinner somewhere." - -"It's sweet of you, George, but I've promised to dine with Aunt Eleanor -and Amy. Is to-morrow any good to you?" - -"I believe I'm dining out, but I can scratch that. Yes, to-morrow. I'll -come and pick you up about eight. Now I must simply fly!" - -"Back to work? I thought things were so slack?" - -"M'yes, I said that, didn't I?" - -"And it served its purpose. They'll be slack whenever I say that I want -you; and you'll sit up half the night afterwards. Thank you, George. But -I wish you didn't make me feel so horribly unworthy of your sweetness." - -He turned away and fidgetted with the badge of his cap. - -"'Sweetness' be blowed! This war's such a ghastly business.... Sometimes -one wants a little companionship. I'm glad you can come to-morrow. Keep -a brave heart, Barbara." - -It seemed sacrilegious to accept so much sympathy, and, as he hurried -into Berkeley Street, she was tempted to run after him and explain. Once -she read of some one who murdered a man and went to the widowed mother -to confess his crime; his delicacy in telling her of the death caused -him to be regarded as her son's dearest friend, and, when the murder -went undiscovered, the murderer accepted the situation and attended the -funeral as chief mourner, with the widowed mother leaning on his arm.... -If Lady Knightrider and George fancied that she had loved Jack, she must -accept the situation; it might be sacrilegious, but, on the other hand, -if any one said "Did you love Jack Waring?" she could not honestly give -a categorical "No."... - -And there would be more sympathy--and sacrilege--at dinner. Barbara knew -that she had only been invited that Lady Loring and Amy might try to -comfort her. Neither referred to Jack by name; but they were more gently -affectionate than usual, and she was left to discuss him or not, as she -liked. Lady Loring told of the steps which she had taken and the offices -which she had approached to gain tidings of her son. George had set -enquiries on foot through the Spanish and American Embassies, the -Vatican and The Hague; but they were barely instituted, when the War -Office received indisputable evidence of death. - -"Connie Maitland was very anxious for me to go to a clairvoyant," Amy -put in. "She says Mrs. Savage in Knightsbridge is wonderful. When her -boy was wounded--before she heard about it--she had a sort of -presentiment that something was wrong, so she went there, and Mrs. -Savage told her that he was wounded but that it wasn't serious. I -believe she actually said that he was wounded in the head, but Connie -may have added that." - -"Did you try her?" asked Barbara. - -"No." Amy hesitated and looked uncomfortable. "I'm always afraid.... I -believe, if we were _meant_ to have that kind of knowledge it would come -to us in some other way.... And, if anything terrible's going to happen -to me, I'd sooner not hear about it beforehand." - -Barbara whispered the name to herself and determined, if need be, to -find out more about the woman. Since her tragic _seance_ in Webster's -flat, she had decided to play with fire no more; but she could never -forget the sight of Jack Summertown, staring a little glassily but -speaking with his natural voice and talking so freely of an imminent war -and of his own approaching death that none dared tell him what he had -said. It might be coincidence that his name had appeared in the first -casualty list; but more than coincidence was needed to explain why he -should have talked at all of a future war. - -"But uncertainty's the most terrible thing of all," Barbara murmured. - -"It _has_ to be borne," said Lady Loring gently, after a pause. "And -sometimes for a long time." - -Barbara nodded. It was useless to tell them that she had already waited -a year to find out whether Jack wanted to marry her. - -The next night she dined with George Oakleigh, who told her that he had -taken tickets for Eric Lane's play. - -"Oh, George, I don't know that I _want_ to go to a theatre," she said -doubtfully. "I've not been for so long----" - -"Isn't that all the more reason? You're the best unpaid dramatic critic -in London; and I want to know what you think of it. Eric's a great -friend of mine. I particularly want you to meet him.... Don't come, if -you'd rather not. But I've got a box, and, if the play bores you more -than my conversation, we can talk in peace." - -They compromised by arriving late, but Barbara was not in the mood to -enjoy herself. It was a well-constructed play with dialogue of -distinction and a good sense of the theatre; the characterization, she -complained, was insufferably romantic. - -"I congratulate your friend on a great commercial success," she said, -"but I don't want to meet him. Listen to the applause! Every single -character is so unmistakably labelled that the audience greets them like -old friends. The theatre's so conventional that, if you tried to shew -men and women who were higher _and_ lower than stage standards, the -critics would say that your characters were freaks. On the stage a woman -may be jealous or high-minded or a mixture or a saint or a -thorough-going, melodramatic villainess, but she's always a child, a -kitten. Men idealize us so hopelessly! We're dear little fluffy, rather -silly things, with silly little mental kinks of vanity or motherliness; -no man understands how mean a woman can be, the lies she'll tell and the -crimes she'll commit from motives which she'd be afraid to confess. Your -friend Mr. Lane has never met a woman." - -"You're hard on your sex," George commented. - -Barbara shook her head sadly. - -"I've seen it--without its rouge and powder. Look here, Sonia's a friend -of yours and of mine; we both know how she behaved to Jim, but you'd -never dare put her into a play, because the audience won't accept -anything that offends against its standard of human dignity, it won't -accept realism which makes people unconventionally mean, it won't -believe that any one who's pretty enough to attract can have a really -deceitful, petty spirit. Sonia was getting rather a bad name before the -war, but she marries a man who's lost his sight, and every one says that -the other part was just froth and that this is the true, noble -Sonia--just as nine women out of ten become true and noble at the final -curtain. Sonia married that man for effect!" - -"I don't think you can have seen them together," George suggested. - -"If it pays, a woman can always make herself think she's in love with a -man--for a time. I daresay she thought she was in love with Jim; it -would have been a sensational marriage, and she'd just made a fool of -herself with that other man, the barrister. This, in another way, is a -sensational marriage, and she feels she's justified herself. It's no -good shaking your head, George; you don't know what romances a girl -makes up for herself. _I_ should do it. As long as women are exposed for -sale in a shop-window, they'll do anything to keep up their price. They -think it's self-respect; and you men admire them for their pride." - -George drew her hand through his arm and walked to Berkeley Square -without speaking. From her unwonted bitterness he guessed that she was -trying to harden herself in advance for the news of Jack's death; every -one had to choose his own form of consolation. - -"When will you dine with me again?" she asked, as they reached her -house. - -"I'm going to the Abbey for the week-end. Any time after that." - -"Then what about Monday? I'll pick you up at the same time." - -When the day came round, Lady Crawleigh telephoned to say that the -dinner must be postponed, as Barbara was ill in bed. She had fainted in -the train and would have to take a complete rest; no plans had yet been -made, no details or explanation were vouchsafed. Indeed, Barbara would -only say that she had found herself stretched on the seat of the railway -carriage, while a strange man forced brandy between her lips. - -Any fuller report would have increased the already excessive alarm. The -bare facts were that Barbara had entered the train at Crawleigh and -remembered nothing until she recovered consciousness a few miles from -Farnborough. A young man, who explained that he had got in at -Winchester, had picked her up from the floor and taken charge of her -until her maid appeared at Waterloo. - -When she had been put to bed, Barbara began to recall and reconstruct -forgotten incidents. She had felt giddy and had tried to open the -window.... At Waterloo the young man had insisted on carrying her, and -she had protested that she was too heavy. "I'll take great care of -you."... "You are very good to me."... Scraps of their conversation -floated through her head, and she remembered that he had a caressing -voice which soothed her; they had talked, but she was three parts -asleep. Half-way along the platform, he put her to rest on a seat. "I'm -supposed to have an overstrained heart," he told her, "so I don't like -to take liberties with it." Barbara tried to see his face; but he was -bending over her, and the light was behind him. And then he had -disappeared before she could thank him. "I do hope you'll be all right. -I've given your maid my flask in case you want any more brandy. -Good-bye." Barbara remembered making a great effort to rouse herself and -look at him; but he had dived into the crowd without even telling her -his name. The flask was engraved with a monogram which seemed to be E. -L.; that and his voice were her only clues. - -In her oversensitive condition, the voice was haunting. When she fell -asleep, Barbara heard it again; and in the morning she gave orders that, -if he called for the flask, he was to be asked his name and address. -Then she tried to remember whether she had told him anything which would -enable him to identify her; there was a label on her dressing-case, but -he might not have seen it; as soon as her maid and car appeared, he had -no need to ask where she lived. Barbara felt a pang of disappointment at -the thought that she might not meet him again. Two days passed, and no -one enquired for the flask; she decided to wait until she was allowed -out of bed and then to advertise in the _Times_. "E. L. Will the -gentleman who rendered assistance to a lady who was taken ill on the -3.40 p. m. between Winchester and Waterloo communicate...." - -She was drafting the advertisement when her mother came into the room. - -"My darling, you oughtn't to be writing," protested Lady Crawleigh. "Let -me do it for you, if it's important." - -"Oh, it doesn't matter," Barbara answered. - -She tore up the paper and lay back in bed. There was nothing to conceal, -but she did not want to talk about her nameless and mysterious rescuer. -Every one would laugh at her, if she said that she had fallen in love -with a voice; and, if she chose to weave a romance for herself, it -passed the time and was no one else's business. When the advertisement -appeared, "E. L." would write to a numbered box at the _Times_ office; -she would ask him to call so that she could thank him in person. And a -charming friendship might result. No one could have carried her more -tenderly or behaved more delightfully.... And, as long as she amused -herself with speculating about him, she could avoid thinking of other -things. - -"George has brought you some flowers. He wants to know if you feel up to -seeing him," said Lady Crawleigh. - -"Oh, George! Yes!" - -He was almost the only one of her friends whom she was willing to meet -in her present mood, though his arrival interrupted the romance which -she was constructing. He was also the only one of her friends who knew -or had troubled to find out that she was ill. Apparently he was fond of -her.... And she was quite ready to be fond of him. - -"I hope you're better," he began. "I mustn't stay more than a moment, -but I saw some roses in a shop and I thought they were as good an excuse -as any other." - -"You felt you needed an excuse?" - -"I wanted very much to see you; and I hoped these might mollify your -mother. Babs, I thought you might like to know that I met Colonel Waring -to-day and we're having some enquiries made through the American -Embassy. Jack was such a friend of us all...." he added vaguely. - -"Oh, I do hope that they'll be able to hear something." - -"Yes." George looked round the room and held out his hand. "I promised -your mother I wouldn't do more than put my nose in at the door." - -"But I _want_ you to stay!" - -"And, dearest Babs, you know that's what I want to do more than anything -in the world. But I mustn't tire you, and you mustn't tempt me." He -lifted her hands from the sheets and bent quickly to kiss them. "You -poor child!" - -Barbara felt that this time she must explain, if she was not to be -maddened with sympathy. - -"You mustn't pity me, George," she began. - -"I pity any one who's in suspense.... The colonel's absolutely convinced -that Jack's all right. Good-bye, Babs." - -As he turned abruptly and hurried out of the room, Barbara covered her -eyes. George was not only fond of her, he was in love with her; and he -had come on purpose to encourage her, against his own interests, with -hopes of Jack's safety. There was a dramatic irony in his coming; there -would be a further dramatic irony, if she fell in love with him for his -sympathy about Jack and then heard that Jack was safe and sound. Or, -indeed, if she fell in love with any one else. Because she was -overwrought and full of fancies, the shadow of the man in the train was -more real than George's substance; the one voice she could remember and -reproduce, but George's might have belonged to anybody.... This was her -old fear of the punishment which Providence had in store for her, the -image of herself passionately reaching out towards some one and finding -her way barred by Jack's inexorable ghost. - -Suspense. "I pity any one who's in suspense."... It was the uncertainty -of the last year which had worn down her strength. And Lady Loring told -her to be patient.... Barbara's mind went back to her dinner of a week -before and to Amy's chance reference to a new clairvoyant. Mrs. Savage -of Knightsbridge.... No other address had been given, but she could find -that from Sonia. All her life Barbara had treated impulse as a thing to -be welcomed, a hint from destiny, a voice from the darkness. When she -awoke next morning, it was to wonder why she had waited so long. On the -first day that she was allowed out of the house she went by herself to -Knightsbridge and asked, without giving her name, for an interview. - -At another time the setting and her own preparations would have amused -her. By putting on her most inconspicuous dress and hat, by veiling -herself and by sinking her voice to a whisper, she trusted to escape -recognition; unconsciously she also induced in her own mind a mysterious -expectancy, which was intensified by the atmosphere of the room into -which she was shewn. There were no windows, and it was lighted from the -ceiling; three low couches ran round the walls, which were covered with -yellow silk hangings; occasionally the hangings moved weirdly, as though -some one were peeping behind them. Though there were three women already -waiting, they were as silent as if, they were watching by the dead; and -it had been ingeniously arranged that, while they waited, there should -be nothing to distract their attention from the coming invocation of the -unknown. They, too, were dressed inconspicuously; they, too, wore thick -veils; and the suggestion of stealth and mystery, which they had -received from the room and from those whom they had found there, they -handed on to the newcomer. - -Barbara's nerves were still unstrung, and she had less control of -herself than in the old days when she went to the Baroness Kohnstadt's -_seances_; then she had gone to be thrilled, but now she was tempted to -tell the maid that she could not wait and would come back some other -time. But, if she ran away, the other women would guess the reason, and -she could never allow another woman to know that she was frightened.... - -They were staring at her from behind their veils, and she stared coolly -back at them until the maid returned and whispered to one that Mrs. -Savage could now see her. The hangings moved again; it might have been -the draught from the open door, or Mrs. Savage might be having a -preliminary look at her clients; certainly it was disquieting, for no -one liked to be watched without seeing the watcher.... When next the -maid came in, Barbara looked at the clock and noted that interviews -lasted for half an hour. She wondered what method the clairvoyant -followed--and became suddenly sceptical and disgusted with the whole -enterprise. She had done it so often before! Her hand had been read, her -character told from her writing; one woman had taken her handkerchief -and pressed it to her forehead, another had stared raptly into the -time-honoured crystal ball; she had tried _planchette_ and rappings; and -from it all she had won nothing but an afternoon's excitement.... - -It was five o'clock; the last of the women had gone, and Barbara was -alone. She pretended to examine the embroidery of the silk hangings and -contrived to look behind them, but there was nothing more alarming than -an expanse of discoloured plaster. Nerves, again.... But the silence and -the waiting were hard to bear; the room was hot, Barbara wanted tea, and -one of the women had been using a cheap, disagreeable scent which -lingered intolerably. Nothing but a refusal to yield to her fear kept -her from running away. She was trying to determine what questions she -would ask the clairvoyant, when the maid returned. - -"Mrs. Savage says she can see your ladyship now." - -Barbara started and nearly cried out; but the maid was watching her, and -she passed through the door with elaborate outward unconcern. The -second room was similar to the first, for, though there was a window, it -was thickly curtained, and the only light came from a standard lamp in -one corner. For a moment Barbara could see no one; then Mrs. Savage came -forward in a yellow dress which was invisible against the silk hangings. -She wore a low yellow turban, covering her hair and half her forehead, -and stood with her back to the light. - -"Good afternoon, Lady Barbara," she said. "Won't you take off your -veil?" - -The voice was unfamiliar, but after a moment Mrs. Savage lighted a -cigarette and shewed cavernous dark eyes and an aquiline nose set in a -curiously narrow face which looked as if the cheek-bones had been -crushed together. - -"Madame Hilary!" - -"Won't you have a cigarette?" - -She held out a case, and Barbara took one to gain time. So much had -happened since the meeting in Webster's room that it no longer troubled -her. The woman was certainly a blackmailer, as she had almost proved -when she went to Lord Crawleigh and asked for "temporary assistance." -There would, of course, be a terrible scene, if it were ever discovered -that Barbara had been to her again, and Mrs. Savage would quite possibly -threaten blackmail, if she saw her course clear. On the other hand, now -as before, the relative positions were equally strong and equally weak; -if she even hinted at a threat, she could be reported to the police.... -After the two hours of dreary waiting, Barbara felt stimulated by the -prospect of an encounter. - -"I never imagined it was you," she said. - -"What may I have the honour of doing for you?" asked Mrs. Savage. - -Barbara thought for a moment of saying vaguely that she had made a -mistake and of escaping as soon as possible. But after the strain of -waiting she now felt deliciously free from fear. And "Mrs. Savage" or -"Madame Hilary" was not as other clairvoyants; the incident of Jack -Summertown proved that; and the opportunity of consulting her was too -good to be thrown away. Barbara felt that she was not entitled to throw -it away; had she not almost been guided there? Was it coincidence that -Amy Loring, of all unlikely people, should have given her the name at -all? Was it coincidence that, when there were scores of women plying the -same trade, she should come straight and without choice or deliberation -to this one?... - -"I'd heard about you," Barbara explained. "I didn't know who it was, of -course, but I wanted to consult you." - -She hesitated and tried to determine what she wanted. - -"Yes?" - -"I didn't know who it was," Barbara repeated. "But I'm glad to find it -_is_ you. Do you remember the man in Mr. Webster's flat?" - -"Lord Summertown?" - -"Yes. Do you remember what you told him?" - -"I told him nothing. It was what _he_ said." - -"Well, yes. He said that he was going to die quite soon, that he was -going to be killed in a war. Well, that was months before there was any -talk of war. Do you know what's happened to him?" - -Mrs. Savage shrugged her shoulders a little impatiently, as though such -questions were a waste of time. - -"He was killed in the war," she said. - -She spoke as if she took credit for it, and Barbara shivered. - -"Yes.... I saw him just before he went back to barracks. I never saw him -again, but I _felt_ then that he was going to be killed. How did you -know?" - -"He told me, as you heard." - -"Yes, but...." - -Barbara frowned and sat down, rubbing her forehead gently with her hand. - -"_I_ tell nothing, but I persuade people to tell me," explained Mrs. -Savage with unconcealed boredom. As she dropped back into the part of -"Madame Hilary," "Mrs. Savage" was reviving her old staccato English and -giving it a hint of a foreign accent. "People come to me to find out -whether their sons and husbands are going to be killed. _I_ do not know. -And I tell them so. Then sometimes they allow me to persuade _them_ to -tell _me_. And, in my turn, I can tell them what they have said. But, -generally, no! They are afraid of hearing the truth. When their sons and -husbands have been killed, when nothing has been heard of them since -long, _then_ they come, because they feel that the truth is less hard -than the waiting. You have a brother?" - -"They're still waiting to go out," answered Barbara. - -"And you want to know? I can only tell you, if you tell me first; and -you can only tell me, if you know. The lines of life are interlocked. If -their lines cross yours, then you know; but, if they are separated.... -You understand? It is not likely that you know anything of a man at the -other end of the world, whom you have never met, unless it has been -ordained that you are to meet him. That is reasonable." - -She lighted another cigarette and sat down, looking at Barbara with no -apparent interest. - -"You want to find out about some one whose life has crossed yours?" she -resumed carelessly, and her indifference was more disconcerting than -either her stereotyped mysticism or the hostility which she had shewn -when Barbara came into the room. - -"I want to find out _generally_," answered Barbara. "All about myself. -What I've done and what I'm doing now doesn't matter, but I want to know -about the future." - -Mrs. Savage laughed and shook her head. - -"I know your name," she said. "I know who you are, but I know very -little about you. I imagine that your life has been very happy, you have -had everything to make it happy. Perhaps it will not always be happy. -If you learned that you were going to be very ill or die----" - -"I've got to die some time. When I'm seventy-five, I shall know that I'm -going to die very soon, because hardly any one lives longer than that. -I'm twenty-two now, and I don't in the least mind knowing that I _can't_ -live for more than about another fifty years." - -"But, if it were five years? I do not know, of course." - -"I'd sooner face it, I think." - -Mrs. Savage threw away her cigarette impatiently. - -"You're a child! And a silly child! Your friend, Lord Summertown--well, -I suppose none of you told him what he had said. And I suppose he -enjoyed his life to the end. The _whole_ future! Would you like to know -that you will marry in a year and be happy and lose your husband after -three months and lose your child and marry again--perhaps, this time, -some one who will not make you happy? And that then you will have an -illness or this or that?... I am talking for your good, because you are -nothing but a silly child. I _tell_ you that people will not be -persuaded to say to me all they know; they dare not face it. Their -present and future happiness----" - -"I'm not so very happy," sighed Barbara. - -"You are a child. And your friends are being killed, perhaps some one -whom you love----" - -"I want to _know_," Barbara interrupted. "Everything's in such a muddle, -I want to know what's going to happen...." She paused, but Mrs. Savage -only shook her head. "Should I know what I was telling you? No! Lord -Summertown didn't. Well, you need only tell me back the things that -matter. If you ask me questions and I answer them.... Perhaps I _don't_ -want to know if I'm going to die within a year, but there are all sorts -of things that I could quite well be told.... Will you do that? Just the -things that matter?" - -"But I do not know what matters to you. Do you mean, whether -your--friends will come through the war without injury?" - -"Ye-es. That sort of thing. I want to know if I'm going to be _happy_. -Generally." - -"And you believe that I can help you?" Mrs. Savage's voice was changing -its quality to a sleepy drone, and Barbara found herself looking into -her eyes. "Only you can tell me what you think will _make_ you happy. I -know nothing about you except what you tell me. Perhaps you are in love -with some man, perhaps you think that he is in danger.... If you will -tell me...." - -Barbara never knew at what point she began to come under the influence -of Mrs. Savage's eyes and voice. At one moment she was begging her to -use her powers, at another she was talking very volubly; it was like a -dream in which she fancied herself making a speech; words were pouring -out of her, and she was astonished to find that they made the nonsense -of words in a dream. "The distinction between the articles in -counterpoint, if you think of heliotrope quite accidentally -included...." - -"What have I been saying?" she demanded. - -Mrs. Savage leaned back wearily and closed her eyes. - -"It is like that, when you return to yourself, to the present.... Lord -Summertown was disturbed by that poor girl who cried out." - -"But I didn't know.... Did I go off? How long...?" She looked at her -watch and found that she had been in the room for three-quarters of an -hour. "What did I say?" - -"You were a good subject." - -"But what did I say?" Barbara repeated. It was the sight of her watch -that upset her. In forty-five minutes it was possible to say so much, -and she remembered Jack Summertown's almost indecent want of restraint. - -"What shall I tell you," mused Mrs. Savage. "You said much, but you -described an empty life. Few lines crossed yours; there may be more to -come.... But you did not tell me of any loss. Were you afraid of losing -some one?" - -"No.... I wanted to know, I wanted to--to straighten things out. But I -want to know everything I said. You _must_ tell me that." - -"You child!" - -Barbara sprang up in a grip of terror. - -"I've said something awful? You're hiding something from me! It's not -fair!" - -Mrs. Savage shook her head slowly. She seemed perplexed, and her early -hostility had evaporated until she was almost kindly. - -"You wanted to know whether you would be happy," she reminded Barbara. -"You tell me that you are not going to die this year or next; and you -are not going to have any painful or dangerous illnesses. Happy?... -There are ups and downs of happiness, you cannot expect to be happy -always at the same level. If you have been happy so far, you will be -happy again; there will, of course, be ups and downs. What else?" - -"I want you to tell me everything I said." - -"That I shall not do." - -"But why not?" - -Mrs. Savage shrugged her shoulders. - -"It would not make you any happier. If there is any one thing you want -to know...." - -Barbara looked at her and looked away. She felt her nerve going. - -"What is your fee?" she asked. - -Mrs. Savage was still perplexed in expression, but her eyes had lost -their momentary softening of kindliness. - -"I shall charge _you_--no fee," she answered. - -Barbara turned and ran out of the room. - - - - -CHAPTER FIFTEEN - -PRELUDE TO ROMANCE - - "I loved you all my life; but some lives never meet - Though they go wandering side by side through Time." - - JOHN MASEFIELD: "THE DAFFODIL FIELDS." - - -"_Fatalism is a doctrine which does not recognise the determination of -all events by causes in the ordinary sense; holding, on the contrary, -that a certain foreordained result will come about, no matter what may -be done to prevent it...._" - -Barbara's first action on reaching home was to go into the library and -consult a dictionary to find out the exact meaning of a word which she -had been repeating to herself ever since she hurried out of Mrs. -Savage's rooms. She had many new ideas to fit into place, but dominating -them all was this sense of hopelessness and inevitability. Whether you -walked on the north pavement or the south was preordained; if you -asserted your supposed free will and crossed from south to north, even -that pitiful show of independence was preordained; God was still pushing -you from behind and, probably, laughing at you--as you laughed at the -kitten which stared at you with head on one side and wondering eyes, to -know what you had done with its reel of cotton. It was preordained that -you should play with that kitten for a moment in eternity and that for a -fraction of a moment you should hide the reel. Fatalism was paralyzing -to the soul, destroying all effort. Nothing mattered any longer.... - -It was Summertown who had made her a fatalist. His life had been mapped -out until all initiative was taken away. He had died very gallantly--but -he could not help himself; he had lived rather dissolutely, but he could -not help himself. There had been a tragedy and a disappointment in his -life; but the tragedy was set beforehand, and Destiny decided whether he -was to be made or broken by it, whether he was to avert or contribute to -it. Fatalism was the negation of morality. It allowed of neither right -nor wrong, only necessity. - -If there were neither right nor wrong, Barbara had no cause for -self-reproach. Destiny had arranged that Jack should come into her life; -that he should anger her and that she should try to punish him; in -obeying Destiny she was not to blame. But, if fatalism relieved her of -responsibility, it also robbed her of resistance; she could do nothing -to shield herself from anything that Destiny might have in store for -her. Nothing had shielded Summertown when he came within range of the -first German bullet.... - -And the course of Destiny could be laid bare. Though for long she had -not believed it, she and the others had known what would happen to -Summertown, as Mrs. Savage now knew what would happen to her.... And she -had been afraid to insist on being told. All her life she had fancied -that she was a free spirit with head and hands to make herself what she -pleased. Now she was content to be told that, on the whole, she was -preordained to be happy.... Or so Mrs. Savage had thought fit to say; -she might be hiding something; there was no obvious reason why she -refused her fee. - -"My darling, haven't you gone up to dress yet?" said Lady Crawleigh at -the door of the library. "You'll be so dreadfully late!" - -Barbara knew that whether she was late or punctual had been preordained. -Her mother probably would not believe that; she would feel that every -one had enough free will not to keep other people waiting for dinner. - -"I think I should like to dine in bed," she answered wearily. - -"Aren't you feeling well?" - -"I'm not equal to meeting a lot of people." - -"But it's only George and the O'Ranes and one or two more. They'll be so -disappointed. And it's the first time Sonia's dined here since she was -married." - -Barbara got up and walked reluctantly to the door. It was preordained, -then, that she should dine.... Once you accepted predestination, there -was no limit to its application. Her maid wanted her to wear a grey -dress, but she preferred something else, anything else; her choice fell -on a blue, but she was conscious that she was compelled from outside to -choose one rather than the other. She could not be troubled to decide -what jewellery she would wear; Destiny must do a little work, must -choose for her. She felt that she was scoring a point against Destiny, -when she refused to wear any; but Destiny had decided beforehand that -she was to have this moment's struggle before deciding not to wear -any.... - -Her maid was almost in tears at such indifference. - -"You don't do me credit, my lady, to-night," she complained. - -"Don't I? I'm sorry, Merton! But I'm tired, I can't take the trouble." - -"Your hair, my lady----" - -"I think I shall cut it off! It's only a bother." - -"My lady, your beautiful hair?" - -"No, I shan't cut it off. It's too much trouble. Everything's too much -trouble." - -She hardly looked at herself in the glass before going downstairs, -though she knew that Sonia O'Rane would have spent hours in preparing -herself. But it was preordained whether she looked well ... or wanted to -look well. - -Throughout dinner her mind struggled under the incubus. Predestination -peeped round every conversational corner, explaining and stultifying -everything. When O'Rane spoke sympathetically of Jim Loring's death, she -answered almost callously that it must have been preordained. Since -leaving Mrs. Savage, she had tried vainly to discover some point in -which she was superior to an animal that was born at the stockman's -bidding, to be killed for lamb or shorn for wool or kept to bear other -sheep at the stockman's bidding and ultimately killed for mutton. - -"You see, I believe in Destiny," Barbara explained. "Destiny meant you -to be wounded and Jim to be killed and some one else to be untouched. If -Destiny didn't mean me to be burned, I could put my finger in the flame -of that candle. Everything we do----" - -O'Rane shook his head and laughed. - -"You don't believe that, Lady Barbara. You don't believe that you've no -choice whether you're good or bad, kind or unkind--that you're -helpless." - -"I am waiting for you to find fault with my logic," she answered. - -"I won't try. I wish I could see you, though! You sound serious, but in -the old days, when I looked at you, there was a sort of etherealized -smile----" - -"Ah, don't!" Barbara shivered. - -"----It gave you away.... I'm sorry! I'm getting so used to being blind -that I forget other people's feelings.... Your voice is quite serious, -and I'm getting wonderful at voices. Shall I tell you something about -yours? A change I've noticed?" He waited to assure himself that they -were not overheard. "Lady Barbara, are you very unhappy about something? -It's not curiosity; I want to help, if I can. When you're blind, you -become a bit of an impressionist. If any one asked me to describe you, -I'm glad to say that I can still remember exactly what you used to look -like, but, when I describe you to myself, I get a massing of colours, a -glorious freedom of line that no one else might recognize for you. Your -voice would make me crowd my canvas with red, blood red. Pain is always -red to me. And you give me the impression of horrible pain. More than -that, I'm afraid you've giving in to it. I don't ask for your -confidence, but, if I'm right, I should like to help." - -Barbara was too much startled to do more than thank him and say that she -was not very well. - -"Ah, that was a pity!" he sighed. - -"But I can't help it, can I?" - -"It was a pity to say that. You've covered my picture with a thin -grey-yellow wash--Thames water--which dulls my colours." - -"Do you mean that I'm not speaking the truth?" she asked stiffly. - -"I had no right to say what I did," he answered apologetically. "But you -sounded so heart-broken." - -"Well, in addition to being not very well, I'm _not_ particularly happy. -Life's such a hopeless thing, if you can't control it." - -"And _you_ say that, Lady Barbara, with your brains and your looks and -your health and your money----" - -"Even if I've got them all, they needn't make me happy.... They _don't_! -Sometimes I feel that, if I could give them all up, if I could make one -gigantic sacrifice, I might be happy.... You're not sorry to have been -fighting, are you? But I wonder what equal sacrifice a woman can make." - -"Ah, to die with credit is the easiest thing in the world," O'Rane -answered, as he pushed back his chair. - -When she was half-way upstairs, Barbara excused herself and went to her -room. Sonia and her husband were so happy that their happiness hurt -her; she grudged it them. There was no reason under heaven why she -should not be as happy, but Destiny had not yet ordained it. Perhaps -Destiny had decided that she should see it for a moment and then have it -snatched from her. It was a variant of her old fear that she would have -to marry Jack and then fall in love with some one else; then she had -regarded such a fate as her punishment. Destiny, she now felt, did not -concern itself with rewards and punishments; it was altogether too -arbitrary. - -She lay on her bed without undressing and thought over the day's -emotions. Of all that she had done she only regretted her momentary -panic when she ran away from Mrs. Savage; and, the more she regretted -it, the more determined she became to go again and to demand full -answers to all her questions. As soon as her mind was made up, she felt -better. People might call her superstitious, gullible or anything else -they pleased, but they should not say that she was a coward. Jumping up -from the bed, she tidied her hair and went down to the drawing-room in -time to find Sonia saying good-bye. - -"Oh, don't go yet," said Barbara. "I had such a headache that I had to -lie down, but it's better now. I haven't had a moment with you the whole -evening." - -"We've promised to go to a party," Sonia answered. "To-night's the -hundred and fiftieth performance of Eric Lane's play, and he's giving a -supper on the stage. Why don't you come too?" - -"I haven't been asked. And I don't know him." - -"Oh, that doesn't matter! I don't know him, but David was up at Oxford -with him." - -"I think I'll wait until I've met him. You're not going too, George?" - -"I'm bound for the same debauch, I'm afraid. Barbara, will you dine -with me some time to meet him? I'll try to fix a night and telephone to -you in the morning." - -"I shall love that." - -She went to bed, feeling that she would sleep; but her nerves were -unsettled by the memory of her encounter with Mrs. Savage. After trying -to read, she jumped up and began walking about the room. She was never -conscious of having gone outside, but some time later she found herself -in the hall, lying on a table with a rug round her. Lady Crawleigh was -standing over her with a white face and frightened eyes; her maid -hovered in the background, with her hair in curl-papers and a grotesque -mackintosh over her nightgown. Farther away stood an unmistakable -policeman with close-cropped black hair and a line of white at the top -of his forehead. Barbara reflected that she had never before seen a -policeman without his helmet. Then she sat up and stared round her. - -"What's happened?" - -"My darling child, lie still," Lady Crawleigh implored. "How do you -feel?" - -"I'm all right." - -"You were walking in your sleep. Oh, Babs, you've given us all such a -fright! D'you know, you'd actually got outside.... Anything might have -happened to you!" - -Barbara looked from her mother to the policeman. - -"Outside?" she repeated. - -"You'd unlocked the door and pushed back both bolts--Aston's quite sure -he bolted top and bottom----" - -"And I went out like this?" Barbara interrupted. She pulled up the end -of the rug and found that she was barefooted and in her nightdress. "I -can't remember.... I went to bed; I _do_ remember that it was very hot -and that I walked about the room...." - -The policeman coughed and prepared to retire. Lady Crawleigh despatched -the maid for her purse, but Barbara was too much dazed even to thank -him. A dream which had been wonderfully vivid a moment before was fading -from her recollection, driven out scene by scene at the sound of her -mother's frightened voice. She had fancied that she was again sitting -with Mrs. Savage and that the flicker of kindliness which had for a -moment lighted up the gaunt face and smouldering dark eyes was once more -visible. In another moment everything would have been told.... - -"I suppose I was going for a walk. What's the time?" - -"It's one o'clock," answered Lady Crawleigh. "I sat up to finish some -writing.... My darling child, are you sure you're all right now?" - -Barbara stood for a moment to test her strength and then walked to the -stairs. - -"Yes, thanks. I'll go back to bed now. I'm sorry to have frightened -everybody." - -"I'll come with you, Babs. If you want anything in the night----" - -"I'm really all right!" Barbara was so much exhausted that this time she -knew she would be able to sleep. She did not know, however, what she -might say in her sleep. "You can lock both doors, mother; and I couldn't -throw myself out of the window, if I tried. I couldn't sleep, if I had -any one in the room; I should feel I was being watched." - -"But just for to-night----" - -"I shan't go to bed, unless you do what I ask." - -Lady Crawleigh knew well when it was useless to argue, and Barbara went -up alone. Mrs. Savage had called her; if the dream had not been so -rudely disturbed, she would have been able to remember the form of the -call as she still remembered its urgency. But that hardly mattered now; -she was only strengthened in her determination to go back to -Knightsbridge in the morning. She fell asleep, happier than she had been -for a year. Lady Crawleigh peeped into the room once or twice during the -night, but Barbara did not stir until the telephone-bell rang by her -bed-side at half-past nine. A strange male voice enquired for her and -seemed more than usually anxious to be certain of her identity. - -"We are Furnivall and Morton, solicitors," said the voice. "It is Mr. -Morton speaking. Is that Lady Barbara Neave?" - -"Yes." - -"You _are_--Lady Barbara Neave? You are acquainted with a client of -ours, Mrs. Savage." - -The combination of Mrs. Savage and a slightly hectoring solicitor who -insisted on speaking to her at half-past nine disconcerted Barbara. - -"What Mrs. Savage do you mean?" she asked. - -"Mrs. Savage of Knightsbridge. You called on her yesterday. I am sorry -to say that there has been a misunderstanding, and our client is in a -position of some difficulty. She gave me your name, and, after thinking -the matter over very carefully, I felt that you were the person who -could be of most service to her. Mrs. Savage assured me that you would -do anything in your power to help her, so I need not apologize for -troubling you at this rather unseasonable hour." - -The voice paused, and Barbara found herself trembling. It was not -blackmail to tell her that she would do anything in her power to help -some one but the tone could be so confident as to be menacing. Barbara -had never been brought into contact with solicitors; she knew from books -that it was prudent and legitimate to refer them to one's own -solicitors, but it would argue an uneasy conscience to be so summary -before she had given Mr. Morton time to explain himself. - -"What has happened?" she asked. - -"Some malicious person has been writing letters to the Home Office," -explained Mr. Morton, "and the long and the short of it is that it's -necessary for us to produce evidence as to character. If you would be -kind enough----" - -"But I don't know her," Barbara protested. "I've only met her twice." - -"That does not matter. One of the charges against our client is that she -trades on the credulity of ignorant people who have been made unbalanced -by the war and that, when she has got these same ignorant people into -her grasp, she extorts money from them. You and I know that such a -charge is grotesquely untrue. Our client had devoted her whole life to -the study of what I may conveniently call 'the occult'; she has never -advertised or solicited business--her peculiar powers have made that -unnecessary--and those who have consulted her, so far from being -credulous or ignorant people, are drawn to her by a common interest in a -study which, though still in its infancy, is capable of almost infinite -development." Barbara fancied that Mr. Morton must be reading aloud the -draft of the defence which he had prepared for Mrs. Savage. "We feel -that the Home Office will take a different view of the case, when -confronted with a few of the people whom the anonymous informant is good -enough to call ignorant and credulous. I am therefore collecting a few -statements from some of the very many people who consulted our client. I -shall be glad to know that you will allow me to call on you and suggest -to you the general form in which these statements are being drawn." - -Barbara was vaguely relieved to find that Mrs. Savage was once more on -the defensive and that the solicitor with the ominous voice was asking -favours rather than uttering threats. She would have liked to help, if -it had been possible; a year before she would undoubtedly have -responded; but now she dreaded the publicity of a newspaper report, and -there would be a scene with her father to which she felt wholly unequal. -The common sense of the world, too, would only rank her with the -credulous ignorant. - -"You can get other people who know her better, surely?" Barbara -suggested. - -"I want to get every one I can," answered Mr. Morton. "Your name, if I -may say so, will carry a great deal of weight. We wish to show the Home -Office the _kind_ of people who went to our client." - -Barbara was quite convinced by now that she did not want to be known as -"the kind of person" who consulted Mrs. Savage, though in an hour's time -she would have been on her way to Knightsbridge. - -"I think I'd sooner be left out of it," she said. - -"I'm afraid we can't afford to spare you." - -"But you can't _make_ me!" - -There was a pause, followed by a warning cough, and Mr. Morton began to -speak more slowly and emphatically. - -"If the Home Office authorities are ill-advised enough to recommend a -prosecution, it will be necessary for you to attend. We want to avoid -that, of course; we want to satisfy the authorities--without any -unpleasantness--that they are under a misapprehension. A statement from -you----" - -"But would it be published?" - -"That we should have to decide later. Our client has also been wantonly -attacked by certain papers, and it is our business to see that she is -cleared of all suspicion." - -"I shan't say anything, if it's going to be published in the papers," -Barbara rejoined obstinately. - -Mr. Morton hesitated again and became even more impressive. - -"I'm afraid--you'll understand, of course, that this is in no sense a -threat--I'm afraid that you'll regret it later. If we're unable to -settle the matter out of hand, if there's a prosecution----" - -"But I've really nothing to do with it! You can't drag me in!" Barbara -cried. - -"Have you never heard of a _subpoena_?" - -A threat, like any other challenge, roused Barbara to combat, however -ill and reluctant she might be; and, when roused, her first act was to -throw aside prudence like a cloak that was fettering her sword-arm. - -"Oh, I know you can make me come, if you want to," she said. "If you and -Mrs. Savage think it's worth while. I've only met her twice--yesterday -and about two years ago. She hasn't forgotten the first meeting. You can -ask her if she thinks it's worth while." - -Barbara hung up the receiver and lay back in bed, breathing quickly. Her -mother came in a moment later to enquire how she was and found her with -flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. - -"My darling, what's the matter?" she cried. - -"Oh, I'm worried! Everything worries me!" answered Barbara with a catch -in her breath. "Oh, that telephone again!" - -This time it was George Oakleigh, and his tone of gentle concern worried -her until she wanted to scream and beg to be left alone. - -"Good-morning, Barbara. I tried to get through to you before, but your -line was engaged. I hope you're better this morning. Well, I went to -Eric Lane's party last night after leaving you; I've made him promise to -dine with me on Thursday, it's his only free evening for weeks. Is that -any good to you? Even if you don't like his play, I think you'll like -him." - -Barbara felt that, if by pressing a button she could compass Lane's -death, she would press it cheerfully and promptly. Then perhaps she -would escape having him thrust down her throat every few hours. - -"George, it's sweet of you," she said, straining to speak graciously, -"but I don't know that I shall feel up to it. All my nerves seem to have -gone wrong." - -"I'm so sorry; I thought he might amuse you. Would you like to leave it -open? Thursday. He's dining with me in any event. If you ring me up -between now and then.... Take care of yourself, dear Barbara; you're too -precious to lose." - -"Oh, I'm not going to die young," she laughed nervously. "The gods don't -love me enough for that." - -As she put the telephone away again, Lady Crawleigh came back to the -bed; she had only troubled to gather one thing from the conversation, -and that was the rare admission from Barbara's own lips that she was too -ill to accept an invitation. - -"Darling, I thought that after last night it would be a good thing for -you to see Dr. Gaisford," she said. "Perhaps he can give you a -tonic----" - -"Oh, I don't want to see a doctor," Barbara interrupted. "My wretched -body's all right. No doctor in the world can do me any good." - -"But you're not yourself at all. And you've _never_ walked in your sleep -before. There _must_ be something a little wrong, when you begin doing -that." - -Barbara said nothing, because she felt that her nerves were tingling and -that she might break out with something so unnaturally irritable and -rude that Dr. Gaisford would be summoned without the chance of an -appeal. It was absurd to talk about sleep-walking; it was not in sleep -that she had walked down the stairs and through the door-way. A trance -it might fairly be called; but, where memory failed, instinct told her -that she was obeying a call; she had no doubt that, when the policeman -stopped her, she was on her way to Mrs. Savage; and she would there have -heard something--perhaps everything.... - -"I was only restless," said Barbara at length, pulling the bed-clothes -about with an impatient hand. - -"You're not _thinking_ of getting up, are you?" - -Since she could not go back to Knightsbridge, Barbara was undecided -what to do. At least she had to remain within reach of the telephone, -for Mr. Morton might reopen communication at any moment; and she had to -remain at home to secure that, if Mrs. Savage made a personal appeal, it -should not be intercepted this time by Lord Crawleigh. Bed was as good a -place as any other.... - -Mr. Morton left her undisturbed, but two days later she heard the last -of Mrs. Savage. At some period of her wandering career May Tennigen, -sometimes known as "Madame Hilary" or "Mrs. Savage," had become a -naturalized American; the Home Office, working sympathetically with the -War Office, which suspected her activities, decided to dispense with a -prosecution and to return her to the country of her adoption. When -Barbara read of the deportation, she was first relieved and then plunged -into despair. Her last contact with certainty had been broken. Lady -Crawleigh came in to find her crying in her sleep; later she began to -talk feverishly and in the morning Dr. Gaisford was summoned. - -"She was dreadfully overworked in the hospital," explained Lady -Crawleigh. "And I don't think she's got over it yet. _You_ know how -naughty she is as a rule, when she's told to stay in bed; now she won't -get up. She says there's no point in getting up, that there's nothing to -do. She says that, if she's _fated_ to get up--or something like -that.... She says she's got no will of her own, that we've none of us -got wills. That from _Barbara_!" - -The doctor's task was easy in one respect, for Barbara did whatever she -was told. If Destiny contrived a man and crossed the thread of his life -with hers and made him a physician and sent him with a stethoscope and a -fountain-pen to write prescriptions, what was the use of protesting? She -could take the medicine--or leave it untouched; that had been arranged -for her beforehand. Everything was arranged beforehand, but she had -lost the means of finding out what Destiny had in store for her.... - -"Is she worried about anything?" asked the doctor. - -"Not that I know of," Lady Crawleigh answered. - -Since the time eighteen months before, when Barbara said bluntly, -"Mother, I'm not going to marry Jack," they had not discussed him. When -he was reported "missing," Barbara never commented on her mother's -letter, even with a phrase of conventional regret; she did not seem to -discuss him with any one, she had rejected her aunt's sympathy, and, if -she were breaking her heart for him, it was strange that even in sleep -she never referred to him. - -When the doctor left, Lady Crawleigh resolved that Barbara _must_ be -coaxed into saying why she was so miserable. But, if it was hard to -corkscrew anything out of her when she was obstinately rebellious, it -was harder still when she cowered like a beaten dog. For three nights -she had lain moaning "Happy ... I do want to be happy.... Won't any one -make me happy?" Lady Crawleigh alluded vaguely to restless nights, and -the doctor prescribed a sedative. - -For the first time in more than twelve months Barbara slept peacefully -and awoke with the memory of a delightful dream. After the disturbance -of her encounter with Mrs. Savage, her memory had at last gone back to -the day when she fainted in the train. Twice in the night a voice was -heard speaking to her very softly, with a child's confiding gentleness; -then the child himself appeared, standing over her and holding out both -hands until she got up from the grass and walked with him. She found -that she, too, was a child, with bare arms and legs and her hair hanging -loose and blowing into her face until he brushed it aside and kissed -her. They walked with their arms twined about each other's waists, and, -when Barbara looked wonderingly at their blue ephods, he said "The Blue -Bird," and she answered, "Of course! The Blue Bird" and knew that he -was come to bring her happiness. - -They set out seriously, for there was no time to be lost, through a long -narrow garden built like a cliff road, terrace under terrace, with a -silver ribbon of water turning in a cascade from the end of each terrace -on to the one below. There were fig trees on either side, and he made -her sit down in the shade while he gathered the warm soft figs and -tossed them into her lap. - -"Spain," she said. "We must go on." - -"Aren't you happy here?" he asked. - -"Yes. I love you." - -"And I love you." - -"But we must go on," she repeated. - -He bent forward on one knee and kissed her feet. - -"You are tired. Rest here, where you are happy." - -"I am very happy, but we must go on." - -He stood up and lifted her in his arms until she laid her cheek against -his and clasped her hands round his neck. - -"I am too heavy," she protested. "You are only a child." - -"I cannot let you hurt your feet on all these stones," he answered. - -"You are very good to me." - -"I love you. If you will stay here, I will take care of you always. You -will be happy. You will never be hurt. I will watch over you, and no one -shall come near you." - -She looked from under the shade of the fig-tree on to the silver ribbon -of water falling in cascades from one terrace to another. - -"No one _is_ near us. We are alone in the world." - -"And I love you; and you love me." - -She struggled out of his arms and darted forward. - -"We must go on." - -"When you are happy?" - -"Yes. _I_ have to go on. Who are you?" - -"I cannot tell you. I have not lived till now." - -"I never lived till you told me that you loved me. Kiss me! Kiss my -eyes! I love you and I am happy.... But I have to go on. You are a -child." - -"Like you. Let me kiss your hand." - -"My eyes! Kiss my eyes! They were aching, but you have made me -happy...." - -Barbara was still speaking when she awoke. Her arms were thrown wide, as -though she were waiting to embrace some one, and she heard her own -whispered "happy." - -The door creaked. A wedge of yellow light advanced, broadening, into the -room and slowly climbed the opposite wall. Through half-closed eyes she -saw her mother; and, though she shut her eyes, she could feel that her -mother was crossing the room, standing by her, watching her. Then the -door creaked again. Barbara sighed with relief. In another moment sleep -would have been banished, but now she might hope to recapture it. Spain -... The Generalife Garden ... Sunshine hot on her face ... Black stains -of shadow from the fig trees ... The sweet, creamy figs ... Quivering -waves of heat flung back and up from the burning earth on to her bare -ankles ... A child in blue ephod kissing her feet in adoration.... - -She could not remember his face. But, if she did not wake herself by -thinking too hard of him, he would come back. He _must_ come back.... - -The boat was hardly big enough for them both, but he sat at her feet -with a bare arm round his bare legs and his other hand dipped in the -water. She never knew when he got into the boat or when she got into it -herself; but he was speaking, as they came in sight of the Blue Grotto, -and this time she determined to see his face. - -"The river is not wide enough for oars," he explained. - -"I was afraid I had lost you." - -"I love you. I will take wonderful care of you. You will stay?" - -"We must go on." - -The Blue Grotto changed to a horse-shoe doorway, through which she could -see a valley of swaying corn studded with poppies. At the doorway their -narrow river ended, and a ripple of water lapped and washed over the -granite steps. - -"I will carry you," he said. "You must not wet your feet." - -"I am too heavy. You are only a child." - -He laughed, and she found herself in his arms with her cheek pressed -against his and one hand drawing back the hair from her eyes. - -"At the end," she began, looking over the corn and poppies to a strip of -white road winding out of the valley and merging in a white haze on the -horizon. - -"Stay with me! You are happy. And you love me." - -"I love you.... But we must go on." - -She ran ahead, trailing her fingers through the waving ears of corn, and -looked over her shoulder. He had thrown himself on the ground, but, when -she faltered back, he knelt and drew her to him. - -"Stay with me! I love you!" - -"If you love me, kiss me!" - -She stood over him with her head thrown back until he sprang up and -clasped her in his arms. - -"I will never let you go!" - -"You must let me go. I have to go on." - -"But you are happy?" - -"Yes! I am happy ... happy...." - -She had run on alone, with his kiss still on her lips, and had reached -the last height of the strip of white road before she awoke. She heard -her own whispered "happy," but she was frightened.... - -Her bedroom was full of sunshine, and Barbara opened her arms to -welcome it. She was sitting up, when her mother came in, turning the big -illustrated pages of "The Blue Bird"; it was the last thing that she had -read before going to sleep and she wanted to see again the Kingdom of -the Future and the "halls of the Azure Palace, where the children wait -that are yet to be born." The opalescent doors and the blue ephods of -the children were still vivid to her; when she fell asleep, she had been -reading of "the two holding each other by the hand and always kissing -... the Lovers," who spent "their day looking into each other's eyes, -kissing and bidding each other farewell" ... because they could not be -born into the world at the same time. - -"Darling, you're looking better," said Lady Crawleigh. - -"Yes, I had a wonderful night," answered Barbara. "I'm going to get up -to-day. I'm going out. I want to be in the sun." - -She laid aside the book and began her breakfast. - -"Dr. Gaisford's coming to see you at twelve," Lady Crawleigh reminded -her. - -"Oh, we'll telephone and put him off. He'd much sooner be told that I'd -gone out. But he can give me some more of that medicine; it makes me -sleep. And I'm quite hungry." - -She hurried through breakfast and ran into her bathroom, eager to be by -herself, where she could piece together her dream before it faded from -her memory. The voice of the child-lover was the voice that she had -heard in the train. If he ever kissed her again, she would know him, -though she seemed never to have seen his face. Perhaps she would never -see him, perhaps Destiny had contrived that they should always be lovers -and should never meet, perhaps this was why she had felt frightened on -waking. It was absurd, but delightful. She wanted to meet her -playmate.... And it was a long time to wait until she could go to bed -and dream of him again. - -She ran into the Park, because she had been running in the dream; it -was more natural; she was a child again, in a mood of unclouded -happiness. The passers-by paused to stare and smile, but she smiled back -at them and waved her hand. A young officer shot by in a car, turned -round and stopped to ask if he could give her a lift, as she seemed to -be in a hurry. "It's only lightness of heart," she explained with -dancing eyes. The officer looked wonderingly at her and drove to his -club, where he described the encounter and opined that Lady Barbara -Neave ("It couldn't have been any one else") had apparently gone -suddenly mad. - -In the Park she found O'Rane basking on a chair in the sunshine and -crumpling the silky ears of his Saint Bernard. She sat down beside him, -panting for breath and challenging him to guess who she was. - -"I knew before you spoke," he answered. "No one else in London wears -quite so many carnations to the square inch. I smelt them the moment you -came within range." - -"I have them sent up three times a week from the Abbey. I'm going to put -one in your button-hole as a prize for being so clever." - -"Oh, I can be much cleverer than that, when I try," he laughed. "Lady -Barbara, either the sunshine's gone to your head--it always does with -me; so much of my misspent life has been in the sun, I feel starved in -England--; either that, or something very remarkable has happened to -you. You've got a different voice, you're a different person. The last -time----" - -"Ah, don't talk about it," she interrupted. "I'm happy to-day." - -"I know you are! If I painted you to-day, there'd be a riot of blue----" - -"Blue? How funny!" - -"The blue of a cloudless sky. That's how I _see_ happiness. Tell me -what's happened?" - -"I just feel well and happy. I had a wonderful dream. I was about four, -and there was a little boy with the most enchanting voice----" - -O'Rane laughed and began to sing under his breath: - - - "'Long years ago--fourteen, maybe, - When but a tiny babe of four, - Another baby played with me, - My elder by a year or more-- - A little child of beauty rare - With wondrous eyes and marvellous hair...!' - - -Good heavens! The last time I sang that song was at Oxford! A man called -Sinclair--I'd been at school with him; he was killed at Neuve Chapelle; -he was President ... The old Phoenix Club. Jim was there, and Jack -Summertown, and George Oakleigh, and Eric Lane, the new playwright, and -Jack Waring.... I suppose there's no news of him?" - -"I don't think so," Barbara answered soberly. The name took away her -lightness of heart and robbed the very sunshine of its glory. - -"And I made a bet with Jim," said O'Rane after a moment's musing. "Tell -me about your dream," he added abruptly. - -"Oh, I couldn't! It's sacred! Besides, I don't remember very much about -it except that he was the most adorable little boy in the world.... _I_ -was rather adorable, too, with my little bare feet. And _he_ fell in -love with _me_, and _I_ fell in love with _him_. I _had_ been feeling -wretchedly ill and miserable, but I'm happy now. I think the only thing -to do now is to find him and insist on marrying him; we should be -wonderfully happy together, because I've never loved any one as I loved -that child. How does one start?" - -O'Rane shook his head sadly. - -"We've no machinery for romance now. In the old days you'd have sat on a -throne with your hair in two enormous plaits and a gold crown set with -sapphires, and your father would have caused all the men in his kingdom -to pass in front of you, and you'd have stepped suddenly forward, when -you saw your lover, and you'd have taken him by the hand and made room -for him by your side, and both of you would have lived happily ever -afterwards." - -"The sunshine's gone to your head, too! Why are we sitting still? I want -to run about.... Mr. O'Rane, what _would_ happen if I took off my shoes -and stockings in Hyde Park?" - -"_You_ can do anything, Lady Barbara." - -"Yes, but people would say that I was doing it for effect. I don't do -things for effect. I do things because I _want_ to, because I can't help -myself. Long before I believed in Destiny, I felt that there was -something inside me stronger than my will...." - -She broke off and began thinking again of her dream. In this white -sunshine it was easy to discount it, to talk of excited nerves, to trace -the dream itself to the book which she had been reading; but, as she lay -between sleep and waking, all had been too real to discount. Destiny had -decreed the meeting, as Destiny decreed her smallest impulse. - -A shadow fell across her feet. She started and looked up to find -Oakleigh standing before her. - -"I'm glad to see you about again," he said. "I've come to take Raney -away to lunch with the Poynters. Sonia's not here yet?" - -"She said she might be a few minutes late," answered O'Rane. "Lady -Barbara and I have been sitting in the sun, telling each other how happy -we are." O'Rane sat up to catch a sound too indistinct for the others. -"And here's Sonia," he added. "We must fly, Lady Barbara, or we shall be -horribly late, but won't you walk with us?" - -"I'm afraid I must go back," she answered. - -Barbara watched the two men walking away with Sonia between them. -O'Rane was stooping to keep his fingers inside the great Saint Bernard's -collar. Though he was blind, he was happier than she was; though he was -blind, he had heard and recognized Sonia's footstep before she did. Some -change of mood had overtaken her, and she traced it back to the moment -when he asked whether she had received news of Jack.... - -A car was standing at the door of her house, and she found Dr. Gaisford -in the hall. - -"Oh, I'm so sorry! I _meant_ to tell you I was so much better that I'd -gone out," she apologized, rallying under her mother's eye. - -The doctor noted the quick dilation of pupil and restless change of -expression. - -"As I've caught you, I may as well overhaul you," he said. - -"But I'm all right now," Barbara protested. - -"That's good hearing," answered Dr. Gaisford, but none the less he -persevered in his examination, unmoved by a flash of petulance, which he -did not fail to note, and by a spasm of nervous, contrite amiability, -which he noted no less carefully. At the end he was puzzled and -dissatisfied. - -"You say that there _was_ a change this morning?" he asked Lady -Crawleigh as he left. - -"She was a different girl. Now she's as irritable and melancholy.... -Doctor, _is_ this simply the result of overwork, or is it something -more?" - -It was as far as her mother would unbend towards suggesting that Barbara -had anything on her mind. The doctor guessed the purpose of her -question, but he felt that she was better qualified to answer it than he -was. - -"What do you mean by 'something more'?" he asked. - -"Oh, well.... You know...." - -"If we can get her _body_ right and her _nerves_ right," he answered, -"everything else will come right. She's very highly strung, she's been -taking a great deal out of herself all her life; and the war deals such -an all-round blow that, if there _is_ a weak place, we're all of us -bound to feel it." - -He piled vagueness on vagueness and then took his leave. Barbara was -suffering from more than overexcited nerves, but he could not yet -diagnose her complaint. There was no suggestion of drink, no trace of -drugs, but she had been in his care for several weeks and she refused to -shew any improvement. With the best intentions, a woman in her state -never told a doctor the truth about herself; and any doctor who had -attended Barbara since childhood knew better than to waste his time in -trying to make her confide in him. - -"I'll come in again on Tuesday or Wednesday," he promised Lady Crawleigh -on the door-step. "Then we can talk about sending her into the country. -At present I think she'd only mope." - -Barbara spent the afternoon at a concert and dined at home with her -parents. She went to bed immediately after dinner, drank her medicine -and lay with her pillows heaped under her shoulders and the big -illustrated "Blue Bird" open against her knees. When she was too tired -to read any longer, she turned out the light and settled lower into the -bed with her hands clasped under her head, as Peter Ibbetson had lain -night after night, waiting for Mary, Duchess of Towers, "healthily tired -in body, blissfully expectant in mind." - -Drowsiness advanced on her from a distance, perceptibly. She dulled her -senses to the far-away echo of footsteps in the house, to the shooting -glint of moonlight, silver-grey on the cream-coloured blankets as her -curtain bellied in the breeze, to the scent of her beloved carnations, -stirred into fragrance as the curtains moved. Drowsiness deepened, but -she could not fall asleep; her body lay defiantly in London, where she -could still hear a drone of noises, however much she whispered that she -was alone in the world--and waiting. - -Even her eyes refused to remain closed, but she decided that Destiny -must have forced them open, for the curtains blew apart and she saw the -boy standing at the foot of her bed. His face was in shadow, and he -stood with his hands clasped in front of him, looking down. - -"Ah!" - -At the sound of her voice he looked up, but his face was still hidden. - -"My dearest, I have waited for you so long! All day!" she whispered. - -"And I have waited for you all my life. I love you." - -"And I love you. You will stay?" - -It was his turn to shake his head; and he swept sharply towards the -door. Barbara sprang out of bed and caught him by the hand. - -"You _shall_ not go!" - -"I cannot stay here. You will come with me?" - -"I must stay here." - -"If you come with me, I will take care of you always. You will be -happy." - -"I must stay here." - -"Before, you would not stay. Now, you will not come." - -His hand slipped from her fingers, and she saw him pass through the door -into a formless marble gallery. His blue ephod shone brilliantly against -the grey walls, then faded and lost all colour until she could no longer -see him. The gallery foreshortened and grew dark until she felt -suffocated. She could see the darkness and a shadow at her feet darker -still. Something was holding her back; if she could spring across the -forbidding shadow.... Unless she sprang, she would be stifled. Yet to be -stifled was to win peace ... or to send her mad.... - -When she awoke, Lady Crawleigh was once more standing over her. - -"Where was I this time?" asked Barbara dully. - -"Darling, you must have had a nightmare. You were calling out, so I came -to see what was the matter." - -"But where was I? What did I say?" - -"You didn't say anything. You were just--moaning." - -"They were stifling me!" she sobbed. - -"No, darling, you'd only got your face among the pillows so that you -couldn't breathe properly. What were you dreaming about?" - -Barbara looked at her mother and summoned all her resolution to say -nothing. It was wonderful to have any resolution left.... But Destiny -had decided that she was to say nothing.... - -"I believe I'm going mad!" she whispered. - -Lady Crawleigh tried to comfort her, but the girl shrank to the far side -of the bed. It came to this, then, that she could no longer trust -herself to go to sleep. For one night she had been in Heaven ... or in -sight of Heaven.... She could not understand what had impelled her -forward from the Garden and the Valley. Some one, something was waiting -for her--on the lowest terrace, on the horizon where the white ribbon of -road wound out of sight. Something called her away from the child in the -blue ephod. And to-night Destiny had set an angel with a flaming sword -to bar her path when she tried to follow him. Yet it was not an angel -that she could see nor a sword that she could feel; it was an -inhibition, an Authority.... Why not call it Destiny? It was something -that kept her from the boy with the wistfully caressing voice, who loved -her and promised to make her happy.... Something that frightened her, -something that was sending her mad. - -"I always said you oughtn't to sleep with all those pillows," sighed -Lady Crawleigh. - -"You can take them away, if you like. Good-night, mother. I hope I -didn't frighten you. I'm going to sleep again now." - -She waited until she was alone and then sprang out of bed. If she slept, -the shadow would return ... Jack's shadow; she mustered courage to call -it by its right name. You could not go to sleep, if you walked up and -down, up and down all night.... At three o'clock she stripped a row of -glass beads from a dress and poured them into her shoes. You could not -go to sleep, if every step made you wince with pain and bite your lip to -keep from crying.... When her maid came in, Barbara was asleep, with -smarting eyes and tears on her cheeks, huddled at the side of her bed. -One foot had a blister as big as a young pea.... - -She breakfasted and dressed feverishly to escape from the house before -her mother was up and before the doctor could mouth his inanities about -"getting the nerves right, dear child, and then everything else will be -right." - -"I don't expect I shall be back to lunch," she told her maid. - -Soon she was in St. James' Park, because Destiny sent her there.... -Government cars were racing down the Mall; a procession of officers -poured into Whitehall, and by the statue of James II she saw Oakleigh -and O'Rane walking arm-in-arm towards the Admiralty. George would tell -her that she did not look quite so well; O'Rane would mark her voice and -paint his conception of her with such blazing splashes of his "red for -pain" as seeing eye had never beheld. She turned and ran up the Duke of -York's Steps; Destiny had decided that she was to escape these two for -once.... - -To meet Lady Poynter in Bond Street was to be flung against reality and -made sane. - -"My dear Babs! How wretched you're looking," she heard; and the shops, -the taxis and the passers-by steadied to immobility. They were -gloriously solid; they would frown on her, if she screamed or ran away. - -"I'm feeling rather wretched," she answered in a recognizable voice. "I -had rather a bad night." - -"Your mother told me you were disgracefully overworked at the hospital," -said Lady Poynter. "Now, what we's all got to do is to arrange a little -holiday for you----" - -Barbara smiled and shook her head. Yet it was no use shaking your head -when Destiny had flung Lady Poynter across your path. If Destiny had -arranged for her what might, for argument's sake, be called a -holiday.... - -"I haven't made up my mind what I'm going to do," she answered. - -"Then let me make it up for you! What are you doing to-night?" - -"I believe mother's got some people dining." - -"Well, see if you can't put them off and dine with us." - -Barbara closed her eyes until she felt herself rocking. If Destiny meant -her to dine with Lady Poynter.... - -"I should like to," she said. - -"Then I shall expect you. At a quarter past eight. In Belgrave Square. -It's only quite a small party. Have you met this new dramatist, Eric -Lane? I've got him coming." - -There was a conspiracy to force them together. George had tried, Sonia -had tried. What was the good of meeting any one, if Jack's ghost -intervened to thrust them apart? Eric Lane ... Eric Lane.... When she -died, they would find "Eric Lane" on her heart. A neat monogram: "E. L." -... Barbara found herself trembling.... If Destiny meant her to meet -Eric Lane.... - -"I was invited to meet him, but I couldn't go." - -"You'll fall in love with him," Lady Poynter prophesied. - - - -+-------------------------------------------------+ -|Transcriber's note: | -| | -|Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.| -| | -+-------------------------------------------------+ - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LADY LILITH*** - - -******* This file should be named 44982.txt or 44982.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/4/9/8/44982 - - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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