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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cc59ccd --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #50453 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50453) diff --git a/old/50453-0.txt b/old/50453-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7f331d0..0000000 --- a/old/50453-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8107 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Pest, by W. Teignmouth (William -Teignmouth) Shore - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: The Pest - - -Author: W. Teignmouth (William Teignmouth) Shore - - - -Release Date: November 14, 2015 [eBook #50453] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PEST*** - - -E-text prepared by Clarity, Cindy Beyer, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made -available by Internet Archive/American Libraries -(https://archive.org/details/americana) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive/American Libraries. See - https://archive.org/details/pestshore00shoriala - - - - - -THE PEST - -by - -W. TEIGNMOUTH SHORE - -Author of “The Talking Master,” “Egomet,” etc., and -Part Author of “The Fruit of the Tree” - - - - - - - -[Illustration] - -New York -C. H. Doscher & Co. -1909 - -Copyright, 1909, by -C. H. Doscher & Co. - - - - -The Pest - - - - CHAPTER I - - -PAVEMENTS and roadway slippery with greasy, black mud; atmosphere yellow -with evil-tasting vapor; a November afternoon in London; evening drawing -on, fog closing down. - -George Maddison, tall, erect, dark, walked slowly along, his eyes, ever -ready to seize upon any striking effect of color, noting the curious -mingling of lights: the dull yellow overhead, the chilly beams of the -street lamps, the glow and warmth from the shop windows. Few of the -faces he saw were cheerful, almost all wearing that expression of -discontent which such dreary circumstances bring to even the most -hardened and experienced Cockneys. For his own part he was well pleased, -having heard that morning of his election as an Associate of the Royal -Academy, a fact that gratified him not as adding anything to his repute, -but as being a compliment to the school of young painters of which he -was the acknowledged leader and ornament: impressionists whose -impressions showed the world to be beautiful; idealists who had the -imagination to see that the ideal is but the better part of the real. - -Maddison paused before a highly lighted picture-dealer’s window, -glancing with amusement at the conventional prettiness there displayed; -then, turning his back upon it, he looked across the street, debating -whether he should cross over and have some tea at the famous pastry -cook’s. A tall, slight figure of a woman, neatly dressed in black, -caught his attention. Obviously, she too was hesitating over the same -question. In spite of the simplicity and quiet fashion of her black -gown, her air was elegant; her head nicely poised; her shoulders well -held; the lines of her figure graceful, lithe and seductive. Though he -could not see her face he felt certain that she was interesting and -attractive, if not beautiful; also, there was a something wistful and -forlorn about her that appealed to him. Warily stepping through the -slippery mud, he crossed over and stood behind her for a moment, marking -the graceful tendrils of red-gold hair that clustered round the nape of -her neck and the delicate shape and coloring of her ears. As she turned -to move away, she came full face to him, instant recognition springing -into her eyes. - -“George—!” she exclaimed. - -“Miss Lewis!” - -There was immediate and evident constraint on each side, as though the -sudden meeting were half-welcome, half-embarrassing. - -“Were you going in to tea here?” he asked. “I was. Let me come with you? -It’s an age since we met. It’s horrid and damp out here.” - -“It is,” she replied, slightly shivering. “Yes, I should like a cup of -tea.” - -They went through the heavy swing doors, opened for them by a diminutive -boy in buttons, into the long, highly decorated, dimly lighted, discreet -tea room, which lacked its usual crowd. A few couples, in one case two -young men, occupied the cozy corners, to one of the more remote of which -Maddison led the way, and settled himself and his companion in the -comfortable armchairs. He ordered tea and cakes of the pretty, -black-eyed waitress, dainty and demure in the uniform of deep, dull red. - -“You sigh as if you were tired, Miss Lewis, and glad to rest?” he said, -trying in the dim light to study her expression. - -“I am tired and I am glad to rest. It’s very cozy in here. I’ve never -been here before.” - -She laid her hand upon the arm of the chair next to him and he noticed -that she wore a wedding ring. - -“I called you Miss Lewis. I see——?” - -“Yes—I’m married. I don’t suppose you remember much about Larchstone—I -recognized you before you did me; I saw you across the road. But just -possibly you do remember our curate, Mr. Squire—you used to laugh at -him. I’m Mrs. Squire. He’s still a curate, but not any longer in the -country. We live at Kennington; what a world of difference one letter -makes! Kennington—Kensington. Have you ever been in Kennington?” - -Maddison remembered Edward Squire distinctly: a tall, gaunt enthusiast, -clumsy in mind and in body. He leaned back in his chair as a whirl of -recollections rushed across his mind: the red-roofed, old-fashioned -village of Larchstone; the old-world rector and his daughter, a pretty -slip of a country girl, who had grown into—Mrs. Squire. He remembered -the summer weeks he had spent there, painting in the famous woodlands, -and the half-jesting, half-serious love he had made to the rector’s -daughter. Since then until this afternoon he had not met her, though the -memory of her face, with the searching eyes, had come to him now and -again. - -She watched him as he dreamed. He had changed very little; how -distinctly she had always remembered him; the swarthy, narrow face -framed in heavy black hair, the deep-set black eyes, the thin nose, the -trim pointed beard and mustache hiding the sensual mouth, the tall, -well-knit figure. Far more vividly than he did she recall those summer -months; in her life they had been an outstanding event, an episode -merely in his. - -“Do you still take three lumps of sugar?” she asked, as she poured out -the tea. - -“You remember that? Yes, still three, thanks.” - -“You see, I hadn’t very much to remember in those days.” - -“It’s five years ago—” he hesitated. - -“Five this last summer, and a good many things have happened since then. -My father’s dead—three years ago—and I’m a good young curate’s wife. -And you? But I needn’t ask; the newspapers have told me all about you. -Are you still full of enthusiasms?” - -“I suppose so. I think so, only they’re crystallizing into practices. As -we grow older the brain grows stiff, and we’re not so ready to go -climbing mountains to achieve impossible heights.” - -“You’ve climbed pretty high. A step higher to-day—A.R.A. Fame, success -and money, that’s a fairly high mountain to have climbed—at least it -looks so to me.” - -The forlorn tone of her voice confirmed the impression his first sight -of her had made upon him. He looked at her keenly as she sat there with -her eyes fixed upon her tea which she was stirring slowly. She had -become a very lovely woman and a poor curate’s wife. - -“Lonely?” he asked almost unintentionally. - -“Did I say lonely?” she asked looking quickly at him. “We were talking -in metaphors. I suppose that way of talking was invented by some one who -didn’t want to blurt out ugly truths.” - -“Or who fancied that commonplace ideas become uncommon when divorced -from commonplace words.” - -“It’s strange, isn’t it, sitting here, chatting like old friends—after -all this time? You didn’t answer my question: have you ever been in -Kennington?” - -“I go down to the Oval now and then to watch the cricket; that’s all I -know about Kennington.” - -“And that’s nothing. You might as well judge West Kensington by an -Earl’s Court exhibition, or a woman’s nature by her face. I think it -would do you good to see more of Kennington. I can believe that to -anyone who has lived there any other place on earth would seem heaven.” - -“Heaven?” - -“Even the other place would be an improvement.” - -“You’re rather hard on Kennington, aren’t you?” - -“It’s very hard on _me_! It stifles me. I come up to town—you see, I -speak of coming up to town—every now and then, just to escape from the -horrible atmosphere. There; just to breathe freely for a bit, to look at -the shops, to see faces with some thoughts in them, to escape -from—Kennington.” - -“And do you escape?” - -“Not altogether. The atmosphere there is saturating.” - -“Does your husband like it?” - -“He doesn’t know anything about it. Souls to save and bodies to feed, -that’s his simple want in life. There are plenty of both in our -neighborhood. I suppose you wouldn’t come down to see us?” - -“If I may——?” - -“You may,” she answered, laughing softly, almost to herself, and he -noticed how her smile lit up her whole face for the moment. “You’ll seem -so queer down there.” - -“Why?” - -“Just think—but no, you couldn’t realize what I’m laughing at; you’ve -never been in Kennington, and—even more likely—have never seen -yourself as I see you.” - -Resisting the temptation to ask her in what light she saw him, he in -turn laughed as he looked down into the provocative face turned toward -him. - -“You’re getting better,” he said. - -“Yes, thanks; the tea has done me good, and the meeting with you.” - -She spoke quite frankly. - -“I’m glad,” he answered, “and glad I was lucky enough to meet you.” - -“What a pretty, empty phrase,” she said, with a little sigh and a droop -of the corners of her mouth. “Sayings like that are the threepenny bits -of conversation; they’re not worth sixpence, but they’re better than -coppers. Now, I must be off.” - -“It’s quite early.” - -“Yes, for you. But for me—Kennington and high tea; but you know neither -of them.” - -“You’ve asked me to come——” - -“Not to high tea. Come some afternoon or evening. Drop me a post card so -that we shall be sure to be in. My husband will be so glad to see you -again.” - -“And you?” - -“I _have_ seen you again.” - -“Very well, I’ll drop you a line of warning. And how are you going -home?” - -“By a clever and cheap combination of penny bus and halfpenny tram. Now, -good-by, and thank you.” - -They lingered a moment in the shop entrance, warmth and coziness behind, -the darkness and the thickening fog before. - -“I don’t like you’re going alone. The fog’s getting very thick.” - -“Please don’t worry about me; if the tram can’t get along I shall walk. -Good-by, and, again, thank you.” - -Nodding in a friendly manner, she walked quickly away, leaving him -irresolute. But he soon determined to follow her. - -“You really must let me see you home,” he said, as he caught up with -her; “it’s going to be bad.” - -“So am I, and insist on having my own way. Don’t spoil it for me. I -don’t often have my own way with anything or anybody.” - -Again she walked quickly away into the darkness. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - -ACACIA GROVE, Kennington, was once upon a time, and not so many years -ago, the home of snug citizens, who loved to dwell on the borderland of -town and country. It is a wide road of two-storied houses, all alike: -three windows to the top floor; on the ground floor, two windows and a -hall door, painted green and approached by three steep steps; a front -garden, generally laid out in gravel with a circular bed of sooty shrubs -in the center and a narrow border of straggling flowers along each side, -spike-headed railings separating the garden from the pavement. Few of -the gates are there that do not creak shrilly, calling aloud for oil. In -one of these houses, distinguished only from its neighbors by its -number, lodged the Reverend Edward Squire, occupying the front “parlor,” -a small den at the back of the same, and the front bedroom and dressing -room on the upper floor. The furniture throughout was plain, -inoffensive, somber, entirely unhomelike; faded green curtains with -yellow fringe hung at the parlor windows, by one of which Marian sat in -the gloaming two days after her meeting with Maddison. The fire shed a -flickering light over the room and on the weary face of her husband, who -lay back asleep in a heavy horsehair armchair. She glanced at him now -and then, each time comparing his commonplace features with those of -George Maddison, her meeting with whom had stirred tumult in her already -mutinous blood. - -Rousing himself at length, Squire looked at his watch. - -“Half-past four! I must be off, Marian. Don’t you find it dismal sitting -there in the dark?” - -“You can dream in the dark.” - -“Dream?” he said, standing up and stretching his lanky limbs, stamping -his heavy feet as though cold. “Don’t you dream too much, dear? I wish -parish work had more interest for you; there is so much to do, and——” - -“I don’t do much!” she broke in sharply. - -“I wasn’t going to say that. Wouldn’t it make life brighter for you if -you spent more time in brightening it for others? However, I mustn’t -stop to talk now. There’s a meeting of the Boot Club at a quarter to -five, and several things after that. I can’t get back till about -half-past six: will that be too late for tea?” - -He stood beside her, feeling clumsily helpless to express his sympathy -with her evident discontent, and unable to help her. - -“No, I don’t mind what time,” she answered, turning her back toward him, -and looking out at the dreary prospect of leafless trees and dim gas -lamps. - -He stooped to kiss her, but she pushed him away. - -“Don’t be silly, Edward; everyone can see into the room. If you don’t -go, you’ll be late.” - -With a sigh he turned away and went out. - -For months past hatred of her home life had been growing in her, and it -had been intensified, brought to fever heat, by her meeting with -Maddison. His prosperity had emphasized the dunness of her own career. -Why had he ever made love to her, giving her a glimpse of brightness, -and then left her to be driven by circumstances to accept her husband’s -dogged love, to accept this life of struggle, to accept this daily round -of distasteful tasks and hateful duties? In the country days she had -accepted without energy to protest against the routine work of a -clergyman’s daughter; but here in London, her blood had caught afire, -the devil of revolt was astir, her whole heart and soul rebelled against -the wasting of her youth and beauty. In the old home there had been none -with whom to compare herself; but in town hundreds of women, with -smaller gifts of body and mind than her own, led a full and joyous life. -She raged to think that she should bloom and fade, never knowing the -glory of living. - -She rose slowly, let the heavy venetian blind run down with a crash, -drew the curtains close, and lit the gas. She stood before the glass -over the mantelpiece, looking at her reflection. Then with growing -disgust she turned and glanced round the meager room. In a basket was a -pile of accumulated mending waiting for her; on the small writing -table—above which hung a crucifix—several account books, which would -have to be made up this evening. She stood there, tall, fair, throbbing -with rebellion, longing to escape. Again the question that she had so -often asked herself during the last two days came to her: was it -possible that George Maddison would offer to free her? He had nearly, if -not quite, loved her once; were there any means by which she could lure -him to her again? - -A sharp knock at the house door startled but did not interest her, the -caller doubtless being for Edward, and his visitors did not amuse her. -Her conjecture was wrong. The neat little maid servant, who feared her -master and adored his wife, opened the parlor door, stammering out— - -“A gentleman wants to know if you’re at home, mum. He wants to see -_you_, mum.” - -“Are you sure he wanted to see _me_?” - -“Yes, I do, if I may,” said Maddison, appearing in the doorway; “or are -you not ‘at home’?” - -“Of course I’m at home; we don’t indulge even in conventional fibs in -Kennington. Do come in; I’m so glad to see you. I didn’t think you’d -really come.” - -“Why not?” he asked, shaking hands with her. “Could I resist such a -persuasive description as you gave me? It was so alluring that I walked -the whole way, and, upon my word, I declare you have done the -neighborhood an injustice. I’ve been in worse.” - -“Very likely it’s my fault.” - -They sat at either side of the fire for some little while silent; he -noting the room, and furtively examining her face as she stared into the -fire. He could see the tears that hovered in the corners of her eyes. - -“Your fault?” he said at length. “You look fagged; you want a change.” - -“A change!” she exclaimed, laughing hardly. - -She stood up, leaned her arm upon the mantelpiece, and looked down at -him. - -“A change! You don’t know the irony of what you’ve said, Mr. Maddison. A -change! Do you realize that each day drags along just the same as the -days before have been, and the days after will be? Never a shadow of a -change! And so all the life is being crushed out of me. If I’d only -known; but what’s the good of talking this way, and why on earth should -I trouble you with my worries?” - -She was a splendid rebel and Maddison’s pulse stirred with sympathy and -attraction. She looked to him like some fine, wild animal, caged, eating -out her heart for freedom. - -“I almost wish I hadn’t met you the other day,” she continued. “I know -that sounds rude; what I mean is, it’s bad enough to be here, but it -makes it worse, ever so much worse, to realize what I’ve not got.” - -“I wish I could help you,” he said. - -She sat down again and again looked into the fire, which she stirred -into a roaring blaze. - -“It would have been better had I stopped on in the country; I was only -half alive there. I just vegetated. Edward, my husband, had what he -thought was a ‘call’ to come up and work among the poor in London, so he -brought me here. I wonder do you know the kind of man he is?” - -“I can guess.” - -“He’s good, because he never has any temptation to be anything else. -He’s content, and works, eats, drinks, sleeps; he tries to be kind and -sympathetic, and—nearly drives me mad. Don’t you think it strange,” she -asked, looking at him eagerly, “that I should be talking to you like -this? I must—must talk to some one.” - -“I’m glad you look on me as a friend. I wish I could help you.” - -“You are helping me by letting me talk to you. I wonder do you -understand a bit of what’s the matter? Can _you_ understand? You’ve -always been free, and could make your life for yourself. I’m strong, but -I mayn’t even try to use my strength. I hate all this cant about women’s -rights; every woman can have her rights if she only dares to take them. -But we’re all bred up to be dependent cowards. Now, I suppose you’re -shocked?” - -“Why? I think I understand what you mean—what you feel. Does—your -husband know?” - -“He? He couldn’t understand! He would try to, and would advise me to go -out and work here with him. I did do some work with him, but it only -sickened me. And the people he works with! Gossiping, chattering, -self-important humbugs. So now I sit all day with my hands in my lap and -cry like a baby for a moon I _could_ have if I dared take it. I’m -young—and—what’s the use of not saying it?—pretty, and——” - -She clenched her hands on the arms of her chair and set her teeth -firmly. The fire shed a warm glow over the handsome, alluring face; he -watched her with admiration. A picture ready to his hand. The dull, -stupid room; the woman, splendidly rebellious. What was she going to -make of her future? - -“I’m going to ask you to help _me_!” he exclaimed. “Let me paint your -portrait; not an ordinary portrait. The subject has been in my head for -a long time, but I’ve never been able to grasp it until just a moment -ago. I shall call it ‘The Rebel.’ Will you come up two or three times a -week to my studio and sit for me?” - -“Shall I?” she answered, looking doubtfully at him—“shall I? And then -when it’s over, come back here—_here_!” - -He had his thoughts and she had hers, but neither expressed them or -guessed the other’s. - -“It would only make me more angry with things,” she said; “no, you -_don’t_ understand me a bit. It must be all—or nothing. A sweet to-day -and bread-and-butter every other day? No, no. Understand? It has been so -bad with me that I stood on Westminster Bridge the other night after I -left you, and looked at the water; I am such a coward that I came home -to this.” - -“So—you won’t help me to paint my picture?” - -“I’ll think about it, and let you know. When shall I come?” - -Maddison took out his engagement book and turned over the pages. - -“You have to find time between one engagement and another,” she said, -watching him; “I’m free every day.” - -“To-day’s Tuesday; would Thursday, eleven, suit you? We could go and -have lunch somewhere afterwards.” - -“I can’t decide. Will you leave it open? I’ll just come, if I’m coming, -and, if I don’t come, it will mean I’d rather you didn’t come here -again.” - -“I won’t worry about that. I’ll just hope you will come. Now, I must be -going. Good-by, and—again—I wish I could help you.” - -As Maddison drove home, he was in doubt as to what course he should -pursue in this adventure so suddenly thrown his way. Marian greatly -attracted him, both by her beauty and her brains, but he did not as yet -feel disposed to face the scandal that must come if he took her away -from her husband, should she care to come to him, and should he care to -ask her. He felt certain that if he saw much more of her he would fall -under her fascination, yet, weakly, he had given her this invitation -rather than run the risk of not meeting her frequently, rather than have -to meet her in the dismal surroundings of her home. - -During the last few years he had drilled himself into not yielding to -his every impulse. When he had first met her the desire bred in him by -her country comeliness had almost led him into marrying her; its renewal -urged him strongly to ask her to be his mistress. He believed that she -would yield. What would be the outcome of such a course? She was -evidently trembling on the brink of revolt, undecided whether or not to -dare all. Should he tempt her? There could be no question as to her -beauty, which was of a type that had always appealed to him. Tall, -lithe, well-proportioned; elegant in face and figure—how lovely she -would look daintily dressed! No mere animal, but a woman. - -Between now and Thursday he must decide with regard to her. - -Then the fear shot into his mind that perhaps she would not come. - - - * * * * * - -When he had left the room, Marian sat down again by the fire, her face -lit up by a smile of complete satisfaction. - -She was not trembling on the brink of revolt. When she had met him that -foggy afternoon she had been so, but only because she felt helpless. Now -succor had come. She felt certain that she could win Maddison to her -will, that she would be able to use him as the stepping-stone to the -luxury and power for which she lusted. He had almost loved her in the -old days, he nearly loved her now after these two brief meetings; at any -rate he was sorry for her. She would tempt him and he would fall. - -Again she looked at herself in the mirror; she was made to conquer. This -man, and others, should be hers. She held the two most powerful of -weapons, beauty and heartlessness, and would use both without scruple. - -She laughed as she thought of her upbringing in the little country -village, of her ever having believed that she could live content as a -curate’s wife. Whence came this unruliness in her blood? She could -understand the discontent with the physical conditions of her life, but -her desires went far beyond that. It was not merely for love and luxury -that she longed, but for power—power over the body and mind of men of -power. - -Maddison would not satisfy all her cravings; but he could take her away -out into the world, and there she knew she could win. - -She had in her the confidence of a conqueror. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - -ON Thursday morning Maddison waited impatiently for Marian, though he -never for a moment doubted but that she would come. - -Absence from her had made her influence the stronger; each hour the -recollection of her face had grown more clear—the droop of the eyelids, -their sudden lifting and the keen, searching look of her eyes; the -dainty poise of her head, the masses of red-gold hair, the little mouth -with its moist, tempting lips; the tall figure, the clean, determined -movements. - -He paced up and down the studio waiting for her. - -Many pretty women had sat to him there, some of whom had tempted him and -to a few of whom he had fallen willing captive for a time. But Marian -held him by a stronger spell; it was not merely her beauty that called -so, imperatively to him. She was a complete woman, body and brain, and -to touch her heart, to win it, to keep it, to be able to hurt it—that -he must do. - -But she did not come and the hour was past. Was she fooling him, luring -him on? He could not credit that; he had watched her keenly and it had -seemed to him that she was ready to rebel but did not dare revolt, and -that it remained for him to decide whether or not she should attain her -freedom. To him this world was a delightful dwelling place, in which -wise men gained all of pleasure upon which they could lay hands. To make -her his own would bring him complete satisfaction, at any rate for a -time. As for the future, only fools toted up bills that might have to be -paid. There was one cost, however, which he would have to pay, the -thought of which had at first given him pause. Doubtless Squire would -sue for a divorce, and, though the case would be undefended, -nevertheless it would cause considerable scandal. Afterwards, would she -ask him to marry her? That he would not do, for it was a part of his -creed that a woman who has left one man had best be left free to desert -the next. - -As he waited impatiently, the question came to him more forcibly than it -had done before: did Marian care for him? Their two meetings had been -brief, and there had been no hint of love making. He thought that she -was desperate enough to grasp at any hand held out to her, that she -would be easy to win. The idea of the picture had suggested itself -opportunely, and he had seized on it as a convenient and plausible -excuse for their meetings. He fancied that she would accept the chance -eagerly, yet she had not seemed to do so, had hesitated, and now—he -laughed angrily at the state of irritated disappointment into which he -was working himself. - -Perhaps she had been delayed, or detained at the last moment. Probably -she would write, or maybe come up in the afternoon to explain. - -He had arranged to lunch in the studio, luckily, so would not be out if -she did arrive later. He looked at the pretty white table, which stood -so daintily in the broad alcove before the wide hearth, with the quaint -colored glasses and old silver. How delicious she would look against the -dark oak of the fireplace! - -A ring at the door! - -The housekeeper announced “Mr. Mortimer,” and Maddison fumed that he had -forgotten to say that he expected a sitter, and was not to be disturbed. - -“Well, George,” said Mortimer, putting up his eyeglass as he walked into -the room. “I’m extra busy at the office, so it’s jollier than ever to -come up and waste an hour with you. It’s no fun lounging when there’s no -reason why you should not do so. Ah! you were expecting some one—me, of -course!” - -He glanced at the luncheon table, quizzically. He was short, sturdy, -with a somewhat bullet-shaped head, covered—though thin at top—with -crisp, curly black hair. His features were Oriental in cast, with a -tendency toward coarseness, and his voice somewhat thick and heavy. - -He sat down on the steps that led up to the broad, deep bow window, -laying down his glossy hat and natty stick on the rug beside him. - -“I had meant to stay at least half an hour, and possibly to carry you -off to lunch, but——” - -“But you think I don’t want you,” answered Maddison, laughing. “I don’t -think I shall mind much. I was expecting an old friend, whom I met the -other day for the first time for years. She’s going to sit for me——” - -“My dear fellow, why explain? Who would suspect you of being foolish -enough to lunch alone when good company was procurable? I notice you say -you _were_ expecting?” - -“Mrs. Squire was to have been here at eleven; then two hours’ work, then -lunch. It’s now half-past twelve——” - -“Did you fix any time for lunch?” - -“Have a cigarette and don’t be cynical. You forget that pose don’t pay -with me. How people would laugh if they found you out! Not a cynical old -bachelor, but just as romantic and soft hearted as man could be.” - -“They won’t laugh, because they never will know. Even if you told them, -they’d not believe you. Is it a portrait or a picture you’re starting -out on?” - -“Picture. I won’t talk about it, though. As you know, I can’t talk about -my ideas; they must just boil over, and then, if possible, or as far as -possible, I get them on canvas. What a painter I should be if only I -could make facts of all my fancies. There’s the blank canvas, and in my -mind the picture. I wonder will you ever see it?” - -“I wonder are you as impressionable as you used to be? And—it’s a -beastly word, but there is no other—and as romantic as you still appear -to be? As far as I know, you’ve never really been in love, George: -perhaps it’s better that way for a painter or a poet, never to feel very -deeply. He should understand deep feelings, but never experience them. -What do you think?” - -“I don’t think about art. Art’s in us, and comes out as well as it can. -That’s all there is to it. There’s only one rule of art: don’t lie, -don’t make up things; and if you can hit on a new truth, or can tell an -old truth perfectly, you’re a genius. That’s all.” - -“What are you?” - -“How can I know?” - -“You’re not in love, George?” - -“What the deuce makes you say that? Who said I was?” - -“Nobody. But I thought you were at first—with Mrs. What’s-her-name, who -should have been here. But you can’t be, or not badly, or you would not -have talked ‘shop’ so enthusiastically.” - -“That’s no proof. I don’t think I could ever love a woman as much as I -do my work. I can’t believe that, if ever I had to choose between my -work and a woman, I should choose the woman.” - -“Touch wood, old chap, touch wood; though even that powerful magic won’t -make you safe. Just wait till ‘she’ comes along, and then, Lord preserve -you! You—I can see you just mad for a woman.” - -“You’re wrong. No woman I’ve ever seen has made me forget myself.” - -“No woman—yet. That doesn’t insure the future.” - -“No; but I haven’t any fears.” - -“That’s what I used to say, once upon a time.” - -“And——?” - -“I’ve grown older and wiser. But that’s a story too stupid and too -common to be worth telling. You—you’re capable of sacrificing -everything for a woman, for _the_ woman; and, after all, it’s the only -thing worth making sacrifices for. Venus is the only goddess worth -worshipers.” - -“You romantic old cynic!” - -“Cynic! I wonder how that ever came to be a term of reproach? A cynic’s -simply a man who has learned that impulses should be restrained by -reason. Most men find that wisdom when their impulses have ceased to be -temptations. Good Lord! George, I came up here to lounge, and you -mislead me into talking art and philosophy. The least compensation you -can offer me is—lunch. I’m hungry.” - -Mortimer went off after luncheon, and Maddison was once more free to -study the problem that faced him. Mortimer’s belief that he could ever -be induced to throw all else aside for the love of a woman had amused -him and instilled into him a spirit of dare-deviltry, of intense desire -to make hot love to Marian, for whom his longing grew keener and -keener—just to prove that he could play with fire without burning his -fingers. - -Wonder at her not coming to him was now being supplanted by anxiety lest -some accident should have befallen her. - -If he walked down to Kennington he would not be there until after three -o’clock, not too early an hour for a call in so unfashionable a -neighborhood. - -He walked slowly, surprised at the keenness of the anxiety he was now -enduring. Had Marian, already, after two brief meetings, become so much -to him that the fear of any hurt having come to her filled him with -rage? How clearly he conjured up his last sight of her, as she stood -back to the fire, whose light glinted through her hair. How graceful and -gracious she had looked. Yes, he feared love unfulfilled, not love -unrequited. - -The gate creaked dismally as he pushed it open. He walked quickly up the -gravel path, looking sharply up at the parlor window, through which in -the dusk he could see the firelight dancing on the ceiling. - -“Mrs. Squire was not in. Would he wait?” said the little maid. - -Curiously the chance that she might not be in had not occurred to him, -and he drew his breath sharply at the news. - -“Is she likely to be in soon?” - -“I dunno—shall I ask master?” - -He told her not to trouble and turned away. He could not run the risk of -having to face Squire, bearing in mind the errand on which he had come. - -Apparently nothing unusual had occurred. Why had she not kept her -appointment? Or, if unable to do so, why had she not written or -telegraphed to him? Had it meant so little to her that she had forgotten -it? - -The best thing for him to do was to put the matter on one side, to wait -awhile, to watch. Perhaps she had written and the letter had been -delayed. - -He walked some little distance before he could obtain a cab, and so, -home. - -There came no letter. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - -THAT afternoon Marian had gone out, thinking it possible Maddison might -call, and she was pleased to hear on her return that he had done so. He -was anxious then: waiting makes the heart grow fonder. - -But it had not occurred to her that he might stalemate her by adopting -similar tactics to her own. Several days went by and he neither made any -appearance nor gave any sign, so that she began to fear that she -possessed either little or no influence over him. - -If he failed her she could think of no means by which she could effect -her escape from the life which she so loathed. Merely to leave her -husband would be cutting herself off from the security of respectability -without gaining any compensating advantages. To go to Maddison would be -different; through him she would make friends and acquaintances, whom -she did not doubt she could use to her advantage. - -In the country the growth of her mind had been stunted, though, on the -other hand, to those years of fresh air and simple life she owed her -superb health. Her education had been scanty, with the one exception of -music—singing and the pianoforte having been taught her by the church -organist, an enthusiastic old bachelor of small means but of fine taste -and accomplishment. She was not an expert performer; she had not a voice -which could be coined into guineas; but to her own accompaniment she -sang with feeling and effect simple ballads, sometimes those of her own -countryside. Of literature and art she knew little and was content in -her ignorance. Innate good taste enabled her to dress to advantage. In -conversation she had the knack of making such use of the small knowledge -she possessed as to hide deficiencies. With curious acuteness and -minuteness she had taken stock of her capabilities and defects, -realizing fully that on the whole she was well equipped for the world of -adventure. - -Two rules she had laid down for herself; never to lose control over her -emotions and always to remember that the most powerful woman is she who -seems most weak. She understood clearly that her chief handicap was lack -of experience, but she believed that in a woman instinct takes the place -of knowledge. She would feel her way carefully, step by step, watching -and probing, but the first step and the most difficult was to free -herself and to obtain a footing in the greater world. She had almost -despaired of ever doing this, when so unexpectedly she had met with -Maddison. She had watched his career with interest and with admiration -of its brilliant and rapid success, and now she upbraided herself -because it had never entered into her calculations that she might be -able to utilize him in the attaining of her ambitions. She ought to have -remembered how near to loving her he had once been. - -So far, in her dealings with him, she did not think that she had made -any error. She had shown no interest in him, which she believed was the -best way to pique him into feeling interest in her. She had talked of -herself, had told him enough to enable him to see clearly how -dissatisfied she was with her present lot. She now felt that all that -remained for her to do was to persuade him that she was worth winning, -not merely for her beauty, but because she could add to the -attractiveness and pleasure of his life. She, however, did not know -anything of his way of life, and did not even know whether any other -woman held the place she wished to obtain for herself. - -He had vaguely said that he was willing to help her; he had shown -anxiety by at once calling when she had failed to go to him; but, since -then, silence. The next move was left to her, and with all her care she -might make a false one. She knew that he was emotional, and conjectured -that, once roused, no scruple of conventional morality would be a -hindrance to him in achieving his desire. - -If she were to approach him again now, without any reasonable excuse for -doing so, she feared that she might fail to gain his help, and such a -failure would mean lasting defeat. There was no means that she could -think of by which she could bring him to her. To wait indefinitely was -not only dangerous but repugnant to her daily intensifying longing for -escape from her present life. So far, she had considered only two of the -three factors in the case—herself and Maddison. It remained to be -proved whether or not she could work her will by the instrumentality of -her husband. - -She knew his intense devotion to her, but that, great as it was, it -weighed nothing against his sense of right and wrong. She did not hold -the first place in his life: that was given to his work. Love, health, -comfort, success—all were nothing in the scales against duty. Further, -even if he were willing to give up all for her, he could neither help -her ambitions nor satisfy her longings, the chief of which, indeed, was -to be free from him. - -More than once he had spoken to her almost sternly of her idleness and -unwillingness to assist him. Was it not possible in this connection to -bring about some breach between them? In some indefinite way she felt a -desire to quarrel with him. At this very time he was constantly urging -her to join the small band of women who, under his guidance, were -laboring to bring something of decency and comfort into the lives of the -wretched dwellers in some notorious slum property in the parish. She -steadfastly refused. It was not work which she could or would do. - -When this thought came to her, she was engaged upon some accounts, which -he had asked her to have complete for an important meeting in the -evening. - -She closed the books almost untouched, feeling fairly confident that -this remissness would lead to remonstrance on his part, which she could -make an excuse for defiance. - -Coming home late in the afternoon, Squire found her, as often he had -done of late, sitting idly in the dusk by the window, looking out at the -dreary prospect. The fire had sunk low, and the glowing coals shed but a -dim light over the room. - -He was tired, physically and mentally, and a stir of anger came to him -to find her sitting there thus, knowing that she knew that he considered -this idleness wrong. - -He sat down heavily in the worn armchair, and began to unlace his boots; -his feet would be rested by an hour or so of slippers. - -“I’m very tired,” he said; but she made no answer. - -“How have you got on with the accounts?” he asked after a pause. “I -suppose they were all right?” - -“I don’t know. I haven’t touched them.” - -“Not touched them!” he exclaimed, aghast, and turning sharply to her. -“Not touched them! You—knew they must be ready for to-night!” - -“Yes, I knew.” - -She stood up, let the blinds down, pulled to the curtains viciously, and -then went over to the chimney-piece for the matches. She struck a light -and turned up the gas, which blazed up into a shrieking flame, and, in -turning it low, she turned it out. She lit the gas again, and then stood -leaning against the table, watching his face of amazement. - -“I don’t understand,” he said, looking at her with puzzled eyes. “You -knew they must be done, and you haven’t touched them? You’re not ill?” - -“No, quite well. It’s just this, Edward, this life is killing me; you -must change it. I’ve done my best to stand it, but I can’t go on with it -any longer.” - -“Change it—change it! How can we change it, even if it was right to?” - -“Right! Right! Right!” she repeated fiercely. “Who made _you_ the judge -of what is right for _me_? You’re my husband, but that doesn’t make you -my judge. You live your own life, and I must live mine; and this life -you try to make me lead is not mine. Stop!—listen to me first. You’re -so blinded with self-satisfaction, so obstinately sure that you’re -right, that you’ve forgotten all about me. I’ve become just a mere item -in your existence, a part of yourself. You’ve forgotten that I’ve a -self, or you couldn’t really believe that this life would satisfy me. -I’m young. Am I to have no fun in life? No amusements, no gayety, no -pleasure, no friends? Am I to go on living here, seeing nobody worth -seeing, going nowhere, just drudging along in this dismal hole?” - -She stopped, panting, and he broke in—— - -“I can’t listen to you, Marian. Do you understand what you’re saying?” - -“Yes, yes,” she interrupted, “I understand; it’s you who can’t. Can’t? -Won’t—won’t! I sometimes wonder if you’re a man or a mere machine?” - -“If you knew how much you are hurting me, Marian, you’d know how much of -a man I am. Don’t you think I’ve seen how discontented you are, but you -wouldn’t take my advice; you wouldn’t try to do what I know would make -you happy. You’re—you’re so selfish; you criticise everything by -whether it brings happiness to you. You have everything that I have, and -could share everything with me, and be quite content and happy. But you -do nothing; you keep outside my life and won’t let me help you.” - -“I’ve heard all this before! What’s the use of preaching to me? Keep -your sermons for those who agree with you. You’ve talked like this at me -till I’m sick of hearing you.” - -“Why not do as I ask you—work?” - -“Why should I work?” she asked fiercely. - -“Is it really you, Marian? I thought you so different.” - -“I was different when you married me; I was a baby then, an ignorant -fool of a girl. I’ve grown into a woman, but you haven’t noticed it.” - -“A woman has more heart——” - -“Copy-book platitudes won’t help us.” - -“Don’t you love me?” he asked, straining eagerly toward her for the -reply. - -“No. I never did.” - -“You never loved me?” he stammered, standing up and leaning heavily on -the back of the chair. “You said you did—why did you marry me?” - -“I suppose I thought I loved you—because I was lonely, poor; because I -didn’t understand what love was; because I didn’t love anyone else; -because I didn’t know any other man. If we’d gone on living down there -in the country, I daresay I should have gone on vegetating. But you -dragged me up here, and I’ve woken up. You said I was selfish. What -about you? You knew what you were bringing me to and never stopped to -think whether it would be good for me, this dull, stupid life, with -nothing to care for, nothing to hope for, nothing to do.” - -“You never really loved me? Oh, my God, why am I punished like this?” - -He dropped his arms helplessly, standing before her, looking at her -bewildered, as though struggling to shake himself free from some -oppressive dream. - -“Selfish again,” she said. “Your punishment! What about mine? You’ve -often preached that there is no real happiness in life but to do your -duty. Haven’t you done yours?” - -“I can’t have.... What can I do?” - -“Free me from this existence. Go away from here; somewhere there is -life——” - -“You know I can’t leave my work.” - -“Others can do it.” - -“If we all said that? You know I can’t leave my appointed work.” - -Marian sat down and beat with her clenched fists upon the table. - -“Can’t you see anyone’s life but your own?” she exclaimed fiercely. “You -make me loathe you when you talk that way. Can’t you be a bit practical? -Don’t you understand that things can’t go on like this? That you’re -killing me? You’ve no pluck; I believe you’d be quite content to live -all your life in these dingy lodgings. You say you love me——” - -“I do—I do——” - -“And won’t do a thing to make me happy! We can’t go on living together -like this. Can we? Don’t you see we can’t?” - -“What do you mean?” - -“That something must be done to change it.” - -“Wait, wait, let me think!” he said, tramping about the room; “let me -think, let me think. No, Marian, I can’t go away; I must stop here and -go on with my work. You see, dear, you’ve never really tried my way; if -you worked hard all day like I do you’d have no time to be unhappy.” - -“Why should I _work_?” - -“Why shouldn’t you? That’s what we all have to do. And there’s so much -work. You don’t know, I didn’t like to tell you, how it handicaps me, -people knowing that you do nothing to help me. How can I urge them on -when my wife does nothing? Then—what is it you want?” - -“If I told you, oh! I know what you’d say. The same old sermons—the -things I do want wouldn’t make me happy, the things I don’t would. -You’ve made up your mind what I ought to do and you _are_ so certain -you’re right.” - -“It’s not what _I_ think——” - -“Yes, yes, it _is_ what you think; what others believe is right when you -agree with them. I don’t agree with you. Your beliefs don’t make me -happy.” - -He sat down opposite her and began idly tracing with his finger the -pattern on the shabby green cloth. She waited, wondering what he would -say. So far there had been little more than a repetition of previous -scenes between them. At last, after what seemed to her an interminable -silence, he said— - -“Don’t you see how you are breaking my heart? I believed you loved me. -You deceived me. Then—do you think my work is easy to me? Don’t you -know I would like to give you everything you want? But I can’t leave my -work, and you—you do nothing to help me.” - -“How can I when I think you’re all wrong?” - -“Wrong in what way?” - -“In everything. You preach about a merciful, just God! Is there any -mercy or justice in allowing people to be born to live the life you are -working to save them from? Nonsense!” - -“Do you know what you’re saying?” - -“Quite well.” - -“It’s blasphemy”—he stood up, looking down on her with the light of -fanaticism in his eyes—“blasphemy! Pray to God you may be forgiven for -it. Do you ever pray—truly?” - -“What’s the use? I’ve prayed for what I want and can’t go on believing -when I don’t get it. Of course you’ll tell me I pray for what wouldn’t -be good for me! Praying doesn’t alter things, so what’s the use of it?” - -“It’s because you don’t believe.” - -“Yes, that’s religion all over!—Argue in a way that would be simply -idiotic if you applied it to real life.” - -“Marian! Marian!” he said, leaning across the table toward her, “God -help you!” - -“Soon, I hope,” she answered, turning away with a gesture of disgust. - -He sprang up, but bit his lip, stopping the rush of words that came to -his tongue. She looked up at him, laughing bitterly. - -“Will you ever realize that our marriage was a mistake? We weren’t made -for one another, that’s all about it. And we’re so poor we can’t afford -to separate.” - -“Separate!” - -“What’s the use of stopping together? I tell you I _can’t_ go on with -this life; you must change it; you must.” - -“I can’t. Marian, won’t you try once more?” - -“No, I won’t. I’ve one life to live and I won’t be driven into wasting -it. I’m young, full of life; you’ve often told me I’m beautiful, and you -want me to go on living here and sharing your miserable work. I won’t. -You must make a change.” - -“I can’t,” he repeated doggedly. “You know I can’t. Not even you can -tempt me to do that. I’ve listened to what you said, horrible as much of -it was. I’ve felt hopeless about you for some time; you were so out of -touch with me, you were becoming a stranger to me. I’ve asked you to try -my way once more. I’ve often asked things of you. I begin to think I’ve -been weak. I’ve tried to make you my true comrade and I’ve failed. Now, -I must—must—make a change.” There was a tone in his voice that -compelled her to stand up face to face with him. “I must make a change. -Instead of our ruling our house together——” - -“House! Lodgings!” - -“_I_ will be its master. I blame myself for not having been so sooner. -Your life and salvation were intrusted to me and I should not have let -my love for you interfere and tempt me to make life easy for you. Life -is not easy and you must face it. Remember, I’m God’s minister.” - -“So you say. You never give me a chance of forgetting it, with your -continual preaching. So, now you can’t bend me, you’ll break me?” - -“I must try to teach you that God must be obeyed.” - -“How do you know His commands? But it’s no good talking this way any -more. I shall leave you to-morrow”—her voice trembled, half with fear, -half with defiant anger as she repeated—“I shall leave you to-morrow.” - -“Leave me?” - -“Leave you.” - -“Where are you going?” - -“What does that matter to you? You think divorce sinful, so my future -address doesn’t concern you.” - -She walked quickly out of the room, leaving him dazed. - -For some moments he seemed scarcely conscious, scarcely able to breathe. -Then, slowly, heavily, he kneeled down at the table, and, burying his -face in his hands, prayed for forgiveness, the while he shook with -sobbing and his heart ached. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - -MARIAN locked herself into the bedroom and sat down before the glass, -laughing at her flushed, angry face. She was too astute to try to cajole -herself into believing that Edward had really done or said anything to -justify her leaving him. But in her present mood it pleased her to -behave like a spoiled child. When Edward knocked at the door, asking for -admission, she did not answer. She laughed again as she listened to his -heavy, weary footfall going down the stairs. He would have to work out -the accounts for himself; she had done with them. - -She pulled out from beneath the bed her old-fashioned leather trunk and -began to pack such clothes as she meant to take with her. - -He sat down wearily to the books, checking them mechanically, while his -mind was almost numb. He had never hesitated in his faith; it was not in -him to do so; but never before had he felt so helpless. Prayer had -brought softness to his anger, but as yet there was no light on the dark -path ahead. - -Before he left the house he went upstairs again, but, as before, -obtained no answer to his knocking. From sheer habit he wrapped himself -up closely, and, taking the books, went out. - -Marian heard the door shut behind him, and knew that it closed on her -married life. - - - * * * * * - -This same day Maddison worked until the light failed, early in the -afternoon, and then stood before the fire in the darkening studio, -undetermined. - -Marian’s intrusion into his life had rendered him dissatisfied, made him -at one moment feverishly anxious for activity, at another full of -longing for solitude and silence. As it chanced, the first was his -present mood, but he had no engagement and did not know where to go or -what to do. - -It was only four o’clock. He could pay a visit to one or other of the -many friends who would meet him with quick welcome, but this prosaic -prospect did not allure him, nor did an afternoon of gossip or argument -at the club. - -It occurred to him to go and see Marian, but he resisted the insistent -temptation. She had thrown him over without a word, either not wanting -to see him, or wishing him to woo her; both pride and wisdom told him -that he had best leave the next move to her. But if she made no move? -Were there not other women equally desirable! Another Marian? - -The ringing of the telephone bell broke in on his thoughts. The call was -from Mortimer. - -“Hullo! Is that you, George?” - -“Yes.” - -“I’m laid up with a sprained ankle. Can you come round for a chat? I’ve -no woman for you—only tea.” - -“All right.” - -“At once?” - -“Yes.” - -A hansom bore him down quickly to the Adelphi, where Mortimer lived in a -snug set of chambers overlooking the river. Maddison found him stretched -out on the sofa before the fire, reading a prettily-bound, -daintily-illustrated, wittily-written volume of French essays on -cookery. - -“Good man!” he exclaimed. “Come round to the fire. I’ve had a most lucky -accident which will prevent me being able to go to the office this -abominable weather and will get me out of several engagements I don’t -want to keep.” - -“You know you love going out!” - -“No, I don’t. And as a matter of fact I don’t go out much. I used to, -but I’m growing up. For one thing, people are so stupidly flippant; at -best flippancy doesn’t sit well on English shoulders. You see I’m lucky: -I’m an Englishman with foreign parents and a Jew for a grandfather. Do -you mind ringing the bell?” - -The servant brought in the tea table, which he set down beside the sofa; -a bright, copper kettle was put on one trivet and a dish of hot cakes on -the other. - -“You old maid!” said Maddison, laughing, as he watched the trim -preparations. - -“That’s a compliment. An old maid is usually delightful. She has the -ripeness of years without the rottenness of experience. And she’s free -to do what she likes.” - -“Because she hasn’t been able to do what every woman likes best; so she -has to put up with the details of life.” - -“Are there any details in life?” Mortimer asked. - -“Yes; most important things are details.” - -“I suppose you would call tea-making a detail? Three and a half minutes -exactly. I hope you always drink China tea, George!” - -“I never thought about it.” - -“An unhappy old age is before the man who does not consider the tea he -drinks? No doubt you are Vandal enough to take sugar? Art and -sensibility of palate seldom go together. By the way, West’s back from -his honeymoon. I had a line from him this morning. What a beggar he is -for writing! He gets through more work in a day than the average man -does in a week, and still has time to be married and write letters. He -wants me to go down for a week-end.” - -“What’s she like?” - -“You saw her at the wedding.” - -“Saw her. I know what she looks like—an empty-headed plaything. But you -know her well, don’t you?” - -“No man ever knows a woman.” - -“Don’t be platitudinous.” - -“I can’t always be lying. She—I really don’t know. I used to think her -a devilish little flirt; in fact she was; but women do change so after -they’re married. Besides, I may have been quite wrong, quite. Everyone -else thought her just a simple little maiden—who _knows_?” - -“And after all, it doesn’t really much matter. But it will take a clever -woman to manage West. If she is just a doll he’ll soon grow tired of -her—as he has of other dolls, whom he didn’t need to marry.” - -“That’s so. We shall see. I like West. He’s such a delightful contrast -to myself. How have you been jogging along? Anything new? Is the picture -getting itself upon canvas?” - -“Not begun!” answered Maddison, putting down his cup and lighting a -cigarette. - -“Refractory model, or what?” - -“Just can’t get a start, that’s all. I can see it in my mind’s eye, -Horatio, but—” he broke off abruptly. - -They chatted on about matters indifferent, but Maddison, feeling out of -tune with his companion, went away with an unwonted consciousness that -he was out of tune with his life. - -He lingered for a few minutes on the Terrace, looking at the picture -spread before him: the blackness of the gardens below; the lamps on the -Embankment and of the passing cabs and carriages; the dim mystery of the -river; the black line of the railway bridge with its green and red -lights; over all, the gloom and glamour of London. - -Then he walked up Adam Street and so on along the noisy Strand to -Charing Cross. As he walked, unconsciously directing his steps homeward, -there came over him that intense feeling of loneliness that must fall at -times upon any man who lives alone in London. He longed for some one, -some woman, to whom he could go, with whom he could stay, in whom he -could confide, from whom he could obtain the satisfying sympathy which -only a woman can give to a man. There never had been one who had in any -reality shared his life; he had never before suffered from the lack of -such a one. But now he was hungry for intimate, human companionship and -there was no one from whom he could obtain it. His thoughts turned to -Marian. He realized that he did not know anything of her nature; she -attracted him physically; she interested him. It did not appear -unreasonable that a woman of her temperament should rebel against the -circumstances of her dull, insipid life, but he wondered if it were -solely against that existence that she was revolting, or was she one of -those women who rebel against all restraint? Was she simply a -man-hunter? A woman who lusted for pleasure, excitement, change for -change’s sake? How greatly she had altered from the simple country girl -she had been when he knew her first. - -Or had she qualities in her which would enable her to become devoted to -one man, to be happy with him? To be his comrade and ally? He must not -permit sensual impulses to overthrow his reason. He must not allow -Marian to become part of his life, only to find that he was not part of -hers. - -It is a long walk from the Strand to St. John’s Wood, and it was -considerably after seven when he slipped his latchkey into the door and -went into the dark studio, turning up the light as he entered. Still the -sense of loneliness held him; the room, despite all its luxuriousness, -appeared comfortless. - -He sat down and stirred the fire into a flame; sat there, smoking and -thinking. - -Strength had gone out of him. During the last few days his work had -failed to satisfy him: it had been labored and dull. He had never before -suffered in this way. Painting had hitherto been the supreme thing in -his life, but now a woman’s face was always flitting between him and the -canvas. If she were with him, would it still be so? Or would she -strengthen and inspire him? It was the uncertainty that disturbed him; -to have and to hold her, then to find that she injured and did not aid -him—that would hurt, but the wound would quickly heal, he felt sure. It -would be wiser, then, to act promptly, to put an end to this state of -doubt. - -Supposing she rejected him? Probably she had not come to him because she -did not care whether she met him again or did not. Or—it might be—she -wished so dearly to see him that she could not bring herself to come to -him. - -He drove down to Acacia Grove. - -As he strode up the crunching gravel path he saw that the parlor was in -darkness, or else the curtains were very closely drawn. - -If her husband were with her his visit would be in vain, save that it -would show her that he was anxious to see her. His hand trembled as he -knocked, and he waited anxiously for the maid’s approach. - -“Is Mrs. Squire at home?” - -“No, sir. She’s just gone away, sir, in a keb, with her boxes. She was -a-goin’ on a wisit, she said.” - -“Where to?” - -“I dunno.” - -He hurried away, shocked, angry. What silly trick was fate playing on -him? He must write, cautiously, perhaps to find that she was gone out of -his reach. - -What an unutterably dreary part of the town was this in which he found -himself pursuing the more or less romantic! Dingy vice and dreary -respectability inextricably mingled, punctuated by blazing public -houses. He hurried through the continuous stream of wayfarers, wondering -if any of them knew the meaning of love. It startled him to find how -intense had grown his longing for Marian, whom he thought at first he -held in his hand, but who now eluded him so persistently. - -A man passed him, walking rapidly in the opposite direction. Despite the -dim light, he recognized Edward Squire. Then the thought came to him -that perhaps Marian had come face to face with the great act of -rebellion and had found her courage fail, had fled for safety. He did -not believe that she would find safety; once her thirst for the fullness -of life had been excited she would quench it. If he did not win her some -other man would. He wanted her and would not leave anything undone to -possess her. - -Again and again the echo of her voice rang in his ears as he hurried -along; again her face appealed to him. How glorious it would be to -loosen her red-gold hair around her shoulders, to hold her close to him, -looking deep into her eyes, his lips on hers; she and he alone. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - -BOTH in situation and in itself, Stone’s Hotel is respectable and dull. -Desperately so, Marian found it, as she stood looking out of the drawing -room window on the sunlit, colorless street. She was alone. - -It was an Early Victorian room; heavy, dingy red curtains hung down -starkly before the window from a heavy, gilded cornice. The carpet also -was dingy red, with faded roses of huge proportions displayed thereon; -the walls were covered with dirty gold-and-white paper, chastened by -oleographs in clumsy gold frames; over the mantelpiece there was a -fly-blown, gilt-framed mirror; the furniture was upholstered in -well-worn red velvet, and over the backs of the chairs and sofa were -draped dirty white crochet antimacassars; in the center stood a huge -round table covered with a green and black cloth and adorned with a -careful selection of assorted hotel guides and photograph albums, among -which a stray Tauchnitz volume looked sadly out of place; over the whole -lay the blight of dust and dreariness. - -Marian had dressed carefully in black, the single touch of color being a -gold brooch at her neck. - -She turned, with a gesture of impatience, away from the empty street to -the empty room, and sat down by the fire, the one spot of warmth and -brightness. - -Her brows knit as she thought over the situation in which she had placed -herself. She was ready to cross the Rubicon; had gone so far that return -was unthinkable. It now depended upon Maddison whether her first fight -would be a victory or a disastrous defeat. But she felt stronger now -that she was free, and determinedly put aside all thought of what would -face her if she failed to win. - -The sharp pulling up of a hansom and the ringing of the house-bell made -her listen eagerly. The subdued maidservant threw open the door and -Maddison came in. - -“It is so good of you to come!” Marian said, rising and holding out her -hand. “I hope you didn’t mind my writing to you, but I’ve—no one else.” - -The weariness and despondency in her voice and attitude hurt him. - -“Of course I don’t mind—why on earth should I? Is—what’s happened?” - -She sat down again, her back to the light, and he took the chair on the -opposite side of the hearth. He could not see her face very distinctly -in the dull room, but this very dimness gave an added charm to her -beauty. She did not answer his question immediately, though her lips -parted as if she were anxious but unable to speak. - -“Now you’re here,” she said at last, “I’m frightened. I’d no right to -ask you to come, but—I’d no one else, and I’m——” - -Tears came into her eyes, rolling slowly down her cheeks. Then she -covered her face with her hands, watching him very keenly between her -fingers. - -He rose quickly and came over to her, resting his hand upon the back of -her chair and only by an effort restraining himself from catching her in -his arms. - -“I’m so sorry,” he said, “so sorry, and so glad you did send for me. -Don’t—don’t cry.” - -“I’m so helpless!” she sobbed. - -She dropped her hands on her lap disconsolately; he took them in his, as -he stooped over her. - -“Come, come, you’re not helpless,” he said, “because you’re not alone. -Tell me, what has happened?” - -She drew her hands slowly from his, as she answered— - -“You must forgive me—crying; I’m not often so silly, but I couldn’t -help it. If you hadn’t come, I don’t know what I should have done. -Please sit down again and I’ll tell you.” - -She paused as though she were trying how best to begin her story. - -“I’ve left home. Left it altogether. I couldn’t stay there any -longer. I tried hard to get used to things, but they got worse and -worse. Then yesterday afternoon Edward was wild with me because I -couldn’t—_couldn’t_ help him in his work. I broke out and—there was a -regular scene between us. We quarreled—and—I came away here—what am I -to do?” - -“Why here?” - -“It’s the only place I know. My father brought me here years ago; it -wasn’t like this then, or didn’t seem so.” - -“Have you no plans at all?” he asked. - -“No, none. I must earn a living somehow. I’ve no money, and no friends, -except you, and I’ve no right to bother you. I suppose you think I’m mad -to run away like this—but the life there—it wasn’t life—it was -killing me. - -“I don’t set up to judge people; don’t talk like that. The first thing -is—you mustn’t stop in this dingy hole.” - -“Where else can I go?” - -“We must hunt up some decent rooms somewhere. This place would kill -you.” - -“Decent rooms—with a decent rent! You forget I’m a working woman. The -first thing to do is to find a way to earn my living.” - -He hesitated for a moment; was she playing with him, or talking in -innocent earnestness? - -“What about your husband?” he asked abruptly. - -“Edward? I left a letter for him, telling him I had gone away and -that—nothing on earth would persuade me to go back.” - -“Are you sure of that?” - -Her hands clinched as she answered: “Nothing could ever persuade me to -go back to him. What would be the use of it? To begin it all over again? -There would be no change; he couldn’t change, and I couldn’t—not as he -would want me to. He’ll be miserable at first, but soon he’ll be all the -better for my being away. He never loved me really; it’s only his work -he loves.” - -“Won’t he search for you?” - -“I dare say. But he’d only preach again if he found me.” - -“Did you—did you—care for him?” - -“Love him? I thought I did when I married him, and didn’t know what he -was. I was a girl then and knew nothing. Gradually I came to hate him. I -couldn’t help it; you don’t know how heartlessly cruel a _good_ man can -be—they’re so utterly selfish. But don’t let’s waste time on what has -been. When I shut the door there last night, I shut it on the past. -Now—what am I to do now? Can you help me? Do you know of any work I -could do? Or how I could get it?” - -“Let me think,” he said, walking slowly up and down the room. “Why—why -did you not keep your promise to come and see me at my studio?” - -“I—can’t tell you.” - -“Can’t tell me?” he said, surprised. - -“No; please don’t ask me. I could make up an excuse—lie to you, but—I -shouldn’t like to tell you even the most innocent fib. So please don’t -ask. All I can tell you,” she said, looking up at him as he stood beside -her, “is that I had a very good reason.” - -Their eyes met fully, and she dropped hers quickly and turned away. - -“I went down to see you last night—just after you had left,” he said. -“I—well, I wanted you to help me.” - -“To help you? How could I help you?” - -“We’re a helpless couple,” he answered, laughing nervously. Then he drew -up a chair close to hers, so that he could see her face. “Yes, you can -help me, and it’s just possible I can help you. You remember when I came -down to see you that afternoon, and you told me something about your -life and how—bad it was for you. I’ve never forgotten what you told me. -It’s made me a good deal unhappy.” - -“I don’t know why I told you,” she said doubtfully; “I suppose because -you were the only person I knew who I thought could understand. I didn’t -mean to worry you.” - -“I’m very glad you did tell me. But something you _did_ worried me very -much—your not coming to see me. It made me angry at first and then -miserable, especially as you didn’t write to say why you hadn’t been -able to come.” - -“I tried to write but I couldn’t.” - -“Couldn’t? What do you mean?” he asked keenly. - -“Just, I couldn’t. Don’t ask me any more.” - -“You _couldn’t_ come to see me—you _couldn’t_ write to me? I don’t -understand.” - -“I—can’t explain. But—you were telling me about yourself?” - -“You care to hear?” - -“Of course I do.” - -“When I went down to see you last night it seemed as if it would be so -easy; now, somehow I can’t say what I want.” - -“Is it something I can do for you?” - -“Yes—yes—look here, come down to the studio now. I’ll start that -picture, and while I work you can talk. Then we’ll lunch there, and talk -some more and see if we can’t put things a bit straight. Will you come?” - -Little as he had said, his manner had conveyed an assurance to her that -she would quickly gain her object, and it required all her -self-restraint to enable her to conceal her relief and triumph. She did -not reply to him immediately, looking into the fire as though she were -thinking over what he had said, in reality waiting until she felt sure -of her voice and eyes. The conversation of the last few minutes had -shown him to be her captive and that the life she had been dreaming of -was now about to become a reality. - -She stood up as she answered him—— - -“I’ll come; it will do me good. You’ve been awfully kind to me.” - -While waiting for her, he paced quickly up and down the room. All -hesitation and all doubt had vanished; his pulse beat quickly; he longed -to be away with her: to see her seated before him, the rebel whom he -hoped to tame. Yet with this certainty there mixed a last remnant of -reason: before he gave himself he must be sure that she was his. He -could not bring himself seriously to mistrust her, but he realized that -he was holding out a rescuing hand to a lonely, desperate, possibly -cunning woman. She might clutch at it in helplessness; he longed that -she should clasp it in love. - -Though the drive was long it seemed only too short to him. She scarcely -spoke at all, but looked straight ahead, wistfully, as it seemed to him, -as though she were watching a world of men and women in which she only -was sad. He, too, was silent, content to look at her, noting every -beauty of her face, the graceful carriage of her head, the evanescent -loveliness of her hair. - -“Here we are!” he exclaimed, as he led the way into the studio. “Shan’t -I just make a nuisance of myself! You’ll have to sit still, though you -can talk. I can listen while I work.” - -“What a lovely room!” she said, looking round at the deep archway before -the carved oak fireplace; the opposite arch, the recess with the daïs -and the wide expanse of latticed windows with the clear lights above; -the parqueted floor, strewn with rugs and skins; the carved chairs and -the luxurious settee—the display of somber, costly, beautiful things. -“What a lovely room! I couldn’t work in a room like this—but then I’ve -never found a room in which I could work, since I left the country.” - -She threw off her wraps and flung them with her hat—recklessly—on a -couch, and then stood warming her hands at the fire. - -“I don’t think you were made for working,” he said, standing close -beside her, looking down upon her as she bent to the blaze, which shed a -warmth of crimson over her face. “You were meant to help others to -work.” - -“You?” - -“Ever so much, I fancy.” - -“Tell me what I’m to do, and I’ll try.” - -He brought over to the fireside an old-fashioned, plain wooden chair, -with high, stiff back and broad, flat arms. - -“There—sit there—straight up—I shan’t keep you like that for long at -a stretch; grip the ends of the arms slightly—and look into the fire; -look like you did, as far as you can, that afternoon when I called you -the rebel.” - -She took the position he directed, while he sat down on a stool at a -little distance and began to sketch rapidly upon a block on his knee. - -“I want to rough it out,” he said, as he tore off a sheet of the paper -and flung it on the floor, “until I’ve caught the pose, and then I’ll -start to get it on a canvas.” - -At first he worked quickly, the while she watched him with keen -interest. She knew that if she had aroused deep emotion in him, he could -not continue this make-believe of absorption in his work, could not long -keep up this semblance of looking upon her simply as a model. - -It was partly hatred of the surroundings in which he had found her this -morning, partly fear of precipitancy that induced him to act as he was -doing. If he spoke too soon he might not only lose her, but lose -also—he loved her too sincerely not to dread it—the opportunity of -helping her in her distress. But strive strongly as he could he was -unable to concentrate his mind upon the work. Every time he looked at -her and found her gaze fixed upon him it called for all his powers of -control to keep him from throwing discretion aside at once and for all. - -“You’re watching me,” he said with a touch of impatience that troubled -her; “look at the fire, please.” - -“I’m afraid you bully your sitters,” she replied, doing as he bade her. -“I’m _so_ tired of being told to do things. There are such lots of -things I should like to do—but nobody ever told me to do any of them.” - -“What things? May I know?” - -“You’ll only laugh at me. They’re the kind of things that a woman with -nothing a year and not much hope of earning anything much has to do -without and had better not even think about.” She spoke slowly, -wondering which of her ambitions it would be discreet to name to him. “I -should like a lot of friends, clever people who can talk and be jolly -and make me jolly too, if I haven’t forgotten how to be; and pretty -rooms. I should like to read and to see pictures, and to go to the -opera—and I want sympathy—and—and——” - -As she broke off there was a catch in her voice that routed the remains -of his discretion. He threw away his pencil and went quickly over to -her, standing beside her chair. - -“Look up at me,” he said eagerly. “What else do you want? -Sympathy—and—what else?” - -Instead of looking up at him, she turned away, clasping her hands in her -lap. - -“Look up at me,” he repeated. “Why don’t you?” - -“I can’t.” - -“Can’t again! Is it—is it for the same reason that you didn’t come -here; didn’t write me? Tell me!” - -“Yes.” - -“I’d like to guess—but I daren’t, for if my guess was wrong, you’d -never forgive me. But—I’ll risk it. I can’t wait any longer. It’s -because you care more for me than you care for a mere friend. If that’s -it, it’ll be all right and you shall have all your wishes.” - -He noticed the quick heaving of her bosom and believed that it was love -for him that stirred her. - -“It’s just this: I love you, Marian, and if you’ll trust me I’ll do all -I can to make you happy. Let me try.” - -The revulsion from doubt to certainty was too great for her strength, -and she burst into hysterical sobs as she hid her face in her hands. - -“Marian, Marian,” he said, kneeling beside her, “just tell me—do you -love me? Tell me, do you? Do you?” - -At the moment she almost felt that she did love him. - -“Tell me—do you?” - -“You really love me?” she asked, turning her tear-stained face to him. - -“Really love you?” he exclaimed, seizing her hands and covering them -with eager kisses. “What’s the use of telling you? Let me prove it.” - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - -EVEN in winter time the Manor House at Chelmhurst is a cheerful abode; -the garden is no mere waste of promises kept and made; the two great -yew-trees on the lawn behind the house by their spacious graciousness -prevent any sense of void, nobly supported as they are by the splendid -laurel hedges and the evergreen shrubberies. The long, low house, with -warm red-brick walls, tiled roofs, haphazard gables and chimney-stacks, -strikes rich and cozy to the eye. Behind the garden, barely divided from -it by light iron railings, lies a broad meadow, with a pond and a -confining belt of elms. Before the house, clearly seen over the low -wall, stretches the gorse-clad common with its graceful clumps of -ash-trees. - -Thin wraiths of country mist strayed about the common, hanging in the -tall trees that surround it on almost all sides, and there was a bitter -winter sting in the air, as Philip West and Fred Mortimer drove up from -the station one afternoon late in November. - -With his long, lanky limbs, thick shock of black hair, which he had a -habit of tossing from his forehead, dark blue eyes, which at times -appeared to be the abode of dreams, but on occasion flashed with -abundant energy, his thin, almost cadaverous face, West contrasted -markedly with his companion. As ever, he was smoking a cigar, which he -fidgeted between his thin fingers when it was not cocked up at the -corner of his mouth. - -“I’m sorry Maddison could not come down; I find him a refreshing -contrast to my restless self,” West said. “Besides I should like him to -meet Alice Lane. She’s the sort of woman you don’t meet half a dozen -times in a life. I wonder how they’d get on together.” - -“Are you matchmaking for others, now you’ve made your own match?” - -“Not a bit, Fred. That’s the one line of business I shouldn’t care to -tackle. It’d do him a deuced lot of good to get married to the right -woman.” - -“I fancy he fancies other men have generally married the right -woman—for him. Which is convenient, and does not land him in lifelong -responsibilities. There are so many right men and so few right women.” - -“Don’t agree with you a bit. The average man rubs along all right with -the average woman. It’s when you get a man above or below the average -that the trouble begins.” - -Mortimer wondered if his companion were thinking of his own recent -marriage. Strikingly beautiful he knew Mrs. West to be, and in a quaint, -childish way, fascinating. But that would not suffice West for long. He -had tired of similar charms often enough already. - -The victoria swung briskly in through the gate on to the short drive, -and before it had pulled up West leaped out and sprang up on to the -veranda to greet his wife. - -“You see, Fred,” he said, laughing—“you see we haven’t forgotten our -honeymoon ways yet. We haven’t arrived at the silly stage when we’re -ashamed of people knowing we’re fond of one another. You’ve met Fred -before, Agatha; make the best you can of him, and let him do exactly -what he likes, or he’ll never come again.” - -A pretty blush lingered on her cheeks as she held out her hand to -Mortimer in welcome. - -“I try to keep him in order, Mr. Mortimer, but he’s just a great big -baby—at home, at any rate.” - -It was she who looked a child; her figure was girlish, supple and -delicate, shown to perfection by the clinging soft silk gown; her face, -too, was girlish, tender in every contour, set in a frame of unruly -golden hair, the hazel eyes alone giving it distinction. Neither husband -nor wife made any attempt to conceal their admiration of and affection -for each other, and Mortimer could but question how long West, man of -the world, would rest satisfied with the constant companionship of such -a woman. Perhaps, however, she was exactly the helpmeet he needed, one -who would catch him away from the serious work of life. - -The chief characteristic of the interior of the Manor House is the long, -low hall into which the front door opens directly; cozy, comfortable, -half drawing room, half billiard room, the Wests used it constantly, -Mrs. West working there in the morning and receiving visitors there in -the afternoon; in the evenings the house-party assembling there before -dinner and after. - -“Here we are!” exclaimed West to a tall, graceful woman, who sat reading -by the roaring fire. “Here’s Mortimer, and here’s me, so now you have -some one to entertain or be entertained by, instead of reading all the -time while Agatha insists on spooning with me.” - -Mortimer considered himself quick at seeing whether a new acquaintance -would prove to his liking, and immediately decided that there was not -much chance of there being any real goodwill between Alice Lane and -himself. She was not of a type that appealed to him; too sedate, too -cool; stately, well-proportioned, almost robust, with a breezy, blunt, -direct manner of speech, gesture and look. - -“Why are you so late?” Mrs. West asked. “We waited lunch ever so long -for you, and now it is almost tea time.” - -“It’s partly my fault because I was so busy; partly the fog’s.” - -“Chiefly his fault,” said Mortimer; “he kept me waiting in his room for -two solid hours. Gave me _The Times_ and a lot of cigars to keep me -quiet.” - -“You must be famished. Poor things! I’ll ring for tea at once. How can -you be so naughty, Phil?” - -“If you pull my hair like that I shall kiss you, and you know how that -disgusts Alice. I _should_ like to see her in love with some emotional -young man like me——” - -“Young!” exclaimed Mrs. West, with a merry laugh. “Young! Dark, thin and -forty, you mean!” - -“Like myself,” he continued, ignoring the interruption. “I wonder -whether he would thaw her or she freeze him?” - -“Don’t mind him, Alice.” - -“I don’t. He’ll grow up some day.” - -“There, Mrs. West,” he said, striking an attitude of triumph; “you see, -this sensible young woman realizes that I am young. Profit by her -example.” - -Darkness was closing in, but Mrs. West protested that it would be far -more pleasant to sit, chat and drink tea by the firelight than to have -the lamp brought in. - -“What a quaint quartette we are!” said West. “I, sedate and elderly; -Alice, sedate and quite young; Agatha, the child; and Fred—well, all -cynics are old.” - -“_Are_ you a cynic?” asked Mrs. West, handing him his cup. - -“What do you mean by a cynic?” - -“I always think cynics are—disagreeable and——” - -“_And_ you ask me if I am one!” - -“Had you then, Aggie!” laughed her husband. - -“I don’t care a bit. Mr. Mortimer knows I didn’t mean anything nasty. -I’m always saying shocking things, and no one minds a bit.” - -“Any more than when a kitten scratches,” said West. - -“A kitten’s scratches hurt, and mine don’t. It’s mean of you to sit the -other side of Alice, so that I can’t pull your hair. We have her here, -Mr. Mortimer, to keep us good, and to make her better.” - -“Aggie trying to make epigrams! What next! Heaven defend the poor man -whose wife makes epigrams.” - -Quite mistakenly, Mortimer counted himself an onlooker at life, -delighting to sound the characters of his friends and when possible, to -understand their doings. This night, as he lay awake, his thoughts dwelt -upon the company of three with whom he had passed the evening. He had -known Philip West for years, and considered him a strong, determined, -pushing man. From small beginnings inherited from an uncle he had built -up vast Stores known over London, indeed all the world over, thanks to -skillful and persistent advertising. He was a man of considerable -culture and refinement, one who, so Mortimer believed, would look for -much in his wife, for much more, at any rate, than he would obtain from -any pretty, overgrown schoolgirl. Agatha certainly was beautiful and her -baby ways charming, but were they not likely soon to pall upon such a -man as West? There was a further point: was she not simply a -fair-weather mate? Would he not find her hopelessly wanting in any time -of stress and storm? Could she shake herself free from her love of -dress, luxury and excitement? Mortimer felt sorry for her; she was -lovable, but helpless. To see her suffer would be as bad as to watch the -pain of a pretty pet animal. - -The third of the trio—Alice Lane? Mortimer tried to set aside his -innate distaste for her and his suspicion that she despised him as a -trifler, endeavoring to judge her justly. He had watched her closely, -and had discovered that she in turn was closely watching West and his -wife. She was obviously on intimate terms with Philip and apparently was -entirely trusted by Agatha, but Mortimer had learned to mistrust the -continued harmony of such a trio. A wrong note was sure to be sounded -sooner or later. If Agatha failed or palled upon him, West would -certainly turn to some other woman. If he held out his hand to Alice -Lane, would she take it? Mortimer thought not, for he recognized that -there was a great deal that was noble in her. But, then, she might hold -that it was a noble part to help, in defiance of the world’s opinion, -the man she loved. That she did love West he had so far seen no cause to -believe, but he fancied that more than once when Agatha and her husband -had indulged in open display of their affection she had shrunk back with -some stronger emotion than mere distaste. - -To Mortimer this openly displayed fondness was amusing and even -grateful; it pleased him to meet a couple in their position whose -refinement had not blunted their impulses. He felt himself old beside -them, sighing as he thought that such innocuous sweets were insipid to -him. - -With that sigh he closed his eyes and fell asleep, leaving the future to -expound itself. - -Billiards and conversation helped the Sunday hours to pass rapidly, -until at length Mortimer found himself late at night sitting alone with -West. - -“One more cigar and one more whisky,” said the latter, suiting the -action to the word. - -“Oh, yes, I know what that means. I grant you’ll probably be content -with the one drink—but—several cigars. How do you manage it?” - -“Manage what?” - -“To burn the candle at both ends without burning out?” - -“I don’t do it. I’ve several candles and I burn each at one end only. -Work all day and rest down here.” - -“Rest! You’d go mad if you ever tried to do it. You’re always at -something, and as for sleep, it doesn’t seem to matter how little you -have of it. You eat and drink everything you shouldn’t——” - -“But I don’t worry. That’s my secret. I never let anything or anybody -worry me. I sacked one of my head men the other day because he was -developing a habit of trying to worry me.” - -“Never worry! Lucky devil!” - -“I’ve never done so. I’ve just worked straight ahead for what I wanted. -I never stopped to consider whether I was a saint or a sinner, a beauty -or a beast. What’s the good? We _are_ what we _are_, that’s all. -And—I’ll have what I want if I can get it, but I shan’t worry if I -don’t get it—that’s all.” - -“Again, lucky man.” - -“You, Fred, you—your delight in life is to weigh in delicate scales one -thing against another, and then choose by applying certain rules which -you fancy you obey. But you don’t obey them, not you. No man could. -We’re all creatures of impulse. Reason is only useful for getting us out -of scrapes which are the result of our own or others’ mistakes. Why -should I _worry_? I’ve got everything I want; money, power, a -comfortable house, a pretty wife. Good Lord, what would be the use of -deliberately shoving a fly into my own honey?” - -“Yours is a fair-weather philosophy.” - -“It’s brought me through a good many hours of foul weather. You know -something about business, though your father—luckily for you—knows -more. You know I’ve not built up my business without nearly running on -rocks sometimes. Last year it was almost a toss-up whether I came a -colossal smash or not.” - -“Last year!” - -“Last year.” - -“But last year——” - -“Oh, yes,” West broke in, “I know what you’re going to say. Last year I -gave ten thousand pounds to a Royal charity fund. People said I did it -to buy a knighthood. I did it to set my credit above suspicion. It saved -me.” - -“I’ve never heard you talk about business before.” - -“Very likely not. I don’t often talk ‘shop.’ Does it bore you?” - -“No, I like hearing men talk shop.” - -“I wish I had been married then,” West said, lying back on the sofa and -watching the smoke from his cigar as it drifted across to the fire. “A -business man ought to have a home that keeps him—so to speak—out of -his office.” - -“And a wife to share his anxieties?” - -“H’m—I don’t know that. Perhaps it would help.” - -He knocked the ash off his cigar, got up and began pacing slowly up and -down the long room. - -“That’s just the difference between us, Fred. You’d weigh the woman you -thought of marrying in those silly scales of yours, and if you found her -short weight in any particular would fight shy. I’ve human impulses and -follow them. When they get me into a mess I get out of it as well as I -can. You spend so much of time in avoiding messes that you’ll never get -into anything else.” - -“I don’t seem to have many impulses left.” - -“Rats! You don’t know anything about yourself—you analytical gents -never do. Or else, which I suspect is more true, you don’t want anyone -else to know you have just ordinary, human impulses. I believe you’re a -sentimental old humbug. Come to bed.” - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - -MARIAN understood that if her bargain with Maddison was to last, it must -be made satisfying to him as well as to herself. She did not think that -because the first skirmish had been won the remainder of the campaign -would be easy and necessarily victorious. She rejoiced in having won her -freedom from the shackles of matrimony, but did not overlook the fact -that her foothold in her new world was precarious, and that a single -false step might bring her to trouble far worse than that from which she -had escaped. - -Inexperience was her chief weakness. Intuition, impulse and insight she -possessed in high degree, but these alone would not suffice her, would -not enable her to make her new position unassailable. It was certain, -once the first rush of pleasurable emotion was over, that Maddison would -begin to weigh the consequences of what he had done, that he would -question whether stress of circumstances had not driven him to act -foolishly in tying himself so closely to her. He would study her keenly -to find out whether she was really charming or only appeared so to him. -The woman desired is so often more desirable than the woman won. It must -be her unremitting task never to disappoint him in any way, and in this -the chief difficulty would be to know where to draw the line between the -utter submission to his will which might lead to rapid satiation and the -making it difficult for him to gain his every point without feeling that -he was not being given all that he was paying for. She must make her -hold upon him so tight that there would be no chance of his easily -loosening it before she herself might desire to be free. She determined -that no avoidable rashness or haste should endanger the future. - -Maddison acted as she expected. After the first outburst of passion he -was strongly impelled to draw back, to survey critically the situation -into which he had been drawn almost against his will, and certainly -against his better judgment, and to ask himself repeatedly if there -could be any continued content for him in this liaison. - -He settled Marian in a pretty flat not far from his studio, and the -first test to which he put her was to watch carefully her taste in the -decorating and furnishing of her new home. - -“I want everything to be just what you like,” she said to him, as they -surveyed the bare, unpapered rooms. “It is so lovely to start with -everything to do and not to have to put up with what other people have -put up. Everything must be just what you like, George.” - -He laughed. - -“What _I_ like?—What _you_ like.” - -“Perhaps we shall both like the same things! Though it’s cheeky of me to -imagine that my taste could be as good as yours. I don’t think I shall -want anything you will consider dreadful, but you must teach me what are -the best things. Only, do let everything be pretty and quiet—and not -too many things. And don’t let’s go to one shop and get everything -there; I’d much rather do it bit by bit. I want a home—our home—not a -gimcrack shop or a ready-made bandbox as if I were a new hat—a real -_home_.” - -She spoke the word almost sadly, and turning away from him, went across -the room and looked out of the window at the canal, the noisy road, the -vast vistas of houses and the dun-colored sky. Her tone touched him, as -she had hoped it would; there rushed in on him a sudden realization that -he had taken into his keeping a human soul, a lonely soul that had -called to him for help. - -“Don’t think I’m ungrateful—talking like this,” she said, going back to -him and laying her hands on his shoulders; “but—I do love you so much, -and I do want to be what you want me to be—so that you will go on -loving me. Teach me. You’re so strong and I’m so weak. You’re able to do -so much for me and I can do so little for you. I’ll try hard to make you -so happy that you’ll—never be sorry.” - -He took her face between his hands, looking into her deep, eager eyes, -then drew her close to him, kissing her again and again, eagerly, -passionately. She lay passive in his arms, her head on his shoulder. -Then forced herself quick apart. - -“Don’t, don’t, George! We mustn’t be too happy—it can’t last.” - -“Can’t it? Why not? We’ll just see. But at any rate we must try to be -comfortable as well as happy. And for comfort, more than bare walls and -boards are needed.” - -“The Nest,” as Marian called the little flat, was quickly put into -habitable order, though in accordance with her wish only essentials were -bought _en bloc_ and details were left over for gradual treatment. It -was a cozy nest: a tiny drawing room where the prevailing colors were -gold and green: a brown and red dining room; the bedroom a bower of blue -and white; a neat entrance hall, which Maddison had fitted up with dark -wainscoting which he had bought from an old farmhouse. - -Meanwhile Marian stayed at an hotel, spending long hours every day with -Maddison, at his studio or shopping with him; watching the progress made -at “The Nest”; dining with him every night at various restaurants, -reveling in her luxurious freedom. But he soon tired of this vagabondish -life, which had not any novelty for him, and she discreetly made -pretense of sharing his desire for quiet and of rejoicing with him when -the day came for her installation in her new domain. - -It was with a sense almost of nervousness that he dressed on the first -evening that she was to be his hostess. The night was dark though the -sky was full of stars; the air was keen and frosty. As he walked along, -the feeling of shyness grew stronger; it was almost as if he had been a -lover going forth to woo. How great a part of his life Marian had -become! It was not merely her beauty that he loved: there was so much of -refinement and, as he believed, such utter sincerity in her, that she -had caught firm hold of him. He must not hurt her by word or look or -deed. - -The drawing room was empty when he entered it, and he glanced -impatiently at the clock, thinking that women are always late. He -stepped across toward her bedroom, but again the sense of shyness took -hold on him; he stopped. There seemed to him now to be something gross -about such familiarity. Then the door opened and Marian came quietly in, -radiantly lovely in a soft, clinging gown of dull crimson and -flame-color, a red chrysanthemum in her hair; a bright flush on her -cheeks, a look of glad welcome in her eyes. - -“Isn’t it nice, George?” she said, taking his hands in her own and -looking up merrily. “_Our_ little nest. I’ve been exploring it all day, -as though I didn’t know everything in it; trying all the chairs, -strumming on the piano, tasting everything as it were—and doesn’t it -taste sweet? Thank you—thank you—thank you——!” - -He held her face close to his; the scent of her hair, the warmth of her -breath intoxicated him as he kissed her and pressed her close. - -“You do love me, really love me, George?” - -He kissed her again. - -“I do, my dear, I do. You’re a witch. I often thought I should never -love any woman really, though I very nearly loved you when you were a -little country girl. Then you come along and just wind yourself into my -life and make me forget everything except you.” - -“Everything except me,” she repeated dreamily, “and I forget everything -except you. I feel just like Cinderella must have done when she met the -prince, only this is all real, real, all real. Now, come along; you’re a -man, and—dinner is ready. Come, give me your arm and lead your hostess -in.” - -The dining table was plainly but daintily furnished; pretty flowers, -simple china, cheap green German glass, a homely dinner, light Rhine -wine, red and white, good coffee, mellow liqueurs. There was nothing to -remind him of the garish restaurant life they had been leading, no touch -of meretriciousness or hint of sham. - -When the servant left them, Marian drew her chair close to his, filled -his glass and her own. - -“Have you no toast to propose?” she asked. - -“Yes, but no wine in the world is good enough to drink it in, dear. -You—_you_!” - -“I’ve a better toast—and it’s the wish, not the wine, that counts—We. -We!” - -“You’re right! We! Though I should be nothing without you. We!” - -They clinked glasses and drank. - -“How nice and quiet it is here!” she said. “Just you and I, and all the -rest of the world shut out. I wonder——” - -“What?” - -“Should we have been as happy if you had quite loved me then?” - -“We were different then.” - -“Yes, how different!” said Marian; “I at any rate. I daresay you haven’t -changed much. You were grown-up then, but I was merely a child. I don’t -know that I am very much more now, am I?” - -She laughed lightly as she spoke, and glanced at him; then laughed again -as she leaned back in her chair and nibbled a _marron glacé_. - -“A child!” she went on. “Am I anything more than a mere grown-up child? -I don’t think I can be much more. I don’t want to really grow up. Just a -Cinderella, whom you found sitting among the ashes. I’d never met a -prince before, so—I let you carry me off in your fairy hansom. So—they -lived happily ever afterward. I wonder, did they?” - -She leaned forward, her elbows on the table and her chin resting on her -folded hands. - -“What a way to talk on our first night here! What nonsense!” - -“It’s nice to talk nonsense sometimes.” - -“Yes, but only jolly nonsense. I’ll tell you something that will make -you laugh. Do you know—I felt quite—nervous coming here to-night.” - -“Quite right. Any man going to dine with a lovely lady should feel -nervous.” - -“I was rather glad I felt that way,” he continued. “I don’t want——” - -“What don’t you want?” - -“It’s rather awkward to say. I’ll tell you another time. Let’s talk -about something else.” - -“To-night—anything you like and only what you like,” she answered, -curious, however, to know what he had in his mind. - -“Now I’m going to be serious,” she went on after a moment’s pause; “I -want to say something straight out. I know what people think of me; I -know that I can only have a part of your life, that is, if you’re going -to be happy. I don’t want you to give up anything for me, or any of your -friends. Don’t think I’m a baby and will cry if I can’t always have what -I’d love to have always. We can never be anything more to each other; we -can’t marry—Edward won’t let us: he thinks divorce wicked. You -understand? And now—come along into the next room; I’ll graciously -permit you to smoke. It’s nice and cozy there. You sit in the corner of -the sofa—poke the fire first—and I’ll snuggle up against you.” - - - * * * * * - -He woke toward dawn, the late winter dawn, when gray light was furtively -peeping through the curtains. She lay with her cheek on the pillow, her -hair straying over in gorgeous cords. He watched the gentle rise and -fall of the lace upon her bosom, the beating pulse in a blue vein. He -wondered at her loveliness; he marveled at his love for her. - -She stirred; slowly opened her eyes; smiled at him; then slipped her arm -round his neck and drew his head down upon her shoulder. - -For the moment she was self-forgetful. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - -THE picture made good progress, Maddison working at it with his whole -heart. As her nature blossomed out before him, her joy in pleasure, he -realized clearly and more clearly how unbearable must have been her life -with Squire. His passion for her quickly settled down into an absorbing -love; his power and reason soon returned to him; he knew that he had -bought a beautiful and expensive toy; how long he could keep it, how -long he would care to keep it, he did not ask. Sufficient for the day -was the delight thereof. - -“What are you thinking about?” he asked one morning, as she sat by the -studio fire while he painted. - -“About you.” - -“What about me?” - -“I was thinking—I often think—that I am keeping you a great deal from -your friends. You’re with me almost every evening, and except when -you’ve a sitter I’m with you almost every day. I don’t want to be a tie, -a drag on you.” - -“Don’t you know I’m happy that way?” - -“Yes, George, I do. But it doesn’t do to try one’s happiness too hard. - -“I won’t. Trust me. It’s partly accident that I’ve been nowhere lately, -partly my habit. People used to ask me everywhere, but gave it up when -they found I didn’t go anywhere. There are just a few houses always open -to me, and a few pals come along here whenever they choose. I used to -have jolly little informal suppers on Sundays last winter. We must start -them again. A few men and women——” - -“But—” she interrupted, raising her eyebrows and expressing by a motion -of her hands that the women would consider her taboo. - -“Oh, not that sort of woman, Marian. Good sorts, who believe that the -world was made for men and women, not men and women for the world. We’ll -send a line round to some of them: ‘Suppers begin again Sunday next. -Come whenever you don’t want to go anywhere else.’ Everything’s put on -the table and we wait on ourselves. Fred—Fred Mortimer—you’ll like -him—is a dandy man with the chafing-dish, and when he comes we indulge -in extravagant luxuries.” - -“You’re quite sure about me?” - -“Of course I am. Quite sure and quite proud. It’ll be awfully jolly -having a hostess. Hullo! I wonder who this can be—don’t move.” - -The door opened and the servant announced Mr. Philip West. - -“I beg your pardon——” - -Marian rose. - -“Mrs. Squire,” said Maddison, “let me introduce Mr. Philip West. Mrs. -Squire is helping me to paint a picture.” - -“Helping!” she exclaimed. “I’m the fly on the wheel.” - -West examined the picture and Marian critically. - -“Have you a name for it?” he asked. - -“Yes. ‘The Rebel.’” - -“It’s good,” he said slowly, “very good; it’ll be the biggest thing -you’ve done. May I commission it? I’d like to have it”—he looked -straight at Marian as he spoke. “That reminds me why I came here this -morning. If you’ve time and inclination—I know what a particular cuss -you are—I should be glad if you’d paint my wife’s portrait. I should -think she might suit you. You remember her?” - -“I am a particular cuss,” Maddison answered, smiling grimly at the -remembrance of various commissions rejected. “Have you said anything to -Mrs. West?” - -“No.” - -“Then don’t, till I know whether I can paint her or not.” - -“Too late, coward, too late. She suggested it herself, and sent me here -to bear her—commands. You and she may settle it as you like. She’s -lunching at the Carlton with me—I wanted you to come, if you’re not -engaged.” - -“Engaged, no; but I’m in the mood for work. Are you dining in town?” - -“We weren’t, but we will, if you’ll join us. I know there’s no -persuading you to leave your work when you begin to talk about moods. -Settled—dinner then?” - -“Yes, when? Where?” - -“The Carlton will do. Eight. Good-by. Good-by, Mrs. Squire. I used to -know a parson of that name down in Kennington—an enthusiast——” - -“My husband.” - -“Really? Lucky man. Good-by.” - -Maddison went with him to the front door, and when he returned found -Marian standing before the canvas. - -“Yes! I’m a rebel!” she exclaimed. “My husband! Do you know, George, I’d -clean forgotten all about him; absolutely. All that life is just like a -dream, and I’m awake now. Even when you called me Mrs. Squire it did not -recall him to me. Yes, I’m a rebel! But they don’t call you rebels, do -they, when you’ve revolted successfully? Why didn’t you go to lunch?” - -He slipped his arm round her waist as he answered—— - -“I didn’t like rushing off from you, so I told an artistic lie. I don’t -want to go to the dinner, but West’s a goodish fellow, and was wise -enough to buy my pictures when no one else would. So I’m a bit in his -debt.” - -“Who is he?” - -“He is _the_ West. ‘If you want to get the best—go West,’ you know.” - -“Oh, West’s Stores. He’s a millionaire, isn’t he?” - -“Awfully, horribly, disgustingly rich. But he doesn’t do as much harm -with his money as most rich men. He hasn’t bought pictures wholesale, or -built a gimcrack mansion in Park Lane. He gave tons of money once to a -royal hobby and then refused a knighthood. When I congratulated him, he -laughed and said it was good advertising. I believe he dabbles in -politics; he’s a socialist—only rich men can afford to be—and talks -about running the Empire on business lines. It’ll take a greater man -than even he to make politicians capable of any business transaction, -except buying votes with promissory notes. Chiefly notes blown on their -own trumpets.” - -“There must be something fascinating about politics. I should love to -rule men!” - -“Isn’t one enough?” he asked, holding her at arm’s length and looking -into her eyes. - -“One like you—yes.” - -As she sat alone that night, lazily smoking by the fireside, the thought -of Philip West was greatly in her mind. His strange, dark blue eyes had -looked at her searchingly and she had felt that behind them was power. -Had she any chance of knowing more of him? - -She was tiring already of the luxurious sameness of her life. Maddison -was kind, thoughtful, attentive, and a sufficiently entertaining -comrade, but she desired more than that. To rule one man did not satisfy -her. - -The odds seemed against her meeting West again, especially as he was -married. Maddison would doubtless tell her what the wife was like, and -it was rather upon her than upon West himself that the success of -Marian’s vague ambition depended. To win West in any circumstances would -doubtless be difficult; to win him from his wife would be a triumph. - -Maddison came in late and threw himself full length upon the hearth-rug, -a favorite position of his when tired. - -“Had a stupid evening?” she asked, sitting down beside him, and brushing -the straggling hair from his forehead. - -“Fearful. I hate those big hotels at any time, but it was more than -usually deadly to-night.” - -“I thought you liked Mr. West?” - -“Oh, he’d have been all right alone; but his wife is an empty -chatterbox, insipidly pretty, and he adores her in a fatuous way. How -men of sense can—well, I suppose reason doesn’t count in such matters.” - -“So you are not going to paint her?” - -“Not for worlds. I should turn out a chocolate box cover. I must have a -soul as well as a body. They were just a couple of honeymooners. -Disgusting.” - -“It’s always disgusting to see other people in love.” - -“Perhaps that has something to do with it. He’s simply lost his reason -for a while; he’ll grow sane again some day, soon probably, and then, -likely enough, she’ll cry her eyes out for a day or two, and then will -be quite happy for the rest of her unnatural life with her jewels and -dresses. She’s just a material little doll.” - -“It must have been stupid—no one else?” - -“Only another woman, a tall, sedate person; I didn’t quite understand -her.” - -“Then you weren’t altogether bored?” - -“She was too much of a puzzle. Either intensely dull, or dangerously -clever. At any rate, if I were Mrs. West I would not often have Miss -Lane by my side. I rather fancy she’s a woman a man might love -absolutely. And when West gets sick of his wife—Lord, what silly gossip -I’m talking. Do be a dear and make me a cup of chocolate; you know how, -and then we’ll talk about something more interesting than the Wests.” - -When she came back with the steaming cup, she found him fast asleep. She -stood looking down on him, lithe, slender, well-formed, the neatly -trimmed beard, the heavy black hair, the long, delicate hands. She -wondered if she would grow to hate him. She believed that she could not -long keep from disliking intensely, or at any rate despising, a weak -man. He had been too easy a conquest, unable to withstand the subtle -flattery of a woman’s weakness and call for help. - -He stirred uneasily as she watched him; then slowly opened his eyes. - -“What a dull dog I am!” he exclaimed, springing up. “Why don’t you tell -me so?” - -“Because I don’t think so. You’re tired, and you mustn’t think I only -care for you when you are doing something to amuse me.” - -She sat down on the sofa, motioning to him to sit beside her, and while -he sipped the chocolate, she went on: - -“You’re like all other men in one way. You fancy women are silly, -restless things, who either aren’t worth amusing or must be amused -always. If I’m only a child, just fit to be played with, what good can I -be to you? There are lots of pretty toys in the world. I thought you -thought better of me.” - -“So I do, goose. Don’t fish for compliments, though I will pay you one -upon your chocolate. Is it too late for a song?” - -“No, not for a quiet one.” - -“Then turn out the lights and sing, will you?” - -Her fingers ran almost aimlessly over the keys before she began to play, -softly, the melody of an old country song—a haunting, melancholy air. -Then she sang quietly, with a touch of tears in her voice, a simple -ballad of a country maid and her false lover. When it was ended her -hands dropped listlessly and there came over her a sudden gust of hatred -of this mumming—this making believe to love a man who was a mere tool -in her hands. But, until the work was complete, the tool must not be -thrown aside. - -“There are few people who sing like you, Marian; very few I care to -hear. They’re mostly musical boxes, absolutely soulless. You—you sing a -jolly song and people feel jolly; a sad one—and make me sad. How do you -do it? What an inane question! As if you knew. There’s nothing in life -worth having except emotions.” - -“What about painting?” - -“Art? All art is the expression of emotions—that’s the beginning and -the finish of it, has been and ever shall be till the world’s end. Don’t -turn up the light. The glow of the fire is quite enough to chat by.” - -“What emotions do you feel when you’re painting ‘The Rebel’?” - -“Disappointment. I see your face at the tip of my brush, but every touch -I give is wrong—wrong.” - -“I like it—Mr. West liked it.” - -“Yes, but neither of you know what I mean it to be, or how far I am from -expressing my meaning. It’s little better than a dolly anecdote daub. -I’ve a good mind to paint Mrs. West after all; it would be fun.” - -“How?” - -“Why, this way. I’d just paint her absolutely true to life, show her -empty soul peeping out of her dolly eyes. And everybody would say: ‘What -a sweet, innocent face!’ Innocent! How many women are innocent because -they’re impotent even to desire to be wicked.” - -“Then paint her, and we’ll enjoy the joke.” - -“But I can’t let West pay me for it. I’ll make it a belated wedding -present.” - -Marian made no comment, but marveled at the quixotry of man. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - -MADDISON being engaged to lunch and tea on the following Sunday—the -first of those on which he expected his suppers to commence -again—Marian was left to herself the whole day, spending it in lounging -discontent. - -The gilt was wearing off the prize she had won, and each day she grew -more impatient for change. It was not in her to wish that she were -otherwise gifted and that she could rest content with present -conditions. She desired more than she possessed, spent no effort in -endeavoring to drill herself into being satisfied with what she had, but -kicked against the pricks. - -Of Maddison’s friends she had met only Mortimer and West. She was to all -intents alone in London with Maddison. - -She was free to act, eager to do so, but as yet she had found no outlet -for her energy or ambition. Also, she was not a little lonely; whenever, -as on this day, Maddison was not with her, she was thrown back on -herself. At times even, it seemed to her as if she had only freed -herself from the active and pressing annoyances of the past, and that in -reality she was no more free now than then. She had but flown from one -cage to another, and was again beating her wings against the bars in -angry endeavor to escape for a stronger and farther flight. - -After luncheon she sat down before the fire, trying to read a volume of -Rossetti that Maddison had given her. The rhyme jingled through her head -but made no impression, and conveyed neither sense nor beauty. Throwing -the book aside on the floor, she lighted a cigarette and lay back -dreamily in the soft, deep chair. The cigarette finished, she closed her -eyes and soon fell asleep. - -She awoke with a start and a shudder; the fire was nearly out, the room -was chilly, the afternoon was quickly closing in. She shivered, -wondering what sound it was that had aroused her. The maid came in, -turning on the electric light as she entered, followed by a tall, -elegantly-dressed woman. - -“Mrs. Harding,” the maid announced. - -Marian struggled out of the deep chair and looked inquiringly at the -stranger. - -“No, you don’t know me,” said Mrs. Harding; “I’ll tell you who I am in a -minute. I’m afraid I woke you out of a snooze? So sorry. It’s almost the -only thing one can do on such a beastly afternoon—sleep and drink—and -both are stupid by yourself. So I thought I’d trot downstairs and see if -you were blue too.” - -A vague recollection came to Marian of having passed Mrs. Harding on the -stairs once or twice. - -“Won’t you sit down?” she said. “I’ll ring and have the fire made up, -and it must be tea time.” - -She was anxious to learn the real meaning of this intrusion. Any -diversion was welcome. - -“You’re jolly snug here,” Mrs. Harding remarked, after a survey of the -room while the maid had stirred up the fire and set the tea table ready. -“Mine are rather frowsy, but then my old man’s a bit of a screw. You’ve -had better luck than me. Hope it’ll last. That’s the worst of the jolly -ones, they get tired so quickly, and if you hold the reins tight they -simply kick up and bolt. _I_ know.” - -As it dawned upon her what was the character—or rather the want of -it—of her visitor, Marian examined her face more critically. The woman -was insolently handsome; masses of blue-black hair set off to perfection -the almost dead-white of her face; the forehead was low and broad, the -eyes dark and deep-set under heavy brows; the mouth large and sensuous, -showing, when open, a perfect row of teeth; the chin alone was weak. She -was expensively dressed, her tight-fitting tailor-made gown showing to -advantage the bold outline of the figure. - -“Now the girl’s gone we can chat cozily,” continued the visitor. “I -never talk before my maid, because I don’t want her to talk over me and -my doings with—say yours. I’d rather tell you myself what I want you to -know. You’re not so careful. Your maid talks to mine, mine to me, so -indirectly you’ve told me a good deal about yourself.” - -“I’m much obliged to you,” Marian said quietly; “Anne shall leave -to-morrow.” - -“I thought it only pally to tell you, but I shouldn’t sack her—they’re -all the same. I don’t let mine know more than I can help, though that’s -more than safe if I annoyed her and she told the old ’un about—the -others. You must have a pretty lonely time of it?” - -“It’s a rest to be alone sometimes.” - -At first Marian had felt inclined to be angry at this woman having -thrust herself upon her, but curiosity succeeded. She had never spoken -to one of her class before—of her own class, it flashed upon her—and -to do so might prove interesting, possibly also instructive. - -“Rest? Oh, yes, I suppose so, but I hate resting. That’s the worst of -being kept by an old josser, he neither gives you any fun himself nor -gives you much chance of getting any with anyone else. But I don’t do so -badly. The certainty of it is the decent part of it. Thank God, he goes -away sometimes, and then I just make up for lost time, _don’t_ I! Your -George——” - -“My——!” - -“That’s his name, isn’t it?” - -“Yes.” - -“He’s all right, just enough and not too much, I should say. You’re only -a beginner, and don’t know yet what we have to put up with and what we -become. Oh! We’re a lively lot, some of us, regular devils. I steer -clear of them as much as I can, but one must talk to a woman sometimes. -At least I must. I hope you don’t mind my coming in this way?” - -“Not a bit. Another cup of tea?” - -“No, thanks, but if I could have a B. and S. I’d not say ‘No.’” - -Marian rang and bade the maid bring the necessaries. - -“I liked the look of you,” Mrs. Harding continued, “and it’s pleasant to -have a friendly neighbor; it’s a nuisance to be always going out. It’s a -sickening life sometimes, but I wouldn’t change it for any other. Not to -be a duchess! I did try to settle down once with a man who wanted to -marry me, but it nearly drove me crazy. The love of it’s in my blood. -Yours, too, from the look of you. There’s plenty of fun too. You meet -good sorts as well as bad, and take my tip, when you meet a good sort, -treat him well. It’s funny our living here; I believe everyone else in -the house is straight. Judging by their looks, they can’t have had much -temptation to be otherwise. Their wedding rings ain’t make-believe like -ours. A cigarette? Thanks: This is brandy! Jolly good,” she said, -tasting it; “it’d be a sin to put water in that. Here’s luck!” - -She drank the brandy neat, with evident relish. - -“What are you going to do to-night? Care to come out with me and dine -somewhere?” - -“I’m afraid I can’t. I should like to, but I’m engaged to supper.” - -“Lucky girl, I ain’t. My old man went off all of a sudden and left me in -the lurch. If I’d known he was going I’d have fixed up some fun, but he -didn’t tell me till after breakfast this morning. He’s just cussed -sometimes, and never let’s on when he will be away. Well, I must trust -to luck. Come some other night; and do come up to see me—he don’t mind -feminine friends.” - -“I’d like to come.” - -“By the way, my dear, while I think of it, you’ll do well to look about -you before he leaves you in the lurch. Funny thing, a year or two ago I -used to see a good deal of Georgie. He don’t stick to anyone long. He -soon got tired of me and I wasn’t too much cut up about it; he’s too -finicky for my taste. I shall never forget his face when he found me a -bit fuzzy-wuzzy with fizzy wine one night. I always called him old blue -ribbon after that.” - -She laughed quietly, a deep, low, melodious note. Then she got up and -walked about the room, looking at the pictures and ornaments. - -“I must say he’s fixed you up as if you’d caught his fancy strong. He -only took a furnished place for me. But don’t put all your trust in any -man’s pocket. Do you play?” she asked, sitting down to the piano. “Here -goes for a hymn.” - -She played a catchy air and then sang the first verse and chorus of a -drinking song that then held the ear of the town. - -“But there, I’ll be off, my dear. Georgie might catch me here and not -approve. I shan’t come to see you again till you’ve been to see me. I’ve -a sort of idea we shall be pals, I want one badly. I can put you up to a -wrinkle or two; I’ve one or two to spare,” she said, looking at her -reflection in the glass. “Oh, don’t worry to ring, I’ll let myself out. -I’m never proud, except when it pays me to be so. Good night; be good -and you won’t be happy.” - -There was a frank _bonhomie_ about the woman that attracted Marian. -Their aims were different, perhaps, but their methods seemed much the -same. Moreover, it seemed not unlikely that she might prove helpful, and -that in some matters and on some occasions she might be a useful -adviser. Further, there was a growing lawlessness in Marian’s blood that -made her thirst sometimes to taste degradation, and this woman could -lead her to it. - -It was now nearly six o’clock. She had promised Maddison to go round -early to the studio. She wished now that she had been free to accept -Mrs. Harding’s invitation, and made up her mind to do so some night -soon, if it could be safely arranged. - -The housekeeper opened the door to her, and told her that a gentleman -was waiting in the studio to see Mr. Maddison. Marian nodded and went -in, expecting to find Mortimer or one of the other men who had been -summoned. The big room was dimly lit. She shut the door behind her and -went toward the fireplace, in a chair by which a man was sitting with -his back toward her. - -He rose at the sound of her approach. It was her husband. - -“Marian!” - -She stood stock-still as he came quickly toward her, with his hands -outstretched. - -But the eager joy in his eyes was met by anger in hers. - -“How dare you come here?” she asked. “Keep away from me. Don’t touch -me!” - -He stopped, bewildered. - -“How did you know I was here?” she went on. - -“I didn’t know. I’ve searched and searched for you, walked the streets -in the hope of catching a glimpse of you. Then Ellis told me he had seen -you with Mr. Maddison, so I came straight here, thinking he would -perhaps know your address. But I can hardly speak—I’m so glad.” - -“You’d better go back and sit down again. I’ve something to say to you. -You—don’t understand.” - -The tone of her voice chilled him as if an icy finger had been laid upon -his heart, but he did not move. - -“What is it?” - -She went past him over to the fireplace, and stood there looking at the -glowing logs. So he knew really nothing! Should she tell him everything? -She quickly decided not to do so unless driven to it. Turning round -sharply to him, she said: - -“You don’t understand. I left you because I didn’t want to see you -again. Coming after me like this won’t make any difference, won’t do a -bit of good. I’ve left you and I won’t come back. You’d better forget me -as quickly as you can.” - -“I can’t, I can’t,” he repeated. “I _can’t_. And why should I? I want -you to forgive me. I did try to be good to you, but I must have failed -miserably to have driven you away from me. I’ve been thinking over what -you said about my being selfish. Come back. Try me once more. Won’t -you?” - -“No. I won’t. I can’t. You don’t understand. I _hate_ you. I hate -everything you think and do. We’re utterly different.” - -With a gesture of helpless despair he turned away and began to pace up -and down. - -She could not help pitying him. - -“I’m sorry,” she said, “but it can’t be helped. It was a stupid mistake -our marrying—but I didn’t know myself then. You don’t know me now. It -would be a worse mistake, though, for me to come back.” - -“God help me. I’ve thought of nothing but you since you went away. Is -there nothing I can do?—nothing I can say?” - -“Nothing. Nothing,” she broke in vehemently. “Nothing, I tell you. Why -can’t you believe me? It’s no use talking about it. You’d better go.” - -He stood looking at her, but could read in her eyes only stubborn -defiance. For the first time he noticed the new brightness in her beauty -and the richness of her dress. - -“Where are you?” he asked; “what are you doing?” - -“I’m quite happy, or rather should be if only you’d leave me alone,” was -the answer. - -But he persisted, there coming suddenly into his mind a suspicion of the -truth. - -“Why are you here? The servant must have told you Maddison was out, -and—you came in as if you were at home.” - -“I won’t answer any more questions. I told you you’d better go.” - -“You needn’t answer. I know. I can see it in your face. You’re this -man’s mistress. You—come to this. But it’s not too late. Come away, -with me—we’ll go away—anywhere, far away——” - -“Oh! why don’t you _go_?” she interrupted, stamping her foot, and -clenching her hands as if she would have liked to strike him. “I _am_ -his mistress. Now, go.” - -“Not without you——” - -“You must. You’re simply making a fool of yourself. I’m alive and free -now—do you think you can get me back? Save as many other souls as you -can, but let me do as I like with mine. Haven’t you any pride? I’m -through and through what you call a _bad_ woman. I’m wicked because I -enjoy being wicked. Even if I tired of it, I’d not come back to you.” - -She rang the bell, and before he could find his speech the servant came -in. - -“This gentleman has left a message with me for Mr. Maddison,” Marian -said; then bowing coldly to Edward, added: “Good night.” - -The servant held the door open. - -Squire hesitated, and then let his eyes drop before hers and slowly went -out. - -When she heard the outer door shut, she sat down and began slowly to -pull off her long gloves. He might come back, even to-night. She knew -how persistent he could be and felt sure he would not leave any effort -untried to take her away from the life she was leading, even if he could -not persuade her to return to him. - -She folded the gloves mechanically and laid them on the table beside -her. Then took off her hat and sank back in the chair, her hands -gripping the arms tightly. - -The position seemed impossible, and she was angry that she had not -foreseen and provided for it. Either something must be done to prevent -her husband coming here again, or she must only meet Maddison elsewhere. -Was not this last the solution? If she only saw him at her flat—or -elsewhere—anywhere but here—it would free her sufficiently from him to -allow of her pursuing other ends and other pleasures, while she could -hold him to her sufficiently closely and for a sufficient length of time -to obtain all she required from him. - -Then the thought struck her that Edward would probably be waiting -outside and might waylay Maddison and make a scene. This must be -avoided. The only chance of leading him away, if indeed he were waiting, -was for her to leave; he would follow her. She hastily made ready and -went out. - -She looked cautiously up and down the dimly lit street, but could not -see him. She walked quickly, and as she turned into the main -thoroughfare, glanced back and saw that he was following her. She -hastened on, sure that he would keep her in sight. An empty hansom cab -came along; she got in, bidding the driver go to Piccadilly Circus. - -No thought of the agony Squire was enduring came into her mind. She was -angry, excited, possessed by a spirit of malicious mischief. A bend in -the road enabled her to look back: there was no other vehicle in sight. -She pushed open the trap door above her head, told the driver that she -had forgotten something, and bade him drive to the studio. Then she -opened the lamp that was behind her, blew out the light, and then -huddled as closely as possible into the corner nearest that side of the -road along which Squire would most likely come. - -She looked eagerly, and soon passed him, walking slowly, bent and bowed. - -When she reached the studio Maddison was there. - -“What’s up?” he said. “You rush in, I hear, have an interview with a -mysterious stranger, rush away and rush back again. But give me a kiss -before you answer. Now, sit on my knee and ’fess.” - -“George, my husband’s been here.” - -“The devil!” - -“The devil would have been easier to manage; he doesn’t want to save -souls.” - -She then told him most but not all of what had taken place. - -“It _is_ awkward. Do you think he’ll come again?” - -“Sure to, that’s the trouble. Nothing I can say—or you—will stop him. -You don’t know what he is. We’re safe for to-night, so you needn’t worry -about that, but what can we do? There mustn’t be a row, for your sake. -Hullo! there’s somebody, and not a thing ready.” - -“All the better—all the more like a picnic. It’s Fred. Come along, we -appoint you chef. Marian shall be kitchen maid. I’ll lay the table.” - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - -MADDISON was not surprised at a visit from Squire early the next -morning; and if not armed he was at any rate forewarned. - -He offered him a chair and a cigarette, both of which were curtly -refused. - -“As you will,” Maddison said, seemingly careless and supercilious, but -in reality closely watching his opponent’s face. “I hope you will not -mind my both sitting and smoking; both are conducive to comfort, and -what’s life without comfort?” - -“It will be better,” Squire said, shuffling awkwardly, “to talk simply -and without any remarks which are likely to be offensive. You know why -I’ve come?” - -“Unless you tell me I shall never know. This visit seems as useless as -it is unpleasant. I can’t think what you have to say which wouldn’t be -better unsaid.” - -“No, I suppose you cannot. I suppose we look at almost everything from a -different standpoint. I’ve come to say——” - -“You are presuming, Mr. Squire, that I am willing to listen to you.” - -“Naturally. You allowed your servant to show me in.” - -“I beg your pardon, you’re _quite_ right. But I do wish you’d sit down; -it makes me feel so awkward to see you standing up.” - -“I saw Marian last night,” Squire said, taking no notice of Maddison’s -remark; “I suppose she told you.” - -“Yes. The meeting annoyed her very much. It was natural for you to -assume that I let you in because I was willing to listen to you. As a -matter of fact, it was because I must absolutely refuse to do so. But, -unless _you_ refuse to hear me, I’ve just this much to tell you. The -lady you mentioned is living under my care, and I will protect her -against annoyance. If you have any communication to make I will send you -my solicitor’s name and address. Now—you’d better go.” - -“Even if she were not my wife, I’ve a right to do all I can to rescue -her from a life of sin.” - -“Please don’t platitudinize to me.” - -Squire reddened with anger and clenched his fists: recourse to brute -force suggests itself instinctively to the fighter who is mentally -weaker than his opponent. - -“What right have you to say that?” he asked vehemently, “what right? I -believe what I say and do my best to act up to my beliefs.” - -“Then live in charity, with all men, even with a sinner and a publican -like me, and judge not that ye be not judged. I don’t shove my beliefs -on you. You live in such an unpractical world that you do not realize -the stupidity of forcing yourself upon me. I’ve really no more to say. -The law gives you your remedy, but it won’t assist you to trespass here -or to force yourself upon your wife. Good morning.” - -Squire realized that he was helpless against Maddison; denunciation -would achieve no good end; it would be equally useless to base an appeal -upon grounds of morality. But for Marian’s sake he was ready to humble -himself in a last endeavor. - -“As man to man——” - -“Oh, my dear sir!” Maddison exclaimed, “don’t talk that way. If you -tried to knock me down I could understand, if not respect, you. In these -affairs men don’t argue, they act, according to the law of nature or -preferably of man. Don’t let us indulge in a vulgar, unprofitable brawl. -Good morning.” - -“Then I’ll go to her. Give me her address.” - -“Certainly not. She does not wish you to know it.” - -“Then I’ll watch.” - -“As you please. But remember, you’ve no right to persecute her; though -many husbands think otherwise—that is not one of the privileges of -matrimony.” - -Squire checked an angry retort and then abruptly went out. - -Maddison spoke truly when he said that to him comfort was one of the -saving graces of life, indeed to him it was almost the only one. This -entry of Squire upon the scene and this turning a comedy into a domestic -drama vexed and annoyed him. It had not occurred to him that any man -would act so unconventionally as Squire had done. Marian had told him -that her husband would not divorce her, looking as he did upon marriage -as a sacramental bond which no man had a right to break; so Maddison had -thought that there might be an appeal to Marian if Squire discovered her -whereabouts, an angry scene very likely and then peace. But it had not -entered into his calculations that Squire would be so persistent; this -type of man was new and unknown to him, of a kind that he did not -understand how best to tackle. To discuss the situation with Marian -would be distasteful; there remained only Mortimer to whom he could -speak frankly, relying upon the good common sense of any advice he might -obtain from him. - -At this hour of the morning Mortimer should be at his office, and there -Maddison rang him up. - -“Is Mr. Mortimer in?” - -“Which one?” was the brusque reply. - -“Mr. Frederick.” - -“Don’t know. Who is it?” - -“Tell him Mr. Maddison wants to speak to him for a minute.” - -“Hold the line.” - -Mortimer gladly accepted Maddison’s invitation to lunch. - -“But why on earth come down to this dreary part of town?” he asked. -“Don’t deprive me of a lovely excuse for leaving here early and coming -back late—if at all. Meet me outside the Palace, and I’ll take you to a -tidy little French restaurant I’ve just discovered and haven’t yet found -out. One o’clock—all right!” - -Both were punctual, and Mortimer guided his friend through several small -and unsavory streets to a narrow court at the far end of which was -situated the humble restaurant bearing the high-sounding name La Palais. - -“It’s not much to look at,” he said, as they went in through the swing -door, “like an ugly woman with a pretty wit. _Bon jour_, Madame.” - -Madame, a stout, jolly-looking woman, greeted Mortimer cordially, and -nodded genially to his companion. - -“Now, Madame, I’ve brought a friend with me and I’ve told him—well, -I’ve told him the truth about you. So don’t shatter my entirely -undeserved reputation for veracity. We’ll have this snug corner and -leave the menu to you. You know the kind of thing I like.” - -The room was long and low; clean, neat, with little attempt at -decoration; the walls covered with plain, dark gray paper, the electric -light pendants severely simple; flowering shrubs stood upon the pay desk -near the entrance, and similar plants or cut flowers upon the tables. - -“I can’t make out how this place pays,” said Mortimer, “there are never -more than a handful of people here. I suppose it will suddenly become -popular and then rapidly deteriorate. That’s the history of all these -places. Meanwhile let us rejoice. We’ll have some Chianti, but will not -drink it neat as do the barbarians, but judiciously tempered with -Polly.” - -Lunch finished, coffee and cigars produced, Mortimer announced that he -was ready to talk seriously. - -“What’s up?” he asked. “You shall have all the advice I can give and I -shan’t be in the least hurt if you don’t follow any of it. Your mind’s -sure to be made up already and you simply ask for advice in the hope -that my view will be your view.” - -“No, I don’t, Fred. Not such an ass. I’m in a bad corner and I’m damned -if I know how to get out of it. I don’t know whether you know that Mrs. -Squire has a husband?” - -“I didn’t. I imagined the prefix to be entirely ceremonial.” - -“He’s a parson.” - -“The devil!” - -“Worse, a saint. He doesn’t believe in divorce and is obstinately -determined to persecute Marian. He says he won’t leave a stone unturned -to save her. Please laugh. There’s a comic side to it, I know, but it’s -turned away from me.” - -“I know the type. I’ve met one or two of them,” said Mortimer, -reflectively watching the smoke of his cigar; “I bet he’ll give you a -deuced lot of trouble. Unreasonable people are most difficult to deal -with, they never know how unreasonable they are. And a man who doesn’t -play according to the rules—But, tell me all about it.” - -Maddison told him all that he knew of Squire and of Marian’s and his own -meetings with him. - -“Beastly awkward!” was Mortimer’s comment. - -“You can pretty well guess I’m stumped,” said Maddison. “I don’t know -what’s best to do.” - -“Excuse my asking, I must know all the facts of the case: you don’t want -to break off with Mrs. Squire?” - -“No!” - -“All right! Don’t blaze up, we’re talking politics, not poetry. It’s not -one of those cases in which you can sit still and let fate play your -cards. The man will stick at nothing. Eventually he must meet her again, -even if she doesn’t come to your place. He’ll haunt you. Perhaps catch -you together in some public place and kick up—the saints’ own delight.” - -“Yes, yes, I can see all that. I know what I’ve got to face—but I don’t -want to face it.” - -“I was mentally marking time. If I knew what to suggest I would have -told you at once. Let’s be practical; there are three parties to the -business: you—she—he. The question is how to avoid you and she, or, at -any rate, you, being brought into contact with him. Could you both go -away for a while?” - -“Easily.” - -“In a time you and she would be safe. What would he do? Hunt after -you—find that you had left town——” - -“That’s all very well, but we can’t stay away forever.” - -“Forever!” murmured Mortimer, gazing sadly up at the ceiling. “Easy! -Easy! Leaving out of the question the possibility of your tiring of -her—he can’t spend the rest of his life chasing after you. Even if he -could, he wouldn’t. You don’t know the man as well as I do, although -I’ve never met him. It’s love—fleshly love—as well as duty that’s -urging him on now. Duty will regain the upper hand, and he’ll argue that -he has no right to leave undone the work that is _merely_ duty, in order -to pursue duty _plus_ personal interest. He’s actively engaged in trying -to save one particularly attractive soul now; he’ll soon swerve round -and work again on the multitude. As far as his wife is concerned, he’ll -fall back upon the masterly inactivity of prayer. I may be quite wrong, -but unless you can hit upon a better plan, I don’t see that you can do -better than—hook it. I have spoken.” - -“I’ve still got the cottage down at Rottingdean; we could run down for a -month.” - -“Where the stormy winds do blow! Poor, dear lady.” - -“I can’t work in a racket.” - -“Well, it’s as easy to leave as to go there. Three o’clock! by Jove, I -must get back. I’ve some letters to sign, and I’m going down to West’s -for dinner. She tells me you’re going to paint her portrait.” - -“She tells the truth—although she draws upon her imagination. West -suggested my doing so, but I haven’t agreed yet.” - -“Have you met Miss Lane?” - -“Once, at dinner.” - -“She’s worth studying. Worth painting too.” - -“Oh!” - -“Not I. I don’t even like her. A man never falls in love with a woman he -studies, but with the woman who studies him. I _must_ be off. See you -again soon. Let me hear from you if you run away.” - -As he walked homeward, Maddison pondered over the problem, oblivious of -people and places. Squire’s intrusion into his life had brought home to -him that Marian and the joy of life were one for him. He had entered -into this intrigue to a certain extent deliberately, but had not -contemplated the possibility of Marian’s attraction for him becoming -anything stronger than a mere physical appeal to his sensuous nature. He -had always believed that art was the only impulse in his life, that in -all else he was governed by his reason. He did not drink too much, -because reason and experience told him that after a certain point wine -became a tasteless stimulant. He did not permit any woman entirely to -captivate him. Experience and reason—so he thought—taught him that -women were like wine. - -But Marian had won a place in his life that no other woman had ever -approached. For a moment, the night before, Squire’s attack had made him -think that a temporary separation between himself and Marian might be -necessary, and the mere notion had struck him with a chill, sick fear. -Everything in his life belonged to her. All that he attempted or -accomplished in his daily round or in his work centered on her; she was -his motive power. Another matter had recently come home to him; he had -never been extravagant, but had always lived fairly up to his means. His -support of Marian had made heavy demand, not only upon his income but -upon the small amount he had saved, and he was now face to face with the -necessity of adding largely to his earnings. - -He had never condescended to force his art, never painted for money -alone. Inspiration, not necessity, had been the mother of his invention. -Even in the painting of portraits he had held himself entirely free to -refuse any commission that was not entirely to his taste. Now, however, -he was no longer free; he must paint for money or curtail his -expenditure. To do the latter would mean depriving Marian of certain -pleasures and luxuries, the doing of which would be abhorrent to him. -Not for an instant did it occur to him to question Marian’s loyalty; -could he offer her only a cottage and country fare that would suffice -her. When she first came to him, he believed that his chief claim upon -her was that he offered her freedom. But he now felt assured that as his -love for her had grown deeper and deeper so had hers for him. - -Therefore for more reasons than one, the idea of a country retreat -appealed to him strongly. While there he would be altogether with -Marian; he could at the same time work strenuously, he could live -inexpensively. - -When he reached the flat he learned that Marian had gone out, but would -be home to tea, and he decided to wait for her return. - -Smoking cigarette after cigarette, he paced up and down, from room to -room. Every detail seemed to bear the impress of her personality. He -stopped more than once before the pastel on the easel by the drawing -room window. He pulled back the curtain as far as it would go so as to -let in the full strength of the waning light. Striking as was the -likeness, he felt that he had failed to catch the whole charm of her -face; the beauty was there, but not the pleading fascination. He tried -to imagine how much he would suffer if she were to die. Drops of -perspiration broke out upon his forehead as he realized overwhelmingly -that perhaps he might have overestimated her love for him, and that -perhaps she would one day again take her freedom. The thought of it was -agony. He stood before the picture wrought into a tumult of emotion. She -came in, stood beside him unheard, until she spoke: - -“What a loyal lover! When he can’t worship the original——” - -“I do worship you,” he exclaimed, turning fiercely, seizing her hands -and crushing them between his own. “I do, that’s the only word for it, -that’s the very truth. Look at me—straight—you’re everything to me; -what am I to you?” - -“You’re hurting my hand——” - -“_I_ hurting you!” he said, loosening his hold, “and I am ready to do -anything to save you one moment’s pain. You haven’t answered me; am I -everything to you?” - -“Do you need to ask?” she answered, looking boldly back at him, so that -as he gazed into her eyes, he seemed to see deep into her soul. “I never -asked you. You show me how much you love me, and I’ve tried to show you. -I suppose”—she faltered and turned away—“I suppose I’ve failed.” - -“You’re right, Marian,” he said, catching her in his arms, turning her -face to him, and kissing her passionately again and again; “but I do -like to hear you say it. Would you like it if I never _told_ you how -much I love you?” - -“No, no, dear, of course I shouldn’t. Somehow it’s not my way to _say_ -it; I’ll try to sometimes, but don’t make me do so now. Let me say it -when it comes to my lips.” - -“All right, dearie, you’re right.” - -“Now, come along. We’ll have tea. I felt sure you were coming to-day, so -I ran out to get some of those cakes you liked so much.” - -It was a fancy of his that she should always make the tea herself. The -room was growing dark. She looked very graceful, tenderly delicate, as -she knelt on the hearth-rug, the firelight playing hide-and-seek in her -hair and the folds of her dress. Her eyes looked dreamy as she stared -into the blaze, waiting for the kettle to boil up, which she had set on -the fire, too impatient to wait for the spirit-lamp to do its work. - -It was not until she had settled herself cozily into the deep armchair -that he broke the silence. - -“How would you like to spend a month or so down at Rottingdean? I’ve got -a small cottage there; very comfortable, very lonely and very quiet.” - -The unexpected question startled her. The proposal upset all her -schemes, and the call for an immediate reply tried her skill. - -“What made you think of it?” she asked, temporizing. - -“Well, I thought it might be—pleasanter, if we kept out of sight for a -while.” - -“Oh, I see! I see! Do you like the idea?” - -“I rather do. I’d like anywhere with you; best of all, anywhere, we -should always be together.” - -“Until——” - -“Until what?” - -“Until you’re tired of me.” - -He did not answer, and she went over to him and sat down at his feet, -her head resting on his knee. It was preferable to her to sit so, her -face hidden from him; eyes are traitors oftentimes. - -“Always together,” she went on, “how good that would be for me; for me. -But, George, I don’t think it would be good for us both.” - -“You mean what?” - -“Why this, dear. The woman depends upon the man, always wants him near -her if not actually with her. Men, I think, are different; they only -depend upon us sometimes, and then they come to us.” - -“Then you don’t know what I know, dear. You’ve taught me to depend upon -you—always, altogether, all day long. While I was waiting for you just -now, I was mad because the thought entered my head that perhaps you did -not really love me very much, after all.” - -“What a silly thought! But I’m glad it hurt you; isn’t that horrid of -me?” - -He leaned down and kissed her upturned face. - -“Well,” he said, “what about Rottingdean?” - -“George—before I tell you what I think—tell me right out, what put the -notion into your head? You think we should be safer there than here?” - -“Why, of course——” - -“I don’t agree with you. Your being there is sure to get into the papers -one way or another. He will see it there, or some dear, kind friend will -tell him, and he’d come down.” - -“It’s funny we didn’t think of that!” - -“We?” she asked quickly. “Who’s we?” - -“Why, I—er—met Mortimer. He’s often done my thinking for me, so I -chatted my difficulty over with him.” - -“Two great, clever men of the world, and one, wee, little foolish idea! -Why didn’t you come and talk it over with me?” - -“Somehow—I didn’t like to.” - -“Well, let’s forget clever Mr. Fred. Don’t you agree with me, it -wouldn’t do?” - -“Ye-es, I do. We could go abroad?” - -“That would only make his journey after us longer. He’s a saint, which -means one part of lunacy to nine parts of obstinacy. It’s this -pig-headedness that makes them martyrs. Who was it said that a ‘martyr -is a persecutor who has got the worst of it?’ Edward will persecute me -until I give in, or he dies.” - -“He shan’t!” Maddison interjected angrily. - -“Oh, no, he _shan’t_ indeed,” she continued, laughing, “because—I won’t -let him. Now, while you two wise men of the West End have been talking, -I’ve been thinking. Part of your plan fits in with mine. You must go -away——” - -“Not without you!” - -“If not without me, you may as well stay here. Don’t you want me to be -happy?” - -“Of course I do. That’s the only want I have.” - -“Then you must make me unhappy for a little while, so that I may be -quite happy by and by. If you go down to Rottingdean alone, I’ll manage -that Edward shall hear of it. He’ll watch you, find out that I’m not -with you, and leave you alone. I’ll stay here; I shan’t bother to hide -away; I don’t mind if he does find me out, and come to see me. I don’t -think he’ll do it twice. Besides, obstinate as he is, he must have some -pride somewhere, and some other woman may catch hold of him: I never -believed the story St. Anthony told. And there’s this hope too: he may -begin to think he’s neglecting his real work in hunting after me.” - -“That’s what Mortimer thought.” - -“Did he? Now—don’t you see that my way is the better?” - -“It doesn’t make any difference. I won’t leave you.” - -“Don’t you know I hate the mere thought of it? But, George, I won’t -sacrifice the future to the present, as you’re so ready to do. It isn’t -as if you were going millions of miles away. You can easily run up to -town every now and then—you needn’t go near the studio, just stop here -a night or two. I can run down to Brighton. You mustn’t be obstinate.” - -“I shall hate it.” - -“So shall I!” she exclaimed, jumping up, “so shall I. But it’s the best -way. Do you love me so little, George, that you don’t know that I’m only -thinking of how we can be happiest in the end? We must buy the future at -the expense of the present.” - -Then, sitting on his knees, she took his face between her warm hands, -looked into his eyes, slowly put her lips to his, slowly kissed him. - -“You witch!” he said. “You always have your own way!” - -“How untrue! But, George,” she added quickly, laying her head on his -shoulder, “don’t misunderstand me, _don’t_. I want you, want you always, -and I shall be miserable while you are away. I shall just count the -days. But you’ll come up to see me and I’ll come down to see you; it -might be worse. And how lovely it’ll be when you come back.” - -Maddison was dining out that night, and she made him resist the sudden -temptation to telegraph to his hostess, pleading illness as an excuse -for not keeping his engagement. They talked on until at the last he was -compelled to hurry off, the leave-taking abruptly ended by her -laughingly pushing him out. - -Then she danced back to the drawing room, overjoyed that fate had played -so well into her hands, offering her the opportunity for which she had -been longing, of being free upon occasion to go whither she liked and to -do what she willed. - -“If only all men were as easy to fool!” she thought; “perhaps they are, -when one knows them and they don’t know us.” - -She picked up her hat which she had flung on the sofa, and pinned it on -quickly. Then she went out, closing the hall door quietly behind her, -but instead of going down, ran upstairs to the top floor, where Ethel -Harding lived, as she said, nearer heaven in this world than she was -likely to be in the next. - -“Hullo, it’s you!” she said, answering herself to Marian’s ring. “Come -along in. The girl’s out and I’m all alone and lonely.” - -She led the way into a small sitting room, comfortably but somewhat -gaudily furnished and decorated; a bright fire burned in the small -grate; an incandescent gas light glared on each side of the overmantel; -on the round table in the center were a dilapidated flower in a crimson -pot; an ash tray, full to overflowing with cigarette ends and ashes; -and, on a dirty cheap Japanese tray, a half-empty siphon of soda water, -a bottle of brandy three parts full, and a tumbler. - -“I’m in an awful mess, I always am!” Mrs. Harding exclaimed, as she -picked a newspaper and a novel out of an armchair and flung them on the -sofa. “There, do sit down. Look at me too, but this old tea gown is -comfy. I hope you’ve had your tea?—Eh?” - -“Just finished it.” - -“Good, for there isn’t a drop of hot water ready. I’m not much of a tea -fighter myself—a B. and S. is more in my line. Have one? No? Well, -smoke anyway. Here’s a new sort the old man brought along: they’re not -bad; they’re like him, not bad but might be better. Though I mustn’t -grumble at him now, for he just ran up to give me these and to say he’s -off for a week.” - -“Is he? Then I’m in luck, for I’m alone too. Can’t we go out and dine -somewhere?” - -“Why, yes. We’ll go to the Inferno, as I call it; we’re sure to meet -some pals; at least I shall, and I’ll introduce them if you like.” - -“Of course I should. I haven’t been there for an age, and I do want some -fun.” - -“Getting tired of Georgie? He is a bit serious.” - -“Well, I think I shall appreciate him all the more if I don’t see too -much of him.” - -“And he’ll like you all the longer if he don’t see too much of you. That -sounds jolly rude, don’t it? But men are all alike in some things, and -one of them is that they’re always singing ‘When _other_ lips.’ And just -you beware when they begin to protest that they can’t get on without -you: that’s always a sign of the beginning of the end to my mind. -Right-oh! Have a B. and S.? No—well, daresay you’re right. I’ll have -one more and then I’ll dress and we’ll be off. The Inferno’s crammed -always and I hate sitting at a table with other people, unless I’m one -and _he_ the other,” she added, laughing. - -There was something bold and free about the figure of the woman as she -stood beside the table with her hand raised to put the glass to her -mouth, the clinging folds of the slight tea gown showing clearly the -outline of her stalwart figure, her broad shoulders and shapely breasts. -Marian felt slight and fragile by comparison. - -Something of the difference between them had evidently struck Mrs. -Harding at the same moment, for she said as she put down the empty -glass: - -“We make a good couple, we shall never interfere with each other’s game. -I suppose you’re just about as tall as me, but you’re slight and I’m -big—quite big enough; I’m black and you’re golden. Are you going to -change? I shouldn’t if I were you—that’s right—we can chat while I get -on my togs. Where’s Georgie off to?” - -“Only dining out.” - -“Oh! Coming along later on?” - -“I expect so.” - -“What a nuisance; you’ll have to be back early, and I was counting on -having some fun and perhaps bringing a couple of boys home with us. -Well, you must make the best of a short time and hope for better luck.” - -Marian made no response, though she was disappointed and wished that she -were free for adventure, any that would break the dull monotony of her -present way of living. The license of this woman’s life made hers by -comparison all the more strait. - -Pausing for a minute at her flat to put on her furs, Marian and her new -friend went down. - -“Shall we bump it in a motor, or go comfy in a hansom?” - -“Whichever you like,” Marian answered. “I’ve not much choice, but I feel -rather ‘hansomy’ this evening, don’t you?” - -“I always do. I was born with the itch of spending. The only thing that -I shall do cheap will be my funeral, and I don’t worry about that. -Here’s one, with a horse that don’t show too many of his ribs. Jump in -and I’ll climb sedately after—not that there’s anyone about who’d -admire my tootsies if I did show ’em and a trifle more.” - -Comparatively early as they were, the big grill room was nearly full, -and they had to content themselves with a small table in a far corner, -where, however, they could see, even if not much seen. - -“It does make me laugh,” said Mrs. Harding, as she rolled back her -gloves, “to see the calm cheek of some fellows. See that bald-headed old -Jew just over there? That’s his wife with him. Last night he was sitting -at the same table with Florrie Kemp. You don’t know her?” - -“No.” - -“She’s a devil. Drinks like a fish. Now what are we going to eat and -drink?” - -For a short while Marian seemed out of tune with the scene and with her -comrade, but the heat of the room, the swirl of the music and the buzz -of voices, the rich food and the wine warmed her, and she fell in with -the spirit of her companion. - -“Hullo! There’s Nosey Geraldstein staring at you as if he’d like to eat -you. He hates me, so let’s have him over. He’s mean as Moses, and it’ll -be fun to make him pay the bill and then say ‘Good night’! He’s coming! -He’s the ugliest man in London and—always gets any girl he wants. So, -look out for yourself. Hullo, Sydney, you tried to look the other way; -yes, you may join us, if you promise to behave nicely. Let me introduce -you to Mrs. Squire.” - -Marian thought that the description of Geraldstein as the ugliest man in -town was, at any rate, no gross exaggeration; his heavy, dark face, -black and lusterless eyes, lusterless, lank, black hair, and gross, -prominent chin, were far from prepossessing. To her surprise his voice -was soft, pleasant and refined; she almost laughed, it was so -unexpected: a voice that to a handsome man would have been an added -attraction, came as if contrary to the course of nature from one so -grotesquely, almost bestially, ugly. - -“I never look for anyone here,” he said. “If a friend sees me and says, -‘Hail, fellow,’ all right, but in a crowd I’m lost. This is a nice, -secluded haven of refuge you’ve found, and it’s very good of you to let -me share it.” - -“These are his ‘just-introduced-to-a-stranger’ manners, Marian. Sydney’s -got more soft soap at his command than all the washerwomen in London.” - -“But not enough to cleanse the reputations of some of my friends,” said -Geraldstein. “Why drink Burgundy? It’s a dull, stupid wine. There are -only three wines worth drinking: Rhine wine when I want to be inspired; -claret when I want to be stimulated; and champagne when I want to -remember the days when we were all young and innocent. So—shall we have -a bottle of—fizzy wine?” - -“It’d take several bottles to make you forget yourself,” said Mrs. -Harding, who had flushed uneasily under his open sneer. - -“Ah, Ethel, you’ll never make a conversationalist; you should learn to -give and never take. Here’s Francis—I call all waiters Francis, it -reminds me of the Boar’s Head—he’s one of my tame waiters. It pays to -have a tame waiter everywhere.” - -The time went by quickly, Geraldstein exerting himself to please Marian, -who for her part enjoyed herself thoroughly. The good talk, the good -wine and good food, the atmosphere of gayety, the sense of freedom, -intoxicated her senses, and Geraldstein congratulated himself that he -had thought it worth while suffering Ethel Harding for the sake of an -introduction to the pretty woman with her. He wondered who she could be -and what—evidently not an ordinary woman of the town. - -The wine heated Marian, who usually drank sparingly, calling a splendid -glow to her cheeks and brilliancy to her eyes; many of the men there -envied Geraldstein. She listened to his gay chatter and to Ethel -Harding’s coarser talk, joining in gayly herself, not caring what she -said, uttering every quip and innuendo that came to her lips, and taking -the meaning of his delicately-veiled impudences with laughter and -railing rejoinders. A woman to go mad about for a time at any rate, -thought Geraldstein. But a peculiarly broad remark of Mrs. Harding’s -grated on her, and chilled her spirit. She suddenly realized that -Geraldstein was examining her points as he would those of a horse or a -dog the purchase of which he was considering. She seemed to hear the -chink of his gold as he bid for her favors, and the thought sickened -her. She could understand the drunkenness of indiscriminate passion or -the joy of purchasing power by the pretense of passion, but cold-blooded -bargaining with coins disgusted her. - -It was now past ten o’clock, and she made the hour an excuse for moving. - -“Don’t let me break up the party; you’re in no hurry, Ethel!” she said, -using the Christian name as Mrs. Harding had used hers, “but I must be -off.” - -“Off?” said Geraldstein. “What a pity! It’s quite early.” - -“Yes, quite early,” Marian answered. “I like being quite early. You -settle the bill, Ethel, and I’ll square up with you to-morrow.” - -“You’ll let me see you into a cab?” Geraldstein protested. - -“No, thanks. I can look after myself quite well.” - -Geraldstein did not press the point, and Marian went away alone. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - -IT was on one of those warm, sunshiny mornings with which Londoners are -sometimes startled in mid January that Maddison drove down to Victoria -Station _en route_ for Brighton. So glorious was the weather that, -despite his heartache at parting with Marian, he found himself looking -forward eagerly to his holiday by the sea. - -The platform was crowded, and having run himself rather close for time, -he found there would be difficulty in securing a comfortable seat. As he -made his way along through the din and hubbub a hand was laid heavily on -his shoulder and turning round sharply he faced Philip West. - -“Hullo, Maddison, off to Brighton? Come along with us, I’ve got a -compartment—lots of room, and the missis and Miss Lane. Mrs. West’s not -been up to much lately, and the doctor says ‘Brighton.’ Might be worse; -some pokey, invalidy place down in the South. I can manage to amuse -myself in Brighton, and it’s convenient for town anyway.” - -“Nothing much the matter, I hope?” - -“Oh, nothing at all, probably; translated into brutal truth, the doctor -said she ate too many sweets and nonsense and too little food. Run -down.” - -Maddison thought West’s manner rather callous, and wondered what Marian -would feel if he ever came to speak so lightly of her. Was West already -finding out the emptiness of his house of love? - -Mrs. West greeted Maddison effusively, and Miss Lane did so quietly; a -minute later they were rushing along Southward Ho! - -“What brings you out of town, Maddison?” West asked. - -“Work. I’ve got some work I want to do and don’t seem to settle down to -it in town.” - -“But is Brighton any better for work?” Mrs. West said, as she snuggled -down into her corner and drew her furs closely round her. Maddison -thought she looked all the prettier for her frailty. - -“I’m not going to Brighton,” he answered; “I’ve got a cottage over at -Rottingdean, two rooms and a kitchen. I’m going to settle down there for -a bit.” - -“How nice! We can run over in the motor, and you can begin my portrait -right away. Will you?” - -West laughed, hoping that the direct question would embarrass Maddison, -who replied promptly: - -“That will do splendidly, if you’re stopping long enough.” - -“We _will_ stop long enough. I’m so glad to have an excuse for not going -back too soon. The country’s stupid in the winter and Brighton’s jolly, -although Philip did try to grumble about coming.” - -“‘Try’ is the word,” rejoined West, biting the end of his cigar; “try! -When you get married, Maddison, you’ll remember that little word ‘try.’” - -“Don’t be naughty, Philip,” said Mrs. West, pouting. “You know you -always have your own way, except about grumbling. Life’s too short for -grumbling, isn’t it, Mr. Maddison?” - -“Much. Your husband as a business man ought to know better than to waste -his time.” - -“What a prosaic view to take!” Mrs. West answered. “He ought to leave -business behind him in the office and just waste his time when he’s at -home. But all men are prosaic, I think.” - -“And all women are—?” asked West. - -“Just what you like to make them,” his wife replied. “That’s the worst -of it—what _we_ are depends on what _you_ are.” - -“What do you say to such views, Alice?” West said, appealing to Miss -Lane, who was looking out of the window at the miles of dreary suburbs -flying by. - -“Nothing!” she answered. “You know I never theorize about things. What’s -the use of it?” - -“Practical, steady, unemotional Alice!” laughed Mrs. West; but Maddison -knew better, for he caught a glimpse of a look of contemptuous scorn -before Miss Lane turned away again to the window. - -“Where are you going to put up?” Maddison asked. - -“At the Metropole, it’s amusing,” answered Mrs. West. “You must come in -and dine with us.” - -“Maddison hates big hotels,” said West. - -“Big anything,” interjected Maddison, “except when Nature provides them. -Most of men’s big things are vulgar failures. London, for example, you -needn’t go farther.” - -“Is a bad example,” rejoined West. “That example won’t prove your point: -just the opposite. On the whole, London is a success; it’s the most -comfortable, most luxurious and most beautiful city in the world.” - -“And the most comfortless, most squalid, and most ugly,” said Maddison. -“That’s where London is such a dismal failure; she’s just like a horse -with an uncertain temper: one moment an angel, the next a devil.” - -“Or you can put it another way and draw another conclusion; London has -just that charm which belongs to a woman—you’re never quite certain of -her—at least if she’s worth bothering about. It may be a scratch, it -may be a kiss.” - -“I don’t like your talking that way, Phil,” said Mrs. West; “you know -you don’t mean it.” - -“It’d be too stupid if we only said what we meant; most of us mean such -commonplaces.” - -Mrs. West picked up a magazine, and neither of the men feeling inclined -to talk, the conversation dropped. - -West was glad of Maddison’s company and pleased that he was to be a -neighbor. The portrait-painting would occupy some of that time which -Agatha found weighing so heavy on her hands, and would relieve him from -being always called upon to lighten her burden and to listen to her -complaints. He had been accustomed for years past to have his own way -with those around him, and the women with whom he had chiefly mixed had -been those who must please to live. Now and again he had felt the need -for a settled home and had vaguely contemplated matrimony. But the idea -had not crystallized until last spring he had met Agatha, who seemed to -offer him all that he wanted in a wife—good looks, good temper, good -nature. The love-making had been quick and strong; the engagement brief. -Now, a few months after their marriage, he was beginning to understand -the nature of his acquisition wholly he thought, forgetting that a man -has never yet entirely understood a woman any more than any woman has -entirely understood a man. We set out to judge others by their motives, -which we hope to trace from their actions, but half of what we do in -life is purposeless, merely impulsive, and the other half unintentional. -It was West’s dangerous pride to feel convinced that he owned the gift -of seeing into the hearts and souls of men and women. He had come to the -conclusion that good looks were all his wife’s endowment, and that the -good nature would not stand against the test of self-sacrifice in any -degree however small, and that the good temper was not proof against -disappointment and contradiction. Once or twice lately she had asked him -for extravagances which he told her he considered unnecessary, which -when she pressed him he said he could not afford, his means not being -limitless. He did not add that at the moment it would have been more -correct to say that his income was by no means so large as the world -believed it to be, one or two speculations having turned out -considerable losses. He was not embarrassed as yet, but the next few -months would be full of anxiety, with another brilliant success or a -startling failure at the end of them. He had never before felt any -desire to share his business worries with anyone, had never, in fact, -had anyone with whom he was tempted to do so, but now to a certain -degree it irritated him to know that if he had desired to confide in -Agatha it would lead to no good result; the mere fact that she was not -his helpmeet made him wish for such an one. - -Maddison parted with the Wests at Brighton Station, and having confided -his luggage and paraphernalia to the carrier who had driven in to meet -him, set forth on foot for Rottingdean. The air was crisper, fresher -here than it had been in London, and as he strode along the broad -pathway on the edge of the cliff, drinking in the salt breeze, he felt -that he would have been perfectly content had only Marian been by his -side. - -Then his thoughts turned to the Wests. The man was strong and could take -care of himself, but he was sorry for Agatha. There was to him something -pathetic in her foolish, pretty helplessness, the pathos that there is -in a dumb beast’s futile efforts to understand a world that is beyond -his ken. He knew now that he could paint her portrait, not in the -jeering spirit he had intended, but so that he would show in the pretty -face the struggling of a soul unborn. Would it ever see the light of -life? Perhaps better not, he thought; souls suffer more keenly than mere -clay. - -He paused when he had left the houses some way behind, and looked out -over the white-flecked sea, boundless, apparently, save for the distant -bank of mist that crept treacherously along; away to the right the dun -cloud of smoke over the town; behind him the rolling downs; to the left, -Rottingdean, nestling down in its cradle; and before him the -white-flecked sea. No living being in sight, yet thousands so near. He -felt lonely, and there swept over him a passionate longing for Marian, -to have her standing with her hand in his, looking out with him over the -white-flecked sea; they two together, what would it matter then if there -were no other living soul in the world? It took all his will to master -his impulse to retrace his steps, and to go straight back to town. Could -he endure the staying down here? Could he wait even the few days he had -promised to remain before going up to see her? Where was she at this -moment? What was she doing? Was she, perhaps, thinking of him? - -He remembered so well the building of the cottage—how clearly its white -walls stood out against the green background of the downs, and how -pleasantly the months had slipped away when he stayed there the last -summer; he almost dreaded now to go on and to cross its threshold; it -would be so dreary and so empty. - -With a half laugh, he shook himself free from these oppressive thoughts, -and hurried along down the chalky road into the village, where many -homely acquaintances greeted him warmly, expressing surprise at his -visiting them at such a time of the year. - -Mrs. Witchout, who “did” for him, stood on the doorstep ready to greet -him. She was an abnormally tall, abnormally thin, abnormally -pinched-faced and red-nosed woman, which beacon was a libel upon her -teetotal principles and practice. - -“The fire’s burnin’ nicerly, and your luggidge’s all piled upinaheap,” -said Mrs. Witchout, in her piping voice, which came startlingly as would -the note of a penny whistle from a lengthy organ pipe. “I didn’t like to -sort it out not knowin’-whatswhat.” - -Mrs. Witchout’s most remarkable gift was a breathless way of running two -or three words into one, which was not only astonishing but often -perplexing. - -“That’s all right, Mrs. Witchout. How are you?” - -“I’m myself, which comes to the same as sayin’ I’m middlin’; w’en I -ain’t got a cold in the ’ead I’m sure to have a blister on my ’eel, but -I managesterfergitit by not thinkin’ abart myself. Ain’t you ’ungry, -sir? I do ’ope so. I’ve got two sich nice chops, pertaties, cabidgeanda -cheese.” - -“Hungry! I should say I am! The walk across the cliffs is better than -any pick-me-up in the world. So on with the chops and out with the -cheese.” - -The north end of the cottage was occupied by one large room, lit by a -long lattice window and a skylight above; a passage ran from the front -door right through to the back, and on the south there were two floors, -the lower half kitchen, half sitting room, the upper a bedroom reached -by a narrow stair from the passage. A snug nest Maddison had thought it, -but despite the bright fires in studio and kitchen and Mrs. Witchout’s -warm welcome, there was a sense of desolateness about the place that -hurt him. He carried his portmanteau up to the bedroom, unstrapped it, -then sat down on the edge of the bed and looked out of the open window, -through which the breeze came cool and crisp. There lay the sea, spread -out like a great, gray drugget, and in the distance the gathering fog. -It _was_ dreary. - -“Chopson the table!” Mrs. Witchout called up the stairs. -“Wat’llyoudrink? Beer?” - -“Beer will do A1!” - -Again Maddison tried to shake himself free of his oppression, and ran -down the stairs. - -“You’re a brick, Mrs. Witchout: chops and cheese and beer! Here goes!” - -Mrs. Witchout tucked her hands under her apron and looked on approvingly -as he set to vigorously. - -“Brick!” she said meditatively. “Now I wonders could you explain -w’ytheycall pussons ‘bricks’? It’s meant a complimentapparently, but I -don’t see ’ow: bricks bein’ ’ardandangular, which I ’ope I ain’t either. -Perhaps it alludes to being full baked. Wot do you think, sir?” - -“I think it’s a very interesting question and that this is excellent -beer. I hope it doesn’t ruin your reputation as a teetotaler your -purchasing beer?” - -“It’s a poor sort of repitation as wouldn’t stand a dozen of bassordered -forsomeoneelse. Not that people don’t talk when they’ve got no reason -for to do so. If people only opened their mouths when there was -somethin’ worth comin’ out to come out most folks would go aboutwi’ -their mouths shut. We didn’t expect you down afore the springtime -anyway, but I keeps everything ready, as you toldmeto, and pleasant nice -work it is lookin’ arter ’m. Stoppin’ long, sir?” - -“A month or so, if you don’t get too tired of me.” - -Mrs. Witchout smiled broadly, as who should say that the impossible had -been mentioned. - -After lunch, leaving Mrs. Witchout to wash up and set things tidy and -ready for tea, Maddison devoted his energies to unpacking and putting -everything in order. He took “The Rebel” from its packing-case, and set -it up on an easel, and sat down before it. It was a good picture and he -knew it, but he knew also how much better he had meant it to be. In the -waning afternoon light the unfinished portions scarcely showed; there -sat Marian, the rebel, the queen of rebels, bright, beautiful—his, “The -Rebel!” Should he paint a companion picture?—Marian sitting by the -fireside—here in his cottage studio—the light of love in her eyes. He -looked across at the empty chair, a fellow of one that she often sat in -at home—there she was visible, to his mind’s eye, sitting there, -gracious and lovely—his and his only. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - -THE next morning all trace of mist on the distant sea had vanished, but -though the sun shone splendidly, the air still bit shrewdly. West rose -with the spirit of discontent in him, breakfasted early and alone, then -set out to walk to Rottingdean. Maddison, palette in hand, answered the -knock at the door. - -“Hullo! The early bird does the work,” said West. “May I come in and -talk while you paint?” - -“Come along. You’re a fairly early bird too. There are cigars and -cigarettes over there, and an unopened bottle of whisky and a siphon in -the locker by the window.” - -West took a cigar, and then wandered aimlessly about the room, while -Maddison worked at “The Rebel.” - -“Ah! _My_ picture!” exclaimed West, looking over his shoulder. “It’s the -best thing you’ve ever done, Maddison. Won’t the critics fight over it. -You hit on a thundering good model for it.” - -“Your picture! I didn’t promise to let you have it. I’m doubtful if I -shall sell it at all.” - -“Oh!” said West, with a queer intonation, “I didn’t know you ever felt -that way about your work. I thought you laughed at art for art’s sake, -and all that damned nonsense, and preached that the laborer is worthy of -his hire—eh?” - -“As a rule. But—somehow this has got hold of me.” - -“Or—the pretty model—eh? Well, I envy you; you’re a lucky devil. -What’s the poor curate say? Or is he guilty of the ignorance which is -bliss?” - -Maddison bit his lips; this raillery which before would have amused him, -now made him angry. He felt that the best way to put an end to it would -be to speak outright and to show that he did not like West’s tone. - -“Her husband does know. The facts are just these, West. Mrs. Squire has -left her husband; it was a far from happy marriage. He’s High Church or -something and won’t give her a divorce. So—we have to make the best of -it. I think it right you should know exactly how matters stand, as she -may, in fact, will, be coming down here, and your wife may chance to -meet her with me.” - -“Oh, Agatha isn’t a prig. Nor is Alice.” - -“Alice?” - -“Miss Lane.” - -“Oh, yes, I forgot that was her Christian name. So now you understand -why I may not wish to part with this picture. If anyone has it it shall -be you, if you don’t change your mind.” - -“Change my mind! It’s not a thing I used often to do, but I seem always -to be at it now. I meant to go up to town this morning, but didn’t. If -I’d intended to come here, ten to one I should have run up to town. I’m -too young to be growing old, but I feel deuced old all the same, at -times.” - -He was again strolling vaguely about the room, now pausing to look at a -sketch, now glancing out of the window at the undulating stretch of -green down. - -“You look just as young as the first day I met you,” he continued; -“haven’t changed a hair. I suppose it’s care that kills men as well as -cats. There’s more real care in a successful career than in a failure. A -small shopkeeper can’t lose much, and doesn’t run many risks. Now -I—why, good Lord! I may go bust—sky high—any day. Big business is all -a big gamble, the margin between a huge profit and a huge loss is so -small—a puff of wind, and over you go on the money side. Now -you—you’re above fate now; you’re known; competition can never touch -you; the speculation is entirely on the part of those who buy your -pictures. In a hundred years they may be worth thousands or nothing. -Yes, you’re a lucky devil.” - -“Luck. Do you believe in luck?” - -“Luck? It’s the only real thing in the world. It rules the world! -Believe in it? Of course I do. I shouldn’t ever have been anything more -than a small shopkeeper if I hadn’t been lucky. I inherited a tiny -corner shop in a back street; fate—or the Metropolitan Board of -Works—decided to drive a new thoroughfare past my place. Wasn’t that -luck? Isn’t marriage all a matter of luck? What man can know anything at -all about his wife, until she is his wife and free to show him her real -self? Luck! I never trust the man who sneers at luck and talks about the -reward of honest labor; he’s a liar or a fool, both equally bad to deal -with in business.” - -“I don’t believe in luck. Which am I, knave or fool?” - -“Oh, you’re an artist, and the artistic temperament covers a multitude -of eccentricities.” - -The hooting of a motor-horn drew him to the window again, from which a -glimpse of the road could be seen. - -“Hullo! Here’s Alice and Agatha, early birds too. But she’s come to -bully you into starting the portrait. Are you going to do it?” - -“Yes. Why not?” - -He put down his palette, took the picture off the easel and set it in a -corner with its face to the wall, and then went out to welcome his -guests, followed by West. - -“Oh, Mr. Maddison, I do hope you don’t mind my having come,” said Mrs. -West, leaning from the car, and holding out her small, daintily gloved -hand. “May I come in? I want to talk business.” - -“Delighted, Mrs. West. Good morning, Miss Lane.” - -“I guessed you’d come here, Phil,” Mrs. West went on, as Maddison helped -her to alight, “but you’re not to stay. You take Alice for a spin and -then come back for us. Perhaps Mr. Maddison will come back to lunch with -us?” - -Maddison accepted the invitation, and West climbed into the car. - -Mrs. West and Maddison watched them till a turn in the road put them out -of sight. - -“Now, Mr. Maddison, do take me into your studio. I want you to tell me, -seriously, will you paint my portrait? Phil tells me I should look on it -as a great compliment if you do. I like compliments, don’t you?” - -“Of course I do, everyone does; even when I know they are undeserved; -it’s pleasant to be able to please people, and only people who are -pleased pay compliments worth having.” - -“What a jolly room!” Mrs. West exclaimed, as she sat down and looked -round critically. “There doesn’t seem to be anything really unusual -about it, except the swords and daggery things on the wall, but it looks -quite different to other studios. Now, will you paint my portrait, Mr. -Maddison?” - -“I will, with pleasure, if you’ll let me paint it my own way. I always -make that condition.” - -“I want to be painted just as I am. I don’t want to be flattered: I -really mean that.” - -“I’m glad you do, for—that’s my way. Please sit straight up in that -chair, and look at me, so—yes, that’s it. I shan’t keep you in that -pose long at a time, and I shan’t do much this morning, just rough in -the head and figure if I can—if I’m in the mood. I never know whether I -am or not till I begin to work.” - -“May I talk?” - -“Not for a few minutes—just look straight at me—so.” - -For some ten minutes he worked rapidly and surely, pausing every now and -again to examine her face intently. Only in the eyes lay anything of -character, and from them looked out, so he thought, not only the -struggling soul he expected to see, but a rebellious discontent. - -“Now you can do what you like for a time, Mrs. West, and talk to me if -you’ll be so good—but you mustn’t expect me to answer much—I’ll go on -working.” - -She did not, however, leave the chair, but relaxing her upright -attitude, sank back, and watched him steadily. - -“Have you known Phil long, Mr. Maddison?” she asked suddenly. - -“Yes, off and on, for years.” - -“Has he changed much since you first knew him?” - -“No, I don’t think so. He was always much the same.” - -“He seems to me to have changed a lot since—we were married. Or perhaps -I knew nothing of him then—and am only getting to know him now. I -suppose everybody knows all about me the minute they meet me. I know you -won’t want to answer—but isn’t that so?” - -“It’s a common mistake to think that one can know much about anyone -until one has known them intimately a long time—and then the -much—isn’t much. I’ve sometimes thought—at least I used to do so—that -I had put all a sitter’s character upon my canvas, but now I know -better. The face tells everything, if only one can read all its lines.” - -“I wonder what you read in my face?” - -“What I think I see there, I shall try to paint—and then, why, then, no -one may be able to see in my painting what I have tried to put there.” - -“Not even I?” - -“Probably you least of all.” - -“Perhaps you’re right. I do fancy I don’t know much about myself. I used -to think everybody liked me—” she hesitated and then turned toward the -window, keeping silent for a time. - -“I suppose you look at people’s faces in quite a different way to what -other people do, Mr. Maddison?” she said after a while. - -“At any rate I think I do. If a face seems to have a story to tell, I -like to read it. But most faces are masks to empty heads.” - -She again kept silent, then stood up. - -“May I come and see how you’re getting on?” - -“Not yet, please—I’d rather you waited until I’ve finished; I can’t -work if I’m watched.” - -She wandered aimlessly about the room, her thoughts evidently intent -upon something of which she desired but hesitated to speak. - -“Is Alice Lane’s face a mask to an empty head?” she asked suddenly, -looking at him keenly. - -The question startled him, and he hesitated how he should answer it, -making absorption in his work his excuse for not immediately replying. - -“Miss Lane’s—eh? Oh—no, I should say she has a very decided -character.” - -“A strong character, you mean?” - -“Ye-es—you might put it that way.” - -“She loves my husband.” - -“Mrs. West!” - -“Oh, of course that’s an extraordinary thing for me to say to anybody, -especially to you, who I don’t really know. But I must speak to someone, -and I’ve no relations and no real friend—unless you’ll be one.” - -Maddison left the easel, and went across the room to where she was -standing by the window. - -“Mrs. West, take my advice: don’t tell me any more, and don’t ask me -anything. I—don’t see how—I know that I can’t help you——” - -“You won’t help me?” she asked, disappointment in her tone. “You won’t? -I—thought you would.” - -“Not won’t—_can’t_.” - -“How can you tell? I’ve not really told you anything yet.” - -“You’ve told me enough for me to be able, more or less, to guess the -rest—and I’m sure that there is only one person in the world that can -really help you—you must help yourself.” - -“That’s so easy to say. I don’t know how. I don’t know how.” - -She sank down upon the window seat, burying her face in her hands, and -sobbing in a quiet, childish fashion. Intense pity for this helpless, -weak woman touched him, but he knew that her only real chance of -salvation in this world was for her to find herself through suffering, -and that if she continued to depend upon any other for support, she -would never be strong enough to stand alone. He did not speak until she -raised her face, and her sobbing had almost died away. - -“Of course you will think me very hard-hearted and brutal, Mrs. West,” -he said, “but I must risk that. If things are going wrong, you must help -yourself. The only thing I can do is to tell you that from what I know -of your husband, he would love his wife to be as strong and -self-dependent as himself. Now, please go back to your chair, and sit as -you were at first.” - -His heart was full of sympathy for the weak, little woman, so pretty, so -vain, so helpless. There was little chance, he felt sure, that she would -ever develop into strength, or that she would retain her husband’s -affection, if Alice Lane—quiet, determined, and very passionate as he -believed her to be—were bent on winning it. West’s restless manner and -talk had shown that something was amiss. The old story—the vessel of -porcelain and the vessel of iron. She a joy to him so long as she -continued to amuse and please, but thrown aside broken, when her charm -had gone. Maddison had foreseen some such event as this, but had not -thought that she would suffer greatly, or at any rate, for a length of -time, taking her to be one who would be content with luxuries and pretty -things. But he realized now that there was a depth of affection in her, -childish perhaps, but none the less deep, which might lead to tragedy, -if West turned her out of his life. But he knew that he was helpless to -assist: West was masterful and ruthless; the pity of it was that he had -been so blind as not to see that this simple child could not long -content him. - -He scarcely dared look at the pitiable face that he must truly reproduce -upon his canvas. Could he allow anyone save herself to see this portrait -of an unhappy woman? - -Then it occurred to him that perhaps he was unduly apprehensive; that -after all, his first surmise might be correct, and that when she had -ceased to cry for her lost toy, she would dry her eyes and be happy with -something more costly and less valuable than human love. At any rate, -there was no aid that he could render; the tragedy, or the comedy, must -play itself out, with himself among the spectators. - -Before he had released her, the other two returned. - -“Come along,” shouted West; “it’s getting late. We won’t come in.” - -As they were leaving the studio, Mrs. West held out her hand to -Maddison, saying: - -“Thank you. You said you couldn’t help me—but you have.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - -PROBABLY Maddison alone knew that Mortimer was not the empty-hearted -cynic that he wished the world to believe him to be. Mortimer’s terrible -handicap was that his character was for the most part a compound of -tender-heartedness and shyness. A jeer, a jest at his expense, a snub, a -misunderstanding, a rebuff of proffered sympathy cut him to the quick, -and he had gradually schooled himself into presenting to his friends, -even to those with whom he was intimate, an exterior of callous -carelessness, not realizing that while by so doing he would save himself -from much pain, he would inevitably also deprive himself of some of the -highest joys a man can experience. A true-hearted woman’s love would -have rescued him from his error, but the woman he had loved had sold -herself to a Jew for diamonds and a house in Park Lane. Living so -self-centered as he did, or rather so self-contained, Mortimer’s friends -were few, while his acquaintances were innumerable. The one he knew best -was George Maddison, to whom he was attached, and attached not so much -because he found in him any true comradeship, but because he felt for -him a certain pity. He knew how much there was of splendor in Maddison’s -nature and he knew equally well how much there was of weakness. He -looked upon him as a fair-weather sailor, a man who delighted to rove -over sunlit, peaceful seas, who loved to listen to the voices of the -sirens and who, if caught by Circe’s enchantments, might sink down among -the beasts. Indeed, he counted him very much as a brilliant, passionate, -wayward child. So far Maddison had met with no storms, the wind had -always been fair, the sun unclouded, the sirens more attracted by him -than he by them, but this attachment, this passion for Marian, -frightened Mortimer. An absorbing love for a good woman might have been -Maddison’s salvation, but Marian was utterly bad in his estimation, and -he could not perceive ahead anything save misery. That Marian would not -rest content with Maddison’s love and protection he was assured; already -she might be playing false to him; when Maddison discovered—as discover -one day he must—that he had adored and sacrificed himself to a false -goddess, what would be the outcome? If Maddison had been strong, the -stinging lesson might prove a purifying trial; but—Maddison being weak -in all save his art and his passion, what could possibly be the upshot -but tragedy? The greater the hold she gained upon him the greater the -disaster. It delighted Mortimer that Maddison had left town; at any rate -he would not constantly be under Marian’s spell; he might find that -Marian was not, as he thought, entirely necessary to his happiness; -absence might enable him to see in her faults to which the unbroken -charm of her presence blinded him; he might gradually shake himself -free, gradually waken from dreams of heaven to the realities of common -sense. This was only a hope, however, and Mortimer felt impelled to do -anything that in him lay to enable Maddison to regain his freedom. -Things were bad, and the lapse of time might, of course, make them worse -instead of better. Cruel as would be the cure, the best and surest way -to liberate Maddison would be to open his eyes to Marian’s real -character. For her Mortimer had no sympathy or pity; she was merely one -more of those mortal pests born to kill men, body, heart and soul. -Maddison was worth saving from her poisonous influence. It was not as a -prude that Mortimer judged the matter. He enjoyed to the full the -pleasures of the world and of the flesh, but Marian was a devouring -devil. “Religion must have been invented by women,” he once said, “for -the devil is always represented as a man.” - -The single point was this: Maddison firmly believed that Marian loved -him; that belief must be shattered; he must be shown, with proof and -above doubt, that Marian loved herself only and cared for Maddison -simply because he had enabled her to shake herself free from her -husband, and had provided her with money and pleasure. Marian so far had -been very guarded in her conduct, but Mortimer judged that there were -two temptations, to one of which she would succumb, if not to both: a -love of power, and a quickly growing, and in the end probably -overwhelming, desire for gross pleasures. She was now alone; probably -eagerly searching for temptation. The matter was simple; she must be -watched. - -So the day of Maddison’s leaving for Brighton, Mortimer went to see his -solicitor, who could probably, he thought, tell him to whom it would be -best to apply for the work he wished done. - -“You want some one watched, carefully and discreetly. Man or woman?” -asked the placid, well-groomed man of law, who looked more of a -prosperous city merchant than an astute, busy lawyer. - -“Does that make any difference?” asked Mortimer. - -“A great deal. Set a thief to catch a thief—a man to catch a man—a -woman to catch a woman.” - -“Well, it’s a woman.” - -“H’m,” said the lawyer, meditatively looking at his client. “What kind -of woman? You mustn’t mind my asking all these questions. I can’t help -you if I don’t know something of the circumstances.” - -“The fact is,” said Mortimer, “I’m interfering in a business that has -nothing to do with me. A friend of mine is entangled with a woman whom -_he believes_ to be sincerely fond of him. _I believe_ her to be a -thoroughly reckless, bad woman. I want to know.” - -“I see. I think Davis will be the best man for you to go to. Mention my -name. Here’s his address.” - -“But you said a woman?” - -“Yes—Davis will get you one. I should not tell Davis _anything_ more -than that you want this woman watched and to learn exactly what she -does, where she goes, whom she meets, and so on.” - -“Very well. Thank you.” - -Mortimer was surprised at the address: Henry William Davis—Pall Mall -East; still more surprised when he was asked to wait in a cozily -furnished sitting room, which had every appearance of being occupied by -an ordinary man about town; still more surprised by the entrance of a -slim man of middle height, quietly but fashionably dressed, fair-haired -and blue-eyed. - -“You asked to see me? I’m Mr. Davis. The servant gave me your name as -Mortimer. You discreetly did not trust me with your card.” - -“My name is Mortimer. Mr. John Battersea—my solicitor—advised me to -obtain your—help—but—” Mortimer looked doubtfully at Davis, and then -round the room, with its elaborate grate and overmantel, the white wood -dado, the monochrome olive-green walls, the heavy green plush curtains, -the admirable etchings and engravings, the few pieces of choice silver -and china. - -“Not exactly the kind of man or room you expected to see, Mr. Mortimer? -Well, please sit down; you may be sure Battersea would not have sent you -to the wrong place. Won’t you have a cigarette? There are matches beside -you. Now—to business. You needn’t tell me who you are, I know you well -by sight and reputation. Well?” - -He spoke in a slow, soft voice, which was not in any way weak, but on -the contrary impressed the hearer with the conviction that he was a man -of quiet, firm determination. - -“My business is very simple, and I was told you could get it carried out -for me. I want a woman watched; I want to know what she does, where she -goes and with whom—in fact all you can find out about her.” - -“That’s simple enough. What kind of woman? Respectable, or apparently -so, or disreputable?” - -“Disreputable, I believe. Her name’s Marian Squire; she’s living apart -from her husband; there’s her address.” - -“Very well. I’ll have her watched and report to you daily or weekly, as -you prefer. That’s all?” - -“Yes.” - -“And as I said, very simple. Do you merely wish for information? Or for -evidence as well? I mean, will the case be likely to appear in court?” - -“No. I merely want trustworthy information for my own use,” Mortimer -answered. - -“Very well. I can promise to obtain it for you. You want me to tell you -all I can find out about this woman. That’s the long and short of it. -Nothing more? Then—good morning.” - -For a few minutes after Mortimer had gone, Mr. Davis stood before the -fire, quietly smoking his cigarette. Then he rang the bell and told the -sedate manservant to ring for a special messenger. He sat down at a -small writing table standing by the window and scribbled a note which he -folded with deliberation and then put into a thick envelope which he -carefully sealed and addressed to Mrs. Ethel Harding. - - - * * * * * - -Maddison had persuaded Marian to breakfast with him at the studio on the -morning of his departure. They had not heard or seen anything more of -her husband, and Maddison had more than once hinted his doubts as to -there being any need for the separation, suggesting that she should go -with him to Rottingdean. The mere thought of this had irritated Marian -beyond endurance, though she concealed her feeling from him, only urging -that no real change had taken place in the circumstances which had -caused them to decide upon their plan, and she felt grateful to Mortimer -when she heard that his advice and opinion accorded with hers. - -The delight with which she saw Maddison’s luggage-laden cab turn the -corner of the street soon gave way, as she walked homeward, to a sense -of inability as to how she could best make use of her new liberty. -Pleasure at any cost was her first aim and requirement. In addition to -Mortimer she had casually met a few of Maddison’s more Bohemian friends, -but she neither desired nor dared approach them. Mortimer was wealthy, -but it would be too risky, she counted, to ask him for anything, though -anything he cared to offer she was prepared to accept. Then there was -“Nosey” Geraldstein, who, Ethel Harding told her, was most anxious to -know her, but she did not like him, and she had not yet plumbed that -depth of callousness which makes a woman readily render herself to any -man who will purchase her material pleasures; she could not yet content -herself with the mere prose of lust; she still asked for some remnant of -poetry, however ragged. There remained Ethel Harding. - -Passing by her own door, she went on up to her friend’s, where her knock -was answered by the maid, who said that Mrs. Harding was not yet up. But -the door of the bedroom standing ajar, Marian’s inquiry had been heard, -and Mrs. Harding called out: - -“Come along in, Marian. I’m lazy and having breakfast in bed. Come in.” - -Marian went into the stuffy room, which was dimly lighted, the curtain -being only half drawn from the window. - -“Find a chair, my dear; throw those things on to the floor. My head’s -aching like the devil. I had a wild night of it. Have something? I tried -a cup of tea, but it tasted like sand and water, so I’m indulging in a -B. and S. Have one?” - -“No, thanks, I couldn’t!” Marian answered, laughing apologetically. - -“Couldn’t? Well, I used to say that once upon a time,” Mrs. Harding -replied; then stretching out her shapely, strong arms and yawning -desperately: “That’s the worst of taking a bit too much; one feels dead -beat, but can’t sleep a twopenny wink; and you dream and toss about, and -your mouth and tongue get so dry that they feel as if they were cracking -all over. But the first drop in the morning pulls one together a bit. It -makes a lot of difference what’s the lotion. Never get squiffy on phiz, -my dear, it’s poison. Stick to brandy, it doesn’t hang about so much. So -Master George is off to the country and you’ve got a holiday! What are -you going to do with it?” - -“That’s just what I don’t know. I’m running down to Brighton in a few -days, but I don’t want to go to sleep till then. I came up to see if you -could suggest anything. Are you free to-night? Couldn’t we go somewhere -together?” - -“Lots of places if you have any coppers. I’m cleaned out. My old man’s -away, I’ve spent all he left me, so I’ll hunt for rhino while you hunt -for fun; sometimes you can manage to haul in both, but it’s generally -the stupid beasts who have the cash. Never mind, we’ll trust to luck, -and if none turns up you shall liquidate the bill. Now I’m going to turn -you out; just pull the curtains to, like a dear, and I’ll indulge in -some more beauty sleep. I’ll look you up about tea-time, and we can talk -over the plan of campaign. Ta-ta!” - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - -THE days passed slowly and disagreeably for Maddison, the monotony -broken only by Mrs. West’s sittings. - -He worked occasionally at “The Rebel,” but dared not touch the face or -hands. Marian’s absence, however, served to increase her influence over -him greatly; he longed with painful intensity to return to her; he wrote -long letters to her daily, and chafed at the brevity of her replies, -though he had not any fault to find with their tenor; she wrote -affectionately, warmly, sending messages of love and again and again -expressing the delight with which she was looking forward to seeing him -again. - -It had not heretofore been Maddison’s habit of mind to weigh the wisdom -of any of his acts, or to analyze any of his emotions. He had been -frankly pagan, the joy of life was his while it was his with little if -any alloy of pain or doubt; questions of present action or future -conduct had not occurred to him. His emotions with regard to women had -not been deep; they were a beautiful provision of nature for adding -beauty to an already beautiful world; their voices, their graces, their -loveliness, their caresses had charmed him, but had never absorbed him; -not one of them had ever attained to any influence over him until his -renewed friendship with Marian. In fact, nature had been his real -mistress; when last at Rottingdean, for many weeks together he had led -practically the life of a hermit, working in the studio and rambling far -and wide across the country or along the coast. It was absolute joy to -him to lie on his back, watching the panorama of the sky; to stand on -the edge of the cliff, looking out over the sea, noting its subtle -changes of color. Everything in nature, big or little, was lovable to -him; the vast glory of a blood-red sunset; the minute perfection of a -weed; the tumult and splendid power of a storm-smitten sea; the dewdrops -upon a spraying fern; the cold, clear tones of sunrise or the trembling -mystery of midday heat. No season came amiss to him: winter, spring, -summer, autumn, there was no sameness in nature, save that of -unadulterated beauty. - -But he understood now that a change had come over him; between him and -nature had come one woman. - -The weather was cold, with days of biting, searching east wind; he could -not saunter about the countryside, but would stride along at a great -pace. What was it that had come into the foreground of every picture -upon which his eyes rested? It seemed to him as if he were never alone -now—Marian was always with him, persistently whispering in his ear: -“You love me—you love me!” She had taken entire and sole possession of -him; round her centered his every desire, every hope, every ambition. - -One bright morning he stood at the edge of the cliff, some little -distance from the village, the gentle murmur of a calm sea far below, -and in his ears that weird muttering of vagrant winds which comes before -the breaking of a tempest. He stood looking down on the rocks and -shingle far below, thinking of Marian, counting the number of hours that -remained to pass before her approaching visit, for it had been arranged -that she should come down soon for a few days. Suddenly the thought came -into his mind of the horror of her standing there beside him, of her -being giddy, of her reeling, and clutching at his arm, missing her hold, -falling down—down—a shapeless mass on the stones below. The horror of -it sickened him. - -Why had this woman come into his life? She had given him a supreme joy, -the like of which he had never even dreamed of before; but might not -that joy be too dearly purchased with the price of the contingent agony -her love might bring him? - -One evening he went down the village street, down through the gap to the -edge of the sea, where the tumbling waves were bursting with sullen roar -and crash upon the shingle. The storm that had raged all the day and the -previous night was dying away, slowly, as if reluctant; the wind blew in -fitful gusts; the clouds scurried across the moon, which shot down -intermittent beams upon the tossing waters. His life, he thought, had -hitherto been calm; but now a tempest raged within him, rising in -strength day by day, hour by hour, so that there was but one thing in -his being—love of Marian, that first, that last, that all in all. Away -from the thought of her and his passion for her he could never tear -himself; it was always with him. When he painted, there was her face -before him, dim but insistent. Something of her features seemed to creep -even into the portrait he was painting of Agatha West. When he read, the -words conveyed no thought, no sense to his mind; he was thinking of her, -wondering where she was and what she was doing, with whom if not alone. -She possessed him, heart, soul and body; he was all hers. - -More than once a frenzy of jealousy had attacked him: did she truly love -him? Or was she just play-acting, fooling him, deceiving him, betraying -him, laughing at him and his blind love? The impulse came on him -strongly to go up to town, without warning her, and to watch—watch, -unseen. But he dared not; in such a case, he thought, ignorance would be -bliss compared with knowledge. - -At last dawned the wished-for day on which Marian was to come. He had -lain tossing awake all the night. Hours yet remained to be gotten -through somehow before he could set out to walk to the station. After -breakfast at nine, he set about tidying the studio, filling the vases -with flowers, and setting “The Rebel” in a place of honor by the window. -Then in the sitting room he cleared up the litter of pipes and books, -and helped to decorate the table for luncheon. - -At length he felt that he could linger no longer indoors, and started -out to walk slowly along the cliffs toward Brighton. There was no stir -in the air, the sea lay placid, the sun shone down as if with a promise -of spring. He went slowly along, his heart light as a lad’s when going -out to meet his first mistress. He knew how it would throb when he -caught sight of her face. Would hers do so likewise? He knew how words -would fail him, and how he would stammer out some stupid commonplace. -Would it be so with her? He knew how anxiously he would await the -train’s arrival, how eagerly he would scan the alighting passengers, -seeking her. Would it be the same with her? Would she look on with -indifference at one and another until her eyes met his? Then—would hers -light up with the fire of love? - -He reached the station half an hour before the train was due, and paced -impatiently up and down through the throng, cursing the clock, the hands -of which seemed to stand still. The train at last came in; out of one of -the first compartments stepped Philip West, who caught hold of Maddison -as he rushed by. - -“All right, old chap, don’t be in such a hurry. I’ve had a -fellow-passenger, who knows you and wants to speak to you.” - -Maddison checked himself impatiently, yet afraid to show his anger at -the interruption. He shook West’s out-held hand; and then looked, and -there was Marian. - -“I met Mrs. Squire at Victoria, and took charge of her as she was all -alone. I got her heaps of magazines and papers, and books, and—she did -nothing but—talk all the way down. I never knew before how near -Brighton is to London.” - -Marian laughed merrily, returning the close pressure of Maddison’s eager -hand. How deliciously pretty she looked, he thought; how wildly -aggravating that West should be there. - -“Now I’m off; I’ve no luggage to worry about,” said West. “Good-by, Mrs. -Squire, and thank you for a very pleasant journey. Good-by, Maddison, -see you soon.” - -West strode off through the bustling crowd. Then everything vanished for -Maddison save Marian. - -“My dear, my dear,” he said, taking her hand in his again. “My dear——” - -The tears started into his eyes as he strove in vain to speak. - -“My dear old boy! It’s jolly to be together again, isn’t it? Come along. -Take me out of this. We can’t talk here.” - -Soon they were driving along through the brisk air, he seated opposite -her so that he might see her the better. - -“It was luck meeting Mr. West, wasn’t it? He’d been up for the night, -and it was much nicer than traveling alone.” - -“Bother West,” said Maddison. “He’s nothing. What about yourself? Tell -me all about yourself.” - -“All? All? Where shall I begin. From the moment you went off?” - -“Till this minute! A few days ago! It seems years to me. It was all I -could do to keep from rushing up to town to see you.” - -“You know I missed you dreadfully,” she said, leaning forward and -resting her hand on his knee. “It was just as bad for me as for you. But -now we’re together, don’t let’s worry about what has been; I’ve come -down to be happy, dear, to be happy.” - -“Look here. We shall be out of the town soon. If you’re not tired, let’s -get out and walk along the cliff. The fly can take the traps along. -Shall we?” - -“It’d be jolly. I’ve been sitting all the morning. What a lovely day! it -was foggy and horrid in town.” - -So intense was Maddison’s happiness that he was content to be silent, as -he walked along by her side, as was she, for she went in fear of letting -him see that her pleasure at the meeting was not so great as his. -Moreover, the journey with West had given her food for thought, and the -knowledge that he was staying at Brighton had altered altogether the -plans she had made. A day or two alone with Maddison was all that she -felt she could endure, but with West near by it might be foolish to -return to town so soon. - -Suddenly Maddison stopped and took her eagerly by the hands; stood close -to her, looking down into her eyes. - -“I wonder if you know what this meeting means to me, Marian? I thought I -knew how much you are to me, but I didn’t—not till I came down here and -was without you. You’re all the world to me, Marian, just all the world. -There’s nothing else in the world for me but you. Are you _glad_? Very -glad——?” - -“Very glad!” she answered softly. - -“I used to laugh at men who went mad after a woman; but I’m mad for you, -Marian; crazy as can be! And you—I wonder, have you suffered as much as -I have done? I hope _not_ for your sake, but I’m selfish, and really -hope that you have. Have you?” - -“How can I tell, dear? I know—I missed you very much, ever so much. -But, oh, why, George, worry about that? Isn’t the present good enough to -make us forget all about it?” - -“You’re right! By Jove, you’re right. Let’s get on—I want to have you -all alone—in my arms, and to hold you so tight that you can never slip -away again.” - -“That’s all right!” she answered, laughing, “but I’m not a man with -seven-leagued legs, so unless you want to get there before me, don’t -rush along like that!” - -He slackened his speed, and they went along, he thinking of her, and -stealing look after look at her. She was wondering if she would have the -skill and the strength to play her game so that he should not discover -that what was so earnest to him to her was only make-believe. She -consoled herself with the thought that perhaps did he love her less his -penetration would be more keen and that the very excess of his ardor -would make him blind. Nevertheless, there was great need for care upon -her part, which would indeed have been unendurable to her had she not -known that the visit was to be brief and that in a few days’ time she -would be back in town, free. She was consoled, too, by the remembrance -that West had asked permission to call upon her. - -When they reached the cottage Mrs. Witchout stood in the doorway, -anxiety writ large upon her wrinkled face and her nose more than usually -rubicund. - -“Good mornin’, ma’am,” she said. “I was beginnin’ to worrit about the -food. Cookin’s cookin’, I always says, and doin’ things to rags is -’nother thing. But you’re justin time, which is more than Mr. Maddison -usually is.” - -“Mrs. Witchout keeps me in grand order, Marian, and if you want anything -while you’re here, don’t ask me for it—I’m not boss of the show.” - -“That’s the way he always runs on; don’t take anynoticeofhim, I -don’t. Would you like to go up to your room? It’s upstairs—if youcancall -these stepladdery things stairs. This way, m’m.” - -Mrs. Witchout led the way upstairs, Maddison holding Marian back a -minute to whisper to her: - -“By the way, you’re my _sister_! I’ve had a bed made up in the studio -for myself. Don’t give the show away.” - -Marian laughed as she ran up, and Maddison turned into the living room. -Everything was ready, the table neat, cozy and pretty, a covered dish -and the plates warming by the fire, which blazed up cheerily; the -lattice windows were thrown wide open and the sun streamed in warmly. - -“You don’t look much alike,” said Mrs. Witchout, coming in. “If you -takes arter your father she must take arter her mother, and a ’andsome -couple they must ’ave been, I’m thinkin’.” - -“Don’t try to flatter me, Mrs. Witchout,” Maddison answered, with a -laugh, as he sat down on the window seat, watching her picking up the -dish with the assistance of her apron. “It’s no use your coming over me -and you mustn’t spoil her with compliments, though the biggest would -have been to have told her that she is nearly as good-looking as I am.” - -“Lawks!” was Mrs. Witchout’s comment. - -“What a jolly little room!” exclaimed Marian, pausing in the doorway and -looking round. “And what flowers! And the windows, wide open, just as if -it was springtime. It feels like it.” - -“Yes—and termorrer you’ll have east winds and wet to bring out yer -rheumattics, leastways my rheumattics, beggin’ pardon.” - -“Come along; I’m sure you’re hungry, Marian, everybody always is here. -And Mrs. Witchout, you just be off! We’ll look after ourselves and won’t -make your life a burden to you.” - -“I’ll go when I’m ready, Mr. Maddison, not afore.” - -“There, Marian, what did I tell you? You see what you can do.” - -“Don’t show him up my first day here, Mrs. Witchout; let him have his -way, _for once_!” - -“For once! They always do say it’s your own fam’ly who knows least about -yer! For once! He always do ’ave it.” - -So saying, Mrs. Witchout hustled from the room with a pretense of anger -that was transparent. - -“At last!” - -Maddison strode across the room, laid his hands on Marian’s shoulders, -holding her at arm’s length while he gazed at her. Then he drew her -close to him, feverishly kissing her again and again, kissing her lips, -her hair, her eyes. - -“Haven’t you a kiss for me, Marian?” - -Their lips met, and his heart beat as though it would burst. - -“Oh, Marian, Marian, we must never part again!” - -For the moment his passion overcame her, and she lay close in his arms, -panting, forgetful. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - -ALICE LANE walked quietly along the pier toward the sea, having left -West alone with his wife, who was suffering from one of her racking -headaches that formed the chief symptom of her illness. Sedate, tall, -well-proportioned, with ample movements and strong, straight, alert -gaze, more than one man turned to look after her as she went by, -thinking that this was a woman upon whom a man could rely for sufficient -help in time of trouble. But calm as was her outward seeming, her brain -was busied over the problem which had become the great question of her -life, and which she believed would soon have to be answered. She did not -think that West had guessed the secret of her love for him, the secret -which she had so jealously guarded, but she feared that Agatha had -discovered it, for she had noticed lately a coolness in her manner and a -watchfulness that was new. She had noticed, also, a distinct change in -West’s bearing toward his wife, for which she was puzzled to account. -She had all along felt that he would not be able to find abiding content -in the companionship of Agatha; that to win his lasting affection -something more was needed than mere prettiness and winsomeness, but the -change had come sooner than she had expected, and she fancied that -perhaps there might be some external influence at work, perhaps another -woman. Had Agatha contented West and made him happy, Alice Lane would -have suffered silently, have made no sign, would never have attempted to -win his love. But if Agatha had lost him, she felt free to take him if -she could gain him, no matter at what cost to herself. Her love for him -was unselfish, and if by any sacrifice she could achieve his welfare, -she would gladly make it. - -Both Agatha and he pooh-poohed any suggestion on her part that her visit -to them must come to an end, but she had decided that it must do so, and -at once. She could no longer bear the strain of guarding her every -action, look and word for fear that either of them should see into her -heart. That she had some way betrayed herself to Agatha she was assured, -but she must keep her secret from Philip until such time as he should -have a secret to confide to her. Leave them then she must, returning to -town and the companionship of her brother. - -She watched from the end of the pier the soft glitter of the sunshine -upon the broken water. She tried to puzzle out her future course, but -the way was not plain to her. There was this added to her concern, that -apart from the breaking up of his love for his wife, West was restless -and evidently worried by some business care. It hurt her to think of him -alone with his trouble, with no one who, even without understanding, -could give him nourishing sympathy. She would have sacrificed her soul -to have been free to link her arm in his and to offer to walk the -difficult way by his side, not supported by him, not supporting him, but -mutually confident, comrades, allies. - -She was suddenly aware of some one standing close beside her, and -turning slowly found that West was watching her with evident amusement. -Taking his cigar out of his mouth, he said: - -“A penny for your thoughts!” - -“Not for sale,” she replied. “I did not know you were coming out.” - -“Neither did I. But Aggy was—out of sorts,” he said slowly, “out of -sorts. So I sent her off to lie down and rest; and came along here at a -venture, knowing how fond you are of drinking in the fresh air. Not that -you seemed to be doing so just now in any great quantities, for your -mouth was close shut, and you looked as if you were wanting to fight -somebody. How do you feel for a sharp walk? Let’s go along to Hove and -back, it’ll brisk us up; at least I want brisking up. You never seem to -vary, like a weatherglass fixed at ‘set fair.’” - -“Blessed are good appearances,” she said, tacitly accepting his -suggestion; “I fancy it’s best not to show your emotions; so few people -know how to sympathize. Most of them talk, and that’s the least part of -sympathy—at least I think so.” - -“Do I show my emotions?” - -“I can only guess whether you do or not. I might think I knew what you -were feeling, and I might be quite wrong.” - -“What am I feeling now?” - -“Glad to be out in the fresh air; glad to be moving; hoping by talking -to me to be able to forget for a while—your worries.” - -“My worries?” he asked, looking at her keenly, and wondering why she -turned her face away and gazed steadily out at the sea. “My worries? -H’m. I don’t think much of you as a thought-reader; you might say that -to any busy man, who has had a hard day and most of a night working in -town.” - -“Yes—but you don’t usually carry your business worries about with you, -as you have been doing lately.” - -“Oh! Lately. Those quiet gray eyes of yours are keen. Well, it’s quite -true, I am unusually worried just now, and you’ll be surprised to hear -that I hate having to bear my worries alone. I used not to mind that -when I was alone. You see, Aggy doesn’t understand business; it isn’t -her line exactly——” - -He stopped short, for it occurred to him that it was an awkward thing to -discuss his wife with another woman, however intimate a friend she might -be of them both. - -“Besides,” he went on quickly, “it isn’t fair to worry her just now; -she’s seedy and out of sorts and wants cheering, not depressing.” - -“Depressing?” - -“Well, so it would be to tell her I’m worried, for she knows I don’t -fidget about trifles. I must go up to town again to-morrow and tackle a -lot of old fossils who are driving me to exasperation.” - -“I suppose you’ll be going by the early train?” - -“Yes—why?” - -“If you could wait till a bit later—you might escort me.” - -“Why, what are you running up for? Can’t I do it for you?” - -“I’m running away altogether. Now, don’t interrupt. I must go; I told -you I was going, and you wouldn’t believe me. So now you must both -accept your fate and make the best of me at a distance.” - -“I jolly well won’t. Your brother said I was to take care of you and how -the doose can I do that if you won’t stay with us? Besides, I must be -away a good deal at present, and Aggy will be lonely——” - -“She has other friends. And—I don’t think Aggy is quite so fond of me -as she used to be.” - -“Oh, nonsense. She’s not quite herself now; you mustn’t mind her when -she’s a bit off color.” - -“That’s not why I’m going; I merely mentioned it to show that there was -less reason for my staying than you supposed. It’s very good and very -kind of you—of you both—to have had me with you so long, and not to -have got tired of my sober-sidedness. But don’t you know yet how -obstinate I am?” - -“Obstinate? I should hardly put it that way. Firm, I should say. Yes, -I’ve observed it; you generally have your own way.” - -“I didn’t mean that. And how can you tell? Perhaps I’m wise enough only -to let my wishes be known when I feel pretty sure of getting them, and -to bottle them up tight when I know they’re hopeless.” - -They walked along some way in silence. Alice had become a habit, and to -learn that she was going to leave them made him realize that the absence -of her quiet influence would make a real change to him. His wife had -almost suddenly grown to be nothing to him but a burden which he had -taken up and which he must carry with as good an outward grace as he -could assume. He believed her emotions to be so shallow that she would -not long moan over his dead affection and that she would be reasonably -content so long as he could provide her with luxuries and amusement. But -now he was brought definitely face to face with the fact that he was -bound to a companion who was becoming every day more distasteful to him -and with whom he would have to spend many days alone. There are people -whose influence though strong is so quiet that we do not value them at -their true price until they are taken from us; such an one was Alice -Lane. Her suddenly announced departure showed plainly to West that she -had become almost a necessity to him; that she had helped often to -smooth away asperities and to cover over Agatha’s deficiencies, and that -she could give him that comradeship which he had learned the need of by -discovering his wife’s inability to give it to him. - -Comradeship only, he believed, for he did not, in any usual sense of the -word, love her. She had become a quiet, steadying, soothing influence, a -mental support and sedative. It was not her strange, placid comeliness -that appealed to him; it was not the feminine in her: she was almost to -him what a man friend would be, save that, as a woman, he had to treat -her with respect, and with self-respect. She had not come between him -and his wife, but, on the contrary, by complementing her deficiencies, -had made her the longer endurable. He had grown accustomed during the -last few months to her companionship; he had not, indeed, talked much to -her, or in any degree sought her confidence, but her mere presence had -acted soothingly upon him; and to be with her had been restful and -pacifying. Her return to her brother’s house would practically mean that -she would go out of his life, except for occasional visits and meetings. -But he could think of no compelling reason that he could urge for her -staying longer with them, and, as she had accused him of being, he was -well aware of her firmness in carrying out any decision to which she had -come. He had been accustomed to having his own way with those around -him, but instead of irritating him, it added to his respect and -admiration for her, to find that what she thought right to do, she would -do, and that no persuasion of his could move or stay her. - -“Tell me why you are going?” he asked, as they turned to go homeward, -and faced the eager wind. “And why you think that Aggy doesn’t care so -much for you as she used to do?” - -“If I were a man I suppose I should be expected to give a reason for my -doings. But you see, I’m a mere woman, and of course act on impulse.” - -“Not at all a mere woman. And much too clever, not to know that -generalizations are always untrue. I conclude that a man’s an ignorant -ass when he says that something or other is ‘just like a woman.’ Though -it is rather like a woman to avoid answering a question by making an -aimless remark. Why are you going home?” - -“Why should I have stayed so long? Why shouldn’t I go away? -Why—why—lots of ‘whys.’” - -“Don’t you enjoy being with us?” - -“Of course I do,” she answered, no sign of the pain the question caused -her showing in her tone, though she ached to be able to tell him how -exquisite was the torture to which he was putting her. “Of course I do. -I _did_ think you knew that; you’re not the sort of man who needs to be -told everything every day.” - -“Well, I won’t make use of an old friend’s privilege of worrying you. -But, look here, when’ll you come to see us again?” - -“When Aggy asks me, if she doesn’t ask me too soon.” - -The words sprang to her lips in such haste that she could not stay them. -She repented them bitterly, for she realized at once that they might -lead to disaster for Agatha, who might refuse to ask her again to visit -her; who might, rendered brave by jealousy, oppose her husband’s wish, -who might, in a moment of anger, give her reason for so doing, thereby -perhaps making an inevitable breach in her married happiness. But the -words being said, any attempt to withdraw them might stimulate dangerous -questioning on his part. - -“When Aggy asks you!” he answered, throwing his head up and laughing -gayly. “Well, you may as well not go away at all, then. Does she know -you’re going to-morrow?” - -“I told her yesterday.” - -“Funny she didn’t tell me. What did _she_ say?” - -“Asked me to stay.” - -“There you are!” - -She bit her lip and looked away from him, but he could see the -expression of trouble that was upon her face, and felt compunction at -having so over-eagerly pressed her. - -“What an obstinate tease I am!” he said. “When I can’t have my own way, -I’ve a beastly habit of plugging away till I get it, quite forgetting -what it may cost the other chap to give it. What a clumsy boor you must -think me; I deserve to be kicked. I ought to know well enough that you -always have a real reason for what you do.” - -She dared not reply, for fear her voice would betray her. - -When they reached the hotel he went up to his wife’s room, hoping to -find her physically better, and less querulous for her rest. She was -lying on the bed, covered with a thick eider-down quilt, and turned -slowly to look at him as he came in tiptoe. - -“I was just going to sleep, and now you’ve roused me up,” she -complained, and turned away again. - -“I’m so sorry, dearie; it was clumsy of me,” he said, going round the -bed, and sitting down on the side. He took her hand, which she let lie -passively in his. - -“Don’t feel any better?” he asked. - -“My head’s not aching so much, at least not quite.” - -“That’s fine. ‘Once on the mend, soon at an end.’” - -“Where did you walk?” - -“Just along the front with Alice, nearly to Hove. The wind’s jolly -cold.” - -“Jolly? It’s horrid; Brighton’s horrid: too cold to go out, and the -hotel is so stuffy.” - -“Is it? I hadn’t noticed it. But I do wish you would go out more. You -know what the doctor said—lots of fresh air.” - -“But he didn’t tell me to go out when it was so cold it gave me -neuralgia all over my head.” - -“Let me ring and we’ll have tea up here. It’ll cheer you up.” - -“I do wish you wouldn’t always treat me like a child!” she said -pettishly; “so long as you give me pretty things or feed me with sweets -you think I’m happy.” - -“Aren’t you happy, dear?” - -“No, I’m not!” she answered sharply. - -“Not?” he repeated, as he stood up and started to walk about the room. -“I thought you were, dear. What can I do? I’ve always tried my best to -give you what you wanted.” - -“Please don’t walk about like that, you don’t know what a headache is. -You—don’t understand things.” - -“Don’t I?” he asked, standing with his back to the fire; “then why not -try to teach me?” - -“You always think you know everything, and are always right and that I’m -always wrong. But I’m right sometimes.” - -“Why, Aggy, what on earth have I done to deserve such a slating?” - -As she did not make any reply he went across to the bedside, and, -stooping down, kissed her, upon which she turned impatiently away. - -“If you don’t want me to treat you as a child you shouldn’t behave like -one,” he said, and, after a moment’s hesitation, walked out of the room. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - -WHILE the sun was shining cheerily at Brighton the rain was pouring down -drearily in London, Acacia Grove looking its very worst under the leaden -sky; the roadway a sea of mud, the leafless branches of the trees -dripping and streaming, the evergreen shrubs in the scrubby gardens none -the less dirty for their washing; even the sharp rat-tat, rat-tat, of -the postman as he went from house to house sounding dismal, as if all -the letters he bore must announce death or disaster. - -Squire had finished his frugal breakfast, and stood, newspaper in hand, -looking aimlessly out of the window. The trouble through which he was -passing had left no trace or mark upon his face, but there was a -restless misery in his eyes. Sighing heavily, he held up the paper and -glanced at it without purpose, almost unconsciously. “Sunshine at -Brighton” was the heading of an article down which his eye ran without -comprehension until Maddison’s name fixed his attention:—“Another -well-known face occasionally seen on the King’s Road is that of Mr. -George Maddison, the A.R.A., who is staying at his cottage at -Rottingdean.” - -He crushed the paper angrily and threw it aside. They were at -Rottingdean, then; that was why his watch upon the studio had been vain. -They had gone away, trusting to his not being able to trace them. - -Since his interview with Maddison, Squire’s life had been a restless -dream; every purpose had left him save one, the finding of Marian. -Despite the upshot of his last conversation with her, he still felt -confident that he could rescue her from the terrible life she was -leading. Hour after hour, sometimes by day, sometimes by night, he had -watched the studio in hopes of meeting her. He had seen Maddison several -times, but had avoided him; it was Marian with whom he desired to speak. -He had tried to track Maddison more than once, but one accident or -another had baffled him. Then Maddison appeared no more, and he had had -to wait upon “the skirts of happy chance,” and now fate had helped him. -Still he hesitated, for by several incidents it had been borne in upon -him that to save one soul he was neglecting many others intrusted to his -care—sinners, some of them, greater even than Marian. Could he feel -assured that he was pursuing the right course? That there was no element -of self in his eagerness to find Marian and to save her? Would he have -been so eager had she been a stranger to him? He was torn this way and -that by the doubts which assailed him. - -In the efficacy of prayer he had absolute faith, and consternation had -assailed him when he found that prayer brought no relief to his agony or -solution of his difficulty. He had asked for guidance, and God had not -granted him any. Heretofore prayer had always brought him peace; not -realizing that he had never before been in distress or difficulty, it -shocked, then stunned him, that no response apparently was to be made to -his faithful pleading for assistance. It is said that the extreme terror -caused by an earthquake arises from the failure of the one last resort -of safety when all else is crumbling, by the trembling, the shattering -beneath the feet of the solid earth itself; when that fails no refuge is -left. It was thus with Squire now; misery might be his lot, but not -terror at any disaster or misfortune, for “God’s in His heaven, all’s -right with the world”—that had been his faith. But was God in His -heaven? He had raised his voice to heaven and had prayed for succor, but -there had been no answer: had God forgotten him? There was no sense of -rebellion or of protest in his heart, only piteous helplessness and -loneliness. His spiritual pride had died; humility had taken its place, -but mingled with it was an almost insane dread that unwittingly he had -sinned so heinously that God had cast him away. As he had knelt this -morning, words of prayer had refused to come. He had striven to say “Our -Father Which art in Heaven,” but his trembling lips had stumbled; in -agony he had buried his face in his hands and wept. - -There was a friend whom more than once he had thought of consulting, but -a sense of shame had restrained him. Now in this crisis of his affairs, -he felt that no other course lay open to him, and that if it was in any -way possible he should act upon whatsoever advice should be given him. - -He wrapped himself in his heavy mackintosh, pressed down his soft felt -hat closely, and set out to walk toward Dulwich through the wind and the -rain. The raw air at first chilled then stimulated him and he made his -way along rapidly. Gradually the ferment in his mind was allayed, and -when he arrived in sight of his friend’s house, he almost hesitated as -to going in; the physical exercise seemed to have cleared his mental -horizon. But the half-hesitation brought back the feeling of -helplessness from which he was trying to escape and he hurried on. - -“Why, Edward! You! It’s an age since you came my way; I thought you’d -forgotten me. Give the girl your things—so—come along in here and warm -yourself by the fire. You don’t know how glad I am to see you. -But—you’re not looking well, though you’ve got a color.” - -The speaker was a middle-aged, thin little woman, with a sharp face, -stamped deeply by the hand of pain, with deep-set, kindly gray eyes and -a mouth that seemed formed so as to be able to give utterance only to -words of kindness or of consolation. - -She sat down opposite him. - -“Aren’t you well, Edward?” - -“Yes, yes, thank you, I’m quite well in body. I see—you haven’t heard?” - -“Heard? Marian’s all well, I hope?” - -He did not answer, and after a searching look at him, she went on: - -“She’s not ill? If she is, why _didn’t_ you send for me, or come for -me?” - -“No, no, no, it’s not that,” he broke in, vehemently; “it’s something -far worse than that. I scarcely know how to tell you. She’s—gone -away—away from me.” - -“Gone away? What do you mean, Edward?” - -“We weren’t happy together; at least, she wasn’t happy; she went away -and she’s living a life of sin with another man. Oh, what am I to do?” - -“This is terrible. My poor boy, my poor boy.” - -She went quietly over to him, and putting her arm round his shoulder, -drew his head gently to her. Then his pent-up suffering broke its bonds, -and he sobbed bitterly as he rested there, near that kind heart to which -no one in sorrow had ever appealed in vain. - -“My poor boy, why didn’t you come to me sooner?—instead of fighting it -out all alone, though not alone, for I know you have faith in the great -Comforter.” - -He held her hand tightly as he began, at first brokenly, to tell her all -that had happened. She knit her brows as she listened, and when he -ceased speaking, drew her hand gently from him, and drew back. - -“What am I to do?” he repeated. - -“Let me think a minute. But first, Edward, let us pray.” - -They kneeled down side by side at the table, and she prayed simply, -uttering the petition of a helpless child to her Father, asking that -this sorely-tried man and herself, his weak friend, might be guided -rightly in all they should do and that the way might be made plain to -them. The words brought comfort to him. - -“Now, Edward,” she said, “I know you do not expect me to say anything -except exactly what I believe to be true. I did not often see you and -Marian together, but I sometimes wondered if in your own strength you -did not sometimes fail to make allowances for her weakness.” - -“I’ve tried to see my own faults. I’ve no doubt I am much to blame. But -does the knowledge of that help me now? It would help me if I could -bring Marian back to me—but it’s not that which has made me come to you -for advice. What am I to _do_? Am I to go down to Rottingdean, see -Marian and make another appeal to her? And if I do and if I fail—am I -to try again and again? To do that means that I should be neglecting my -work. Don’t you see?” - -He then went on to tell her, what he had not yet mentioned, of the -horrible terror that had struck him when he found that God, as he -believed, was deaf to his prayers. - -“Now,” he said—“now you understand all. Can you help me?” - -“I don’t know. One thing I know we must do if we are to help her. We -must try to forget all about you and to put ourselves in her place as -far as we can. Strangely enough, I fancy perhaps I can do that better -than you could. I know you better than you know yourself and so can -possibly see you more as she sees you; then I’m a woman and so, though I -don’t know half as much about her as you do, it’s more than likely that -I understand her a great deal better. You say she changed greatly, after -you had been some time in town, from what she had been in the country?” - -“Yes, yes; she seemed to me to become utterly different.” - -“Just so. But of course she didn’t change at all—she only found -herself. She had been simply an artificial, vicarage-bred girl; she -became a woman. She never did anything very wrong at the vicarage—there -wasn’t any temptation. In town she picked up some of the fruit of the -tree and began to nibble at it and found it sweet. She never really -loved you—I’m sorry, but I must hurt you if I’m to help you—it wasn’t -till she came up here that she realized that she was a woman; she had no -love for you, no interest in the life you set before her, no faith; she -is young, beautiful, full of life and energy and strong emotions—so far -all’s simple enough. But what further? Is she really wicked or only a -sinner? If she’s really through and through bad, I know no power on -earth can help her or save her. If she’s only a sinner she will save -herself. At any rate what _can_ you do or say that you haven’t tried? -She knows you love her and would forgive her—I don’t see, Edward, what -can be gained by your going down to Rottingdean. I daresay you think I’m -talking hardly, but I’m not. I’m only being practical, and there’s no -reason I’ve ever heard of why one shouldn’t be truly religious at the -same time. God doesn’t love fools.” - -“Perhaps that’s why He doesn’t love me.” - -She did not answer, but for a moment a smile hovered at the corners of -her mouth. - -“You good people are so very difficult to help,” she went on; “you’re -always so utterly other-worldish that when you’ve got to worry out some -worldly trouble you don’t know what on earth to do, and that being the -case—pray for help, instead of for strength to help yourself. What to -do? It seems to me your way is plain: go back to your work; work hard; -work yourself sick if you like, and instead of praying so much for -yourself, pray more for her.” - -He turned away from her, and looked out at the gray rain. She had spoken -almost sharply, but the soft tenderness in her eyes as she looked -pityingly at him betrayed that the sharpness lay only in the expression -of the comfort she had offered him. - -“I feel that you are right,” he said, going back to her and holding out -his hands, into which she gave hers; “thank you. I’ll try.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - -THESE days were almost unalloyed joy to Maddison, and full of pleasure -to Marian, only checkered by the difficulty which she saw before her of -persuading him to allow her to return to town while he remained where he -was. The fear of Squire molesting them was now, she felt, an -insufficient excuse for their separation, not sufficient, at any rate, -to compel Maddison to forego his decision that he would not be parted -from her again. At any rate this motive alone was not strong enough, and -she searched in vain for some further argument to support it. Determined -she was to free herself partially from him, but she did not wish to -break entirely with him yet; indeed, he was essential to her still. She -would not run any risk she could avoid or foresee, but equally she would -not leave any effort untried to obtain her own way. - -“The Rebel” was quickly completed, and he had no other work on hand. -Mrs. West had learned from her husband who this friend was, and -therefore accepted the excuse. But West himself came over one afternoon -in the motor car, and was told by Marian, who came to the door, that -Maddison had walked into Brighton, and that she was alone, nursing a -headache. - -“I’m awfully sorry,” West said, thinking how extraordinarily pretty she -looked against the dark shadow behind her. “If it’s not a real bad one, -come for a spin in the car: the air will blow it out of you in no time.” - -“I believe it would, but——” - -“Oh, I know; never mind Maddison. Leave a note pinned up for him to tell -him where you’ve gone in case he’s back before we are. Now, do come; I’m -sure it will do you good.” - -“It’s awfully kind of you. Very well. I must just run up for my hat and -coat. I shan’t be two minutes.” - -“Two minutes! I’ll give you five!” adding to himself: “she’s worth -waiting for.” - -West laughed at Marian’s coat, “which might,” he said, “keep a few flies -out,” and wrapped her in rugs, until little of her could be seen save -her face, peeping out beneath the natty fur hat which she had tied down -with a thick brown veil. - -“By Jove, you look like Mother Christmas,” laughed West. “All snug? -Right! Forrard!” - -“It’s glorious!” she said, as they sped along a short piece of broad, -level road. “I don’t wonder men go mad over it.” - -“Don’t you ever go mad over things?” - -“I? No, I don’t think so. I’ve never come across anything which tempted -me quite enough to make me go mad over it. Perhaps I was born hopelessly -sane. It must be rather nice to feel real mad sometimes.” - -“Yes, it’s intoxicating, just that. Don’t be scared, I’m not going to do -it now anyway, but I sometimes feel horribly tempted to turn on full -speed, let her rip, put my hands in my pockets and see——” - -“But then—you’d never be able to get intoxicated again. I prefer -something less final than that. A big business—to be at the head of -it—a sort of king—with every other king’s hand against me—that would -intoxicate me. If I were a man, I should like to be a speaker and make -thousands drunk with my words.” - -“An actress?” - -“Yes; that must be intoxicating too—just to play on an audience—but—I -can’t do any of these things, so I must content myself with watching -other people—getting intoxicated. You men have most of the good things -in the way of power.” - -“Except power over ourselves. That belongs to you.” - -“Does it? Perhaps to some of us. I haven’t got it—at least—I want to -persuade George to do something sensible and I can’t.” - -“Perhaps he’s intoxicated?” - -“He can’t afford to be every day. He’s not done a stroke of work since -I’ve come down here—or rather for the last two days, not touched Mrs. -West’s portrait, and won’t—I’m afraid—till I go away, and he won’t let -me go. I came down on condition that I only stayed three days; I’ve been -here five now. I daresay you think it queer my talking to you—but you -see I haven’t got any friends, and you’re George’s friend too. Couldn’t -you—couldn’t you—just give him a bit of advice?” - -“Oh, lots, heaps, tons!” West replied, laughing; “and couldn’t he and -wouldn’t he refuse to take an ounce of it? Of course he would, even if -he didn’t tell me to go to the—to go to, forsooth!” - -“Probably,” said Marian, smiling; “but you wouldn’t mind that, would -you? You needn’t go. Don’t you see, it’s this way: he might pay a little -more attention to _my_ advice if he found that you gave him just the -same.” - -“Perhaps. But he’s got an obstinate little way of his own, has Master -George. Besides, do you really think that if you can’t get a thing from -him by yourself you’ll be able to do so with my help?” - -“You’re so strong,” Marian said, in such a matter-of-fact tone of voice -that West laughed out loud, though this very tone flattered and pleased -him. - -“I think I must stop the car, get out and bow to the ground in -gratitude,” he said. “It isn’t often a pretty woman pays a pretty -compliment in such a tone that there’s no doubting its genuineness.” - -“Are men any better? I should hate to pay a man false compliments, but I -never expect him to do anything else. When a man thinks a woman pretty -he calls her lovely, and when she’s ugly he says she’s pretty, -and—we—oh, we’re just weak fools enough to love a pretty lie and to -hate an ugly truth.” - -“Are you?” he asked bluntly. - -“Present company always excepted.” - -“Do you think so? When anyone says that I at once conclude that present -company was particularly meant. Yes, it’s wonderful what you can do with -soft-sawder, especially in business. Only you must be careful to deal -with each man as an individual: some like their compliments hot, some -cold, some spoken, some implied, some like to be taken for saints and -some for sinners. Here’s the whole art of big business in a -nutshell—‘play high, play low,’ high stakes and a low estimate of the -strength of human nature; every man has his price, though more often -than not it isn’t money.” - -“You’re a cynic!” - -“I don’t believe in labels; I try to flatter myself that I’m a practical -man of business, while all the time at the bottom of my heart, I know -that I’m what every man and woman really is—just a mere emotional -creature of impulse. Oh, yes, I’ve met those cold-blooded, calculating, -anæmic-looking men, but they’re just as impulsive, only they hoodwink -themselves by finding reasons for their impulse, and very often by the -time they’ve found them it’s too late to act on their impulse. Study -history; you won’t find any really big man who didn’t act on impulse at -all the important moments of his life; impulse unconsciously checked and -guided by the intuition which makes a man a genius.” - -“How is it there are no great women, then? We’ve got impulses and -intuition.” - -“The average woman has more intuition than the average man, but almost -all women are just average. Then you let your emotions run away with you -more often than we do, and you run away so far that you generally can’t -get back again.” - -“That’s true. It comes back to what I said: men have most of the good -things.” - -“We have to work hard to keep them. Then—it isn’t till we’re old and -worn out that we know what’s worth having; life’s a long chase after -knowledge, and when we’ve caught it up—if we ever do—we’ve no time -left to use it in.” - -“But meantime you’ve thoroughly enjoyed the chase?” - -“Yes, that’s true; by God, that’s true. If life was a certainty and not -the wild speculation it is—it wouldn’t be worth living.” - -He stopped short, slowed down the pace of the car almost to a crawl, as -he turned and looked searchingly at her. - -“You’re—what shall I call you?” he asked—“a witch or a fairy or what? -You’ve made me talk more than I’ve ever done to any woman, or man, for -the matter of that. There are so few people worth talking to.” - -“Because there are so few who know how to listen.” - -West greeted this retort with a shout of laughter. - -“A hit!” he exclaimed. “Yes, I suppose that’s horribly true—you’re kind -enough not to have shown me how I bored you, and so—I’ve thoroughly -enjoyed myself.” - -“It’s not that at all,” Marian retorted, putting a touch of anger into -her voice. “That’s rude of you; it’s calling me deliberately insincere -and also pointing out that what I’ve said might just as well have been -unsaid for all you heard or noticed it.” - -“Mrs. Squire, ’pon my honor you’re taking things—seriously; you’re not -really angry——?” - -“Yes, I am. I am. I was enjoying myself, and you suddenly—Please drive -on, quick, quick. You can’t talk if you go quick, and then shan’t _I_ -bore _you_.” - -“But really, Mrs. Squire, I——” - -“Please drive on—quick!” Marian interrupted. - -“She’s a masterful little devil,” West thought, as he obeyed her orders, -and he also decided that Maddison was a lucky devil. A woman who is -difficult to win or a man who has won is usually likened to the greatest -of the fallen angels. The devil has many unconscious admirers and there -are many who envy him. - -West slowed down again when they were nearing home. - -“There! Wasn’t I good?” he asked. “I obeyed orders like a lamb. Have you -forgiven me?” - -“No, I haven’t,” Marian answered, with a catch in her voice as she went -on: “it’s not easy to forgive anyone who smashes up a pleasant time——” - -“But, Mrs. Squire, really I didn’t do anything much——” - -“Much! You said the wrong thing and it jarred; that’s all, but it’s a -good deal when you’re really enjoying yourself. Here we are home, and -there’s George. Don’t forget your promise, if you get a chance of -speaking to him.” - -“But I didn’t promise——” - -“Well, keep it all the same—just to show you’re sorry for what you’ve -done. I was going to thank you for the ride, but I shan’t now.” - -Maddison helped Marian to alight, and welcomed West warmly. - -“Go and put your box of tricks up at the garage and come back here to -tea? Good! Then we’ll expect you in a quarter of an hour at most; don’t -stop down there discussing motor mysteries.” - -“I hope you didn’t think it horrid of me to go out for a run with Mr. -West; I thought the blow might do my head good.” - -“And has it, sweetheart?” he asked, as he nestled her head against his -shoulder and kissed her. “I do hope it has. I hate you having any pain.” - -“Yes, dear, it’s quite gone away—but—you asked Mr. West to tea and -there won’t be any for him if—you insist on going on in this way!” - -She broke away from him, laughing merrily, and slammed the parlor door -and locked it in his face as he ran after her, calling to him: - -“Cook won’t have you in her kitchen! I must attend to the kettle and not -to you for once!” - -She took off her heavy coat and then set about preparing the tea things, -and as she busied herself with them, thought over the events of the -afternoon. She was certain that West was to be caught only by making him -feel that he was pursuer, not pursued; by no art of coquetry on her -part, but by a show of absolute indifference to him, which would lure -him to win her out of pride if not for love. Once she could rouse his -interest in her, she was confident the game would be in her own hands. -She was pleased at the way in which she had made the most of West’s -innocent speech, and made up her mind that merely pleasant friendliness -must be her attitude toward him, until he sought to make her change it, -and even then he must find anything further difficult to gain. - -West was in the studio when she carried in the tray, and insisted on -taking it from her, while Maddison drew up a table to the fireside. -Cakes were set close to the blazing fire to keep hot. Maddison drew the -curtains and struck a match. - -“Don’t light the lamps yet, George,” said Marian, “unless you and Mr. -West dislike blindman’s holiday. Stir up the fire and make a big blaze -and we’ll have tea by firelight; it’s much more cozy—and artistic too, -so there!” - -The rough cottage fireplace, with old-fashioned blue tiles and broad -grate; the rich blaze; the dark background of the studio; Marian, her -red-gold hair gloriously lit by the dancing flames, graceful, lithe; -Maddison, with his dusky, refined face and his midnight eyes; West, -long, lank, angular, with his shock of dark hair and his eyes of deep -blue: the man of art, the man of the world, and the woman; each man -wishing that the other were absent. - -“Now, Mr. West, open the door,” said Marian, after tea, as she put the -cups and saucers together on the tray. “Please open the door—I’m off to -wash up. I always wash up the tea things, because it secures a lecture -from Mrs. Witchout in the morning, which is always delightful. You and -George can talk high art and smoke.” - -Maddison lit a pipe, while West contented himself with a cigarette. - -“When you told me about yourself and Mrs. Squire, I naturally thought -you’d made a fool of yourself or been made a fool of, Maddison,” West -said, as he prowled about; “but you’re a lucky devil. She’s a clever, -interesting woman. No wonder she couldn’t stick to the curate—I wonder -how she ever came to marry him. Hullo! Here’s ‘The Rebel.’ Can’t see by -this jumpy light—is it finished?” - -“Yes—as far as _I_ can finish it.” - -“If you can’t, who can? Anything else on hand beside the portrait of the -missis?” - -“No.” - -“You’re getting lazy. You’re enjoying yourself too much. I must tell -Mrs. Squire to buck you up and make you work. Don’t forget, old chap, -that I want ‘The Rebel’ if you’ll let me have it. I don’t mind your -doing a replica for yourself, provided you never part with it. Think it -over. You haven’t much more than three months before you’ll have to send -in—I forgot you’re a blooming A.R.A.—but buck up, it don’t do to rest -on your oars nowadays, competition’s too keen and you must keep yourself -before the public if you don’t want to be forgotten.” - -“That’s shop talk, West.” - -“All the world’s a shop, my boy; always has been, always will be. Why, -even the socialist idea is to turn the country into a universal -provider. Don’t think it would help matters if poets and painters were -endowed by the State and hadn’t to work for a living. You can’t tell me -of any rich man—any man born rich—who has ever done any art work worth -talking about. If it weren’t for women and money the world would die of -inanition.” - -“What rot you do talk sometimes, West; I suppose you find it a useful -habit in business; when a wise man can disguise himself as a foolish, -he’s sure to get on.” - -“And the reverse also holds good, from which, logically, it must be -deduced that to appear other than you are is the first law of existence! -But as a matter of fact you know I’m not talking nonsense. If I were to -say to you: ‘I’ll give you an annuity of three thousand a year, on -condition that you give me all the pictures you paint, but you’ve only -to paint when you feel inspired to do so,’ why, my dear fellow, you know -as well as I do that your career would be over. Thank your lucky stars -you’ve got to work for your living. Well, I must be off, Aggy will -wonder what on earth’s become of me. She’s always expecting me to smash -myself. Do you think I may ‘walk into the parlor’ and say ‘good-by’ -to—cook?” - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - -HAD Maddison known that West’s advice had been inspired by Marian he -would have set it aside angrily, but in his ignorance he looked on it as -curiously coincidental with much of what she had said to him, when she -had urged upon him the necessity of their separating again. The fear of -Squire’s persecution had been thrust into the background, and he had -tried also to shake off the feeling that had gradually been growing upon -him, that his love for her was interfering detrimentally with his work. -“The Rebel” he believed, in fact he knew, to be the finest picture he -had yet painted, and the portrait of Mrs. West would, he believed, be -good; but beyond these two canvases he could not see. Marian seemed to -stand between him and his inspiration, upon which he had never before -called in vain, upon which, indeed, he had never before been compelled -to call, for it had always come unsummoned. - -Many difficulties faced him. He could not bring himself to sell “The -Rebel,” even to West—it seemed like parting with Marian. The portrait -would bring him in a large sum, but not sufficient to meet the expense -of the coming year. His resources were low; he had always lived close up -to his income, saving scarcely anything, and that little had now been -drawn upon to the full. All this would not have mattered had he been -alone, with only himself to care for; though fond of luxury, he was not -a slave to it. But he had taken Marian into his charge, was responsible -for her well-being, not only now, but under compulsion of honor and love -not to leave her penniless if anything ill should chance to come to him. -The fact that faced him was that he must set to work at once, must work -rapidly and well. It was not essential that his pictures should be -exhibited at any of the spring shows—the dealers were always ready to -welcome and able to dispose of any work he could offer them. -Nevertheless time pressed, unless he borrowed upon work undone, so -mortgaging the future, of doing which he hated and feared the thought. - -With Marian as model he could doubtless paint more than one picture, but -strive as he would he could think of no subject; it was Marian as Marian -who occupied him entirely, and to paint her portrait in this, that and -the other attitude would be not merely banal, but distasteful to him. -Further still, with her beside him, near him, within call, there seemed -to be no room in his life for any other desire than to be with her, just -to see her, to love her, to please her. On the other hand, if they -parted, did the experience of the short separation through which he had -gone hold out any promise of greater ability to work? Not much. But this -new separation would be different; it would be caused by the necessity -of work so that they might be together; the better, the quicker the -work, the shorter the separation; surely that great incentive would spur -him on to success? It was Marian alone whom he must consider. To go on -as he was meant being forced to ask her to make sacrifices, and that -idea he put behind him at once and finally. To go away for a while, with -only occasional meetings with her during the next few months, was her -own suggestion, based, indeed, upon other reasons than those upon which -he would act, and he appreciated what he believed to be the loving -unselfishness that inspired it, for to her, as to him, the parting and -the separation would be full of pain. But did not love for her demand of -him that he should pursue this course? After all, would not the -resultant reward be great? It seemed to him that it refined and purified -his love for Marian the making of this sacrifice for her sake. So far -his passion had been entirely selfish; he had thought so little of -herself and so much of himself; so much of what she gave him, so little -of what he gave her; so much of his future with her, so little of what -might come to her. It was hot passion at first, overwhelming passion for -a beautiful, desirable woman; this passion had not decreased, had not in -any way been satiated by possession, but added to it now was the other -part of love, which is as unselfish as passion is selfish. Her -happiness, her peace, her delight, how could he best secure them? It -shocked him at first when he tried to reduce this vague wish to -practicality, to find that the first thing he must do was to work for -money. There was no escaping from that—he must make money; he must -work. He could not work with her beside him—at least he could not do so -now; perhaps the time would come when he could not work apart from -her—perhaps that time had indeed come, though he did not know -it—perhaps—perhaps—; so round and round in this circle his thoughts -flew, and the one thing that came forth clear to him was that he must -agree to Marian returning to town and to his not seeing her for some -weeks. - -He saw her off; stood looking after her, almost dazed, then turned away -like one blind, and walked slowly home to the empty studio and the empty -life. - -Far different were Marian’s feelings on parting with him. His decision -had taken her by surprise, until he had put fairly before her the -reasons that were his motives. She had feigned willingness to share any -degree of poverty with him, well knowing that she did not risk anything -by so doing, but on the contrary fixed more firmly his determination to -ask her for no sacrifice. Of Squire they had not spoken. She was not so -inhuman as not to feel any touch of gratitude, or any spark of pity for -the man who loved her so truly and so unselfishly; she almost wished she -could have loved him; but being what she was, these emotions did not -make her for a moment hesitate to pursue the course she had mapped out -for herself. The love of power, which had once been her strongest -motive, was growing weaker day by day; the love of luxury and pleasure -growing in intensity; the world declining in its attractions; the flesh -and the devil in her increasing in their sway over her wishes and -actions. Philip West now attracted her chiefly as a rich man, only in -the second place because of the satisfaction it would be to reduce a -strong man to her command; Sydney Geraldstein appealed to all that was -basest in her. She had not seen West since he had driven her in his car, -but she knew that he would hear at once of her return to town, for -Maddison had decided to call on Mrs. West, in order to arrange for the -resumption of the sittings for the portrait. How soon would West come to -see her? Would he come at all? - -She had taken the precaution of telegraphing the hour of return, so -found tea waiting ready for her, and the rooms looking very cozy. There -were a few letters, bills chiefly, which might wait, as she didn’t want -to bother Maddison with them just at once, and the dressmaker’s was for -a considerable sum. Also a note from Geraldstein asking her to dine with -him, curiously enough, this very evening; he would call for her at -half-past seven, if he did not hear to the contrary. - -Should she accept? He had asked her once before, but she had refused, -chiefly because he appeared to be so assured that she would accept. -Something in his dogged sensuality appealed to her; of course, -acceptance would be taken by him, and must be meant by her, as the first -sign of capitulation on her part, though she had no intention whatever -of surrendering at once, if at all. The thought of West gave her pause. -Geraldstein would leave and forget her very quickly—variety was the -essence of his pleasures. West, if she secured him, might be a lifelong -friend—but—was not variety growing to be a fascination to her? West -was at Brighton—she would run the risk. - -Geraldstein was shown into the drawing room, being told that Mrs. Squire -would not keep him waiting more than a few minutes. An incredulous smile -flitted across his heavy face, as he glanced impatiently at the clock, -which pointed exactly to the half hour. - -“It’s lucky,” he thought, as he lit a cigarette, “that we want women for -pleasure, not for business. Time means nothing to them.” - -He picked up the bills which Marian had left lying upon the mantelpiece, -and looked at them quizzically. Then he glanced at a photograph of -Maddison, and wondered how long the painter chap would be able to stand -the racket. After a moment’s hesitation, he folded up the dressmaker’s -account, and put it in his pocket. There was nothing else in the room -that had any interest for him, save that he glanced at the music on the -piano, and was surprised to find that it was not music-hall or musical -comedy songs. Most of these women were such coarse brutes; there was -something piquant and appetizing about Marian’s daintiness and culture. - -She came quickly in, with a pretty plea for forgiveness. - -“You’ve only kept me three minutes, but it seemed like an hour,” said -Geraldstein restraining himself by an effort from giving way to the -strong impulse to take her in his arms. “You’re evidently not an -epicure, or you would know what a crime it is to keep dinner even three -minutes late. However, with luck and a good horse we shall be in good -time. I’ve booked my pet corner table at Goldoni’s, my pet waiter, -ordered my pet dinner and my pet wine—all—in honor of you. Have you -ever been to Goldoni’s?” - -“Never; I’ve only heard wonderful tales of it—fairy tales, I always -thought them.” - -“Well, come along to fairyland.” - -The few who can afford to dine at Goldoni’s seldom care to dine -elsewhere, or rather when they are elsewhere they sigh for Goldoni’s. -Marian was curious to see for herself what manner of place was this -famous restaurant, and was duly grateful to Geraldstein for taking her -there; she had feared that he might choose one of the less reputable -haunts of merriment by night, which in his company might have proved -distasteful. - -Everything at Goldoni’s is refined except the company, which has but one -common virtue, money. Outwardly, however, even the most gross conduct -themselves there in seemly fashion. On one occasion only it had not been -so, and the peccant guest had been politely but firmly refused a table -when next he had desired to dine there. The warning had acted -efficaciously and at the same time had vastly enhanced the renown of the -place. With the exception that instead of one large there are many small -tables in the dining room the effect aimed at and achieved is that of a -wealthy private house; in fact, it is a private house in every way; -there is no sign above the ordinary hall door, sedate green with -ponderous brass knocker. Faultless footmen relieve the men of their -coats and hats, and then usher them into the fine reception room where -they wait for the ladies who are being attended by equally faultless -maidservants. The dining room is a long, finely proportioned room, -broken into halves by two graceful pillars; the fireplaces are -exquisitely designed—the whole indeed is an admirable example of Adam’s -best work. Along the top of the cornice, hidden from sight, runs a row -of electric lamps by which, reflected from the ceiling, a cool light is -shed on the apartment. The table appointments are perfectly simple, just -those of any rich and refined household, and the attendance is—silent. -For the cooking and the wines, “they are not perfection,” M. Goldoni -frankly admits, adding: “but we strive after it.” - -Though Geraldstein was not personally acquainted with any of the other -diners, he knew many of them by sight and reputation. - -“There—you see that thin little man over there, with the full-blown -wife and half-ripe daughters—that’s Markham, the American millionaire, -who has more money and less digestion than any man in the world. He -never eats anything but peptonized biscuit and drinks warm water.” - -“Why does he come here, then?” - -“To see and be seen. One of the girls—the least unripe—is engaged to -Lord Kent. That woman at the next table to us is a mystery; nobody seems -to know for certain who she is, whether she’s a Russian spy, or the -natural daughter of a Grand Duke—or both, or neither.” - -Geraldstein chatted while Marian quietly but entirely enjoyed herself. -There was a spice in the knowledge that her companion admired her, and -that, boor as he was in many ways, he was sufficiently refined to -appreciate her and to like to see her in a worthy setting. Her costume -became her, was a perfect support to her beauty; the luxury around -pleased her; for the time being she was content, and she did not permit -any doubt of the future to depreciate the sure delights of the present. - -The wine Geraldstein had chosen was one of those Bordeaux for which M. -Goldoni’s cellar is far famed; a mellow, tender wine, whose subtle -flavor passes like the vanishing of a dream, an innocent wine to the -taste, but insidious, full of the warmth and languor of the sunshine -that ripened the grapes from which it is crushed. Marian drank it -slowly, fully appreciative; it fired her blood, brought added color to -her cheeks and softness to her eyes. The subdued hum of conversation, -the quiet light, the silent waiters, the delicious flavor of the foods, -the wine—induced a gentle intoxication and a sense of unreality. She -scarcely heard half of what Geraldstein said to her. After a while he -too became almost silent, watching her with ever-increasing delight in -her beauty. - -“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked by and by. - -“Very much. Did you think I wasn’t because I didn’t talk? I am enjoying -myself—very much. I’d heard a lot about Goldoni’s, but it’s even better -than they said it was. Everything’s puffect, so are most of the people. -What a lovely woman that is—nearly opposite me—with the black hair and -eyes.” - -“That’s the Duchess of Bermondsey and the Duke. They’re a regular young -Darby and Joan, always together and always looking happy.” - -“Perhaps they are happy——” - -“Why not? There are many varieties of happiness. I was amused looking -over a woman’s confession-book once, to find that no two of her friends -had—or confessed to having—exactly the same idea of happiness. I -wonder what yours is?” - -She turned quickly to him, his question jarring on her present mood. - -“I’m a woman and change my mind every five minutes.” - -“But _now_,” he persisted. “If I could satisfy any wish you had—what -would you wish?” - -“I don’t wish for anything—I’m quite content.” - -“Quite content? That means you’re miserable. Life wouldn’t be worth -living if there wasn’t something left we want and can’t have. I always -seem to be wanting something. I shall look on it as a sign of old age -when I begin to be content. That’s the one drawback to this place—it’s -perfect. There’s only one perfection I’ve ever found that I wouldn’t -have altered.” - -“What’s that?” - -“You.” - -“What an elaborately led-up-to compliment!” Marian said, laughing -consciously. “How often has it done duty? Do you pay it to everyone who -dines with you here?” - -“Not—quite everyone,” replied Geraldstein, who behind his exterior -heaviness hid a diplomatic readiness, which was sometimes near akin to -wit. “No, I haven’t used it for a long time. Not since I met you.” - -“Not since you met me?” - -“No, for you’ve altered my standard of perfection.” - -“That’s very nice, but perhaps that’s been said before too?” - -“I don’t remember saying it to anyone else. But are you quite fair? If I -didn’t do homage you would think me a fool, and when I do you call me a -frivol. It’s not much of a choice for a fellow, is it? Ah! Happy -interlude! Coffee. Goldoni’s coffee, and Goldoni’s _fine champagne_, I -give you no choice. And a cigarette? It is allowed.” - -Marian leaned back in her chair, supremely content; lazily happy, idly -watching the other diners, satisfied with herself, kindly disposed even -to her host. - -“I hope you don’t mind my not having asked anyone else,” he said after a -while. “I knew how much more I should enjoy myself this way, and—I’m -nothing if not selfish. Have you enjoyed yourself?” - -“Need you ask? Can’t you see?” she replied, looking at him with -half-closed eyes. “It seems like a dream—don’t wake me from it.” - -“Don’t let us wake from it till—to-morrow.” - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - -THE next few days were to Marian days of tumult. Her abandonment of -herself to Geraldstein had wrought in her a far more serious and far -different change to that which had resulted from her leaving her husband -and going to live with Maddison. The latter loved her, Geraldstein did -not, indeed made no pretense of doing so, and her feeling toward him was -simply one of desire for physical excitement and abandon. With Maddison -it was, though of course she did not consciously argue it out as such, -an illegal marriage; with Geraldstein she stood merely on the footing of -a woman with a price. She now felt utterly adrift, floating upon the -ferocious stream of sensual pleasure, intoxicated with excitement, and, -as is always the case with every form of intoxication, the hours of -recovery, of struggling back to sobriety, were hours of pain, -half-regrets, half-formed resolutions toward future restraint, and of -deep depression and reaction. - -She realized fully that she had sold herself to Geraldstein when she -received a letter from him inclosing her dressmaker’s bill receipted, -and an apology from him for having ventured without first asking her -permission, to take this care off her hands. Her first impulse was to be -indignantly angry; then with a half laugh, half shudder, she threw the -bill aside. As she had sold herself she would be foolish to reject any -portion of the price. - -Very quickly all regret for what she had done, and for having committed -herself irretrievably to the life of a common woman, faded away. The -sensation of physical intoxication, of delight in the delirium of -yielding to every sensual impulse, was fresh and keen, and had not yet -lost anything of its savor. Momentary hesitations, indeed, came to her, -but arising solely from the fear that perhaps she might have jeopardized -her chances with West. She had not yet lost all ambition, though mere -love of pleasure was rapidly assuming imperious sway over her deeds and -thoughts. - -Physical reaction and depression came to her now and again, as it must -come after all pleasures which are themselves entirely physical. -Lassitude, tiredness, irritability assailed her, and more and more -frequently she felt compelled to seek in stimulants an escape from -_ennui_ and weariness. She talked freely and with frank confidence to -Mrs. Harding, in whose companionship she no longer felt any restraint. -Hitherto this woman, with her outspoken brutality, had half amused, half -offended her; but now there was full community of aims and practice -between them; their lives were alike, so were their pleasures and their -longings. - -She laughed with her over her dealings with Geraldstein and joked over -the gross deception she was practicing on Maddison. She canvassed with -her the schemes she had formed with regard to West, and the difficulty -and possibilities of accomplishing her aims. All this and more that she -observed for herself, Mrs. Harding reported fully to her employer Davis, -who in turn communicated it to Mortimer, who in turn kept his counsel, -believing it to be best to wait until a fitting opportunity arose for -opening Maddison’s eyes to the real character of the woman for whom he -was sacrificing so much of the present and perhaps all of the future. - -Early one evening, about a week after the dinner at Goldoni’s, West -called upon Marian. Although it was only a little past six o’clock he -was in evening dress. - -“I’m so glad to find you at home,” he said. “I’m all alone and have been -working like a nigger never does. I wonder will you take pity on me and -come and dine with me? We could go on to the theater or a music-hall -afterward, whatever you like best. I do hope you’re not already booked -up—and will take pity on a lonesome grass-widower.” - -Marian had not hoped for any so early an opening as this, and felt that -she must be guarded in taking advantage of it. West, she felt assured, -was not a man who cared to buy his company cheaply. - -“I should like it very much,” she answered. “I don’t often go -out—George doesn’t like my going about much while he’s away. But—I’m -sure he wouldn’t mind my dining with you. I’m a bit lonesome, too; it’s -rather dreary sometimes when he’s not here.” - -“Well, let’s cheer each other up and be sociable. I got a regular scare -this afternoon; for the first time in my life I felt not young, and I’m -blowed if I’m going to grow old yet—not me. But work, work, work -and——” - -He broke off without finishing his sentence and stared gloomily into the -fire. - -“You old!” said Marian, laughing, “I can’t imagine you that. I thought -you were one of those men too full of energy ever to grow old. I expect -you’re tired.” - -“I guess so, but I shall stay tired, unless I have something to stop my -stewing over business. I’ve had a tough fight for the last few days, but -I’ve downed a man who tried to down me; but he fought well and has tried -me. Young men ought to feel all the fresher after a fight.” - -“Fight! It must be good to be a man and able to fight. A woman’s just an -onlooker—a silly, helpless onlooker. Oh! How I should love to be a man -and to fight! It’s sickening,” she exclaimed, pacing angrily up and down -the room, her fists clenched, her cheeks glowing, all for the moment -forgotten except the fiery ambition which had been smoldering and not -yet extinct. “It’s sickening to have one’s hands tied. A woman can’t -_do_ anything, she’s not allowed. She’s just a doll, an ugly doll or a -pretty doll, and she squeaks the words she’s expected to say.” - -“You’re not like that, though,” West said, watching her with undisguised -admiration. - -Here for the first time he was in contact with a woman both beautiful -and intellectually gifted. He envied Maddison, who, he felt assured, -could never call forth all that Marian could give a man. Maddison did -not deserve her, and if he could he would win her away from him. He -thought of his wife, the pretty doll; he looked at Marian. This was the -woman who could stir his pulse and who would spur him on to fight. - -“You’re not like that,” he repeated; “you forget one thing. A man fights -for himself; a woman may not be able to do that, but she can make a man -fight for her as well as for himself. That’s the fight worth having. -Often and often, do you know, when I’ve scored heavily, I’ve just -dropped my hands and wondered what on earth I was working for. Ambition? -That’s not worth a damn. Money? I’ve got more now than I know how to -spend; I just spend it, risk it, for the sake of making more—a regular -wild gambler’s risk very often. But—well, be a good soul, pop on a -pretty frock and come along.” - -“I’ll come. Would you like a drink? A B. and S., or anything—well, not -anything, for my cellar’s jolly low at present.” - -“Not for me, thanks. Appetizers spoil my appetite, and I’ve a rattling -good one at the present moment. How long’ll you be—half an hour—or an -hour—eh?” - -“Half an hour, really not more. I won’t keep you waiting.” - -“Right. Well, I’ll be back in half an hour, sharp.” - -“But won’t you wait here?” - -“No, thanks; I’ll go for a stroll and a cigarette. _Au revoir._” - -They were both punctual, in fact, Marian was waiting for him. - -He held out a spray of green orchids. - -“I went out to get you these—do wear them.” - -She looked magnificent, he thought; a conqueror. - -Under Maddison’s guidance she had cultivated her innate taste for -Oriental color and magnificence; gold and silver embroideries, touches -of brilliant flaming orange and scarlet seemed to defy, but in reality -enhanced, the splendid richness of her red-gold hair. - -She stood before West in a strange greenish-blue cloak, with heavy gold -tassels and braid and with a hoodlike drapery of sable round her -shoulders. An antique Oriental silver comb, studded with green and blue -stones, held her hair. - -“How strange,” he said, as she fastened the flowers in the corsage of -her amber gown, “how strange! If I’d known what you were going to put -on, I couldn’t have chosen the flowers better.” - -“There’s one great pull you women have over us,” West said, as he looked -round the restaurant with its over-gorgeous gilding and its over-fed -crowd of men and women, “you can dress; men merely wear clothes. Just -look at all these silly black coats and blank white shirt fronts. What a -difference it would make if we weren’t afraid of colors and dressed for -effect!” - -“It tempts women to wear what doesn’t suit them, though.” - -“Either you’re not tempted, or you’re very clever and strong-minded. -Brave too—there are not many who could stand those colors you have, and -no one else I know who could wear them as if any other colors would be -wrong. You forget that among my many businesses I’m a man milliner. It’s -the most difficult job I’ve had to run that department. Men are easy -enough to content, no matter what they want to buy—clothes, cigars, -wine; they’ve no scope for choice, it’s just a question of good or bad; -but women—and dresses! My goodness! Now, I wonder if your taste in -dinners is—well, I was going to say as good as your taste in dress, but -what I really mean is—the same as mine. No soup; just fish, a bird and -a sweet and one wine?” - -“I’m not going to give myself away. You’re my host; the guests don’t -choose but take. But I’ll tell you candidly afterward whether I’ve -enjoyed it or not. Unless you’d rather I’d say nice things whether I -mean them or not.” - -He laughed. - -“It’s difficult to know—difficult to choose between pretty insincerity -or candid—cold water.” - -“I should have thought you would always choose candor.” - -“Why?” - -“A woman’s why; I’ve no reason, but I sort of feel it. Aren’t I right?” - -“Do you really expect me to answer—candidly? To confess being fond of -being humbugged, or to tell a story and say I like candor always? Of -course I don’t; I like being made a fool of, so now you know and can act -accordingly.” - -“I? You’ve handicapped me. It’s no fun being humbugged when you know it, -is it?” - -“I’m not so sure of that,” said West, critically examining the _sole à -la Marguery_, which the waiter submitted for his inspection; “I fancy it -rather depends upon the humbugger. It’s funny in business to know a man -is trying to ‘do’ you, and to know that he doesn’t know you suspect him. -And—I think most men are rather pleasantly tickled when they find a -pretty woman who thinks it worth while getting round them. That’s where -you have a man; the greatest compliment you can pay a man is to flatter -him by trying to lay hold of him.” - -“Doesn’t that depend upon the motive? A rich, ugly man must get rather -tired of being run after.” - -“No, it’s one of the pleasant powers that money brings with it; there’s -compensation in thinking that the handsome poor fool longs in vain to -have what you can command.” - -“You talk as if you were—” Marian broke off short. - -“I _know_ you were going to say,” exclaimed West, laughing, “that I was -the rich, ugly man. You’re quite wrong,” he added, his eyes still -twinkling with fun; “I’m one of the exceptions: I’m rich, _and_ young -_and_ handsome. Don’t think me conceited, but I can’t bear mock -modesty.” - -“And yet I’m sure you’re ready enough to call a woman conceited if she’s -pretty and shows that she knows it.” - -“Not a bit; it’s part of the charm of a pretty woman that she cannot -hide her self-consciousness. Do you know I haven’t enjoyed a dinner so -much for ages.” - -“They do cook well here.” - -“Cook! Cook!” he answered, looking at her quizzically. “Do you really -think I referred to the food? Of course you don’t. You’re too sensible; -I can buy food of the best every day, but I’m sorry to say I—can’t have -you opposite me always. That’s very badly put, isn’t it? Never mind, a -compliment prettily paid is generally a stock one, trotted out on all -proper and some improper occasions; but joking apart, it is a treat to -meet with a woman who can keep up her own end in a game of conversation. -Especially if she’s——” - -“I _know_ what you were going to say——” - -“Then I needn’t say it. People are so desperately stupid, or if they’re -not then they’re so desperately in earnest. A clever woman who can -frivol is delightful.” - -“So is a clever man.” - -“Let’s drink our mutual admiration, then,” said West, looking at her -over his glass of sparkling Rhine wine; “let’s form a mutual admiration -society, strictly limited to two; the only rule being that we shall dine -together at suitable and short intervals. At present the club’s confined -to one member, myself; will you join it? And consider to-night the first -meeting—of many?” - -“It would be very jolly. But I think you’d better wait till the evening -is over before you decide whether I’m a properly qualified member, don’t -you?” - -“No—I don’t, and I guess that what you really mean is that you’re not -so sure about me. We’ll pass a new rule then at once: any member tired -of any other member is to confess candidly and to retire from the club. -Now you’re safe——” - -“And—so are you.” - -After due consultation with Marian and an evening paper, West had -telephoned for a box at the Empire, luckily securing one that had been -returned at the last moment, the house being otherwise full, it being -the first night of a new ballet. Marian was passionately fond of music -and sat behind the curtain of the box, feeling almost as if she were -alone in the vast, crowded theater, listening intently to the swinging -rhythms of the orchestra. West sat close beside her, watching her face -in the glow reflected from the brilliantly-lit stage. She looked -singularly lovely, her beauty soft and refined, a glow of quiet content -in her eyes; he noted the delicate molding of her arms and her tapering -fingers as she held up her opera glasses; he saw the gentle rise and -fall of the ruby star nestling in her bosom; she intoxicated him. He -old! No, young, young, young—an impassioned youth in love: his mistress -a goddess whom he scarce dared approach! Half unconsciously he laid his -hand on hers as it rested on her lap. - -She drew it gently away. - -“Don’t, please don’t. Please don’t spoil things.” - -He did not speak for some time, while she apparently again became -absorbed in the _spectacle_. - -“I suppose you’re very fond of Maddison?” he asked by and by. - -“Fond of him? What a curious question to ask! Of course I am. Very.” - -“Somehow—I thought you weren’t. I—hoped you weren’t.” - -“I am.” Then turning full toward him, she said earnestly: “Why must you -spoil things by talking this way? What can you think of me?” - -“Think of you? You make me afraid to tell you what I think of you. -I—won’t say anything more—I’ll be good.” - -To a crash and uproar of applause the curtain fell and Marian quickly -rose. - -“I don’t want to see anything more. That was beautiful. Will you put me -into a hansom?” - -“Let’s go on to supper somewhere. We needn’t really have supper if -you’re not hungry. We can just pretend and have another chat.” - -“I thought ours was a dining club,” Marian replied, smiling. “No, thank -you very much. I’ve had an awfully good time, but I’m tired.” - -When she arrived home she was surprised to see that the dining room was -lit up, still more surprised to find Geraldstein ensconced there, -smoking a cigar, and a brandy and soda on the table beside him. - -“By Jove!” he exclaimed, turning round. “I believe I was half asleep. I -hope you don’t mind my having made myself at home?” - -“I mind your being here at all,” Marian answered, angry at the thought -of what would have occurred if West had returned with her. “You -shouldn’t have come in when you found I wasn’t here.” - -“My dear girl, what nonsense. Why not?” - -“Because—I don’t like it.” - -“You handsome little tyrant,” he said, laughing and lazily stretching -himself. “You look uncommonly like Cleopatra, but I can’t flatter myself -I’m an Antony. Don’t be cross.” - -“I am cross. It’s late. Good night.” - -“You’re alone, aren’t you?” he asked suspiciously. - -“What do you mean?” - -“Oh, don’t pretend to be young-missish. If you’re not alone, I won’t -leave you alone, that’s what I mean.” - -The reply stung her as would a lash from a whip; he had a right to make -it, a right given to him by her—in that lay the sting. It was a mere -question of buying and selling now with her; and this man had bought and -demanded payment. - -“Where have you been?” he asked. - -“It doesn’t concern you,” she replied fiercely. “I don’t belong to you. -Go away.” - -“Go away! Don’t be rude, and don’t tempt me to be rude and remind you of -facts.” - -“There is nothing to compel me to keep you here to-night. Will you go?” - -He stood up, yawned, stretched his arms and then stood looking at her -insolently. - -“You’re deuced pretty, as you know, and look splendid in those -clothes—but clothes cost money and money can’t be got for nothing.” - -“You beast!” - -“Beauty and the beast, capital!” Then he seized her by the wrists and -looked her up and down, as if she were something offered for sale of -which he was trying to appraise the value. “You little fool, you’re -young and pretty now, but in a few years you won’t be so proud. All -right. There are others in the market besides you, and they do pretend, -at any rate, to be glad to see me. But mind, she that will not when she -may. Well, I’m off. Ta-ta!” - -She did not move until she heard the outer door shut behind him. He had -frightened her, and what was worse had driven home to her the fact that -she was for sale. For sale to any man who chose to buy—unless West -should rescue her. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - -IN the early days of their acquaintanceship Mrs. Harding had felt very -favorably disposed toward Marian, but gradually appreciation had given -place to envy, and liking had been displaced by dislike. She understood -that Marian was her superior not only in beauty, which she would have -forgiven, but in education and social standing, which deeply galled her. -She realized how badly she compared with Marian in conversation and the -amenities of life. At first she laughed, shrugged her sturdy shoulders, -consoling herself with the thought that after all men do not fall in -love with a tongue; but gradually, as she realized that pretty speech is -an excellent support to a pretty face, she began to hate Marian’s dainty -ways and facile talk. More than once, too, Marian had shown by some -little gesture or some uncontrolled look that Mrs. Harding’s coarse -coarseness annoyed and jarred upon her. The latter’s treachery also -filled her with the spite that so often comes to a mean spirit, who has -wronged another. It was not the first time that Davis had called on her -to spy upon a woman with whom she was upon terms of familiarity, but in -other cases the victims had always been those to whom she had not made -any pretense of real friendship and whose confidence she had not sought. -But Marian had trusted her, and the betrayal of this trust, combined -with jealousy, drove her for refuge from compunction to hatred and -malice. - -A further point was this. Some of the practices to which Mrs. Harding -was addicted were obviously distasteful to Marian; it was a temptation -to her, therefore, to reduce Marian to her own level, and to this -temptation she now yielded. The episode with Geraldstein pleased her, as -a step in the direction to which she desired to drive Marian. - -One of the practices which was at present abhorrent to Marian was -over-indulgence in drink. Once she had been spending the evening at a -rather noisy restaurant with Mrs. Harding; they had met there two young -fellows, of that age when women and wine are temptations all the more -deadly because the yielding to them is held in reprobation by those from -whose authority they have but recently been released. Marian was utterly -bored by the pointless and often indecent jests, and watched with -disgust the quantity of wine which her friend drank and its influence -upon her. - -Mrs. Harding saw that she was being watched. - -“Don’t mind her,” she said to the youth who sat beside Marian, pestering -her with his plain-spoken attentions. “She’s young and is afraid of -being jolly. Some night she’ll get a bottle of fizzy inside her, and’ll -be all over the place before she knows where she is. Once bitten, never -shy again. Drink up, Marian, it won’t hurt you. Let’s have another -bottle, boys.” - -Marian left the party, her departure not meeting with any real protest, -and the next morning received a visit from Mrs. Harding, whose skin was -unwholesome to look at and her eyes blowzed and bloodshot. - -“I suppose you’ll tell me it serves me right,” she said, “but my head’s -aching fit to split. I wouldn’t have come down, but I’ve run out of -brandy; don’t preach, dear, but just be good and give me a B. and S.” - -For a week or so after the dinner with West, Marian’s life was very -quiet outwardly. Inwardly she lived tossed this way and that by a -turmoil of contrary desires. She realized with terror that she was -losing grip upon herself; that her physical emotions were daily growing -more and more imperious. When she had sundered herself from her old and -had plunged into this new life, she had fully counted on using her -bodily gifts to procure her the ends for which her soul thirsted. But -this life was different to what she had expected it to be, and now her -mental desires were rapidly growing weaker, and the lust of mere -pleasure and excitement was usurping their place. - -Her visit to Maddison at Rottingdean and her friendship with West had -stayed for a while this degeneration, and now she had come to look upon -the latter as the one bulwark remaining between her and a life of -promiscuous debauchery. - -The time, too, was approaching for her to go down to Rottingdean again, -and the thought of seeing Maddison was very distasteful. His letters -came regularly, full of love and devotion, telling how much he missed -her, how often he thought of her, how difficult he found it to stick to -his work, how dissatisfied he was with the result, and how he counted -the hours to the day when he should see her again. She wrote at less -length and less frequently than he did, and each time the effort was -more laborious to her. She was anxious that he should not discover her -discontent, still more that he should not obtain any inkling that he was -not as dear and as necessary to her as she was to him. Now and again -dread came to her when she thought of what might happen when she -dismissed him. - -Her loneliness rendered all these thoughts the more distressing to her; -she was unable to escape from herself, and herself was the very worst -and most hurtful company that she could have. - -Broken sleep, which quickly became night-long sleeplessness, was the -inevitable result. - -One night she lay awake, restlessly shifting her position from time to -time; striving to rest her mind by fixing it upon matters of -indifference, but without success. Then of a sudden there swept down -upon her a terror that had often stricken her when a child, but from -which she had not suffered of recent years. What if this sleeplessness -should prove incurable and kill her? Or the beginning of a dangerous -illness? She turned cold and faint with the horror of the thought of -death. Not of the physical pain with which it might be accompanied, but -of the thing itself. She could not lie there any longer in the dark; -turning up the light brought no comfort, only rendering the idea of -death more real. She imagined herself lying there, a nurse in the room, -Maddison, perhaps, by her side. She knowing, they knowing, that Death -stood outside the door, his grisly knuckle sounding for the admission -that could not be denied. There was added an oppressive sense of being -alone; she refrained with difficulty from shrieking, just for the sake -of hearing some living response. - -She recalled how once, soon after their marriage, her husband had -suffered from a long spell of sleeplessness, brought upon him by -over-work, and how she had told him again and again that if he would -only exert his will he could overcome his trouble. She remembered, too, -that the doctor had ordered him to set aside his teetotal scruples, and -drink each night before going to bed a glass of brandy and water, and -how much she had disliked the smell of the spirit. - -She slipped out of bed, shivering, for the night was bitter cold, and -having wrapped herself in her dressing gown made her way to the dining -room. She poured out about a wineglassful of brandy into a tumbler, -added water, and drank it hastily. She shuddered as she put the glass -down, but the quick warmth of the liquor comforted her, running like -heat through her frame. - -After a while she slept heavily, wakening late in the morning, parched -and unrefreshed. She was not hungry, but drank her tea eagerly, feeling -refreshed for a time. - -The following night she placed the decanter of brandy and the water -carafe on the table by her bedside, and as soon as she became restless -had recourse to them. This time the spirit did not soothe but excited -her; wild, aimless thoughts chased one another rapidly, until it seemed -as if her brain would burst. She drank again, pouring out a larger -amount of the brandy than before; stupor, then restless slumber -resulting. - -The thought of each approaching night came to be a terror by day. She -sat up late reading—reading until her eyes fell heavy with sleep. Then -to bed and to sleeplessness. - -She saw no one; Geraldstein had dropped her; West did not come, and she -did not see anything of Mortimer. Mrs. Harding came in once or twice, -but her presence was an irritation. - -Then came the appointed day for her going to Maddison, and, to her -surprise, it was with a sense almost of relief that she found herself in -the train, speeding away from London. - -He met her at the station, and although he said little, she could not -but discern in his face the intense joy it was to him to see her again. -He looked tired and troubled; even the light of love that sprang into -his eyes as they rested on her did not dispel from them the curious look -that shows in them when a man is eagerly searching after that which he -cannot find. As it was raining they drove the whole way to the cottage, -not talking much as they went, he seemingly content to be quiet, holding -her hand tightly in his own. - -Mrs. Witchout greeted Marian cordially. - -“You don’t lookaswell, though, as when you went away,” she said -critically; “does she, Mr. Maddison? I do hear as rosy cheeks ain’t the -fashun in Lunnon. But, there, Lunnon fashuns ain’t the onlyonesworth -follering. Lunch is ready; Mr. Maddison says I ought to call it -luncheon, but I don’t see that it matters what you callthingso long as -peopleknows whatyermeans.” - -“And how’s the work getting on?” Marian asked, as they went into the -studio. - -“Lamely. Only hobbling. I’ve finished Mrs. West. What do _you_ think of -it?” - -“What does she is more to the point?” - -“No; what do you?” - -Marian looked long at the portrait before she answered. It was evidently -very like the original, but there was something in the face that puzzled -her. - -“You told me she was a doll!” she exclaimed. - -“Yes, but I’ve discovered that dolls have hearts as well as sawdust in -them.” - -“Oh!” - -“Is that all you notice?” - -“Ye-es, I think so,” she answered. “I like it.” - -He laid his hands on her shoulders, and moved her so that the light fell -full upon her face; then scanned her features closely. - -“I’m right,” he said, “right. Go and look in the glass there, then look -at the picture again, and see if _you_ don’t find something of yourself -reflected in what I meant to be a portrait of another woman.” - -Marian looked closely again at the picture; it was true; as he said -there was a distinct semblance of herself, a fleeting likeness which it -was impossible to define, but unmistakable. - -“You see, Marian, I’ve tried doing without you and I cannot; we must -never leave each other again—why should we? We love each other—you do -love me still, dear, don’t you?” - -“Yes, George, of course I do.” - -“Of course you do! That sounds so cold. It seems to me this way,” he -said, sitting down, drawing her on to his knee and resting his head -against her shoulder; “life’s so short, and there’s only one thing in it -worth having; your love’s just all to me. So why waste any of our time -by being apart? We can go away and live quite quietly somewhere, or live -here—it’s cheap enough; and if I only paint a picture a year we shall -be well off, even if they’re not my best,” he added, sighing and looking -at the portrait. - -She did not answer him, but fondled his hair and pressed him close to -her, which she knew would speak to him more eloquently than any words -she could put together. Never before had she felt quite so helpless to -deal with this love of his, which had grown so much more intense than -she had counted upon its becoming. At any rate the time was not yet come -for her to show him anything of coldness, and her cool fingers ran -through his thick dark hair and he was comforted. - -“I must put you into another picture; make myself immortal by painting -you always; you must be my Emma. What shall it be next? As a Bacchante? -Your eyes wild with excitement and your cheeks glowing like red roses? -Your lips just parted and your little teeth peeping out between? I -_could_ do it; by Jove, I will do it. We’ll begin to-morrow; we mustn’t -work to-day. That’s my mistake! I ought never to have tried to paint -without you as my model.” - -“You’re forgetting me!” she said, an idea coming to her, which held out -promise of sufficient excuse for leaving him again soon. - -“Forgetting you—do you think that I ever forget you for a single -moment? You know—I often used to think myself in love, but it never -lasted. Then I began to believe that love wasn’t very much after all, -and that people were fools or ignorant who said it was the only thing in -life worth having. You’ve taught me better, dear. But what did you mean -by saying I’d forgotten you?” - -“You’ve—left me out of your plans!” - -“Left you out? Why, you’re just everything!” - -“Not quite. You couldn’t go on loving a woman who had no pride, could -you?” - -“I could love you whatever you were.” - -“But that’s not right, George. When I—came to you, you were a great -man, but not nearly so great as you were going to be. And now I have -spoiled all your future and you don’t seem to have any ambition left. -No,” she said, forcing herself away from him and with a gesture -forbidding him to follow her, “I’m _not_ going to spoil your life. If I -come between you and your work—I’ll—leave you.” - -“Leave me!” - -The agony in his voice startled her. - -“Leave me!” he repeated, striding across to her and holding her fiercely -to him. “I think I’d kill you before I’d let you do that.” - -“Don’t, George, don’t,” she gasped; “you’re frightening me.” - -“I’m so sorry, love, but—why do you say such horrid things to me?” - -“What I said was right. If I can’t help you with your work, George, I’ll -do this; if in a few days you can’t begin a picture without me in it, -can’t prove that you can work with me near you—I’ll go away and I’ll -stay away until you can tell me that I can come back safely to you.” - -“So that’s your plan! But it will take two to carry it out, and I won’t -make the second. I simply _won’t_ let you go. So that’s settled.” - -“You don’t want me to be happy? Is your love so selfish as all that?” - -“So selfish!” he said, freeing her, dropping his arms, standing amazed. -“Selfish! Oh, my love, you’re right, right. It was damnably selfish; I -was just thinking of myself. But—are you happy when you’re not with -me?” - -“You know I’m not, George. But—I’m so proud of you, and I should hate -myself if I knew I was standing in your way. I should be unhappy with -you then. Besides, dear, is—is——” - -“Yes?” - -“Is it right to love me like that? Love ought to help you, not harm -you.” - -“Help me! It has helped me to understand what happiness is. I didn’t -know that before.” - -“Well, George, you mustn’t kill my pride; keep me proud of you, proud of -having helped you, proud of myself. There, we’ll talk no more about it -now, and to-morrow, or the next day, you shall start another picture, -only I will not be your model.” - -“But——” - -“No! We’re not going to argue the first day we are together. Look, the -rain’s over and the sun’s trying to come out. I’ll run up and put on my -country boots and hat, and we’ll go for a walk over the downs.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - -FOR the first time West hesitated in his dealing with a woman. Partly it -was that Marian puzzled as well as attracted him, partly it was that the -precipitancy of his marriage with Agatha and its failure gave him pause -before he took the step of trying to win Marian away from Maddison. He -admired her, but he was by no means sure that the admiration was mutual; -indeed part of her attraction for him was that she had not in any way, -so far as he could see, endeavored to bring him to her side. Hitherto -the women whom he had met had made little effort to conceal the fact -that his money rendered him a welcome suitor. - -It was his custom every morning to walk in Hyde Park before going to -business; it was usually the only hour in the day which was not -interrupted and in which, therefore, he could think clearly. This mental -constitutional was broken up one day by meeting Alice Lane. They came -suddenly face to face at a sharp turning close by the Serpentine. - -“You’re most unfashionably early!” he said, falling into step with her. - -“I’m unfashionable in everything, I think. I didn’t know you were in -town.” - -“Is that a kind of way of reminding me that I ought to have called? I’ve -been awfully busy.” - -“How’s Agatha? Is she still at Brighton?” - -“Yes. She’s much better and beginning to enjoy herself. What have you -been doing?” - -“Just nothing.” - -“I can’t believe that of you. You’d go crazy if you hadn’t something to -do.” - -“Why, I stopped weeks with you and didn’t do a single thing the whole -time.” - -“That’s true,” he admitted, laughing; “but you always manage to give the -impression of being busy. Like one of my men, whom I had to fire out the -other day—he was always awfully busy and didn’t get any work done.” - -“I’ve no work to do.” - -West felt curiously constrained; not that anything in her tone or manner -jarred upon him; she was frankly kind as she always was to him. He did -not feel that he had anything to say to her and small talk failed him. - -They walked on for some little distance without speaking. - -“My brother’s engaged to be married,” she said suddenly. - -“Really! That’s good. I must write and congratulate him. But it’ll be a -nuisance for you, won’t it? I suppose it will be the customary ‘two’s -company.’” - -“I shan’t try to make it anything else. It wouldn’t be fair to her.” - -“Fair to her! That’s like you; that’s you all over. I’d bet anything you -haven’t bothered to think about yourself. What a show up you good women -make of us men!” - -“Don’t say things like that about me,” she answered, so fiercely that he -stared at her astonished, “_don’t_. It’s so utterly untrue. What on -earth does a man ever know about a woman? I’m hateful to myself, and I’d -be hateful to you if you knew me.” - -“I’m sorry—something’s wrong and I’ve touched you on the raw; I’m -sorry. Not that I believe you a bit you’re worrying about something that -wouldn’t give me a twinge. I—suppose I can’t help you any way?” - -“You—no, no, thanks.” She clenched her fingers tightly inside her muff. -“No one can help me and I can’t help myself.” - -“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “You’re such a good sort, I hate to see you -suffering; I’m afraid it’s something pretty bad.” - -“I’d rather not talk about myself. Tell me about yourself. Don’t you -feel lonesome up here without Agatha?” - -“Oh, we’re settling down into conventional married life. Quite pleased -to be together, but not inconsolable when we’re apart. Aggy’s growing up -and finding other amusements in life besides honeymooning.” - -“And you?” she asked, not looking at him, but fixing her gaze straight -ahead. - -“I? Didn’t I tell you I’m very busy?” - -“And that’s all you care about?” - -“I’m beginning to think so. It’s really the only game worth playing. -Now, here we are at Hyde Park corner. Shall I take a turn back with you -and be late at the office? Or be a good boy, remember that work’s first, -pleasure second?” - -“Be a good boy,” she replied, holding out her hand. - -She stood still, watching him as he strode rapidly away, and when he was -out of sight, still stood there, her lips tightly pressed together, -suppressing the cry of hopelessness that tried to force its way from her -heart. - -West telegraphed later on in the morning to Marian, saying that he would -call in the evening on the chance that she would be free to dine with -him and go on to a theater afterward, and Marian on her arrival from -Brighton found the telegram awaiting her and welcomed it. Her stay at -Rottingdean had rested her, had done good to her physically, but had -sent her back thirsty for amusement. She had intended to write to West, -but good fortune had brought him to her uncalled. - -She dressed herself with peculiar care, and was ready for him when he -arrived. - -“By Jove, this is luck,” he said, “unless you’ve dressed to go out -somewhere else? Don’t tell me that and turn a lonely man out on a lonely -world.” - -“No, I didn’t know what I was going to do with myself when I found your -wire here. I only came up from Brighton to-day.” - -“You’ve been down there? Well, where shall we go?” - -“Anywhere, only somewhere where there are lots of people. I went down -there for a change; I’ve come up here for a change.” - -“Aren’t I change enough? There’s conceit! Here, slip on your cloak, and -we’ll discuss our destination in the cab as we go along.” - -Marian had chosen to go to the Gaiety and West had telephoned to the -theater, being lucky enough to secure two good stalls. The first act was -well under way when they entered the darkened theater, slipping quietly -into their seats, amid the more or less skillfully disguised annoyance -of their neighbors. - -When the curtain fell, Marian looked round the well-dressed house, with -its atmosphere of well-to-do-ness and good dinners. West noted the -graceful curves of the arm as she held up her opera-glasses, and when -she laid them down on her lap and turned to him, noticed, too, how -brightly her eyes shone and how well her flushed cheeks became her. - -“You do love pleasure, _don’t_ you?” he said. - -“I do. Don’t you?” - -“Yes. But somebody told me the other day that I was getting old. Perhaps -that explains why I don’t seem able to let myself go as I used to do.” - -“Doesn’t that depend a good deal upon who you are with?” - -“Yes, I’ve been keeping dull company lately, chiefly my own.” - -“That’s not a pretty compliment to me!” - -“I said ‘lately,’ not to-night. I don’t think even a plaster saint could -be dull with you.” - -“I can be dull with myself.” - -“That may be; it takes flint and steel to strike a spark.” - -“Which am I?” - -“Does it matter—so long as the flame comes?” - -He was looking vaguely round as he spoke to her, but suddenly his eyes -rested on Alice Lane sitting in a box with two other ladies and her -brother. She saw and recognized him at the same moment. He felt -uncomfortable; he did not mind who else saw him, but he would have -preferred not having been seen by her in Marian’s company; he knew that -she would understand the character of the woman he was with, even if she -did not already know her by sight and reputation. Though after all, why -should it worry him? Women did not seem to take any account of such -things nowadays. But it did annoy him, argue as he would, for he was -sure that Alice was not one of the many. - -“Have you found some friends?” asked Marian, following the direction of -his eyes. - -“Acquaintances. One always meets some one one knows here.” - -The electric bells were ringing for the beginning of the next act, and -in the bustle made by men returning to their seats, and the striking up -of the orchestra, conversation dropped, though Marian scanned curiously -the calm, strong face of the woman in the box, who, instinct told her, -was the one who knew West. - -He had made up his mind to put his fortune to the touch with Marian this -evening, feeling fairly certain from her manner toward him at dinner -that she liked him and would desert Maddison for him. He had decided to -take another flat for her, it not being his taste to keep his lady-bird -in a nest that another man had feathered. At any rate, no real harm -could come of the experiment; if she proved difficult or dull, a check -would cut him loose. - -He watched the performance without interest. The sight of Alice Lane had -stirred something in him that had taken away his relish of Marian’s -company. He could not but compare the two. Alice so strong, so trusty, -such a good, true comrade. Marian pretty, bright, empty-hearted, ready -to sell herself to anyone who could assure her luxury and pleasure, or -even luxury alone. Then his thoughts ran on to his wife, a nonentity to -him. What a difference it would have made had he not married her, had he -really known Alice first, and been able to make her love him. There -would be no tiring of her, he knew. Or if Marian were Alice—there had -been such women, or scarcely exactly such, but rather women like Alice, -who counted the world’s opinion as nothing, and were ready and happy to -throw aside every other joy in life, in exchange for the men they loved. -But Alice was not like that, and did he love her? Of that he did not -feel so certain. He was very fond of her, but surely not in love, or he -would have missed her more than he had done. He felt rather that, if he -were free to love her, he could and would do so, would do so -passionately and forever. But she was not for him; it was sheer folly to -let his thoughts stray toward the impossible. The possible sat beside -him, and with that he must try to content himself; try to be content -with pretty make-believe instead of a beautiful reality. - -He would wait, however, until to-morrow or the next day. Marian would -not run away, and perhaps would behave all the better for finding that -he was not easily caught. - -So as they went out of the theater he said: - -“I hope you won’t think me very rude not asking you to supper, but I’ve -an appointment at my club I must keep.” - -“I think it’s awfully kind of you to have given me such a jolly -evening—that’s all I think.” - -But he knew well enough from the dark look that she could not keep out -of her eyes, that she was disappointed and angry. It amused him, and -assured him that he had only to ask and she would give. - -She clenched her teeth angrily as the hansom spun along homeward. She -had meant that he should ride by her side this night. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - -THE next morning West walked as usual through the Park, and to his -surprise again met Alice Lane, who greeted him cordially. - -“You offered me the chance of a talk with you yesterday,” she said -abruptly, “and I was rude enough to refuse. Will you give me another -chance?” - -“Why, of course you know I will,” he answered, eyeing her keenly, -wondering if after all she were about to tell him that he could help her -in the difficulty created by her brother’s engagement; hoping, indeed, -that it was so. - -He had walked home the night before, and had sat up late over the fire, -thinking the whole while about her. It had been borne in upon him that -in reality he did love her; not as he had loved other women from mere -physical attraction, but with a strong, deep affection that made her -necessary to him, as he now understood. So long as she did not care for -anyone else, so long as he could have her frequent companionship and -sympathy, he would, he hoped, be content. So far as anything else could -be, he had given a hostage to fortune; his wife stood between him and -the one woman who had raised his desires above mere sensuality. - -“You were at the theater last night,” she said. - -He laughed as he answered: - -“So were you. I saw you and you saw me.” - -“Yes, it was a stupid remark. I was going to say that I know who was the -woman with you.” - -She spoke nervously, hesitatingly, in strong contrast to her usual -quiet, serene way of speaking. - -“I saw her at Brighton with Mr. Maddison, and Agatha told me about her. -But even if I’d not heard anything about her, I should have known _what_ -she is. Are you disgusted at my talking like this? Are you going to tell -me—quite kindly, I know—to mind my own business? I think it _is_ my -business. I’m your friend, and with me friendship doesn’t mean sitting -by and watching a friend—lowering himself.” - -“You’re a real friend,” he said, holding out his hand and pressing -hers—“a real friend. But friendship’s blind as well as love. You put me -higher than I am; I’m not lowering myself.” - -“Not higher than you were once, at any rate. And what you were once, you -can be again. You don’t love Agatha, then?” - -He hesitated a moment before replying. - -“No, and I see now I never did,” he answered. “I didn’t know anything -about her when I married her, or about myself either. I thought I could -go on loving her and that we should be happy together. We aren’t. I -can’t make her happy and she can’t make me. You knew that when you asked -me, didn’t you?” - -“Yes, but I wanted to hear you say so.” - -“Why?” - -“You don’t care for that other woman?” she asked, ignoring his question. - -“You know that too. You know I don’t.” - -“And—you can’t live alone?” she spoke almost in a whisper so that he -could scarcely catch her words. - -“That’s just it. I can’t bear being alone now. I used not to mind it a -bit, but somehow I seem to have been changing lately—since I found out -that Agatha couldn’t be a real companion to me. I never wanted one -before; I suppose thinking I had found one and finding I had not, has -made me long for one. So—don’t blame me too much.” - -“I’m not blaming you,” she said fiercely almost. “You don’t think I’m -preaching to you?—don’t think that. How little you know of me! I -suppose you imagine I’m a cold-blooded saint? I’m not. I’m a woman. I -can forgive any man, or any woman either, anything that they do for -love, real love. But—women like the one you were with last night I -can’t forgive—they’re pests, beasts themselves and making beasts of -others. Is that the kind of thing you expected _me_ to say? I can see it -isn’t.” - -West did not answer. He was utterly amazed at his complete ignorance of -one he believed he knew well. - -“You’ve never—really understood what love means,” she went on; “I -sometimes think that only women do.” - -“You’re wrong there, Alice. I, for one, know. Only—only, I found out -too late. I did not find out until after I was married and the woman I -love—well—you understand. I’ve got what I don’t want and I can’t get -what I do.” - -“You’re not a coward?” - -“A coward? I hope not. One never knows.” - -“But isn’t it rather cowardly because you think you can’t have what you -long for, to go and play at love—with such women as that?” - -“It means nothing. No more than a good dinner or a beautiful picture or -a play. Just passes the time.” - -“It means more than that,” she said, speaking very earnestly and -quickly, “ever so much more than that. It means that you are degrading -love, by taking part of it and making it common and vile. That’s what it -means, and you see it clearly enough when a woman does it. Don’t you?” - -“Yes, I suppose so.” - -“You do, you _do_,” she exclaimed, standing still and looking straight -at him; but he dropped his eyes before hers, and ground his heel into -the soft gravel, “you do! I don’t care what a man or a woman does for -love. I’m not talking unthinking nonsense about the sanctity of -marriage—there’s just one thing in the world, and everything done in -its name is forgivable.” - -“You mean——?” - -“Love.” - -He looked at her now. - -“Love?” he said. “My God, there’s no man in the world worthy of you. -Alice, I thought you were really in trouble yesterday, and I wanted to -help you—is it that?” - -“Is it—what?” - -“Are you in love, and—are things going wrong? Perhaps I can’t help you -really, but at any rate I can sympathize.” - -“Yes,” she answered, still looking at him. He had never realized fully -the beauty of her face, softened now from its wonted passivity, or the -deep splendor of her eyes. “I do love, so I _can_ understand.” - -“I’m so sorry,” he said, angry with himself at the downright -incompetency of his words. - -“You needn’t be. I didn’t know how incomplete my life was until—I -loved. It’s made me happy. Doesn’t it help you, too? Even though it must -be hopeless?” - -“Yes, it’s strange; I didn’t know until last night that I really did -love anyone. When I said good-by to her—at the theater—I walked home, -and I sat alone by my fire and thought. A lot of things I hadn’t -understood came clear, and now—I hardly think I’m the same man I was -yesterday. But—I know myself too well; I shall soon drift back to what -I was. If she loved me—it would be different. Now, don’t talk any more -about myself. Tell me—can I help you in any way?” - -“Yes, you can.” - -“How? I’m so glad. You’re such a thundering good sort that—I’d give a -great deal to be able to do you a good turn. What a fool the fellow must -be!” - -“You can help me a great deal, by helping me to honor and respect the -man—I love.” - -“Why,” he asked, puzzled and surprised, “how can I do that?” - -“By remembering what I’ve said about not lowering yourself.” - -Still she looked straight at him, and he at her. Gradually he came to -understand what she meant. - -“Alice—it’s me you love! No, don’t answer me till I’ve spoken. I told -you that I found myself last night, and found out that I loved a woman, -really and truly loved her. You’re the woman, Alice, but I never dreamed -that you could care for me. Tell me now—is it me?” - -There was no necessity for her to speak. The light in her eyes was more -eloquent than any words could have been, and careless whether anyone was -watching, he seized her hands in his. - -“Alice, you do love me?” - -Then he drew himself apart quickly, saying: - -“I forgot.” - -“What is it?” - -“Agatha.” - -“I don’t pretend not to know what you mean,” she said slowly. “Do you -think I haven’t thought of her? If she had loved you, or been able to -love you, you should never have known. But as things are—there’s only -one way—we love.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - -MARIAN was very angry at West’s unexpected desertion after the theater. -When she reached home she sat down by the bright fire in the drawing -room, which she had told the servant to keep up well, and gave full rein -to her disappointment. - -It would soon be time to go down again to Rottingdean; Maddison had -written to say that work was progressing fast and well, and calling on -her to keep her promise to return to him when he could truly report that -things were going satisfactorily. She hated the very thought of him -now—without any reason, as she admitted to herself. She had looked to -West for rescue, and now he seemed about to fail her. - -A ring at the outer bell surprised her, and, knowing her maid to be in -bed, she went to answer it herself. - -“Hullo,” said Mrs. Harding, as Marian opened the door and looked -inquiringly out. “Are you alone?” - -“Yes, come in.” - -“Only for half a shake. I’ve got two boys upstairs, and I thought if you -were alone, you’d like to come up for a bit. They’re both pretty oofy, -and I can spare you one of them. Come along. You look spiffing.” - -The angry blood in her jumped at this unexpected opportunity. - -Mrs. Harding’s room reeked with cigarette smoke and the smell of -spirits. Two well-dressed young men lounged one on each side of the -fireplace, in front of which stood the sofa on which Mrs. Harding had -evidently been lying. - -“Here, boys,” she said, ushering in Marian. “Now we shall be a four. -Two’s company, so’s four, when they split into twos. I’m not good at -introductions: Bobby Williams and Chawles Brewer, who never gets quite -so intossicated as his name suggests, and this is Marian, though I can’t -call her Maid Marian. Now, you sit down that end of the sofa and keep -your eye on Bobby or he’ll run you in before you know where you are. -Have a drink? I’ve only got B. and S.” - -“Yes, thanks, I’m thirsty. I’ve been at the Gaiety, and theaters always -make me dry.” - -Bobby, as a rule, was not at a loss for conversation in such society as -the present, but Marian’s beauty and style overawed him at first. As for -her, she was mad with the spirit of dare-devilry and threw away all -remaining sense of decency. She drank eagerly at the brandy-and-soda, -soon handing the glass to Bobby to be replenished. - -“Say when,” he said, holding up the tumbler and the spirit decanter. - -“When!” said Marian, stopping him when he had poured out a stiff -allowance, “and not too much water. And then you may mix quite a mild -dose for yourself.” - -She laughed gayly as she took the glass from him, and Mrs. Harding was -not so engrossed in her companion’s talk as to fail noticing Marian’s -wildness. - -“Been dining too—eh, Maid Marian?” she asked. - -“Yes, so I’m not hungry, only thirsty. Now, Bobby, amuse me.” - -“What shall I do?” - -“Talk, tell stories, anything except be serious. I daresay Ethel told -you I was a serious young person, but I’m not. She don’t really know -me.” - -“Nor do I,” said Bobby; his eyes adding that he would like to do so. - -“That’s a misfortune that can be mended.” - -Her color heightened and her eyes grew brighter as the brandy warmed her -blood, and a stray tress of hair fell deliciously down her neck. She put -up her feet on his knees as she repeated: - -“Bobby, amuse me. I want amusing badly. You look full of fun. Look here, -Ethel, you play us a tune and we’ll dance. I must do something!” - -She sprang up and was pushing the table aside with Bobby’s assistance, -when Mrs. Harding stopped her. - -“For the Lord’s sake, no. We shall wake the people below, and they’re -goody-goody and will kick up a devil of a fuss.” - -She tried to push Marian back on to the sofa, but she resisted. - -“No, I won’t. You said the four had better split up. So we will. Come -along, Bobby, we’ll trot downstairs to my place and leave these two to -canoodle by themselves.” - - - * * * * * - -The next day her head ached rackingly, and she had but dim recollections -of what she had done the night before. She remembered getting out a -bottle of wine, which she and Bobby had drunk together; remembered -having become uproariously merry; then quarrelsome over something he had -said or done; then madly merry again; she dimly remembered his embrace -and his going away in the dim gray of the early morning, making some -excuse about having to go back to his rooms to dress as he had to be at -the office early. Her head ached and her eyes were heavy and hot. Her -clothes were wildly tossed about the room and one of his white gloves -stared at her ridiculously as it lay on the dark carpet. Several -sovereigns lay on the dressing table. She rang the bell and the maid -brought her tea, which seemed tasteless, and a letter from Maddison, -which she threw impatiently aside, unopened. - -The day seemed endless. - -Mrs. Harding came down to her in the afternoon. - -“Well, you’re a nice cup of tea, you are; you demure little monkey, do -you often carry on like that?” - -“If I did, I suppose I shouldn’t have such a beastly headache.” - -“Don’t know so much about that; I’m a pretty hardened vessel, but a -drink too much always gets back at you in the morning, I find. I don’t -feel too bright myself, and I don’t look much of a beauty,” she said, -looking into the glass. “This life knocks spots out of one, there’s no -doubt, but it’s the only one worth living—merry if it is short. Had a -hair of the dog that bit? If not, why not? I’ll have one too, he bit me -a bit.” - -“Help yourself; you’ll find it on the sideboard in the next room.” - -“Feel so cheap as all that? Buck up! Have one with me, and you’ll soon -feel spry again.” - -Marian did not refuse. - -“What are you doing to-night?” asked Mrs. Harding. “I’m dining out with -my old man, who’s just wired me he gets back this afternoon, or we could -have had a lark together somewhere.” - -“I’m not doing anything.” - -“How’s your young man? George’s been away a long time. Wouldn’t he be -wild if he knew what a rollicking time the mouse has when the cat’s -away. It’s just like men; they expect us to be jolly when they want us, -and we jolly well have to be—but as for being jolly when they’re -away—oh, Lord, no, that’s shocking. My lord may carry on with as many -as he likes, but one woman one man. Thank goodness, they’re easily -bamboozled.” - -Mrs. Harding did not remain for long. She did not care for dull company, -which Marian undoubtedly was this afternoon. She felt a trifle mean, -too. She did not know for what purpose Davis desired the information he -had asked her to obtain, but believed it to be for Maddison, and knew -that if such was the case, Marian’s next meeting with him would not be -pleasant. - -Marian did not go out that day or the next, spending her time reading -and dozing over the fire. She hoped to hear from West, but no message of -any sort came from him. - -On the third day, she dressed early in the afternoon, and went in the -omnibus down to Regent Street. As she stepped on to the pavement at -Oxford Circus, she knocked against a man who was passing. He did not -notice her, but she recognized West, and with him the woman she had seen -at the Gaiety. They were evidently absorbed in one another, so much so -that he did not apologize to Marian for an accident which was more than -half his fault. Her first impulse was to walk up to him and speak to -him. Then a sickening sense of the difference between the other woman -and herself stopped her; they could not be rivals. She had set her wares -before West, and if he did not wish to buy them, she could not force him -to do so. - -She went slowly on past the shops, to look into the windows of which was -usually a pleasure to her, but now she saw nothing except a vague throng -going to and fro; she heard vaguely the roar of the traffic; she was -looking vaguely straight ahead at her future, and listening to its call. -This was then the end of her ambitions? Well, after all, did it matter -so much to her? There were other joys in life, and while she retained -her beauty, she need not want for luxury and ease. The future called to -her and her vicious blood soon answered almost gladly, almost eagerly; -she had sipped already at the cup of unruly pleasures, she would drink -deep of it now. The thought of reckless, unrestrained, unlicensed -enjoyment intoxicated her. As she passed a painted, over-dressed -Frenchwoman, she thanked God that she was not such as that one. Not such -to look at; but the very relics of decency in her seemed to drive her on -to acting like the lowest of them all. As for Maddison—she would write -and tell him she was tired of him. He would probably make a scene, but -that would not hurt her, and then she would be free. - -She turned up a side street and went into a public-house to which Mrs. -Harding had once taken her late at night and which had then been crowded -with men and women. The saloon bar, with its pretentious decorations, -was empty and looked seedy and shabby by the light of day. She ordered a -liqueur of brandy and sipped it slowly, listening the while to a heated -controversy between two cabmen in the next compartment. As she went out -of the heavy swing doors, a man passed quickly by; he looked at her -surprised—she recognized Mortimer. She watched him as he walked on and -round the corner into Regent Street, and then followed in the same -direction, but did not catch sight of him again. - -She was utterly at a loss what to do to while away the afternoon. Later -on she intended to dine and then go to a music-hall. Meanwhile, the -hours would hang heavy on her hands. The spirit she had drunk, too -strong and none too pure, filled her with spurious energy that a sharp -walk soon dispelled, leaving behind a feeling half of nausea, half of -faintness. She laughed as she remembered Mrs. Harding’s invariable -remedy on similar occasions, and went into another public-house, but -this time did not drink the brandy neat. A man was leaning over the bar -talking familiarly with the barmaid, and he turned to look inquisitively -at Marian. When she raised her glass to drink he did the same, looking -at her insolently, and followed her when she left the place. - -“Well, my dear, where are you off to?” he asked, slipping his hand -through her arm. “If you’ve nothing better to do—and what could be -better?—take me to tea at your place. Here’s a hansom; let’s jump in.” - -For a moment she hesitated. Then, with a laugh and look, stepped with -him into the cab. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - - -THOUGH the days were lengthening out toward the spring, there were many -hours during each when the light was not clean and clear enough for -painting; these Maddison found unspeakably dreary. He was greatly -tempted often either to call Marian back to him or to run up to town to -see her, but he did not give way to the impulse, for he had determined -to test this plan of hers to the bitter end. He did not much believe -that she was right and that separation would enable him to do better -with his work. Rather to the opposite opinion he inclined, that constant -companionship would make them become one, all in all to each other, so -that no longer would her presence disturb him, but on the contrary would -inspire and spur him on to greater things than he had ever achieved -before. - -The new picture, a view of the downs and the gray sea beyond, progressed -apace, but he was not satisfied with it. There was no defect in it that -he could name or which he felt he could amend, but there was something -lacking. The outward semblance was right; it was the inward spiritual -grace that was lacking. Probably no other than himself would notice it, -yet it hurt him. He felt as if some power had gone out of him, and that -he painted no longer with gusto or firm, imperative inspiration. His -skill had not deserted him, the coloring and the drawing satisfied his -exacting taste and his intimate knowledge of nature. But it was only the -outside of nature that he had caught and fixed; the heart of her was not -there, as it had been in the pictures that had brought him name and -fame. This was a dead thing—there was no life in it. - -He could not understand why his love for Marian should have affected him -in this way or to so great an extent. Why should the absorption in her -of all his hopes in any degree depreciate his insight into and love of -nature? Surely a man might serve a woman and nature too? But though he -could not trace its working or even fix in what it lay, he knew that -some change had come over him, and that since he and Marian had been -together he was a different man. This love that he had fully counted on -to elevate and ennoble him, seemed to restrain him from reaching to that -which had before been easily within his grasp. - -Perhaps, he sometimes thought, it was that he was not altogether free -from anxiety concerning her. To her this separation had not appeared to -be so miserable a thing as it was to him. She had suggested it, had -argued for it, had not admitted any of the drawbacks which he had seen -in it, and had absolutely refused to be shaken from her determination. -On the other hand, she might have felt it as deeply and as keenly as he -had done, while for his sake and to make it bearable for him, she had -just put on a brave face, smiling when tears would easily have come. If -this were so, how brave she had been and how cowardly he. - -This thought had come to him one morning when he had found work -difficult, and was about to leave it for the day. It invigorated him; he -would not be outdone by her, or he would ever have to reproach himself -for not having faithfully abided by his word to work with all his might. -Work! Yes, not for himself, but for her. If that did not drive him on, -if that failed to inspire him, he was weak indeed. - -Again and again, however, fears and doubts assailed him. He would wake -suddenly in the night, aroused by no apparent cause, and would start -thinking about her, wondering if she were well and happy. At first he -had written to her almost daily, until she had forbidden him to do so -any longer, urging that it was nearly, if not quite as harmful for him -to do this as to have her chattering and laughing by his side. Her -letters to him had grown more and more infrequent, shorter and shorter; -mere little messages now, that stimulated a hunger they did not do -anything to satisfy. - -A curious change had come over his imaginings. In the early days after -her going away he had found no difficulty in conjuring up her face -before his mind’s eye. Gradually the image had grown vaguer and more -vague until at last, if he would think of her as she was, he had to look -at “The Rebel.” What memories the picture called back to him! The -meeting with her that foggy afternoon in Bond Street; years ago it -seemed, but in reality only a few brief months; the afternoon he had -first gone down to visit her at Kennington; the thought that he had then -that she was deliciously beautiful, and that he would love to have her -for his playmate; the birth of a better feeling, the growth of his deep -love for her; the finding her alone and lonely in that stuffy Bloomsbury -hotel; the long days and nights of delight that they had passed together -since. Again and again he reproached himself for little attentions that -he had failed to pay her, and for the few bitter words that he had -spoken to her once in a moment of irritation. He was so utterly unworthy -of her that in good truth he should have done for her all the little -that was in his power. He had kept her apart from his friends selfishly, -with the result that she must be very lonely now. He had written to -Mortimer asking him to do anything he could to relieve the monotony of -her existence. What a dear woman she was, he thought over and over -again, to put up with all the troubles and worries he had brought upon -her—all for love of him. - -So whenever any slightest shadow of doubt of her entered his mind, he -gave it no resting-place there, but chased it away as an insult and a -deep wrong to the woman who had intrusted her life’s happiness to his -poor keeping. - -As the picture drew near completion he worked every minute that the sun -gave to him, for when it was finished he would be free to go to her. It -was his letter telling her that but a few more days, a week at most, -kept them apart, which she had tossed aside unopened and had afterward -thrown upon the fire unread. - -He had been painting patiently all one morning, almost angrily sometimes -because he could not exactly translate his thought to the canvas, when -he was surprised by a knock at the door of the cottage. Mrs. Witchout -had not yet returned from her morning’s marketing, so he went to the -door himself, expecting to find some casual visitor from Brighton who -had heard of his being down here. He was astonished to see Mortimer. - -“My dear Fred, is it you or your ghost?” - -“I don’t suppose any ghost ever had such a thirst on him as I have; show -me the way to the pump; I could drink buckets even of water.” - -“Oh, we’re not so primitive as that—but, rot! you’ve been here before. -Come along, there’s whisky and a siphon in the locker here. Drink, smoke -and chat while I paint, only don’t mind if I don’t hear a word you say. -I’m at a ticklish point. How are you and what brings you down? Spread -your answer out as long as you can, so that I needn’t say anything for -at least five minutes.” - -“I’m well. Came down because there was a rush of work in the office and -I was afraid I might be in the way,” Mortimer answered, with a chuckle. - -He then lighted a cigarette, sat down on the window seat and looked -aimlessly out over the broad down. The sun was shining brightly, a lark -was singing somewhere high up in the blue, through the open window -drifted the keen, fresh air, full of the salt fragrance of the sea; the -world looked young down here to the eye of the Londoner. Then, -stealthily, he watched Maddison. At first he saw no change in him: he -appeared well and hearty; but later he noticed a tired, nervous look -about the eyes, and that every now and then he bit his lip as if -impatient at some difficulty he could not immediately overcome. He had -often before watched him at work and had always wondered at the vigorous -joy Maddison found in his labor. - -“May I look?” he asked. - -“Yes, I don’t mind your looking; you don’t imagine you really know -anything about pictures and so you don’t chatter bosh and think it -criticism.” - -Mortimer stood in front of the easel, looking keenly at the picture—a -great stretch of the downs and the gray sea beyond, overhead a splendid -tumult of rain cloud. - -“Well, say something, however idiotic!” exclaimed Maddison, after -impatiently waiting for Mortimer to speak. - -“My dear boy, what’s up? Have I interrupted you at an awkward moment? -Why didn’t you tell me?” said Mortimer, turning quickly, surprised at -the tone in which Maddison had spoken. - -“No, no, of course not.” - -“It’s the first time I’ve heard you speak as if you were put out about -something. Nothing’s wrong?” - -“No, no!” Maddison answered, laying his hand heartily on Mortimer’s -shoulder, “not a bit. But—what do you think of it?” - -“And this is the first time you’ve ever _asked_ my humble opinion. I -like it.” - -“That sounds rather dubious. Speak out—you mean you don’t like it.” - -Mortimer looked again at the picture hesitatingly. - -“You _don’t_ like it,” said Maddison again. - -“Yes, I like it. But there’s something wanting; it doesn’t seem to me -quite you. It’s the only picture of yours I’ve ever seen that somebody -else might have painted.” - -Maddison turned sharply away and strode over to the window. - -“Oh, rot, old chap, you mustn’t mind what I say,” protested Mortimer. -“You hinted just now that what I don’t know about pictures would set up -half a dozen critics, and here you are getting the hump over my -nonsense.” - -“It isn’t nonsense. You’ve seen straight off what I’ve been trying not -to see. You’re right, damnably right. It’s as dead as can be—not a -touch of life or light in it.” - -He threw down his palette and brushes impatiently, crossed once again to -Mortimer and stood behind him, gazing gloomily over his shoulder. - -“The critics will probably say I’ve eclipsed myself, all except Tasker, -who will say that, but mean total eclipse. But so long as it sells well, -what does it matter?” - -“Look here, Maddison,” said Mortimer, sharply, “there _is_ something -wrong, or you couldn’t speak like that. This hermitizing down here don’t -suit you. Lock up the shop for to-day at any rate, and come into -Brighton for a blow off. Now, I know you’re going to say ‘no,’ but I say -‘yes,’ and if you’ll give me a shake-down I’ll bring my traps over to -stay the night here.” - -Maddison hesitated a moment, then consented. - -They drove back after dinner at the Metropole, where Mortimer had -intended to stop. The night was bitterly cold, and the huge fire which -Mrs. Witchout had made up in the studio was grateful. - -“Now, I want to have a real yarn with you, George,” Mortimer said, as he -stretched his cold hands toward the warmth. “I told you a tarradiddle -this morning—I came down simply because I’ve something I want to talk -to you about.” - -“There’s nothing wrong with Marian, is there?” Maddison asked, leaning -forward eagerly and speaking anxiously. “It’s not _that_?” - -“She was quite well when I last saw her.” - -Maddison sighed with relief and sat back again in his chair, puffing -steadily at his pipe. - -“But tell me first,” Mortimer continued after a pause, “what’s wrong -with you? I know there is something; I saw it in your face this morning, -and though you’ve been as jolly as jolly all day, you’ve not been quite -your real self. What is it?” - -“So I look different, and seem different, and my picture’s not mine. -There’s nothing wrong, Fred, nothing that I can lay a name to, but -you’re right. I’m changed. It’s this beastly separation from Marian that -doesn’t agree with me. I’ll come up to town with you to-morrow and fetch -her down here, or settle into the old place again.” - -“You’re very fond of her,” Mortimer said meditatively, staring at the -blazing coals. “I was in love once, and I know what it means, old chap.” - -“I never knew that——?” - -“You’re the only one beside myself that does. She wasn’t for me. I’ve -told you this because I’ve something—very difficult to tell you, and I -want you to understand that—I understand.” - -“It _is_ something wrong with Marian then?” Maddison exclaimed, starting -to his feet. - -“Sit down, George, sit down. I’ll walk about in the dark while I tell -you; that’s why I asked you not to light the lamps. Sit down, and hold -on tight, grit your teeth, George; I’m going to hurt you.” - -Mortimer paced slowly up and down, while Maddison sat down again, awed -into obedience. - -“I’m going to hurt you, George; I needn’t tell you that I’d give a lot -not to have to do it. But you’d better hear it from me than find it out -for yourself.” - -“Quick, quick, don’t beat about the bush. What is it?” - -“It _is_ about Mrs. Squire. I knew it was no good talking to you until I -had facts to tell you. She’s—she’s—my God, it’s hard to tell -you!—she’s utterly worthless. She’s——” - -“Don’t say another word, or I’ll kill you, on my soul I will!” Maddison -shrieked, leaping up, his eyes blazing with anger, his hands clenched. - -“I must, I _must_,” said Mortimer, standing quietly before him, “and you -must hear me. It’s not suspicions, it’s facts. More than one man has -been with her while you’ve been down here. I suspected it; I had her -watched and there’s no room for doubt. I think you know -Geraldstein—he’s been with her; another man was with her only the other -night. I saw her myself come out of a disreputable public-house with a -man and drive off with him. It was sheer accident I saw her; I didn’t -follow—I knew enough already. I’m putting it brutally: there’s no good -mincing matters. If she was merely your mistress I wouldn’t have -worried, but——” - -Maddison turned away, leaning against the mantelshelf, his face buried -in his arms; Mortimer went up to him. - -“George, old man——” - -“Don’t—don’t touch me! Leave me alone for a bit.” - -Mortimer sat down. Not a sound broke the silence except the loud ticking -of the clock. It seemed to him hours and hours, though it was barely -more than a minute, before Maddison spoke. - -“What a fool I am, and what a beast,” he said, turning fiercely, “to -believe a word of what you’ve said. It’s all some mad mistake. It can’t -be true.” - -“Do you think I’d have told you if I weren’t absolutely certain?” - -“You don’t know her as I do. She couldn’t. She loves me. Now look here, -I won’t hear another word, and to-morrow I’ll go to her. I’ll never -leave her again, open to such filthy suspicions. You know your room. -I’ll stop here. Good night.” - -“Here are the reports from the agent,” said Mortimer, ignoring -Maddison’s anger and holding out a bundle of papers. Maddison snatched -them from him and flung them into the fire. - -“Do you want me to murder you? Can’t you leave me? For God’s sake, leave -me.” - -Mortimer realized that it would not avail anything to press matters at -that moment, so without another word he went out of the room. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - - -THE instant the door had shut behind Mortimer, Maddison plucked the -scorching papers from the fire; they had by sheer chance fallen on a -mass of black coals out of reach of the flames. They were hot and -crackled in his fingers as he opened them. Then he sat down, and leaning -forward read them by the dancing firelight. They contained a cold, -bloodless account of all that Mrs. Harding knew of Marian, and by their -very lifelessness carried conviction. It was not without a struggle, -however, that he allowed himself to believe the accusations brought -against her; for long his heart refused to be subservient to his reason. - -He sat motionless and intent; the fire waned and the room grew darker -and darker until at length there was only the glow of dying embers left -in the grate; the papers had fallen to the floor unheeded; his hands lay -limp and his head hung heavily. His eyes stared blankly; he saw nothing, -felt nothing, was numb, crushed, stricken. - -The striking of the clock roused him. There were hours still before the -starting of the first train for London. Should he go there? To what end? -He knew that what he had been told was true. What was the use of seeing -her? She would only laugh at him. It was nothing to her; it was the -shattering of life to him. God! How greatly he had loved her, did love -her still. How he had trusted her, believing that she greatly loved him. -How easily she had played with him; all this pretense of separation for -his welfare, the reality being that she wished to be free to follow her -lusts. Could such a woman be such a mere beast? Why, yes, it was only an -old tale retold; no new thing in it; the devouring woman, the hoodwinked -man. There was nothing to be done. No hope, no hope. - -Once again her face came vividly before him: its splendid oval, the deep -eyes, the glory of her hair, the half-parted lips, with a little smile -hovering round them—how lovely he had often seen her, and yet she was a -mere beast, who had sold herself to him and was selling herself to -others. - -But nothing that she had done or would do could kill his love for her. A -dry, choking sob broke from him; he staggered, drunk with misery, across -the room, pulled aside the curtains and looked out on the cold, moonlit -night. Was there nothing to be done? No smallest ray of hope? No hope, -no hope. - -He lit a lamp and set it on a table before the easel on which stood “The -Rebel.” Yes, there she sat, as she had been when first the desire came -to him to have her for his own. His own! His shout of laughter filled -the room. His! Any man’s who cared to pay her price. Just a mere beast, -no more. And yet, there she sat, the beautiful rebel who had caught him -body and soul. He picked a dagger off the wall and slashed the canvas to -tatters; that lie at least was dead. He looked at the white blade as if -there ought to be blood upon it. - -He had killed that lie; it was agony as if he had killed part of -himself. But life was the agony now for him. She had taken from him -everything that made the world worth having; killed his art, killed his -love. There was no hope, no hope. - -He looked again at the white blade as if there ought to be blood upon -it. - - - * * * * * - -Mortimer woke early, roused by Mrs. Witchout knocking at the house door. -Wrapping himself in his dressing gown he went down and let her in, -briefly answering her exclamations of surprise at seeing him there. - -He wondered why Maddison had not heard her. He listened at the studio -door, there was no sound within. He knocked—there was no reply. - -The dead do not answer the living. - -Before the easel on which stood the tattered remnants of “The Rebel” -Maddison lay dead. - - - - - * * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber's note: - -Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. - -Inconsistencies in punctuation have been maintained. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PEST*** - - -******* This file should be named 50453-0.txt or 50453-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/0/4/5/50453 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Teignmouth (William -Teignmouth) Shore</h1> -<p>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no -restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at <a -href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you are not -located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this ebook.</p> -<p>Title: The Pest</p> -<p>Author: W. Teignmouth (William Teignmouth) Shore</p> -<p>Release Date: November 14, 2015 [eBook #50453]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PEST***</p> -<p> </p> -<h4>E-text prepared by Clarity, Cindy Beyer,<br /> - and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> - (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br /> - from page images generously made available by<br /> - Internet Archive/American Libraries<br /> - (<a href="https://archive.org/details/americana">https://archive.org/details/americana</a>)</h4> -<p> </p> -<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> - <tr> - <td valign="top"> - Note: - </td> - <td> - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive/American Libraries. See - <a href="https://archive.org/details/pestshore00shoriala"> - https://archive.org/details/pestshore00shoriala</a> - </td> - </tr> -</table> -<p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='cover' id='iid-0000' style='width:350px;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<p class='line0' id="half-title" style='text-align:center;margin-top:6em;font-size:1.5em;'>THE PEST</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="title-page"> -<h1>The Pest</h1> - -<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0' style='margin-bottom:1em;font-size:.8em;'>BY</p> -<p class='line0'>W. TEIGNMOUTH SHORE</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0' style='font-size:.6em;'>AUTHOR OF “THE TALKING MASTER,” “EGOMET,” ETC., AND</p> -<p class='line0' style='font-size:.6em;'>PART AUTHOR OF “THE FRUIT OF THE TREE”</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/title.jpg' alt='logo' id='iid-0001' style='width:80px;height:auto;'/> -</div> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0' style='margin-top:2em;'><span class='gesp'>NEW YORK</span></p> -<p class='line0' style='margin-top:.5em;margin-bottom:.5em;'><span class='gesp'>C. H. DOSCHER & CO.</span></p> -<p class='line0' style='font-size:.9em;'>1909</p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> -</div> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;margin-top:10em;font-size:.8em;font-variant:small-caps;'>Copyright, 1909, by</p> -<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;margin-top:.5em;margin-bottom:10em;font-size:.8em;'>C. H. DOSCHER & CO.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='5' id='Page_5'></span></p> - -<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;margin-top:4em;font-size:3em;'>The Pest</p> - -<hr class='tbk100'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Pavements</span> and roadway slippery with greasy, -black mud; atmosphere yellow with evil-tasting -vapor; a November afternoon in London; evening -drawing on, fog closing down.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>George Maddison, tall, erect, dark, walked -slowly along, his eyes, ever ready to seize upon -any striking effect of color, noting the curious -mingling of lights: the dull yellow overhead, the -chilly beams of the street lamps, the glow and -warmth from the shop windows. Few of the faces -he saw were cheerful, almost all wearing that -expression of discontent which such dreary circumstances -bring to even the most hardened and -experienced Cockneys. For his own part he was -well pleased, having heard that morning of his -election as an Associate of the Royal Academy, a -fact that gratified him not as adding anything to -his repute, but as being a compliment to the school -of young painters of which he was the acknowledged -leader and ornament: impressionists whose -<span class='pageno' title='6' id='Page_6'></span> -impressions showed the world to be beautiful; -idealists who had the imagination to see that the -ideal is but the better part of the real.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison paused before a highly lighted picture-dealer’s -window, glancing with amusement at -the conventional prettiness there displayed; then, -turning his back upon it, he looked across the -street, debating whether he should cross over and -have some tea at the famous pastry cook’s. A -tall, slight figure of a woman, neatly dressed in -black, caught his attention. Obviously, she too -was hesitating over the same question. In spite -of the simplicity and quiet fashion of her black -gown, her air was elegant; her head nicely poised; -her shoulders well held; the lines of her figure -graceful, lithe and seductive. Though he could -not see her face he felt certain that she was interesting -and attractive, if not beautiful; also, -there was a something wistful and forlorn about -her that appealed to him. Warily stepping -through the slippery mud, he crossed over and -stood behind her for a moment, marking the -graceful tendrils of red-gold hair that clustered -round the nape of her neck and the delicate shape -and coloring of her ears. As she turned to move -away, she came full face to him, instant recognition -springing into her eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“George—!” she exclaimed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='7' id='Page_7'></span> -“Miss Lewis!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was immediate and evident constraint on -each side, as though the sudden meeting were half-welcome, -half-embarrassing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Were you going in to tea here?” he asked. -“I was. Let me come with you? It’s an age -since we met. It’s horrid and damp out here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is,” she replied, slightly shivering. “Yes, -I should like a cup of tea.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They went through the heavy swing doors, -opened for them by a diminutive boy in buttons, -into the long, highly decorated, dimly lighted, -discreet tea room, which lacked its usual crowd. -A few couples, in one case two young men, occupied -the cozy corners, to one of the more remote -of which Maddison led the way, and settled himself -and his companion in the comfortable armchairs. -He ordered tea and cakes of the pretty, -black-eyed waitress, dainty and demure in the uniform -of deep, dull red.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You sigh as if you were tired, Miss Lewis, -and glad to rest?” he said, trying in the dim light -to study her expression.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am tired and I am glad to rest. It’s very -cozy in here. I’ve never been here before.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She laid her hand upon the arm of the chair -next to him and he noticed that she wore a wedding -ring.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='8' id='Page_8'></span> -“I called you Miss Lewis. I see——?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes—I’m married. I don’t suppose you remember -much about Larchstone—I recognized -you before you did me; I saw you across the road. -But just possibly you do remember our curate, -Mr. Squire—you used to laugh at him. I’m Mrs. -Squire. He’s still a curate, but not any longer in -the country. We live at Kennington; what a -world of difference one letter makes! Kennington—Kensington. -Have you ever been in Kennington?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison remembered Edward Squire distinctly: -a tall, gaunt enthusiast, clumsy in mind -and in body. He leaned back in his chair as a -whirl of recollections rushed across his mind: the -red-roofed, old-fashioned village of Larchstone; -the old-world rector and his daughter, a pretty -slip of a country girl, who had grown into—Mrs. -Squire. He remembered the summer weeks he -had spent there, painting in the famous woodlands, -and the half-jesting, half-serious love he -had made to the rector’s daughter. Since then -until this afternoon he had not met her, though -the memory of her face, with the searching eyes, -had come to him now and again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She watched him as he dreamed. He had -changed very little; how distinctly she had always -remembered him; the swarthy, narrow face -<span class='pageno' title='9' id='Page_9'></span> -framed in heavy black hair, the deep-set black -eyes, the thin nose, the trim pointed beard and -mustache hiding the sensual mouth, the tall, well-knit -figure. Far more vividly than he did she -recall those summer months; in her life they -had been an outstanding event, an episode merely -in his.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you still take three lumps of sugar?” she -asked, as she poured out the tea.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You remember that? Yes, still three, thanks.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You see, I hadn’t very much to remember in -those days.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s five years ago—” he hesitated.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Five this last summer, and a good many -things have happened since then. My father’s -dead—three years ago—and I’m a good young -curate’s wife. And you? But I needn’t ask; the -newspapers have told me all about you. Are you -still full of enthusiasms?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I suppose so. I think so, only they’re crystallizing -into practices. As we grow older the -brain grows stiff, and we’re not so ready to go -climbing mountains to achieve impossible heights.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’ve climbed pretty high. A step higher -to-day—A.R.A. Fame, success and money, that’s -a fairly high mountain to have climbed—at least -it looks so to me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The forlorn tone of her voice confirmed the -<span class='pageno' title='10' id='Page_10'></span> -impression his first sight of her had made upon -him. He looked at her keenly as she sat there -with her eyes fixed upon her tea which she was -stirring slowly. She had become a very lovely -woman and a poor curate’s wife.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lonely?” he asked almost unintentionally.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did I say lonely?” she asked looking quickly -at him. “We were talking in metaphors. I suppose -that way of talking was invented by some one -who didn’t want to blurt out ugly truths.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Or who fancied that commonplace ideas become -uncommon when divorced from commonplace -words.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s strange, isn’t it, sitting here, chatting like -old friends—after all this time? You didn’t answer -my question: have you ever been in Kennington?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I go down to the Oval now and then to watch -the cricket; that’s all I know about Kennington.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And that’s nothing. You might as well judge -West Kensington by an Earl’s Court exhibition, -or a woman’s nature by her face. I think it would -do you good to see more of Kennington. I can -believe that to anyone who has lived there any -other place on earth would seem heaven.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Heaven?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Even the other place would be an improvement.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='11' id='Page_11'></span> -“You’re rather hard on Kennington, aren’t -you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s very hard on <span class='it'>me</span>! It stifles me. I come -up to town—you see, I speak of coming up to -town—every now and then, just to escape from -the horrible atmosphere. There; just to breathe -freely for a bit, to look at the shops, to see faces -with some thoughts in them, to escape from—Kennington.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And do you escape?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not altogether. The atmosphere there is -saturating.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Does your husband like it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He doesn’t know anything about it. Souls to -save and bodies to feed, that’s his simple want -in life. There are plenty of both in our neighborhood. -I suppose you wouldn’t come down to -see us?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If I may——?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You may,” she answered, laughing softly, -almost to herself, and he noticed how her smile -lit up her whole face for the moment. “You’ll -seem so queer down there.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just think—but no, you couldn’t realize what -I’m laughing at; you’ve never been in Kennington, -and—even more likely—have never seen yourself -as I see you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='12' id='Page_12'></span> -Resisting the temptation to ask her in what -light she saw him, he in turn laughed as he looked -down into the provocative face turned toward -him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re getting better,” he said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, thanks; the tea has done me good, and -the meeting with you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She spoke quite frankly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m glad,” he answered, “and glad I was -lucky enough to meet you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What a pretty, empty phrase,” she said, with -a little sigh and a droop of the corners of her -mouth. “Sayings like that are the threepenny -bits of conversation; they’re not worth sixpence, -but they’re better than coppers. Now, I must -be off.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s quite early.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, for you. But for me—Kennington and -high tea; but you know neither of them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’ve asked me to come——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not to high tea. Come some afternoon or -evening. Drop me a post card so that we shall be -sure to be in. My husband will be so glad to see -you again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I <span class='it'>have</span> seen you again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very well, I’ll drop you a line of warning. -And how are you going home?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='13' id='Page_13'></span> -“By a clever and cheap combination of penny -bus and halfpenny tram. Now, good-by, and -thank you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They lingered a moment in the shop entrance, -warmth and coziness behind, the darkness and the -thickening fog before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t like you’re going alone. The fog’s -getting very thick.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Please don’t worry about me; if the tram -can’t get along I shall walk. Good-by, and, again, -thank you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Nodding in a friendly manner, she walked -quickly away, leaving him irresolute. But he soon -determined to follow her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You really must let me see you home,” he -said, as he caught up with her; “it’s going to be -bad.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So am I, and insist on having my own way. -Don’t spoil it for me. I don’t often have my -own way with anything or anybody.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Again she walked quickly away into the darkness.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='14' id='Page_14'></span>CHAPTER II</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Acacia Grove</span>, Kennington, was once upon a -time, and not so many years ago, the home of -snug citizens, who loved to dwell on the borderland -of town and country. It is a wide road of -two-storied houses, all alike: three windows to -the top floor; on the ground floor, two windows -and a hall door, painted green and approached -by three steep steps; a front garden, generally -laid out in gravel with a circular bed of sooty -shrubs in the center and a narrow border of -straggling flowers along each side, spike-headed -railings separating the garden from the pavement. -Few of the gates are there that do not creak -shrilly, calling aloud for oil. In one of these -houses, distinguished only from its neighbors by -its number, lodged the Reverend Edward Squire, -occupying the front “parlor,” a small den at the -back of the same, and the front bedroom and -dressing room on the upper floor. The furniture -throughout was plain, inoffensive, somber, entirely -unhomelike; faded green curtains with yellow -fringe hung at the parlor windows, by one of -which Marian sat in the gloaming two days after -<span class='pageno' title='15' id='Page_15'></span> -her meeting with Maddison. The fire shed a flickering -light over the room and on the weary face -of her husband, who lay back asleep in a heavy -horsehair armchair. She glanced at him now and -then, each time comparing his commonplace features -with those of George Maddison, her meeting -with whom had stirred tumult in her already -mutinous blood.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Rousing himself at length, Squire looked at his -watch.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Half-past four! I must be off, Marian. -Don’t you find it dismal sitting there in the -dark?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You can dream in the dark.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dream?” he said, standing up and stretching -his lanky limbs, stamping his heavy feet as -though cold. “Don’t you dream too much, dear? -I wish parish work had more interest for you; -there is so much to do, and——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t do much!” she broke in sharply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I wasn’t going to say that. Wouldn’t it make -life brighter for you if you spent more time in -brightening it for others? However, I mustn’t -stop to talk now. There’s a meeting of the Boot -Club at a quarter to five, and several things after -that. I can’t get back till about half-past six: will -that be too late for tea?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He stood beside her, feeling clumsily helpless -<span class='pageno' title='16' id='Page_16'></span> -to express his sympathy with her evident discontent, -and unable to help her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, I don’t mind what time,” she answered, -turning her back toward him, and looking out at -the dreary prospect of leafless trees and dim gas -lamps.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He stooped to kiss her, but she pushed him -away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t be silly, Edward; everyone can see into -the room. If you don’t go, you’ll be late.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With a sigh he turned away and went out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For months past hatred of her home life had -been growing in her, and it had been intensified, -brought to fever heat, by her meeting with Maddison. -His prosperity had emphasized the dunness -of her own career. Why had he ever made -love to her, giving her a glimpse of brightness, -and then left her to be driven by circumstances -to accept her husband’s dogged love, to accept -this life of struggle, to accept this daily round -of distasteful tasks and hateful duties? In the -country days she had accepted without energy to -protest against the routine work of a clergyman’s -daughter; but here in London, her blood had -caught afire, the devil of revolt was astir, her -whole heart and soul rebelled against the wasting -of her youth and beauty. In the old home there -had been none with whom to compare herself; -<span class='pageno' title='17' id='Page_17'></span> -but in town hundreds of women, with smaller gifts -of body and mind than her own, led a full and -joyous life. She raged to think that she should -bloom and fade, never knowing the glory of -living.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She rose slowly, let the heavy venetian blind -run down with a crash, drew the curtains close, -and lit the gas. She stood before the glass over -the mantelpiece, looking at her reflection. Then -with growing disgust she turned and glanced -round the meager room. In a basket was a pile -of accumulated mending waiting for her; on the -small writing table—above which hung a crucifix—several -account books, which would have to -be made up this evening. She stood there, tall, -fair, throbbing with rebellion, longing to escape. -Again the question that she had so often asked -herself during the last two days came to her: was -it possible that George Maddison would offer to -free her? He had nearly, if not quite, loved her -once; were there any means by which she could -lure him to her again?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A sharp knock at the house door startled but -did not interest her, the caller doubtless being -for Edward, and his visitors did not amuse her. -Her conjecture was wrong. The neat little maid -servant, who feared her master and adored his -wife, opened the parlor door, stammering out—</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='18' id='Page_18'></span> -“A gentleman wants to know if you’re at -home, mum. He wants to see <span class='it'>you</span>, mum.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you sure he wanted to see <span class='it'>me</span>?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I do, if I may,” said Maddison, appearing -in the doorway; “or are you not ‘at -home’?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course I’m at home; we don’t indulge -even in conventional fibs in Kennington. Do -come in; I’m so glad to see you. I didn’t think -you’d really come.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why not?” he asked, shaking hands with -her. “Could I resist such a persuasive description -as you gave me? It was so alluring that I -walked the whole way, and, upon my word, I -declare you have done the neighborhood an injustice. -I’ve been in worse.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very likely it’s my fault.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They sat at either side of the fire for some -little while silent; he noting the room, and furtively -examining her face as she stared into the -fire. He could see the tears that hovered in the -corners of her eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Your fault?” he said at length. “You look -fagged; you want a change.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A change!” she exclaimed, laughing hardly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She stood up, leaned her arm upon the mantelpiece, -and looked down at him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A change! You don’t know the irony of -<span class='pageno' title='19' id='Page_19'></span> -what you’ve said, Mr. Maddison. A change! -Do you realize that each day drags along just -the same as the days before have been, and the -days after will be? Never a shadow of a change! -And so all the life is being crushed out of me. -If I’d only known; but what’s the good of talking -this way, and why on earth should I trouble -you with my worries?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was a splendid rebel and Maddison’s pulse -stirred with sympathy and attraction. She looked -to him like some fine, wild animal, caged, eating -out her heart for freedom.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I almost wish I hadn’t met you the other -day,” she continued. “I know that sounds rude; -what I mean is, it’s bad enough to be here, but -it makes it worse, ever so much worse, to realize -what I’ve not got.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I wish I could help you,” he said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She sat down again and again looked into the -fire, which she stirred into a roaring blaze.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It would have been better had I stopped -on in the country; I was only half alive there. -I just vegetated. Edward, my husband, had what -he thought was a ‘call’ to come up and work -among the poor in London, so he brought me -here. I wonder do you know the kind of man -he is?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can guess.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='20' id='Page_20'></span> -“He’s good, because he never has any temptation -to be anything else. He’s content, and -works, eats, drinks, sleeps; he tries to be kind -and sympathetic, and—nearly drives me mad. -Don’t you think it strange,” she asked, looking -at him eagerly, “that I should be talking -to you like this? I must—must talk to some -one.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m glad you look on me as a friend. I wish -I could help you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You are helping me by letting me talk to -you. I wonder do you understand a bit of what’s -the matter? Can <span class='it'>you</span> understand? You’ve always -been free, and could make your life for -yourself. I’m strong, but I mayn’t even try to -use my strength. I hate all this cant about -women’s rights; every woman can have her rights -if she only dares to take them. But we’re all bred -up to be dependent cowards. Now, I suppose -you’re shocked?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why? I think I understand what you mean—what -you feel. Does—your husband know?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He? He couldn’t understand! He would -try to, and would advise me to go out and work -here with him. I did do some work with him, -but it only sickened me. And the people he -works with! Gossiping, chattering, self-important -humbugs. So now I sit all day with -<span class='pageno' title='21' id='Page_21'></span> -my hands in my lap and cry like a baby for a -moon I <span class='it'>could</span> have if I dared take it. I’m young—and—what’s -the use of not saying it?—pretty, -and——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She clenched her hands on the arms of her -chair and set her teeth firmly. The fire shed a -warm glow over the handsome, alluring face; he -watched her with admiration. A picture ready -to his hand. The dull, stupid room; the woman, -splendidly rebellious. What was she going to -make of her future?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m going to ask you to help <span class='it'>me</span>!” he exclaimed. -“Let me paint your portrait; not an -ordinary portrait. The subject has been in my -head for a long time, but I’ve never been able -to grasp it until just a moment ago. I shall -call it ‘The Rebel.’ Will you come up two -or three times a week to my studio and sit -for me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Shall I?” she answered, looking doubtfully -at him—“shall I? And then when it’s over, -come back here—<span class='it'>here</span>!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had his thoughts and she had hers, but -neither expressed them or guessed the other’s.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It would only make me more angry with -things,” she said; “no, you <span class='it'>don’t</span> understand me -a bit. It must be all—or nothing. A sweet -to-day and bread-and-butter every other day? -<span class='pageno' title='22' id='Page_22'></span> -No, no. Understand? It has been so bad -with me that I stood on Westminster Bridge the -other night after I left you, and looked at the -water; I am such a coward that I came home to -this.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So—you won’t help me to paint my picture?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ll think about it, and let you know. When -shall I come?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison took out his engagement book and -turned over the pages.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You have to find time between one engagement -and another,” she said, watching him; “I’m -free every day.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To-day’s Tuesday; would Thursday, eleven, -suit you? We could go and have lunch somewhere -afterwards.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can’t decide. Will you leave it open? I’ll -just come, if I’m coming, and, if I don’t come, -it will mean I’d rather you didn’t come here -again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I won’t worry about that. I’ll just hope you -will come. Now, I must be going. Good-by, -and—again—I wish I could help you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As Maddison drove home, he was in doubt as -to what course he should pursue in this adventure -so suddenly thrown his way. Marian greatly -attracted him, both by her beauty and her brains, -<span class='pageno' title='23' id='Page_23'></span> -but he did not as yet feel disposed to face the -scandal that must come if he took her away from -her husband, should she care to come to him, -and should he care to ask her. He felt certain -that if he saw much more of her he would fall -under her fascination, yet, weakly, he had given -her this invitation rather than run the risk of -not meeting her frequently, rather than have to -meet her in the dismal surroundings of her -home.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>During the last few years he had drilled himself -into not yielding to his every impulse. -When he had first met her the desire bred in -him by her country comeliness had almost led -him into marrying her; its renewal urged him -strongly to ask her to be his mistress. He believed -that she would yield. What would be -the outcome of such a course? She was evidently -trembling on the brink of revolt, undecided -whether or not to dare all. Should he tempt -her? There could be no question as to her -beauty, which was of a type that had always appealed -to him. Tall, lithe, well-proportioned; -elegant in face and figure—how lovely she would -look daintily dressed! No mere animal, but a -woman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Between now and Thursday he must decide -with regard to her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='24' id='Page_24'></span> -Then the fear shot into his mind that perhaps -she would not come.</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>When he had left the room, Marian sat down -again by the fire, her face lit up by a smile of -complete satisfaction.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was not trembling on the brink of revolt. -When she had met him that foggy afternoon she -had been so, but only because she felt helpless. -Now succor had come. She felt certain that she -could win Maddison to her will, that she would -be able to use him as the stepping-stone to the -luxury and power for which she lusted. He had -almost loved her in the old days, he nearly loved -her now after these two brief meetings; at any -rate he was sorry for her. She would tempt him -and he would fall.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Again she looked at herself in the mirror; she -was made to conquer. This man, and others, -should be hers. She held the two most powerful -of weapons, beauty and heartlessness, and would -use both without scruple.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She laughed as she thought of her upbringing -in the little country village, of her ever having believed -that she could live content as a curate’s -wife. Whence came this unruliness in her blood? -She could understand the discontent with the -physical conditions of her life, but her desires -<span class='pageno' title='25' id='Page_25'></span> -went far beyond that. It was not merely for -love and luxury that she longed, but for power—power -over the body and mind of men of -power.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison would not satisfy all her cravings; -but he could take her away out into the world, and -there she knew she could win.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She had in her the confidence of a conqueror.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='26' id='Page_26'></span>CHAPTER III</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>On</span> Thursday morning Maddison waited impatiently -for Marian, though he never for a moment -doubted but that she would come.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Absence from her had made her influence the -stronger; each hour the recollection of her face -had grown more clear—the droop of the eyelids, -their sudden lifting and the keen, searching look -of her eyes; the dainty poise of her head, the -masses of red-gold hair, the little mouth with its -moist, tempting lips; the tall figure, the clean, determined -movements.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He paced up and down the studio waiting for -her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Many pretty women had sat to him there, -some of whom had tempted him and to a few of -whom he had fallen willing captive for a time. -But Marian held him by a stronger spell; it was -not merely her beauty that called so, imperatively -to him. She was a complete woman, body and -brain, and to touch her heart, to win it, to keep -it, to be able to hurt it—that he must do.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But she did not come and the hour was past. -Was she fooling him, luring him on? He could -<span class='pageno' title='27' id='Page_27'></span> -not credit that; he had watched her keenly and -it had seemed to him that she was ready to rebel -but did not dare revolt, and that it remained for -him to decide whether or not she should attain -her freedom. To him this world was a delightful -dwelling place, in which wise men gained all of -pleasure upon which they could lay hands. To -make her his own would bring him complete satisfaction, -at any rate for a time. As for the -future, only fools toted up bills that might have -to be paid. There was one cost, however, which -he would have to pay, the thought of which had -at first given him pause. Doubtless Squire would -sue for a divorce, and, though the case would be -undefended, nevertheless it would cause considerable -scandal. Afterwards, would she ask him to -marry her? That he would not do, for it was a -part of his creed that a woman who has left one -man had best be left free to desert the next.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As he waited impatiently, the question came -to him more forcibly than it had done before: -did Marian care for him? Their two meetings -had been brief, and there had been no hint of -love making. He thought that she was desperate -enough to grasp at any hand held out to her, -that she would be easy to win. The idea of -the picture had suggested itself opportunely, and -he had seized on it as a convenient and plausible -<span class='pageno' title='28' id='Page_28'></span> -excuse for their meetings. He fancied that -she would accept the chance eagerly, yet she had -not seemed to do so, had hesitated, and now—he -laughed angrily at the state of irritated disappointment -into which he was working himself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Perhaps she had been delayed, or detained -at the last moment. Probably she would write, -or maybe come up in the afternoon to explain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had arranged to lunch in the studio, luckily, -so would not be out if she did arrive later. -He looked at the pretty white table, which stood -so daintily in the broad alcove before the wide -hearth, with the quaint colored glasses and old -silver. How delicious she would look against the -dark oak of the fireplace!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A ring at the door!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The housekeeper announced “Mr. Mortimer,” -and Maddison fumed that he had forgotten to -say that he expected a sitter, and was not to be -disturbed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, George,” said Mortimer, putting up -his eyeglass as he walked into the room. “I’m -extra busy at the office, so it’s jollier than ever to -come up and waste an hour with you. It’s no -fun lounging when there’s no reason why you -should not do so. Ah! you were expecting some -one—me, of course!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He glanced at the luncheon table, quizzically. -<span class='pageno' title='29' id='Page_29'></span> -He was short, sturdy, with a somewhat bullet-shaped -head, covered—though thin at top—with -crisp, curly black hair. His features were Oriental -in cast, with a tendency toward coarseness, and -his voice somewhat thick and heavy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He sat down on the steps that led up to the -broad, deep bow window, laying down his glossy -hat and natty stick on the rug beside him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I had meant to stay at least half an hour, and -possibly to carry you off to lunch, but——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But you think I don’t want you,” answered -Maddison, laughing. “I don’t think I shall mind -much. I was expecting an old friend, whom I -met the other day for the first time for years. -She’s going to sit for me——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My dear fellow, why explain? Who would -suspect you of being foolish enough to lunch alone -when good company was procurable? I notice -you say you <span class='it'>were</span> expecting?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. Squire was to have been here at eleven; -then two hours’ work, then lunch. It’s now half-past -twelve——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did you fix any time for lunch?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have a cigarette and don’t be cynical. You -forget that pose don’t pay with me. How people -would laugh if they found you out! Not a cynical -old bachelor, but just as romantic and soft -hearted as man could be.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='30' id='Page_30'></span> -“They won’t laugh, because they never will -know. Even if you told them, they’d not believe -you. Is it a portrait or a picture you’re starting -out on?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Picture. I won’t talk about it, though. As -you know, I can’t talk about my ideas; they -must just boil over, and then, if possible, or as -far as possible, I get them on canvas. What a -painter I should be if only I could make facts -of all my fancies. There’s the blank canvas, and -in my mind the picture. I wonder will you ever -see it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I wonder are you as impressionable as you -used to be? And—it’s a beastly word, but there -is no other—and as romantic as you still appear -to be? As far as I know, you’ve never really been -in love, George: perhaps it’s better that way for -a painter or a poet, never to feel very deeply. He -should understand deep feelings, but never experience -them. What do you think?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t think about art. Art’s in us, and -comes out as well as it can. That’s all there is -to it. There’s only one rule of art: don’t lie, don’t -make up things; and if you can hit on a new -truth, or can tell an old truth perfectly, you’re a -genius. That’s all.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What are you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How can I know?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='31' id='Page_31'></span> -“You’re not in love, George?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What the deuce makes you say that? Who -said I was?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nobody. But I thought you were at first—with -Mrs. What’s-her-name, who should have -been here. But you can’t be, or not badly, or -you would not have talked ‘shop’ so enthusiastically.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s no proof. I don’t think I could -ever love a woman as much as I do my work. I -can’t believe that, if ever I had to choose between -my work and a woman, I should choose the -woman.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Touch wood, old chap, touch wood; though -even that powerful magic won’t make you safe. -Just wait till ‘she’ comes along, and then, Lord -preserve you! You—I can see you just mad for -a woman.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re wrong. No woman I’ve ever seen -has made me forget myself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No woman—yet. That doesn’t insure the -future.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No; but I haven’t any fears.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s what I used to say, once upon a time.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And——?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve grown older and wiser. But that’s a -story too stupid and too common to be worth -telling. You—you’re capable of sacrificing everything -<span class='pageno' title='32' id='Page_32'></span> -for a woman, for <span class='it'>the</span> woman; and, after all, -it’s the only thing worth making sacrifices for. -Venus is the only goddess worth worshipers.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You romantic old cynic!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Cynic! I wonder how that ever came to -be a term of reproach? A cynic’s simply a man -who has learned that impulses should be restrained -by reason. Most men find that wisdom -when their impulses have ceased to be temptations. -Good Lord! George, I came up here -to lounge, and you mislead me into talking art -and philosophy. The least compensation you can -offer me is—lunch. I’m hungry.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mortimer went off after luncheon, and Maddison -was once more free to study the problem -that faced him. Mortimer’s belief that he could -ever be induced to throw all else aside for the love -of a woman had amused him and instilled into -him a spirit of dare-deviltry, of intense desire -to make hot love to Marian, for whom his longing -grew keener and keener—just to prove that -he could play with fire without burning his -fingers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Wonder at her not coming to him was now -being supplanted by anxiety lest some accident -should have befallen her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>If he walked down to Kennington he would not -be there until after three o’clock, not too early -<span class='pageno' title='33' id='Page_33'></span> -an hour for a call in so unfashionable a neighborhood.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He walked slowly, surprised at the keenness of -the anxiety he was now enduring. Had Marian, -already, after two brief meetings, become so much -to him that the fear of any hurt having come to -her filled him with rage? How clearly he conjured -up his last sight of her, as she stood back -to the fire, whose light glinted through her hair. -How graceful and gracious she had looked. Yes, -he feared love unfulfilled, not love unrequited.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The gate creaked dismally as he pushed it open. -He walked quickly up the gravel path, looking -sharply up at the parlor window, through which -in the dusk he could see the firelight dancing on -the ceiling.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. Squire was not in. Would he wait?” -said the little maid.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Curiously the chance that she might not be in -had not occurred to him, and he drew his breath -sharply at the news.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is she likely to be in soon?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I dunno—shall I ask master?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He told her not to trouble and turned away. -He could not run the risk of having to face -Squire, bearing in mind the errand on which he -had come.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Apparently nothing unusual had occurred. -<span class='pageno' title='34' id='Page_34'></span> -Why had she not kept her appointment? Or, -if unable to do so, why had she not written or -telegraphed to him? Had it meant so little to -her that she had forgotten it?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The best thing for him to do was to put the -matter on one side, to wait awhile, to watch. -Perhaps she had written and the letter had been -delayed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He walked some little distance before he could -obtain a cab, and so, home.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There came no letter.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='35' id='Page_35'></span>CHAPTER IV</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>That</span> afternoon Marian had gone out, thinking -it possible Maddison might call, and she was -pleased to hear on her return that he had done so. -He was anxious then: waiting makes the heart -grow fonder.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But it had not occurred to her that he might -stalemate her by adopting similar tactics to her -own. Several days went by and he neither made -any appearance nor gave any sign, so that she -began to fear that she possessed either little or -no influence over him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>If he failed her she could think of no means by -which she could effect her escape from the life -which she so loathed. Merely to leave her husband -would be cutting herself off from the security -of respectability without gaining any compensating -advantages. To go to Maddison would be different; -through him she would make friends and -acquaintances, whom she did not doubt she could -use to her advantage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the country the growth of her mind had -been stunted, though, on the other hand, to those -years of fresh air and simple life she owed her -<span class='pageno' title='36' id='Page_36'></span> -superb health. Her education had been scanty, -with the one exception of music—singing and the -pianoforte having been taught her by the church -organist, an enthusiastic old bachelor of small -means but of fine taste and accomplishment. She -was not an expert performer; she had not a -voice which could be coined into guineas; but to -her own accompaniment she sang with feeling and -effect simple ballads, sometimes those of her own -countryside. Of literature and art she knew little -and was content in her ignorance. Innate good -taste enabled her to dress to advantage. In conversation -she had the knack of making such use of -the small knowledge she possessed as to hide deficiencies. -With curious acuteness and minuteness -she had taken stock of her capabilities and defects, -realizing fully that on the whole she was well -equipped for the world of adventure.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Two rules she had laid down for herself; never -to lose control over her emotions and always to -remember that the most powerful woman is she -who seems most weak. She understood clearly -that her chief handicap was lack of experience, -but she believed that in a woman instinct takes the -place of knowledge. She would feel her way -carefully, step by step, watching and probing, but -the first step and the most difficult was to free herself -and to obtain a footing in the greater world. -<span class='pageno' title='37' id='Page_37'></span> -She had almost despaired of ever doing this, when -so unexpectedly she had met with Maddison. She -had watched his career with interest and with -admiration of its brilliant and rapid success, and -now she upbraided herself because it had never -entered into her calculations that she might be -able to utilize him in the attaining of her ambitions. -She ought to have remembered how near -to loving her he had once been.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So far, in her dealings with him, she did not -think that she had made any error. She had -shown no interest in him, which she believed -was the best way to pique him into feeling interest -in her. She had talked of herself, had told -him enough to enable him to see clearly how -dissatisfied she was with her present lot. She -now felt that all that remained for her to do was -to persuade him that she was worth winning, not -merely for her beauty, but because she could add -to the attractiveness and pleasure of his life. She, -however, did not know anything of his way of -life, and did not even know whether any other -woman held the place she wished to obtain for -herself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had vaguely said that he was willing to -help her; he had shown anxiety by at once calling -when she had failed to go to him; but, since -then, silence. The next move was left to her, and -<span class='pageno' title='38' id='Page_38'></span> -with all her care she might make a false one. She -knew that he was emotional, and conjectured -that, once roused, no scruple of conventional -morality would be a hindrance to him in achieving -his desire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>If she were to approach him again now, without -any reasonable excuse for doing so, she -feared that she might fail to gain his help, and -such a failure would mean lasting defeat. There -was no means that she could think of by which -she could bring him to her. To wait indefinitely -was not only dangerous but repugnant to her -daily intensifying longing for escape from her -present life. So far, she had considered only two -of the three factors in the case—herself and Maddison. -It remained to be proved whether or not -she could work her will by the instrumentality of -her husband.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She knew his intense devotion to her, but that, -great as it was, it weighed nothing against his -sense of right and wrong. She did not hold -the first place in his life: that was given to -his work. Love, health, comfort, success—all -were nothing in the scales against duty. Further, -even if he were willing to give up all for her, -he could neither help her ambitions nor satisfy -her longings, the chief of which, indeed, was to -be free from him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='39' id='Page_39'></span> -More than once he had spoken to her almost -sternly of her idleness and unwillingness to assist -him. Was it not possible in this connection to -bring about some breach between them? In some -indefinite way she felt a desire to quarrel with -him. At this very time he was constantly urging -her to join the small band of women who, -under his guidance, were laboring to bring something -of decency and comfort into the lives -of the wretched dwellers in some notorious slum -property in the parish. She steadfastly refused. -It was not work which she could or would do.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When this thought came to her, she was engaged -upon some accounts, which he had asked -her to have complete for an important meeting -in the evening.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She closed the books almost untouched, feeling -fairly confident that this remissness would lead -to remonstrance on his part, which she could make -an excuse for defiance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Coming home late in the afternoon, Squire -found her, as often he had done of late, sitting -idly in the dusk by the window, looking out at -the dreary prospect. The fire had sunk low, and -the glowing coals shed but a dim light over the -room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was tired, physically and mentally, and a -stir of anger came to him to find her sitting there -<span class='pageno' title='40' id='Page_40'></span> -thus, knowing that she knew that he considered -this idleness wrong.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He sat down heavily in the worn armchair, and -began to unlace his boots; his feet would be rested -by an hour or so of slippers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m very tired,” he said; but she made no -answer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How have you got on with the accounts?” -he asked after a pause. “I suppose they were -all right?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know. I haven’t touched them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not touched them!” he exclaimed, aghast, -and turning sharply to her. “Not touched -them! You—knew they must be ready for to-night!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I knew.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She stood up, let the blinds down, pulled to -the curtains viciously, and then went over to the -chimney-piece for the matches. She struck a light -and turned up the gas, which blazed up into -a shrieking flame, and, in turning it low, she -turned it out. She lit the gas again, and then -stood leaning against the table, watching his face -of amazement.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t understand,” he said, looking at her -with puzzled eyes. “You knew they must be -done, and you haven’t touched them? You’re -not ill?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='41' id='Page_41'></span> -“No, quite well. It’s just this, Edward, this -life is killing me; you must change it. I’ve done -my best to stand it, but I can’t go on with it any -longer.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Change it—change it! How can we change -it, even if it was right to?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Right! Right! Right!” she repeated fiercely. -“Who made <span class='it'>you</span> the judge of what is right for -<span class='it'>me</span>? You’re my husband, but that doesn’t make -you my judge. You live your own life, and I -must live mine; and this life you try to make -me lead is not mine. Stop!—listen to me first. -You’re so blinded with self-satisfaction, so obstinately -sure that you’re right, that you’ve forgotten -all about me. I’ve become just a mere item -in your existence, a part of yourself. You’ve -forgotten that I’ve a self, or you couldn’t really -believe that this life would satisfy me. I’m -young. Am I to have no fun in life? No amusements, -no gayety, no pleasure, no friends? Am -I to go on living here, seeing nobody worth seeing, -going nowhere, just drudging along in this -dismal hole?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She stopped, panting, and he broke in——</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can’t listen to you, Marian. Do you understand -what you’re saying?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, yes,” she interrupted, “I understand; -it’s you who can’t. Can’t? Won’t—won’t! I -<span class='pageno' title='42' id='Page_42'></span> -sometimes wonder if you’re a man or a mere -machine?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If you knew how much you are hurting me, -Marian, you’d know how much of a man I am. -Don’t you think I’ve seen how discontented you -are, but you wouldn’t take my advice; you -wouldn’t try to do what I know would make you -happy. You’re—you’re so selfish; you criticise -everything by whether it brings happiness to you. -You have everything that I have, and could share -everything with me, and be quite content and -happy. But you do nothing; you keep outside -my life and won’t let me help you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve heard all this before! What’s the use of -preaching to me? Keep your sermons for those -who agree with you. You’ve talked like this at -me till I’m sick of hearing you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why not do as I ask you—work?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why should I work?” she asked fiercely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is it really you, Marian? I thought you so -different.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was different when you married me; I was -a baby then, an ignorant fool of a girl. I’ve -grown into a woman, but you haven’t noticed it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A woman has more heart——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Copy-book platitudes won’t help us.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t you love me?” he asked, straining -eagerly toward her for the reply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='43' id='Page_43'></span> -“No. I never did.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You never loved me?” he stammered, standing -up and leaning heavily on the back of -the chair. “You said you did—why did you -marry me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I suppose I thought I loved you—because -I was lonely, poor; because I didn’t understand -what love was; because I didn’t love anyone else; -because I didn’t know any other man. If we’d -gone on living down there in the country, I daresay -I should have gone on vegetating. But you -dragged me up here, and I’ve woken up. You -said I was selfish. What about you? You knew -what you were bringing me to and never stopped -to think whether it would be good for me, this -dull, stupid life, with nothing to care for, nothing -to hope for, nothing to do.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You never really loved me? Oh, my God, -why am I punished like this?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He dropped his arms helplessly, standing before -her, looking at her bewildered, as though -struggling to shake himself free from some oppressive -dream.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Selfish again,” she said. “Your punishment! -What about mine? You’ve often -preached that there is no real happiness in life -but to do your duty. Haven’t you done -yours?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='44' id='Page_44'></span> -“I can’t have.... What can I do?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Free me from this existence. Go away from -here; somewhere there is life——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You know I can’t leave my work.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Others can do it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If we all said that? You know I can’t leave -my appointed work.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian sat down and beat with her clenched -fists upon the table.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Can’t you see anyone’s life but your own?” -she exclaimed fiercely. “You make me loathe -you when you talk that way. Can’t you be a -bit practical? Don’t you understand that things -can’t go on like this? That you’re killing me? -You’ve no pluck; I believe you’d be quite content -to live all your life in these dingy lodgings. You -say you love me——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I do—I do——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And won’t do a thing to make me happy! -We can’t go on living together like this. Can -we? Don’t you see we can’t?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What do you mean?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That something must be done to change it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Wait, wait, let me think!” he said, tramping -about the room; “let me think, let me think. -No, Marian, I can’t go away; I must stop here -and go on with my work. You see, dear, you’ve -never really tried my way; if you worked hard -<span class='pageno' title='45' id='Page_45'></span> -all day like I do you’d have no time to be -unhappy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why should I <span class='it'>work</span>?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why shouldn’t you? That’s what we all -have to do. And there’s so much work. You -don’t know, I didn’t like to tell you, how it handicaps -me, people knowing that you do nothing -to help me. How can I urge them on when -my wife does nothing? Then—what is it you -want?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If I told you, oh! I know what you’d say. -The same old sermons—the things I do want -wouldn’t make me happy, the things I don’t -would. You’ve made up your mind what I -ought to do and you <span class='it'>are</span> so certain you’re -right.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s not what <span class='it'>I</span> think——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, yes, it <span class='it'>is</span> what you think; what others -believe is right when you agree with them. I -don’t agree with you. Your beliefs don’t make -me happy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He sat down opposite her and began idly -tracing with his finger the pattern on the shabby -green cloth. She waited, wondering what he -would say. So far there had been little more -than a repetition of previous scenes between them. -At last, after what seemed to her an interminable -silence, he said—</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='46' id='Page_46'></span> -“Don’t you see how you are breaking my -heart? I believed you loved me. You deceived -me. Then—do you think my work is easy to me? -Don’t you know I would like to give you everything -you want? But I can’t leave my work, and -you—you do nothing to help me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How can I when I think you’re all wrong?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Wrong in what way?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In everything. You preach about a merciful, -just God! Is there any mercy or justice in -allowing people to be born to live the life -you are working to save them from? Nonsense!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you know what you’re saying?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Quite well.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s blasphemy”—he stood up, looking down -on her with the light of fanaticism in his eyes—“blasphemy! -Pray to God you may be forgiven -for it. Do you ever pray—truly?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s the use? I’ve prayed for what I -want and can’t go on believing when I don’t get -it. Of course you’ll tell me I pray for what -wouldn’t be good for me! Praying doesn’t alter -things, so what’s the use of it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s because you don’t believe.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, that’s religion all over!—Argue in a way -that would be simply idiotic if you applied it to -real life.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='47' id='Page_47'></span> -“Marian! Marian!” he said, leaning across -the table toward her, “God help you!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Soon, I hope,” she answered, turning away -with a gesture of disgust.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He sprang up, but bit his lip, stopping the -rush of words that came to his tongue. She -looked up at him, laughing bitterly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Will you ever realize that our marriage was -a mistake? We weren’t made for one another, -that’s all about it. And we’re so poor we can’t -afford to separate.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Separate!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s the use of stopping together? I tell -you I <span class='it'>can’t</span> go on with this life; you must change -it; you must.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can’t. Marian, won’t you try once more?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, I won’t. I’ve one life to live and I -won’t be driven into wasting it. I’m young, full -of life; you’ve often told me I’m beautiful, and -you want me to go on living here and sharing -your miserable work. I won’t. You must make -a change.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can’t,” he repeated doggedly. “You know -I can’t. Not even you can tempt me to do that. -I’ve listened to what you said, horrible as much -of it was. I’ve felt hopeless about you for some -time; you were so out of touch with me, you were -becoming a stranger to me. I’ve asked you to -<span class='pageno' title='48' id='Page_48'></span> -try my way once more. I’ve often asked things -of you. I begin to think I’ve been weak. I’ve -tried to make you my true comrade and I’ve -failed. Now, I must—must—make a change.” -There was a tone in his voice that compelled her -to stand up face to face with him. “I must -make a change. Instead of our ruling our house -together——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“House! Lodgings!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>I</span> will be its master. I blame myself for not -having been so sooner. Your life and salvation -were intrusted to me and I should not have let -my love for you interfere and tempt me to make -life easy for you. Life is not easy and you must -face it. Remember, I’m God’s minister.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So you say. You never give me a chance of -forgetting it, with your continual preaching. So, -now you can’t bend me, you’ll break me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I must try to teach you that God must be -obeyed.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How do you know His commands? But it’s -no good talking this way any more. I shall leave -you to-morrow”—her voice trembled, half with -fear, half with defiant anger as she repeated—“I -shall leave you to-morrow.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Leave me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Leave you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where are you going?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='49' id='Page_49'></span> -“What does that matter to you? You think -divorce sinful, so my future address doesn’t concern -you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She walked quickly out of the room, leaving -him dazed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For some moments he seemed scarcely conscious, -scarcely able to breathe. Then, slowly, -heavily, he kneeled down at the table, and, burying -his face in his hands, prayed for forgiveness, -the while he shook with sobbing and his heart -ached.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='50' id='Page_50'></span>CHAPTER V</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Marian</span> locked herself into the bedroom and -sat down before the glass, laughing at her flushed, -angry face. She was too astute to try to cajole -herself into believing that Edward had really -done or said anything to justify her leaving him. -But in her present mood it pleased her to behave -like a spoiled child. When Edward knocked at -the door, asking for admission, she did not answer. -She laughed again as she listened to his -heavy, weary footfall going down the stairs. He -would have to work out the accounts for himself; -she had done with them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She pulled out from beneath the bed her old-fashioned -leather trunk and began to pack such -clothes as she meant to take with her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He sat down wearily to the books, checking -them mechanically, while his mind was almost -numb. He had never hesitated in his faith; it -was not in him to do so; but never before had he -felt so helpless. Prayer had brought softness to -his anger, but as yet there was no light on the -dark path ahead.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Before he left the house he went upstairs again, -<span class='pageno' title='51' id='Page_51'></span> -but, as before, obtained no answer to his knocking. -From sheer habit he wrapped himself up -closely, and, taking the books, went out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian heard the door shut behind him, and -knew that it closed on her married life.</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>This same day Maddison worked until the -light failed, early in the afternoon, and then -stood before the fire in the darkening studio, -undetermined.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian’s intrusion into his life had rendered -him dissatisfied, made him at one moment feverishly -anxious for activity, at another full of longing -for solitude and silence. As it chanced, the -first was his present mood, but he had no engagement -and did not know where to go or what -to do.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was only four o’clock. He could pay a visit -to one or other of the many friends who would -meet him with quick welcome, but this prosaic -prospect did not allure him, nor did an afternoon -of gossip or argument at the club.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It occurred to him to go and see Marian, but -he resisted the insistent temptation. She had -thrown him over without a word, either not wanting -to see him, or wishing him to woo her; both -pride and wisdom told him that he had best -leave the next move to her. But if she made no -<span class='pageno' title='52' id='Page_52'></span> -move? Were there not other women equally -desirable! Another Marian?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The ringing of the telephone bell broke in on -his thoughts. The call was from Mortimer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hullo! Is that you, George?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m laid up with a sprained ankle. Can you -come round for a chat? I’ve no woman for you—only -tea.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All right.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At once?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A hansom bore him down quickly to the -Adelphi, where Mortimer lived in a snug set -of chambers overlooking the river. Maddison -found him stretched out on the sofa before the -fire, reading a prettily-bound, daintily-illustrated, -wittily-written volume of French essays on -cookery.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good man!” he exclaimed. “Come round -to the fire. I’ve had a most lucky accident which -will prevent me being able to go to the office this -abominable weather and will get me out of several -engagements I don’t want to keep.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You know you love going out!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, I don’t. And as a matter of fact I don’t -go out much. I used to, but I’m growing up. -For one thing, people are so stupidly flippant; at -<span class='pageno' title='53' id='Page_53'></span> -best flippancy doesn’t sit well on English shoulders. -You see I’m lucky: I’m an Englishman -with foreign parents and a Jew for a grandfather. -Do you mind ringing the bell?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The servant brought in the tea table, which he -set down beside the sofa; a bright, copper kettle -was put on one trivet and a dish of hot cakes on -the other.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You old maid!” said Maddison, laughing, as -he watched the trim preparations.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s a compliment. An old maid is usually -delightful. She has the ripeness of years without -the rottenness of experience. And she’s free -to do what she likes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Because she hasn’t been able to do what every -woman likes best; so she has to put up with the -details of life.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are there any details in life?” Mortimer -asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes; most important things are details.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I suppose you would call tea-making a detail? -Three and a half minutes exactly. I hope you -always drink China tea, George!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I never thought about it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“An unhappy old age is before the man who -does not consider the tea he drinks? No doubt -you are Vandal enough to take sugar? Art and -sensibility of palate seldom go together. By the -<span class='pageno' title='54' id='Page_54'></span> -way, West’s back from his honeymoon. I had a -line from him this morning. What a beggar he -is for writing! He gets through more work in -a day than the average man does in a week, and -still has time to be married and write letters. He -wants me to go down for a week-end.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s she like?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You saw her at the wedding.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Saw her. I know what she looks like—an -empty-headed plaything. But you know her well, -don’t you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No man ever knows a woman.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t be platitudinous.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can’t always be lying. She—I really don’t -know. I used to think her a devilish little flirt; -in fact she was; but women do change so after -they’re married. Besides, I may have been quite -wrong, quite. Everyone else thought her just a -simple little maiden—who <span class='it'>knows</span>?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And after all, it doesn’t really much matter. -But it will take a clever woman to manage West. -If she is just a doll he’ll soon grow tired of her—as -he has of other dolls, whom he didn’t need -to marry.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s so. We shall see. I like West. He’s -such a delightful contrast to myself. How have -you been jogging along? Anything new? Is the -picture getting itself upon canvas?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='55' id='Page_55'></span> -“Not begun!” answered Maddison, putting -down his cup and lighting a cigarette.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Refractory model, or what?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just can’t get a start, that’s all. I can see -it in my mind’s eye, Horatio, but—” he broke off -abruptly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They chatted on about matters indifferent, but -Maddison, feeling out of tune with his companion, -went away with an unwonted consciousness -that he was out of tune with his life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He lingered for a few minutes on the Terrace, -looking at the picture spread before him: the -blackness of the gardens below; the lamps on the -Embankment and of the passing cabs and carriages; -the dim mystery of the river; the black -line of the railway bridge with its green and red -lights; over all, the gloom and glamour of -London.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then he walked up Adam Street and so on -along the noisy Strand to Charing Cross. As he -walked, unconsciously directing his steps homeward, -there came over him that intense feeling of -loneliness that must fall at times upon any man -who lives alone in London. He longed for some -one, some woman, to whom he could go, with -whom he could stay, in whom he could confide, -from whom he could obtain the satisfying sympathy -which only a woman can give to a man. -<span class='pageno' title='56' id='Page_56'></span> -There never had been one who had in any reality -shared his life; he had never before suffered -from the lack of such a one. But now he was -hungry for intimate, human companionship and -there was no one from whom he could obtain -it. His thoughts turned to Marian. He realized -that he did not know anything of her nature; she -attracted him physically; she interested him. It -did not appear unreasonable that a woman of her -temperament should rebel against the circumstances -of her dull, insipid life, but he wondered -if it were solely against that existence that -she was revolting, or was she one of those women -who rebel against all restraint? Was she -simply a man-hunter? A woman who lusted for -pleasure, excitement, change for change’s sake? -How greatly she had altered from the simple -country girl she had been when he knew her -first.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Or had she qualities in her which would enable -her to become devoted to one man, to be happy -with him? To be his comrade and ally? He -must not permit sensual impulses to overthrow -his reason. He must not allow Marian to become -part of his life, only to find that he was not part -of hers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is a long walk from the Strand to St. John’s -Wood, and it was considerably after seven when -<span class='pageno' title='57' id='Page_57'></span> -he slipped his latchkey into the door and went -into the dark studio, turning up the light as he -entered. Still the sense of loneliness held him; -the room, despite all its luxuriousness, appeared -comfortless.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He sat down and stirred the fire into a flame; -sat there, smoking and thinking.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Strength had gone out of him. During the -last few days his work had failed to satisfy him: -it had been labored and dull. He had never -before suffered in this way. Painting had hitherto -been the supreme thing in his life, but now a -woman’s face was always flitting between him and -the canvas. If she were with him, would it still -be so? Or would she strengthen and inspire him? -It was the uncertainty that disturbed him; to have -and to hold her, then to find that she injured and -did not aid him—that would hurt, but the wound -would quickly heal, he felt sure. It would be -wiser, then, to act promptly, to put an end to this -state of doubt.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Supposing she rejected him? Probably she -had not come to him because she did not care -whether she met him again or did not. Or—it -might be—she wished so dearly to see him that -she could not bring herself to come to him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He drove down to Acacia Grove.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As he strode up the crunching gravel path he -<span class='pageno' title='58' id='Page_58'></span> -saw that the parlor was in darkness, or else the -curtains were very closely drawn.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>If her husband were with her his visit would -be in vain, save that it would show her that he -was anxious to see her. His hand trembled as he -knocked, and he waited anxiously for the maid’s -approach.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is Mrs. Squire at home?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, sir. She’s just gone away, sir, in a keb, -with her boxes. She was a-goin’ on a wisit, she -said.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where to?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I dunno.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He hurried away, shocked, angry. What silly -trick was fate playing on him? He must write, -cautiously, perhaps to find that she was gone out -of his reach.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What an unutterably dreary part of the town -was this in which he found himself pursuing the -more or less romantic! Dingy vice and dreary -respectability inextricably mingled, punctuated by -blazing public houses. He hurried through the -continuous stream of wayfarers, wondering if any -of them knew the meaning of love. It startled -him to find how intense had grown his longing for -Marian, whom he thought at first he held in his -hand, but who now eluded him so persistently.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A man passed him, walking rapidly in the -<span class='pageno' title='59' id='Page_59'></span> -opposite direction. Despite the dim light, he -recognized Edward Squire. Then the thought -came to him that perhaps Marian had come face -to face with the great act of rebellion and had -found her courage fail, had fled for safety. He -did not believe that she would find safety; once -her thirst for the fullness of life had been excited -she would quench it. If he did not win her some -other man would. He wanted her and would not -leave anything undone to possess her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Again and again the echo of her voice rang in -his ears as he hurried along; again her face appealed -to him. How glorious it would be to -loosen her red-gold hair around her shoulders, to -hold her close to him, looking deep into her eyes, -his lips on hers; she and he alone.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='60' id='Page_60'></span>CHAPTER VI</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Both</span> in situation and in itself, Stone’s Hotel is -respectable and dull. Desperately so, Marian -found it, as she stood looking out of the drawing room -window on the sunlit, colorless street. She -was alone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was an Early Victorian room; heavy, dingy -red curtains hung down starkly before the window -from a heavy, gilded cornice. The carpet also -was dingy red, with faded roses of huge proportions -displayed thereon; the walls were covered -with dirty gold-and-white paper, chastened by -oleographs in clumsy gold frames; over the mantelpiece -there was a fly-blown, gilt-framed mirror; -the furniture was upholstered in well-worn -red velvet, and over the backs of the chairs -and sofa were draped dirty white crochet antimacassars; -in the center stood a huge round -table covered with a green and black cloth and -adorned with a careful selection of assorted hotel -guides and photograph albums, among which -a stray Tauchnitz volume looked sadly out of -place; over the whole lay the blight of dust and -dreariness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='61' id='Page_61'></span> -Marian had dressed carefully in black, the -single touch of color being a gold brooch at her -neck.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She turned, with a gesture of impatience, away -from the empty street to the empty room, and -sat down by the fire, the one spot of warmth and -brightness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Her brows knit as she thought over the situation -in which she had placed herself. She was -ready to cross the Rubicon; had gone so far that -return was unthinkable. It now depended upon -Maddison whether her first fight would be a -victory or a disastrous defeat. But she felt -stronger now that she was free, and determinedly -put aside all thought of what would face her if -she failed to win.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sharp pulling up of a hansom and the -ringing of the house-bell made her listen eagerly. -The subdued maidservant threw open the door -and Maddison came in.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is so good of you to come!” Marian said, -rising and holding out her hand. “I hope you -didn’t mind my writing to you, but I’ve—no one -else.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The weariness and despondency in her voice -and attitude hurt him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course I don’t mind—why on earth should -I? Is—what’s happened?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='62' id='Page_62'></span> -She sat down again, her back to the light, -and he took the chair on the opposite side of -the hearth. He could not see her face very distinctly -in the dull room, but this very dimness -gave an added charm to her beauty. She did not -answer his question immediately, though her lips -parted as if she were anxious but unable to -speak.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now you’re here,” she said at last, “I’m -frightened. I’d no right to ask you to come, but—I’d -no one else, and I’m——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Tears came into her eyes, rolling slowly down -her cheeks. Then she covered her face with her -hands, watching him very keenly between her -fingers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He rose quickly and came over to her, resting -his hand upon the back of her chair and only by -an effort restraining himself from catching her -in his arms.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m so sorry,” he said, “so sorry, and so -glad you did send for me. Don’t—don’t cry.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m so helpless!” she sobbed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She dropped her hands on her lap disconsolately; -he took them in his, as he stooped over -her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come, come, you’re not helpless,” he said, -“because you’re not alone. Tell me, what has -happened?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='63' id='Page_63'></span> -She drew her hands slowly from his, as she -answered—</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You must forgive me—crying; I’m not often -so silly, but I couldn’t help it. If you hadn’t -come, I don’t know what I should have done. -Please sit down again and I’ll tell you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She paused as though she were trying how best -to begin her story.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve left home. Left it altogether. I couldn’t -stay there any longer. I tried hard to get used -to things, but they got worse and worse. Then -yesterday afternoon Edward was wild with me -because I couldn’t—<span class='it'>couldn’t</span> help him in his work. -I broke out and—there was a regular scene between -us. We quarreled—and—I came away here—what -am I to do?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why here?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s the only place I know. My father brought -me here years ago; it wasn’t like this then, or -didn’t seem so.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have you no plans at all?” he asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, none. I must earn a living somehow. -I’ve no money, and no friends, except you, -and I’ve no right to bother you. I suppose -you think I’m mad to run away like this—but -the life there—it wasn’t life—it was killing -me.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t set up to judge people; don’t talk like -<span class='pageno' title='64' id='Page_64'></span> -that. The first thing is—you mustn’t stop in this -dingy hole.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where else can I go?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We must hunt up some decent rooms somewhere. -This place would kill you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Decent rooms—with a decent rent! You forget -I’m a working woman. The first thing to do -is to find a way to earn my living.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He hesitated for a moment; was she playing -with him, or talking in innocent earnestness?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What about your husband?” he asked -abruptly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Edward? I left a letter for him, telling him -I had gone away and that—nothing on earth would -persuade me to go back.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you sure of that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Her hands clinched as she answered: “Nothing -could ever persuade me to go back to him. -What would be the use of it? To begin it all over -again? There would be no change; he couldn’t -change, and I couldn’t—not as he would want me -to. He’ll be miserable at first, but soon he’ll be -all the better for my being away. He never loved -me really; it’s only his work he loves.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Won’t he search for you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I dare say. But he’d only preach again if he -found me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did you—did you—care for him?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='65' id='Page_65'></span> -“Love him? I thought I did when I married -him, and didn’t know what he was. I was a girl -then and knew nothing. Gradually I came to -hate him. I couldn’t help it; you don’t know how -heartlessly cruel a <span class='it'>good</span> man can be—they’re so -utterly selfish. But don’t let’s waste time on -what has been. When I shut the door there last -night, I shut it on the past. Now—what am I to -do now? Can you help me? Do you know of any -work I could do? Or how I could get it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let me think,” he said, walking slowly up -and down the room. “Why—why did you not -keep your promise to come and see me at my -studio?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I—can’t tell you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Can’t tell me?” he said, surprised.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No; please don’t ask me. I could make up -an excuse—lie to you, but—I shouldn’t like to tell -you even the most innocent fib. So please don’t -ask. All I can tell you,” she said, looking up at -him as he stood beside her, “is that I had a very -good reason.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Their eyes met fully, and she dropped hers -quickly and turned away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I went down to see you last night—just after -you had left,” he said. “I—well, I wanted you -to help me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To help you? How could I help you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='66' id='Page_66'></span> -“We’re a helpless couple,” he answered, -laughing nervously. Then he drew up a chair -close to hers, so that he could see her face. -“Yes, you can help me, and it’s just possible I -can help you. You remember when I came -down to see you that afternoon, and you -told me something about your life and how—bad -it was for you. I’ve never forgotten -what you told me. It’s made me a good deal -unhappy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know why I told you,” she -said doubtfully; “I suppose because you -were the only person I knew who I thought -could understand. I didn’t mean to worry -you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m very glad you did tell me. But something -you <span class='it'>did</span> worried me very much—your -not coming to see me. It made me angry -at first and then miserable, especially as you -didn’t write to say why you hadn’t been able to -come.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I tried to write but I couldn’t.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Couldn’t? What do you mean?” he asked -keenly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just, I couldn’t. Don’t ask me any -more.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You <span class='it'>couldn’t</span> come to see me—you <span class='it'>couldn’t</span> -write to me? I don’t understand.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='67' id='Page_67'></span> -“I—can’t explain. But—you were telling me -about yourself?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You care to hear?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course I do.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“When I went down to see you last night it -seemed as if it would be so easy; now, somehow I -can’t say what I want.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is it something I can do for you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes—yes—look here, come down to the -studio now. I’ll start that picture, and while I -work you can talk. Then we’ll lunch there, and -talk some more and see if we can’t put things a -bit straight. Will you come?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Little as he had said, his manner had conveyed -an assurance to her that she would quickly gain -her object, and it required all her self-restraint -to enable her to conceal her relief and triumph. -She did not reply to him immediately, looking -into the fire as though she were thinking over what -he had said, in reality waiting until she felt sure -of her voice and eyes. The conversation of the -last few minutes had shown him to be her captive -and that the life she had been dreaming of was now -about to become a reality.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She stood up as she answered him——</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ll come; it will do me good. You’ve been -awfully kind to me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While waiting for her, he paced quickly up and -<span class='pageno' title='68' id='Page_68'></span> -down the room. All hesitation and all doubt -had vanished; his pulse beat quickly; he longed -to be away with her: to see her seated before -him, the rebel whom he hoped to tame. Yet -with this certainty there mixed a last remnant of -reason: before he gave himself he must be sure -that she was his. He could not bring himself -seriously to mistrust her, but he realized that he -was holding out a rescuing hand to a lonely, desperate, -possibly cunning woman. She might clutch -at it in helplessness; he longed that she should clasp -it in love.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Though the drive was long it seemed only -too short to him. She scarcely spoke at all, but -looked straight ahead, wistfully, as it seemed to -him, as though she were watching a world of -men and women in which she only was sad. -He, too, was silent, content to look at her, -noting every beauty of her face, the graceful -carriage of her head, the evanescent loveliness of -her hair.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here we are!” he exclaimed, as he led the -way into the studio. “Shan’t I just make a -nuisance of myself! You’ll have to sit still, -though you can talk. I can listen while I -work.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What a lovely room!” she said, looking round -at the deep archway before the carved oak fireplace; -<span class='pageno' title='69' id='Page_69'></span> -the opposite arch, the recess with the daïs -and the wide expanse of latticed windows with -the clear lights above; the parqueted floor, strewn -with rugs and skins; the carved chairs and the -luxurious settee—the display of somber, costly, -beautiful things. “What a lovely room! I -couldn’t work in a room like this—but then I’ve -never found a room in which I could work, since -I left the country.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She threw off her wraps and flung them with her -hat—recklessly—on a couch, and then stood warming -her hands at the fire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t think you were made for working,” he -said, standing close beside her, looking down upon -her as she bent to the blaze, which shed a warmth -of crimson over her face. “You were meant to -help others to work.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ever so much, I fancy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tell me what I’m to do, and I’ll try.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He brought over to the fireside an old-fashioned, -plain wooden chair, with high, stiff back and -broad, flat arms.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There—sit there—straight up—I shan’t keep -you like that for long at a stretch; grip the ends -of the arms slightly—and look into the fire; look -like you did, as far as you can, that afternoon -when I called you the rebel.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='70' id='Page_70'></span> -She took the position he directed, while -he sat down on a stool at a little distance -and began to sketch rapidly upon a block on -his knee.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I want to rough it out,” he said, as he tore -off a sheet of the paper and flung it on the floor, -“until I’ve caught the pose, and then I’ll start to -get it on a canvas.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At first he worked quickly, the while she -watched him with keen interest. She knew that -if she had aroused deep emotion in him, he -could not continue this make-believe of absorption -in his work, could not long keep up this -semblance of looking upon her simply as a -model.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was partly hatred of the surroundings in -which he had found her this morning, partly fear -of precipitancy that induced him to act as he was -doing. If he spoke too soon he might not only -lose her, but lose also—he loved her too sincerely -not to dread it—the opportunity of helping her in -her distress. But strive strongly as he could he -was unable to concentrate his mind upon the work. -Every time he looked at her and found her gaze -fixed upon him it called for all his powers of -control to keep him from throwing discretion aside -at once and for all.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re watching me,” he said with a touch of -<span class='pageno' title='71' id='Page_71'></span> -impatience that troubled her; “look at the fire, -please.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m afraid you bully your sitters,” she replied, -doing as he bade her. “I’m <span class='it'>so</span> tired of -being told to do things. There are such lots of -things I should like to do—but nobody ever told -me to do any of them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What things? May I know?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’ll only laugh at me. They’re the kind -of things that a woman with nothing a year and -not much hope of earning anything much has to -do without and had better not even think about.” -She spoke slowly, wondering which of her ambitions -it would be discreet to name to him. “I -should like a lot of friends, clever people who -can talk and be jolly and make me jolly too, if I -haven’t forgotten how to be; and pretty rooms. -I should like to read and to see pictures, and to -go to the opera—and I want sympathy—and—and——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As she broke off there was a catch in her voice -that routed the remains of his discretion. He -threw away his pencil and went quickly over to her, -standing beside her chair.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='72' id='Page_72'></span> -“Look up at me,” he said eagerly. “What else -do you want? Sympathy—and—what else?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Instead of looking up at him, she turned away, -clasping her hands in her lap.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Look up at me,” he repeated. “Why don’t -you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can’t.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Can’t again! Is it—is it for the same reason -that you didn’t come here; didn’t write me? -Tell me!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’d like to guess—but I daren’t, for if my -guess was wrong, you’d never forgive me. But—I’ll -risk it. I can’t wait any longer. It’s because -you care more for me than you care for a -mere friend. If that’s it, it’ll be all right and you -shall have all your wishes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He noticed the quick heaving of her bosom -and believed that it was love for him that stirred -her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s just this: I love you, Marian, and if you’ll -trust me I’ll do all I can to make you happy. -Let me try.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The revulsion from doubt to certainty was too -great for her strength, and she burst into hysterical -sobs as she hid her face in her hands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Marian, Marian,” he said, kneeling beside -her, “just tell me—do you love me? Tell me, -do you? Do you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the moment she almost felt that she did love -him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tell me—do you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='73' id='Page_73'></span> -“You really love me?” she asked, turning her -tear-stained face to him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Really love you?” he exclaimed, seizing -her hands and covering them with eager kisses. -“What’s the use of telling you? Let me prove -it.”</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='74' id='Page_74'></span>CHAPTER VII</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Even</span> in winter time the Manor House at -Chelmhurst is a cheerful abode; the garden is -no mere waste of promises kept and made; the -two great yew-trees on the lawn behind the -house by their spacious graciousness prevent any -sense of void, nobly supported as they are by -the splendid laurel hedges and the evergreen -shrubberies. The long, low house, with warm -red-brick walls, tiled roofs, haphazard gables -and chimney-stacks, strikes rich and cozy to the -eye. Behind the garden, barely divided from it -by light iron railings, lies a broad meadow, with -a pond and a confining belt of elms. Before the -house, clearly seen over the low wall, stretches the -gorse-clad common with its graceful clumps of -ash-trees.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thin wraiths of country mist strayed about the -common, hanging in the tall trees that surround -it on almost all sides, and there was a bitter winter -sting in the air, as Philip West and Fred Mortimer -drove up from the station one afternoon late in -November.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With his long, lanky limbs, thick shock of -<span class='pageno' title='75' id='Page_75'></span> -black hair, which he had a habit of tossing from -his forehead, dark blue eyes, which at times -appeared to be the abode of dreams, but on -occasion flashed with abundant energy, his thin, -almost cadaverous face, West contrasted markedly -with his companion. As ever, he was smoking a -cigar, which he fidgeted between his thin fingers -when it was not cocked up at the corner of his -mouth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m sorry Maddison could not come down; I -find him a refreshing contrast to my restless self,” -West said. “Besides I should like him to meet -Alice Lane. She’s the sort of woman you don’t -meet half a dozen times in a life. I wonder how -they’d get on together.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you matchmaking for others, now you’ve -made your own match?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not a bit, Fred. That’s the one line of -business I shouldn’t care to tackle. It’d do him -a deuced lot of good to get married to the right -woman.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I fancy he fancies other men have generally -married the right woman—for him. Which is -convenient, and does not land him in lifelong -responsibilities. There are so many right men and -so few right women.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t agree with you a bit. The average man -rubs along all right with the average woman. It’s -<span class='pageno' title='76' id='Page_76'></span> -when you get a man above or below the average -that the trouble begins.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mortimer wondered if his companion were -thinking of his own recent marriage. Strikingly -beautiful he knew Mrs. West to be, and in a quaint, -childish way, fascinating. But that would not suffice -West for long. He had tired of similar charms -often enough already.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The victoria swung briskly in through the gate -on to the short drive, and before it had pulled up -West leaped out and sprang up on to the veranda -to greet his wife.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You see, Fred,” he said, laughing—“you see -we haven’t forgotten our honeymoon ways yet. -We haven’t arrived at the silly stage when we’re -ashamed of people knowing we’re fond of one -another. You’ve met Fred before, Agatha; make -the best you can of him, and let him do exactly -what he likes, or he’ll never come again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A pretty blush lingered on her cheeks as she -held out her hand to Mortimer in welcome.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I try to keep him in order, Mr. Mortimer, -but he’s just a great big baby—at home, at any -rate.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was she who looked a child; her figure was -girlish, supple and delicate, shown to perfection -by the clinging soft silk gown; her face, too, was -girlish, tender in every contour, set in a frame of -<span class='pageno' title='77' id='Page_77'></span> -unruly golden hair, the hazel eyes alone giving it -distinction. Neither husband nor wife made any -attempt to conceal their admiration of and affection -for each other, and Mortimer could but -question how long West, man of the world, -would rest satisfied with the constant companionship -of such a woman. Perhaps, however, she -was exactly the helpmeet he needed, one who -would catch him away from the serious work of -life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The chief characteristic of the interior of the -Manor House is the long, low hall into which the -front door opens directly; cozy, comfortable, half -drawing room, half billiard room, the Wests used -it constantly, Mrs. West working there in the -morning and receiving visitors there in the afternoon; -in the evenings the house-party assembling -there before dinner and after.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here we are!” exclaimed West to a tall, -graceful woman, who sat reading by the roaring -fire. “Here’s Mortimer, and here’s me, so now -you have some one to entertain or be entertained -by, instead of reading all the time while Agatha -insists on spooning with me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mortimer considered himself quick at seeing -whether a new acquaintance would prove to his -liking, and immediately decided that there was -not much chance of there being any real goodwill -<span class='pageno' title='78' id='Page_78'></span> -between Alice Lane and himself. She was not -of a type that appealed to him; too sedate, too -cool; stately, well-proportioned, almost robust, -with a breezy, blunt, direct manner of speech, -gesture and look.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why are you so late?” Mrs. West asked. -“We waited lunch ever so long for you, and now -it is almost tea time.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s partly my fault because I was so busy; -partly the fog’s.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Chiefly his fault,” said Mortimer; “he kept -me waiting in his room for two solid hours. -Gave me <span class='it'>The Times</span> and a lot of cigars to keep -me quiet.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You must be famished. Poor things! I’ll -ring for tea at once. How can you be so naughty, -Phil?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If you pull my hair like that I shall kiss you, -and you know how that disgusts Alice. I <span class='it'>should</span> -like to see her in love with some emotional young -man like me——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Young!” exclaimed Mrs. West, with a merry -laugh. “Young! Dark, thin and forty, you -mean!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Like myself,” he continued, ignoring the interruption. -“I wonder whether he would thaw -her or she freeze him?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t mind him, Alice.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='79' id='Page_79'></span> -“I don’t. He’ll grow up some day.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There, Mrs. West,” he said, striking an attitude -of triumph; “you see, this sensible young -woman realizes that I am young. Profit by her -example.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Darkness was closing in, but Mrs. West protested -that it would be far more pleasant to sit, -chat and drink tea by the firelight than to have the -lamp brought in.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What a quaint quartette we are!” said West. -“I, sedate and elderly; Alice, sedate and quite -young; Agatha, the child; and Fred—well, all -cynics are old.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Are</span> you a cynic?” asked Mrs. West, handing -him his cup.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What do you mean by a cynic?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I always think cynics are—disagreeable -and——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>And</span> you ask me if I am one!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Had you then, Aggie!” laughed her husband.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t care a bit. Mr. Mortimer knows I -didn’t mean anything nasty. I’m always saying -shocking things, and no one minds a bit.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Any more than when a kitten scratches,” said -West.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A kitten’s scratches hurt, and mine don’t. -It’s mean of you to sit the other side of Alice, -so that I can’t pull your hair. We have her here, -<span class='pageno' title='80' id='Page_80'></span> -Mr. Mortimer, to keep us good, and to make her -better.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aggie trying to make epigrams! What next! -Heaven defend the poor man whose wife makes -epigrams.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Quite mistakenly, Mortimer counted himself -an onlooker at life, delighting to sound the characters -of his friends and when possible, to understand -their doings. This night, as he lay awake, -his thoughts dwelt upon the company of three -with whom he had passed the evening. He had -known Philip West for years, and considered him -a strong, determined, pushing man. From small -beginnings inherited from an uncle he had built -up vast Stores known over London, indeed all -the world over, thanks to skillful and persistent -advertising. He was a man of considerable culture -and refinement, one who, so Mortimer believed, -would look for much in his wife, for -much more, at any rate, than he would obtain from -any pretty, overgrown schoolgirl. Agatha certainly -was beautiful and her baby ways charming, -but were they not likely soon to pall upon -such a man as West? There was a further point: -was she not simply a fair-weather mate? Would -he not find her hopelessly wanting in any time -of stress and storm? Could she shake herself -free from her love of dress, luxury and excitement? -<span class='pageno' title='81' id='Page_81'></span> -Mortimer felt sorry for her; she was lovable, -but helpless. To see her suffer would be -as bad as to watch the pain of a pretty pet -animal.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The third of the trio—Alice Lane? Mortimer -tried to set aside his innate distaste for her and -his suspicion that she despised him as a trifler, -endeavoring to judge her justly. He had watched -her closely, and had discovered that she in turn -was closely watching West and his wife. She -was obviously on intimate terms with Philip and -apparently was entirely trusted by Agatha, but -Mortimer had learned to mistrust the continued -harmony of such a trio. A wrong note was sure -to be sounded sooner or later. If Agatha failed -or palled upon him, West would certainly turn -to some other woman. If he held out his -hand to Alice Lane, would she take it? Mortimer -thought not, for he recognized that there -was a great deal that was noble in her. But, -then, she might hold that it was a noble part -to help, in defiance of the world’s opinion, the -man she loved. That she did love West he had -so far seen no cause to believe, but he fancied that -more than once when Agatha and her husband -had indulged in open display of their affection she -had shrunk back with some stronger emotion than -mere distaste.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='82' id='Page_82'></span> -To Mortimer this openly displayed fondness -was amusing and even grateful; it pleased him -to meet a couple in their position whose refinement -had not blunted their impulses. He felt -himself old beside them, sighing as he thought that -such innocuous sweets were insipid to him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With that sigh he closed his eyes and fell asleep, -leaving the future to expound itself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Billiards and conversation helped the Sunday -hours to pass rapidly, until at length Mortimer -found himself late at night sitting alone with West.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“One more cigar and one more whisky,” said -the latter, suiting the action to the word.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, yes, I know what that means. I grant -you’ll probably be content with the one drink—but—several -cigars. How do you manage it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Manage what?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To burn the candle at both ends without burning -out?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t do it. I’ve several candles and I burn -each at one end only. Work all day and rest -down here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Rest! You’d go mad if you ever tried to -do it. You’re always at something, and as for -sleep, it doesn’t seem to matter how little you -have of it. You eat and drink everything you -shouldn’t——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But I don’t worry. That’s my secret. I never -<span class='pageno' title='83' id='Page_83'></span> -let anything or anybody worry me. I sacked one -of my head men the other day because he was developing -a habit of trying to worry me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never worry! Lucky devil!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve never done so. I’ve just worked straight -ahead for what I wanted. I never stopped to -consider whether I was a saint or a sinner, a beauty -or a beast. What’s the good? We <span class='it'>are</span> what we -<span class='it'>are</span>, that’s all. And—I’ll have what I want if -I can get it, but I shan’t worry if I don’t get it—that’s -all.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Again, lucky man.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You, Fred, you—your delight in life is to -weigh in delicate scales one thing against another, -and then choose by applying certain rules which -you fancy you obey. But you don’t obey them, -not you. No man could. We’re all creatures of -impulse. Reason is only useful for getting us -out of scrapes which are the result of our own -or others’ mistakes. Why should I <span class='it'>worry</span>? I’ve -got everything I want; money, power, a comfortable -house, a pretty wife. Good Lord, what would -be the use of deliberately shoving a fly into my -own honey?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yours is a fair-weather philosophy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s brought me through a good many hours -of foul weather. You know something about business, -though your father—luckily for you—knows -<span class='pageno' title='84' id='Page_84'></span> -more. You know I’ve not built up my business -without nearly running on rocks sometimes. Last -year it was almost a toss-up whether I came a colossal -smash or not.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Last year!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Last year.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But last year——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, yes,” West broke in, “I know what you’re -going to say. Last year I gave ten thousand -pounds to a Royal charity fund. People said I -did it to buy a knighthood. I did it to set my credit -above suspicion. It saved me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve never heard you talk about business -before.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very likely not. I don’t often talk ‘shop.’ -Does it bore you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, I like hearing men talk shop.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I wish I had been married then,” West said, -lying back on the sofa and watching the smoke -from his cigar as it drifted across to the fire. “A -business man ought to have a home that keeps him—so -to speak—out of his office.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And a wife to share his anxieties?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“H’m—I don’t know that. Perhaps it would -help.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He knocked the ash off his cigar, got up and -began pacing slowly up and down the long room.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s just the difference between us, Fred. -<span class='pageno' title='85' id='Page_85'></span> -You’d weigh the woman you thought of marrying -in those silly scales of yours, and if you found her -short weight in any particular would fight shy. -I’ve human impulses and follow them. When they -get me into a mess I get out of it as well as I can. -You spend so much of time in avoiding messes -that you’ll never get into anything else.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t seem to have many impulses left.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Rats! You don’t know anything about yourself—you -analytical gents never do. Or else, -which I suspect is more true, you don’t want anyone -else to know you have just ordinary, human -impulses. I believe you’re a sentimental old humbug. -Come to bed.”</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='86' id='Page_86'></span>CHAPTER VIII</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Marian</span> understood that if her bargain with -Maddison was to last, it must be made satisfying -to him as well as to herself. She did not -think that because the first skirmish had been -won the remainder of the campaign would be -easy and necessarily victorious. She rejoiced in -having won her freedom from the shackles of -matrimony, but did not overlook the fact that -her foothold in her new world was precarious, -and that a single false step might bring her to -trouble far worse than that from which she had -escaped.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Inexperience was her chief weakness. Intuition, -impulse and insight she possessed in high -degree, but these alone would not suffice her, -would not enable her to make her new position -unassailable. It was certain, once the first rush -of pleasurable emotion was over, that Maddison -would begin to weigh the consequences of what -he had done, that he would question whether -stress of circumstances had not driven him to act -foolishly in tying himself so closely to her. He -would study her keenly to find out whether she -<span class='pageno' title='87' id='Page_87'></span> -was really charming or only appeared so to him. -The woman desired is so often more desirable -than the woman won. It must be her unremitting -task never to disappoint him in any way, -and in this the chief difficulty would be to know -where to draw the line between the utter submission -to his will which might lead to rapid satiation -and the making it difficult for him to gain his -every point without feeling that he was not being -given all that he was paying for. She must make -her hold upon him so tight that there would be -no chance of his easily loosening it before she herself -might desire to be free. She determined that -no avoidable rashness or haste should endanger the -future.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison acted as she expected. After the -first outburst of passion he was strongly impelled -to draw back, to survey critically the -situation into which he had been drawn almost -against his will, and certainly against his better -judgment, and to ask himself repeatedly if there -could be any continued content for him in this -liaison.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He settled Marian in a pretty flat not far from -his studio, and the first test to which he put her -was to watch carefully her taste in the decorating -and furnishing of her new home.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I want everything to be just what you like,” -<span class='pageno' title='88' id='Page_88'></span> -she said to him, as they surveyed the bare, unpapered -rooms. “It is so lovely to start with -everything to do and not to have to put up with -what other people have put up. Everything must -be just what you like, George.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He laughed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What <span class='it'>I</span> like?—What <span class='it'>you</span> like.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps we shall both like the same things! -Though it’s cheeky of me to imagine that my -taste could be as good as yours. I don’t think -I shall want anything you will consider dreadful, -but you must teach me what are the best things. -Only, do let everything be pretty and quiet—and -not too many things. And don’t let’s go to -one shop and get everything there; I’d much -rather do it bit by bit. I want a home—our -home—not a gimcrack shop or a ready-made -bandbox as if I were a new hat—a real -<span class='it'>home</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She spoke the word almost sadly, and turning -away from him, went across the room and looked -out of the window at the canal, the noisy road, -the vast vistas of houses and the dun-colored -sky. Her tone touched him, as she had hoped -it would; there rushed in on him a sudden realization -that he had taken into his keeping a human -soul, a lonely soul that had called to him for -help.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='89' id='Page_89'></span> -“Don’t think I’m ungrateful—talking like -this,” she said, going back to him and laying her -hands on his shoulders; “but—I do love you -so much, and I do want to be what you want me -to be—so that you will go on loving me. Teach -me. You’re so strong and I’m so weak. You’re -able to do so much for me and I can do so little -for you. I’ll try hard to make you so happy that -you’ll—never be sorry.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He took her face between his hands, looking -into her deep, eager eyes, then drew her close to -him, kissing her again and again, eagerly, passionately. -She lay passive in his arms, her head on his -shoulder. Then forced herself quick apart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t, don’t, George! We mustn’t be too -happy—it can’t last.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Can’t it? Why not? We’ll just see. But -at any rate we must try to be comfortable as well -as happy. And for comfort, more than bare walls -and boards are needed.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The Nest,” as Marian called the little flat, -was quickly put into habitable order, though in -accordance with her wish only essentials were -bought <span class='it'>en bloc</span> and details were left over for -gradual treatment. It was a cozy nest: a tiny -drawing room where the prevailing colors were -gold and green: a brown and red dining room; -the bedroom a bower of blue and white; a neat -<span class='pageno' title='90' id='Page_90'></span> -entrance hall, which Maddison had fitted up with -dark wainscoting which he had bought from an -old farmhouse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile Marian stayed at an hotel, spending -long hours every day with Maddison, at his -studio or shopping with him; watching the progress -made at “The Nest”; dining with him every -night at various restaurants, reveling in her luxurious -freedom. But he soon tired of this vagabondish -life, which had not any novelty for him, and she -discreetly made pretense of sharing his desire for -quiet and of rejoicing with him when the day came -for her installation in her new domain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was with a sense almost of nervousness that -he dressed on the first evening that she was to be -his hostess. The night was dark though the sky -was full of stars; the air was keen and frosty. As -he walked along, the feeling of shyness grew -stronger; it was almost as if he had been a lover -going forth to woo. How great a part of his life -Marian had become! It was not merely her -beauty that he loved: there was so much of refinement -and, as he believed, such utter sincerity in -her, that she had caught firm hold of him. He -must not hurt her by word or look or deed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The drawing room was empty when he entered -it, and he glanced impatiently at the clock, thinking -that women are always late. He stepped -<span class='pageno' title='91' id='Page_91'></span> -across toward her bedroom, but again the sense of -shyness took hold on him; he stopped. There -seemed to him now to be something gross about -such familiarity. Then the door opened and -Marian came quietly in, radiantly lovely in a soft, -clinging gown of dull crimson and flame-color, -a red chrysanthemum in her hair; a bright flush -on her cheeks, a look of glad welcome in her eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Isn’t it nice, George?” she said, taking his -hands in her own and looking up merrily. “<span class='it'>Our</span> -little nest. I’ve been exploring it all day, as though -I didn’t know everything in it; trying all the chairs, -strumming on the piano, tasting everything as it -were—and doesn’t it taste sweet? Thank you—thank -you—thank you——!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He held her face close to his; the scent of her -hair, the warmth of her breath intoxicated him as -he kissed her and pressed her close.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You do love me, really love me, George?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He kissed her again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I do, my dear, I do. You’re a witch. I often -thought I should never love any woman really, -though I very nearly loved you when you were a -little country girl. Then you come along and just -wind yourself into my life and make me forget -everything except you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Everything except me,” she repeated dreamily, -“and I forget everything except you. I feel just -<span class='pageno' title='92' id='Page_92'></span> -like Cinderella must have done when she met the -prince, only this is all real, real, all real. Now, -come along; you’re a man, and—dinner is ready. -Come, give me your arm and lead your hostess -in.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The dining table was plainly but daintily furnished; -pretty flowers, simple china, cheap green -German glass, a homely dinner, light Rhine wine, -red and white, good coffee, mellow liqueurs. There -was nothing to remind him of the garish restaurant -life they had been leading, no touch of meretriciousness -or hint of sham.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When the servant left them, Marian drew her -chair close to his, filled his glass and her own.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have you no toast to propose?” she asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, but no wine in the world is good enough -to drink it in, dear. You—<span class='it'>you</span>!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve a better toast—and it’s the wish, not the -wine, that counts—We. We!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re right! We! Though I should be -nothing without you. We!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They clinked glasses and drank.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How nice and quiet it is here!” she said. -“Just you and I, and all the rest of the world shut -out. I wonder——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Should we have been as happy if you had -quite loved me then?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='93' id='Page_93'></span> -“We were different then.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, how different!” said Marian; “I at any -rate. I daresay you haven’t changed much. You -were grown-up then, but I was merely a child. -I don’t know that I am very much more now, -am I?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She laughed lightly as she spoke, and glanced -at him; then laughed again as she leaned back in -her chair and nibbled a <span class='it'>marron glacé</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A child!” she went on. “Am I anything -more than a mere grown-up child? I don’t think -I can be much more. I don’t want to really grow -up. Just a Cinderella, whom you found sitting -among the ashes. I’d never met a prince before, -so—I let you carry me off in your fairy hansom. -So—they lived happily ever afterward. I wonder, -did they?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She leaned forward, her elbows on the table and -her chin resting on her folded hands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What a way to talk on our first night here! -What nonsense!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s nice to talk nonsense sometimes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, but only jolly nonsense. I’ll tell you -something that will make you laugh. Do you -know—I felt quite—nervous coming here to-night.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Quite right. Any man going to dine with a -lovely lady should feel nervous.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='94' id='Page_94'></span> -“I was rather glad I felt that way,” he continued. -“I don’t want——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What don’t you want?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s rather awkward to say. I’ll tell you -another time. Let’s talk about something else.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To-night—anything you like and only what -you like,” she answered, curious, however, to know -what he had in his mind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now I’m going to be serious,” she went on -after a moment’s pause; “I want to say something -straight out. I know what people think of me; -I know that I can only have a part of your life, -that is, if you’re going to be happy. I don’t want -you to give up anything for me, or any of your -friends. Don’t think I’m a baby and will cry if -I can’t always have what I’d love to have always. -We can never be anything more to each other; we -can’t marry—Edward won’t let us: he thinks -divorce wicked. You understand? And now—come -along into the next room; I’ll graciously permit -you to smoke. It’s nice and cozy there. You -sit in the corner of the sofa—poke the fire first—and -I’ll snuggle up against you.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>He woke toward dawn, the late winter dawn, -when gray light was furtively peeping through the -curtains. She lay with her cheek on the pillow, -her hair straying over in gorgeous cords. He -<span class='pageno' title='95' id='Page_95'></span> -watched the gentle rise and fall of the lace upon -her bosom, the beating pulse in a blue vein. He -wondered at her loveliness; he marveled at his -love for her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She stirred; slowly opened her eyes; smiled at -him; then slipped her arm round his neck and drew -his head down upon her shoulder.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For the moment she was self-forgetful.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='96' id='Page_96'></span>CHAPTER IX</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> picture made good progress, Maddison -working at it with his whole heart. As her nature -blossomed out before him, her joy in pleasure, he -realized clearly and more clearly how unbearable -must have been her life with Squire. His passion -for her quickly settled down into an absorbing -love; his power and reason soon returned to him; -he knew that he had bought a beautiful and expensive -toy; how long he could keep it, how long he -would care to keep it, he did not ask. Sufficient -for the day was the delight thereof.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What are you thinking about?” he asked one -morning, as she sat by the studio fire while he -painted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“About you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What about me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was thinking—I often think—that I am -keeping you a great deal from your friends. -You’re with me almost every evening, and except -when you’ve a sitter I’m with you almost every day. -I don’t want to be a tie, a drag on you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t you know I’m happy that way?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='97' id='Page_97'></span> -“Yes, George, I do. But it doesn’t do to try -one’s happiness too hard.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I won’t. Trust me. It’s partly accident that -I’ve been nowhere lately, partly my habit. People -used to ask me everywhere, but gave it up when -they found I didn’t go anywhere. There are just -a few houses always open to me, and a few pals -come along here whenever they choose. I used to -have jolly little informal suppers on Sundays last -winter. We must start them again. A few men -and women——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But—” she interrupted, raising her eyebrows -and expressing by a motion of her hands that the -women would consider her taboo.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, not that sort of woman, Marian. Good -sorts, who believe that the world was made for -men and women, not men and women for the -world. We’ll send a line round to some of them: -‘Suppers begin again Sunday next. Come whenever -you don’t want to go anywhere else.’ Everything’s -put on the table and we wait on ourselves. -Fred—Fred Mortimer—you’ll like him—is a -dandy man with the chafing-dish, and when he -comes we indulge in extravagant luxuries.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re quite sure about me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course I am. Quite sure and quite proud. -It’ll be awfully jolly having a hostess. Hullo! I -wonder who this can be—don’t move.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='98' id='Page_98'></span> -The door opened and the servant announced -Mr. Philip West.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I beg your pardon——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian rose.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. Squire,” said Maddison, “let me introduce -Mr. Philip West. Mrs. Squire is helping me -to paint a picture.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Helping!” she exclaimed. “I’m the fly on -the wheel.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>West examined the picture and Marian critically.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have you a name for it?” he asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes. ‘The Rebel.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s good,” he said slowly, “very good; it’ll be -the biggest thing you’ve done. May I commission -it? I’d like to have it”—he looked straight -at Marian as he spoke. “That reminds me why -I came here this morning. If you’ve time and inclination—I -know what a particular cuss you are—I -should be glad if you’d paint my wife’s portrait. -I should think she might suit you. You -remember her?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am a particular cuss,” Maddison answered, -smiling grimly at the remembrance of various commissions -rejected. “Have you said anything to -Mrs. West?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then don’t, till I know whether I can paint -her or not.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='99' id='Page_99'></span> -“Too late, coward, too late. She suggested it -herself, and sent me here to bear her—commands. -You and she may settle it as you like. She’s lunching -at the Carlton with me—I wanted you to come, -if you’re not engaged.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Engaged, no; but I’m in the mood for work. -Are you dining in town?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We weren’t, but we will, if you’ll join us. I -know there’s no persuading you to leave your work -when you begin to talk about moods. Settled—dinner -then?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, when? Where?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The Carlton will do. Eight. Good-by. Good-by, -Mrs. Squire. I used to know a parson of that -name down in Kennington—an enthusiast——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My husband.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Really? Lucky man. Good-by.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison went with him to the front door, -and when he returned found Marian standing before -the canvas.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes! I’m a rebel!” she exclaimed. “My -husband! Do you know, George, I’d clean forgotten -all about him; absolutely. All that life -is just like a dream, and I’m awake now. Even -when you called me Mrs. Squire it did not recall -him to me. Yes, I’m a rebel! But they don’t -call you rebels, do they, when you’ve revolted -successfully? Why didn’t you go to lunch?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='100' id='Page_100'></span> -He slipped his arm round her waist as he answered——</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I didn’t like rushing off from you, so I told -an artistic lie. I don’t want to go to the dinner, -but West’s a goodish fellow, and was wise enough -to buy my pictures when no one else would. So -I’m a bit in his debt.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who is he?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He is <span class='it'>the</span> West. ‘If you want to get the best—go -West,’ you know.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, West’s Stores. He’s a millionaire, isn’t -he?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Awfully, horribly, disgustingly rich. But he -doesn’t do as much harm with his money as most -rich men. He hasn’t bought pictures wholesale, -or built a gimcrack mansion in Park Lane. He -gave tons of money once to a royal hobby and -then refused a knighthood. When I congratulated -him, he laughed and said it was good advertising. -I believe he dabbles in politics; he’s a socialist—only -rich men can afford to be—and talks about -running the Empire on business lines. It’ll take -a greater man than even he to make politicians -capable of any business transaction, except buying -votes with promissory notes. Chiefly notes blown -on their own trumpets.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There must be something fascinating about -politics. I should love to rule men!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='101' id='Page_101'></span> -“Isn’t one enough?” he asked, holding her at -arm’s length and looking into her eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“One like you—yes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As she sat alone that night, lazily smoking by -the fireside, the thought of Philip West was greatly -in her mind. His strange, dark blue eyes had -looked at her searchingly and she had felt that -behind them was power. Had she any chance of -knowing more of him?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was tiring already of the luxurious sameness -of her life. Maddison was kind, thoughtful, attentive, -and a sufficiently entertaining comrade, but -she desired more than that. To rule one man did -not satisfy her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The odds seemed against her meeting West -again, especially as he was married. Maddison -would doubtless tell her what the wife was like, and -it was rather upon her than upon West himself -that the success of Marian’s vague ambition depended. -To win West in any circumstances would -doubtless be difficult; to win him from his wife -would be a triumph.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison came in late and threw himself full -length upon the hearth-rug, a favorite position of -his when tired.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Had a stupid evening?” she asked, sitting -down beside him, and brushing the straggling hair -from his forehead.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='102' id='Page_102'></span> -“Fearful. I hate those big hotels at any time, -but it was more than usually deadly to-night.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I thought you liked Mr. West?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, he’d have been all right alone; but his -wife is an empty chatterbox, insipidly pretty, and -he adores her in a fatuous way. How men of -sense can—well, I suppose reason doesn’t count in -such matters.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So you are not going to paint her?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not for worlds. I should turn out a chocolate -box cover. I must have a soul as well as a -body. They were just a couple of honeymooners. -Disgusting.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s always disgusting to see other people in -love.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps that has something to do with it. -He’s simply lost his reason for a while; he’ll grow -sane again some day, soon probably, and then, -likely enough, she’ll cry her eyes out for a day or -two, and then will be quite happy for the rest of -her unnatural life with her jewels and dresses. -She’s just a material little doll.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It must have been stupid—no one else?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Only another woman, a tall, sedate person; I -didn’t quite understand her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then you weren’t altogether bored?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She was too much of a puzzle. Either intensely -dull, or dangerously clever. At any rate, -<span class='pageno' title='103' id='Page_103'></span> -if I were Mrs. West I would not often have Miss -Lane by my side. I rather fancy she’s a woman -a man might love absolutely. And when West -gets sick of his wife—Lord, what silly gossip I’m -talking. Do be a dear and make me a cup of -chocolate; you know how, and then we’ll talk -about something more interesting than the Wests.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When she came back with the steaming cup, -she found him fast asleep. She stood looking -down on him, lithe, slender, well-formed, the -neatly trimmed beard, the heavy black hair, the -long, delicate hands. She wondered if she would -grow to hate him. She believed that she could -not long keep from disliking intensely, or at -any rate despising, a weak man. He had been -too easy a conquest, unable to withstand the subtle -flattery of a woman’s weakness and call for -help.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He stirred uneasily as she watched him; then -slowly opened his eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What a dull dog I am!” he exclaimed, springing -up. “Why don’t you tell me so?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Because I don’t think so. You’re tired, and -you mustn’t think I only care for you when you are -doing something to amuse me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She sat down on the sofa, motioning to him to -sit beside her, and while he sipped the chocolate, -she went on:</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='104' id='Page_104'></span> -“You’re like all other men in one way. You -fancy women are silly, restless things, who either -aren’t worth amusing or must be amused always. -If I’m only a child, just fit to be played with, what -good can I be to you? There are lots of pretty -toys in the world. I thought you thought better -of me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So I do, goose. Don’t fish for compliments, -though I will pay you one upon your chocolate. -Is it too late for a song?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, not for a quiet one.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then turn out the lights and sing, will you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Her fingers ran almost aimlessly over the keys -before she began to play, softly, the melody of -an old country song—a haunting, melancholy air. -Then she sang quietly, with a touch of tears in -her voice, a simple ballad of a country maid -and her false lover. When it was ended her -hands dropped listlessly and there came over -her a sudden gust of hatred of this mumming—this -making believe to love a man who was -a mere tool in her hands. But, until the work -was complete, the tool must not be thrown -aside.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There are few people who sing like you, -Marian; very few I care to hear. They’re -mostly musical boxes, absolutely soulless. You—you -sing a jolly song and people feel jolly; -<span class='pageno' title='105' id='Page_105'></span> -a sad one—and make me sad. How do you do -it? What an inane question! As if you knew. -There’s nothing in life worth having except -emotions.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What about painting?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Art? All art is the expression of emotions—that’s -the beginning and the finish of it, has been -and ever shall be till the world’s end. Don’t turn -up the light. The glow of the fire is quite enough -to chat by.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What emotions do you feel when you’re painting -‘The Rebel’?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Disappointment. I see your face at the tip -of my brush, but every touch I give is wrong—wrong.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I like it—Mr. West liked it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, but neither of you know what I mean -it to be, or how far I am from expressing my -meaning. It’s little better than a dolly anecdote -daub. I’ve a good mind to paint Mrs. West after -all; it would be fun.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, this way. I’d just paint her absolutely -true to life, show her empty soul peeping out of -her dolly eyes. And everybody would say: ‘What -a sweet, innocent face!’ Innocent! How many -women are innocent because they’re impotent even -to desire to be wicked.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='106' id='Page_106'></span> -“Then paint her, and we’ll enjoy the joke.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But I can’t let West pay me for it. I’ll make -it a belated wedding present.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian made no comment, but marveled at the -quixotry of man.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='107' id='Page_107'></span>CHAPTER X</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Maddison</span> being engaged to lunch and tea on -the following Sunday—the first of those on which -he expected his suppers to commence again—Marian -was left to herself the whole day, spending -it in lounging discontent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The gilt was wearing off the prize she had won, -and each day she grew more impatient for change. -It was not in her to wish that she were otherwise -gifted and that she could rest content with present -conditions. She desired more than she possessed, -spent no effort in endeavoring to drill herself into -being satisfied with what she had, but kicked -against the pricks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Of Maddison’s friends she had met only Mortimer -and West. She was to all intents alone in -London with Maddison.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was free to act, eager to do so, but as yet -she had found no outlet for her energy or ambition. -Also, she was not a little lonely; whenever, -as on this day, Maddison was not with her, she -was thrown back on herself. At times even, it -seemed to her as if she had only freed herself -from the active and pressing annoyances of the -<span class='pageno' title='108' id='Page_108'></span> -past, and that in reality she was no more free now -than then. She had but flown from one cage to -another, and was again beating her wings against -the bars in angry endeavor to escape for a -stronger and farther flight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After luncheon she sat down before the fire, -trying to read a volume of Rossetti that Maddison -had given her. The rhyme jingled through -her head but made no impression, and conveyed -neither sense nor beauty. Throwing the book -aside on the floor, she lighted a cigarette and lay -back dreamily in the soft, deep chair. The -cigarette finished, she closed her eyes and soon -fell asleep.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She awoke with a start and a shudder; the fire -was nearly out, the room was chilly, the afternoon -was quickly closing in. She shivered, wondering -what sound it was that had aroused her. The -maid came in, turning on the electric light as she -entered, followed by a tall, elegantly-dressed -woman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. Harding,” the maid announced.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian struggled out of the deep chair and -looked inquiringly at the stranger.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, you don’t know me,” said Mrs. Harding; -“I’ll tell you who I am in a minute. I’m -afraid I woke you out of a snooze? So sorry. -It’s almost the only thing one can do on such a -<span class='pageno' title='109' id='Page_109'></span> -beastly afternoon—sleep and drink—and both are -stupid by yourself. So I thought I’d trot downstairs -and see if you were blue too.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A vague recollection came to Marian of having -passed Mrs. Harding on the stairs once or twice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Won’t you sit down?” she said. “I’ll ring -and have the fire made up, and it must be tea -time.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was anxious to learn the real meaning of -this intrusion. Any diversion was welcome.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re jolly snug here,” Mrs. Harding remarked, -after a survey of the room while the -maid had stirred up the fire and set the tea table -ready. “Mine are rather frowsy, but then my -old man’s a bit of a screw. You’ve had better -luck than me. Hope it’ll last. That’s the worst -of the jolly ones, they get tired so quickly, and if -you hold the reins tight they simply kick up and -bolt. <span class='it'>I</span> know.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As it dawned upon her what was the character—or -rather the want of it—of her visitor, Marian -examined her face more critically. The woman -was insolently handsome; masses of blue-black -hair set off to perfection the almost dead-white of -her face; the forehead was low and broad, the -eyes dark and deep-set under heavy brows; the -mouth large and sensuous, showing, when open, a -perfect row of teeth; the chin alone was weak. -<span class='pageno' title='110' id='Page_110'></span> -She was expensively dressed, her tight-fitting -tailor-made gown showing to advantage the bold -outline of the figure.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now the girl’s gone we can chat cozily,” continued -the visitor. “I never talk before my -maid, because I don’t want her to talk over me -and my doings with—say yours. I’d rather tell -you myself what I want you to know. You’re -not so careful. Your maid talks to mine, mine to -me, so indirectly you’ve told me a good deal about -yourself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m much obliged to you,” Marian said -quietly; “Anne shall leave to-morrow.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I thought it only pally to tell you, but I -shouldn’t sack her—they’re all the same. I don’t -let mine know more than I can help, though that’s -more than safe if I annoyed her and she told the -old ’un about—the others. You must have a -pretty lonely time of it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s a rest to be alone sometimes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At first Marian had felt inclined to be angry -at this woman having thrust herself upon her, but -curiosity succeeded. She had never spoken to one -of her class before—of her own class, it flashed -upon her—and to do so might prove interesting, -possibly also instructive.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Rest? Oh, yes, I suppose so, but I hate -resting. That’s the worst of being kept by an old -<span class='pageno' title='111' id='Page_111'></span> -josser, he neither gives you any fun himself nor -gives you much chance of getting any with anyone -else. But I don’t do so badly. The certainty of -it is the decent part of it. Thank God, he goes -away sometimes, and then I just make up for lost -time, <span class='it'>don’t</span> I! Your George——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My——!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s his name, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He’s all right, just enough and not too much, -I should say. You’re only a beginner, and don’t -know yet what we have to put up with and what -we become. Oh! We’re a lively lot, some of -us, regular devils. I steer clear of them as much -as I can, but one must talk to a woman sometimes. -At least I must. I hope you don’t mind my coming -in this way?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not a bit. Another cup of tea?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, thanks, but if I could have a B. and S. -I’d not say ‘No.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian rang and bade the maid bring the -necessaries.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I liked the look of you,” Mrs. Harding continued, -“and it’s pleasant to have a friendly -neighbor; it’s a nuisance to be always going out. -It’s a sickening life sometimes, but I wouldn’t -change it for any other. Not to be a duchess! -I did try to settle down once with a man who -<span class='pageno' title='112' id='Page_112'></span> -wanted to marry me, but it nearly drove me -crazy. The love of it’s in my blood. Yours, -too, from the look of you. There’s plenty of -fun too. You meet good sorts as well as bad, -and take my tip, when you meet a good sort, -treat him well. It’s funny our living here; I believe -everyone else in the house is straight. Judging -by their looks, they can’t have had much -temptation to be otherwise. Their wedding -rings ain’t make-believe like ours. A cigarette? -Thanks: This is brandy! Jolly good,” she said, -tasting it; “it’d be a sin to put water in that. -Here’s luck!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She drank the brandy neat, with evident -relish.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What are you going to do to-night? Care -to come out with me and dine somewhere?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m afraid I can’t. I should like to, but I’m -engaged to supper.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lucky girl, I ain’t. My old man went off -all of a sudden and left me in the lurch. If I’d -known he was going I’d have fixed up some fun, -but he didn’t tell me till after breakfast this -morning. He’s just cussed sometimes, and never -let’s on when he will be away. Well, I must -trust to luck. Come some other night; and do -come up to see me—he don’t mind feminine -friends.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='113' id='Page_113'></span> -“I’d like to come.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“By the way, my dear, while I think of it, -you’ll do well to look about you before he leaves -you in the lurch. Funny thing, a year or two ago -I used to see a good deal of Georgie. He don’t -stick to anyone long. He soon got tired of me -and I wasn’t too much cut up about it; he’s too -finicky for my taste. I shall never forget his -face when he found me a bit fuzzy-wuzzy with -fizzy wine one night. I always called him old -blue ribbon after that.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She laughed quietly, a deep, low, melodious -note. Then she got up and walked about the -room, looking at the pictures and ornaments.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I must say he’s fixed you up as if you’d -caught his fancy strong. He only took a furnished -place for me. But don’t put all your trust -in any man’s pocket. Do you play?” she asked, -sitting down to the piano. “Here goes for a -hymn.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She played a catchy air and then sang the first -verse and chorus of a drinking song that then held -the ear of the town.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But there, I’ll be off, my dear. Georgie -might catch me here and not approve. I shan’t -come to see you again till you’ve been to see me. -I’ve a sort of idea we shall be pals, I want one -badly. I can put you up to a wrinkle or two; -<span class='pageno' title='114' id='Page_114'></span> -I’ve one or two to spare,” she said, looking at -her reflection in the glass. “Oh, don’t worry to -ring, I’ll let myself out. I’m never proud, except -when it pays me to be so. Good night; be good -and you won’t be happy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a frank <span class='it'>bonhomie</span> about the woman -that attracted Marian. Their aims were different, -perhaps, but their methods seemed much the -same. Moreover, it seemed not unlikely that she -might prove helpful, and that in some matters -and on some occasions she might be a useful adviser. -Further, there was a growing lawlessness -in Marian’s blood that made her thirst sometimes -to taste degradation, and this woman could lead -her to it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was now nearly six o’clock. She had promised -Maddison to go round early to the studio. -She wished now that she had been free to accept -Mrs. Harding’s invitation, and made up her mind -to do so some night soon, if it could be safely -arranged.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The housekeeper opened the door to her, and -told her that a gentleman was waiting in the -studio to see Mr. Maddison. Marian nodded -and went in, expecting to find Mortimer or one -of the other men who had been summoned. The -big room was dimly lit. She shut the door -behind her and went toward the fireplace, in a -<span class='pageno' title='115' id='Page_115'></span> -chair by which a man was sitting with his back -toward her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He rose at the sound of her approach. It was -her husband.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Marian!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She stood stock-still as he came quickly toward -her, with his hands outstretched.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But the eager joy in his eyes was met by anger -in hers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How dare you come here?” she asked. -“Keep away from me. Don’t touch me!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He stopped, bewildered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How did you know I was here?” she -went on.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I didn’t know. I’ve searched and searched -for you, walked the streets in the hope of catching -a glimpse of you. Then Ellis told me he -had seen you with Mr. Maddison, so I came -straight here, thinking he would perhaps know -your address. But I can hardly speak—I’m so -glad.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’d better go back and sit down again. -I’ve something to say to you. You—don’t understand.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The tone of her voice chilled him as if an icy -finger had been laid upon his heart, but he did -not move.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What is it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='116' id='Page_116'></span> -She went past him over to the fireplace, and -stood there looking at the glowing logs. So he -knew really nothing! Should she tell him everything? -She quickly decided not to do so unless -driven to it. Turning round sharply to him, -she said:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You don’t understand. I left you because I -didn’t want to see you again. Coming after me -like this won’t make any difference, won’t do a -bit of good. I’ve left you and I won’t come -back. You’d better forget me as quickly as you -can.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can’t, I can’t,” he repeated. “I <span class='it'>can’t</span>. And -why should I? I want you to forgive me. I -did try to be good to you, but I must have failed -miserably to have driven you away from me. I’ve -been thinking over what you said about my -being selfish. Come back. Try me once more. -Won’t you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No. I won’t. I can’t. You don’t understand. -I <span class='it'>hate</span> you. I hate everything you think -and do. We’re utterly different.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With a gesture of helpless despair he turned -away and began to pace up and down.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She could not help pitying him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m sorry,” she said, “but it can’t be helped. -It was a stupid mistake our marrying—but I didn’t -know myself then. You don’t know me now. It -<span class='pageno' title='117' id='Page_117'></span> -would be a worse mistake, though, for me to come -back.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“God help me. I’ve thought of nothing but -you since you went away. Is there nothing I can -do?—nothing I can say?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nothing. Nothing,” she broke in vehemently. -“Nothing, I tell you. Why can’t you believe me? -It’s no use talking about it. You’d better go.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He stood looking at her, but could read in her -eyes only stubborn defiance. For the first time he -noticed the new brightness in her beauty and the -richness of her dress.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where are you?” he asked; “what are you -doing?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m quite happy, or rather should be if only -you’d leave me alone,” was the answer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But he persisted, there coming suddenly into his -mind a suspicion of the truth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why are you here? The servant must have -told you Maddison was out, and—you came in as -if you were at home.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I won’t answer any more questions. I told -you you’d better go.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You needn’t answer. I know. I can see it -in your face. You’re this man’s mistress. You—come -to this. But it’s not too late. Come -away, with me—we’ll go away—anywhere, far -away——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='118' id='Page_118'></span> -“Oh! why don’t you <span class='it'>go</span>?” she interrupted, -stamping her foot, and clenching her hands as if -she would have liked to strike him. “I <span class='it'>am</span> his -mistress. Now, go.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not without you——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You must. You’re simply making a fool of -yourself. I’m alive and free now—do you think -you can get me back? Save as many other souls -as you can, but let me do as I like with mine. -Haven’t you any pride? I’m through and through -what you call a <span class='it'>bad</span> woman. I’m wicked because -I enjoy being wicked. Even if I tired of it, I’d not -come back to you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She rang the bell, and before he could find his -speech the servant came in.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“This gentleman has left a message with me -for Mr. Maddison,” Marian said; then bowing -coldly to Edward, added: “Good night.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The servant held the door open.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Squire hesitated, and then let his eyes drop -before hers and slowly went out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When she heard the outer door shut, she sat -down and began slowly to pull off her long gloves. -He might come back, even to-night. She knew -how persistent he could be and felt sure he would -not leave any effort untried to take her away from -the life she was leading, even if he could not persuade -her to return to him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='119' id='Page_119'></span> -She folded the gloves mechanically and laid -them on the table beside her. Then took off her -hat and sank back in the chair, her hands gripping -the arms tightly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The position seemed impossible, and she was -angry that she had not foreseen and provided for -it. Either something must be done to prevent her -husband coming here again, or she must only -meet Maddison elsewhere. Was not this last the -solution? If she only saw him at her flat—or -elsewhere—anywhere but here—it would free her -sufficiently from him to allow of her pursuing -other ends and other pleasures, while she could -hold him to her sufficiently closely and for a sufficient -length of time to obtain all she required -from him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then the thought struck her that Edward would -probably be waiting outside and might waylay -Maddison and make a scene. This must be -avoided. The only chance of leading him away, -if indeed he were waiting, was for her to leave; -he would follow her. She hastily made ready and -went out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She looked cautiously up and down the dimly -lit street, but could not see him. She walked -quickly, and as she turned into the main thoroughfare, -glanced back and saw that he was following -her. She hastened on, sure that he would keep -<span class='pageno' title='120' id='Page_120'></span> -her in sight. An empty hansom cab came along; -she got in, bidding the driver go to Piccadilly -Circus.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No thought of the agony Squire was enduring -came into her mind. She was angry, excited, possessed -by a spirit of malicious mischief. A bend -in the road enabled her to look back: there -was no other vehicle in sight. She pushed open -the trap door above her head, told the driver that -she had forgotten something, and bade him drive -to the studio. Then she opened the lamp that was -behind her, blew out the light, and then huddled -as closely as possible into the corner nearest that -side of the road along which Squire would most -likely come.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She looked eagerly, and soon passed him, walking -slowly, bent and bowed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When she reached the studio Maddison was -there.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s up?” he said. “You rush in, I hear, -have an interview with a mysterious stranger, rush -away and rush back again. But give me a kiss -before you answer. Now, sit on my knee and -’fess.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“George, my husband’s been here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The devil!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The devil would have been easier to manage; -he doesn’t want to save souls.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='121' id='Page_121'></span> -She then told him most but not all of what had -taken place.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It <span class='it'>is</span> awkward. Do you think he’ll come -again?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sure to, that’s the trouble. Nothing I can say—or -you—will stop him. You don’t know what -he is. We’re safe for to-night, so you needn’t -worry about that, but what can we do? There -mustn’t be a row, for your sake. Hullo! there’s -somebody, and not a thing ready.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All the better—all the more like a picnic. -It’s Fred. Come along, we appoint you chef. -Marian shall be kitchen maid. I’ll lay the -table.”</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='122' id='Page_122'></span>CHAPTER XI</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Maddison</span> was not surprised at a visit from -Squire early the next morning; and if not armed he -was at any rate forewarned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He offered him a chair and a cigarette, both of -which were curtly refused.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As you will,” Maddison said, seemingly careless -and supercilious, but in reality closely watching -his opponent’s face. “I hope you will -not mind my both sitting and smoking; both -are conducive to comfort, and what’s life without -comfort?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It will be better,” Squire said, shuffling awkwardly, -“to talk simply and without any remarks -which are likely to be offensive. You know why -I’ve come?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Unless you tell me I shall never know. This -visit seems as useless as it is unpleasant. I can’t -think what you have to say which wouldn’t be -better unsaid.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, I suppose you cannot. I suppose we look -at almost everything from a different standpoint. -I’ve come to say——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='123' id='Page_123'></span> -“You are presuming, Mr. Squire, that I am -willing to listen to you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Naturally. You allowed your servant to show -me in.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I beg your pardon, you’re <span class='it'>quite</span> right. But -I do wish you’d sit down; it makes me feel so awkward -to see you standing up.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I saw Marian last night,” Squire said, taking -no notice of Maddison’s remark; “I suppose she -told you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes. The meeting annoyed her very much. -It was natural for you to assume that I let you -in because I was willing to listen to you. As a -matter of fact, it was because I must absolutely -refuse to do so. But, unless <span class='it'>you</span> refuse to hear -me, I’ve just this much to tell you. The lady -you mentioned is living under my care, and I -will protect her against annoyance. If you have -any communication to make I will send you my -solicitor’s name and address. Now—you’d better -go.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Even if she were not my wife, I’ve a right to -do all I can to rescue her from a life of sin.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Please don’t platitudinize to me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Squire reddened with anger and clenched his -fists: recourse to brute force suggests itself instinctively -to the fighter who is mentally weaker than his -opponent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='124' id='Page_124'></span> -“What right have you to say that?” he asked -vehemently, “what right? I believe what I say -and do my best to act up to my beliefs.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then live in charity, with all men, even with -a sinner and a publican like me, and judge not that -ye be not judged. I don’t shove my beliefs on -you. You live in such an unpractical world that -you do not realize the stupidity of forcing yourself -upon me. I’ve really no more to say. The -law gives you your remedy, but it won’t assist you -to trespass here or to force yourself upon your wife. -Good morning.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Squire realized that he was helpless against -Maddison; denunciation would achieve no good -end; it would be equally useless to base an appeal -upon grounds of morality. But for Marian’s -sake he was ready to humble himself in a last -endeavor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As man to man——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, my dear sir!” Maddison exclaimed, -“don’t talk that way. If you tried to knock me -down I could understand, if not respect, you. In -these affairs men don’t argue, they act, according -to the law of nature or preferably of man. Don’t -let us indulge in a vulgar, unprofitable brawl. -Good morning.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then I’ll go to her. Give me her address.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='125' id='Page_125'></span> -“Certainly not. She does not wish you to -know it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then I’ll watch.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As you please. But remember, you’ve no -right to persecute her; though many husbands -think otherwise—that is not one of the privileges -of matrimony.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Squire checked an angry retort and then abruptly -went out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison spoke truly when he said that to -him comfort was one of the saving graces of life, -indeed to him it was almost the only one. This -entry of Squire upon the scene and this turning -a comedy into a domestic drama vexed and annoyed -him. It had not occurred to him that any -man would act so unconventionally as Squire had -done. Marian had told him that her husband -would not divorce her, looking as he did upon -marriage as a sacramental bond which no man -had a right to break; so Maddison had thought -that there might be an appeal to Marian if Squire -discovered her whereabouts, an angry scene very -likely and then peace. But it had not entered -into his calculations that Squire would be so persistent; -this type of man was new and unknown -to him, of a kind that he did not understand how -best to tackle. To discuss the situation with -Marian would be distasteful; there remained only -<span class='pageno' title='126' id='Page_126'></span> -Mortimer to whom he could speak frankly, relying -upon the good common sense of any advice he -might obtain from him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At this hour of the morning Mortimer should -be at his office, and there Maddison rang -him up.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is Mr. Mortimer in?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Which one?” was the brusque reply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Frederick.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t know. Who is it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tell him Mr. Maddison wants to speak to -him for a minute.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hold the line.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mortimer gladly accepted Maddison’s invitation -to lunch.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But why on earth come down to this dreary -part of town?” he asked. “Don’t deprive me of -a lovely excuse for leaving here early and coming -back late—if at all. Meet me outside the Palace, -and I’ll take you to a tidy little French restaurant -I’ve just discovered and haven’t yet found out. -One o’clock—all right!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Both were punctual, and Mortimer guided his -friend through several small and unsavory streets -to a narrow court at the far end of which was situated -the humble restaurant bearing the high-sounding -name La Palais.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s not much to look at,” he said, as they -<span class='pageno' title='127' id='Page_127'></span> -went in through the swing door, “like an ugly -woman with a pretty wit. <span class='it'>Bon jour</span>, Madame.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Madame, a stout, jolly-looking woman, greeted -Mortimer cordially, and nodded genially to his -companion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, Madame, I’ve brought a friend with me -and I’ve told him—well, I’ve told him the truth -about you. So don’t shatter my entirely undeserved -reputation for veracity. We’ll have this -snug corner and leave the menu to you. You know -the kind of thing I like.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The room was long and low; clean, neat, with -little attempt at decoration; the walls covered with -plain, dark gray paper, the electric light pendants -severely simple; flowering shrubs stood upon the -pay desk near the entrance, and similar plants or -cut flowers upon the tables.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can’t make out how this place pays,” said -Mortimer, “there are never more than a handful -of people here. I suppose it will suddenly become -popular and then rapidly deteriorate. That’s the -history of all these places. Meanwhile let us -rejoice. We’ll have some Chianti, but will not -drink it neat as do the barbarians, but judiciously -tempered with Polly.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lunch finished, coffee and cigars produced, -Mortimer announced that he was ready to talk -seriously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='128' id='Page_128'></span> -“What’s up?” he asked. “You shall have all -the advice I can give and I shan’t be in the least -hurt if you don’t follow any of it. Your mind’s -sure to be made up already and you simply ask -for advice in the hope that my view will be your -view.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, I don’t, Fred. Not such an ass. I’m in -a bad corner and I’m damned if I know how to -get out of it. I don’t know whether you know -that Mrs. Squire has a husband?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I didn’t. I imagined the prefix to be entirely -ceremonial.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He’s a parson.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The devil!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Worse, a saint. He doesn’t believe in divorce -and is obstinately determined to persecute Marian. -He says he won’t leave a stone unturned to save -her. Please laugh. There’s a comic side to it, I -know, but it’s turned away from me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know the type. I’ve met one or two of -them,” said Mortimer, reflectively watching the -smoke of his cigar; “I bet he’ll give you a deuced -lot of trouble. Unreasonable people are most -difficult to deal with, they never know how unreasonable -they are. And a man who doesn’t -play according to the rules—But, tell me all -about it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison told him all that he knew of Squire -<span class='pageno' title='129' id='Page_129'></span> -and of Marian’s and his own meetings with -him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Beastly awkward!” was Mortimer’s comment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You can pretty well guess I’m stumped,” said -Maddison. “I don’t know what’s best to do.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Excuse my asking, I must know all the facts -of the case: you don’t want to break off with Mrs. -Squire?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All right! Don’t blaze up, we’re talking -politics, not poetry. It’s not one of those cases in -which you can sit still and let fate play your cards. -The man will stick at nothing. Eventually he -must meet her again, even if she doesn’t come to -your place. He’ll haunt you. Perhaps catch you -together in some public place and kick up—the -saints’ own delight.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, yes, I can see all that. I know what I’ve -got to face—but I don’t want to face it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was mentally marking time. If I knew what -to suggest I would have told you at once. Let’s -be practical; there are three parties to the business: -you—she—he. The question is how to avoid -you and she, or, at any rate, you, being brought -into contact with him. Could you both go away -for a while?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Easily.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='130' id='Page_130'></span> -“In a time you and she would be safe. What -would he do? Hunt after you—find that you -had left town——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s all very well, but we can’t stay away -forever.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Forever!” murmured Mortimer, gazing -sadly up at the ceiling. “Easy! Easy! Leaving -out of the question the possibility of your -tiring of her—he can’t spend the rest of his life -chasing after you. Even if he could, he wouldn’t. -You don’t know the man as well as I do, although -I’ve never met him. It’s love—fleshly love—as -well as duty that’s urging him on now. Duty -will regain the upper hand, and he’ll argue that -he has no right to leave undone the work that -is <span class='it'>merely</span> duty, in order to pursue duty <span class='it'>plus</span> personal -interest. He’s actively engaged in trying -to save one particularly attractive soul now; he’ll -soon swerve round and work again on the multitude. -As far as his wife is concerned, he’ll fall -back upon the masterly inactivity of prayer. I -may be quite wrong, but unless you can hit upon -a better plan, I don’t see that you can do better -than—hook it. I have spoken.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve still got the cottage down at Rottingdean; -we could run down for a month.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where the stormy winds do blow! Poor, -dear lady.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='131' id='Page_131'></span> -“I can’t work in a racket.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, it’s as easy to leave as to go there. -Three o’clock! by Jove, I must get back. I’ve -some letters to sign, and I’m going down to West’s -for dinner. She tells me you’re going to paint her -portrait.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She tells the truth—although she draws upon -her imagination. West suggested my doing so, -but I haven’t agreed yet.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have you met Miss Lane?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Once, at dinner.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She’s worth studying. Worth painting too.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not I. I don’t even like her. A man never -falls in love with a woman he studies, but with -the woman who studies him. I <span class='it'>must</span> be off. See -you again soon. Let me hear from you if you run -away.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As he walked homeward, Maddison pondered -over the problem, oblivious of people and places. -Squire’s intrusion into his life had brought home -to him that Marian and the joy of life were one -for him. He had entered into this intrigue to a -certain extent deliberately, but had not contemplated -the possibility of Marian’s attraction for -him becoming anything stronger than a mere -physical appeal to his sensuous nature. He had -always believed that art was the only impulse in -<span class='pageno' title='132' id='Page_132'></span> -his life, that in all else he was governed by his -reason. He did not drink too much, because reason -and experience told him that after a certain -point wine became a tasteless stimulant. He did -not permit any woman entirely to captivate him. -Experience and reason—so he thought—taught -him that women were like wine.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Marian had won a place in his life that -no other woman had ever approached. For a -moment, the night before, Squire’s attack had -made him think that a temporary separation between -himself and Marian might be necessary, and -the mere notion had struck him with a chill, -sick fear. Everything in his life belonged to her. -All that he attempted or accomplished in his daily -round or in his work centered on her; she was his -motive power. Another matter had recently come -home to him; he had never been extravagant, but -had always lived fairly up to his means. His support -of Marian had made heavy demand, not only -upon his income but upon the small amount he had -saved, and he was now face to face with the necessity -of adding largely to his earnings.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had never condescended to force his art, -never painted for money alone. Inspiration, not -necessity, had been the mother of his invention. -Even in the painting of portraits he had held -himself entirely free to refuse any commission -<span class='pageno' title='133' id='Page_133'></span> -that was not entirely to his taste. Now, however, -he was no longer free; he must paint for -money or curtail his expenditure. To do the latter -would mean depriving Marian of certain pleasures -and luxuries, the doing of which would be -abhorrent to him. Not for an instant did it occur -to him to question Marian’s loyalty; could he -offer her only a cottage and country fare that -would suffice her. When she first came to him, -he believed that his chief claim upon her was that -he offered her freedom. But he now felt assured -that as his love for her had grown deeper and -deeper so had hers for him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Therefore for more reasons than one, the idea -of a country retreat appealed to him strongly. -While there he would be altogether with Marian; -he could at the same time work strenuously, he -could live inexpensively.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When he reached the flat he learned that -Marian had gone out, but would be home to tea, -and he decided to wait for her return.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Smoking cigarette after cigarette, he paced up -and down, from room to room. Every detail -seemed to bear the impress of her personality. He -stopped more than once before the pastel on -the easel by the drawing room window. He -pulled back the curtain as far as it would go so -as to let in the full strength of the waning light. -<span class='pageno' title='134' id='Page_134'></span> -Striking as was the likeness, he felt that he had -failed to catch the whole charm of her face; the -beauty was there, but not the pleading fascination. -He tried to imagine how much he would -suffer if she were to die. Drops of perspiration -broke out upon his forehead as he realized overwhelmingly -that perhaps he might have overestimated -her love for him, and that perhaps -she would one day again take her freedom. The -thought of it was agony. He stood before the -picture wrought into a tumult of emotion. She -came in, stood beside him unheard, until she -spoke:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What a loyal lover! When he can’t worship -the original——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I do worship you,” he exclaimed, turning -fiercely, seizing her hands and crushing them between -his own. “I do, that’s the only word -for it, that’s the very truth. Look at me—straight—you’re -everything to me; what am I -to you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re hurting my hand——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>I</span> hurting you!” he said, loosening his hold, -“and I am ready to do anything to save you one -moment’s pain. You haven’t answered me; am I -everything to you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you need to ask?” she answered, looking -boldly back at him, so that as he gazed into her -<span class='pageno' title='135' id='Page_135'></span> -eyes, he seemed to see deep into her soul. “I -never asked you. You show me how much you -love me, and I’ve tried to show you. I suppose”—she -faltered and turned away—“I suppose I’ve -failed.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re right, Marian,” he said, catching her -in his arms, turning her face to him, and kissing -her passionately again and again; “but I do like -to hear you say it. Would you like it if I never -<span class='it'>told</span> you how much I love you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, no, dear, of course I shouldn’t. Somehow -it’s not my way to <span class='it'>say</span> it; I’ll try to sometimes, -but don’t make me do so now. Let me say -it when it comes to my lips.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All right, dearie, you’re right.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, come along. We’ll have tea. I felt -sure you were coming to-day, so I ran out to get -some of those cakes you liked so much.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a fancy of his that she should always -make the tea herself. The room was growing -dark. She looked very graceful, tenderly delicate, -as she knelt on the hearth-rug, the firelight -playing hide-and-seek in her hair and the -folds of her dress. Her eyes looked dreamy -as she stared into the blaze, waiting for the kettle -to boil up, which she had set on the fire, too -impatient to wait for the spirit-lamp to do its -work.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='136' id='Page_136'></span> -It was not until she had settled herself cozily -into the deep armchair that he broke the -silence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How would you like to spend a month or so -down at Rottingdean? I’ve got a small cottage -there; very comfortable, very lonely and very -quiet.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The unexpected question startled her. The -proposal upset all her schemes, and the call for an -immediate reply tried her skill.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What made you think of it?” she asked, -temporizing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, I thought it might be—pleasanter, if we -kept out of sight for a while.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I see! I see! Do you like the -idea?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I rather do. I’d like anywhere with you; -best of all, anywhere, we should always be -together.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Until——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Until what?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Until you’re tired of me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He did not answer, and she went over to him -and sat down at his feet, her head resting on his -knee. It was preferable to her to sit so, her -face hidden from him; eyes are traitors oftentimes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Always together,” she went on, “how good -<span class='pageno' title='137' id='Page_137'></span> -that would be for me; for me. But, George, I -don’t think it would be good for us both.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You mean what?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why this, dear. The woman depends upon -the man, always wants him near her if not actually -with her. Men, I think, are different; they only -depend upon us sometimes, and then they come -to us.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then you don’t know what I know, dear. -You’ve taught me to depend upon you—always, -altogether, all day long. While I was waiting for -you just now, I was mad because the thought entered -my head that perhaps you did not really love -me very much, after all.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What a silly thought! But I’m glad it hurt -you; isn’t that horrid of me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He leaned down and kissed her upturned face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well,” he said, “what about Rottingdean?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“George—before I tell you what I think—tell -me right out, what put the notion into your -head? You think we should be safer there than -here?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, of course——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t agree with you. Your being there -is sure to get into the papers one way or -another. He will see it there, or some dear, -kind friend will tell him, and he’d come down.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s funny we didn’t think of that!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='138' id='Page_138'></span> -“We?” she asked quickly. “Who’s we?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, I—er—met Mortimer. He’s often -done my thinking for me, so I chatted my difficulty -over with him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Two great, clever men of the world, and one, -wee, little foolish idea! Why didn’t you come and -talk it over with me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Somehow—I didn’t like to.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, let’s forget clever Mr. Fred. Don’t -you agree with me, it wouldn’t do?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ye-es, I do. We could go abroad?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That would only make his journey after us -longer. He’s a saint, which means one part of -lunacy to nine parts of obstinacy. It’s this pig-headedness -that makes them martyrs. Who was -it said that a ‘martyr is a persecutor who has got -the worst of it?’ Edward will persecute me until -I give in, or he dies.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He shan’t!” Maddison interjected angrily.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, no, he <span class='it'>shan’t</span> indeed,” she continued, -laughing, “because—I won’t let him. Now, -while you two wise men of the West End have -been talking, I’ve been thinking. Part of -your plan fits in with mine. You must go -away——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not without you!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If not without me, you may as well stay here. -Don’t you want me to be happy?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='139' id='Page_139'></span> -“Of course I do. That’s the only want I -have.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then you must make me unhappy for a -little while, so that I may be quite happy by -and by. If you go down to Rottingdean alone, -I’ll manage that Edward shall hear of it. He’ll -watch you, find out that I’m not with you, and -leave you alone. I’ll stay here; I shan’t bother to -hide away; I don’t mind if he does find me -out, and come to see me. I don’t think he’ll do -it twice. Besides, obstinate as he is, he must have -some pride somewhere, and some other woman -may catch hold of him: I never believed the story -St. Anthony told. And there’s this hope too: he -may begin to think he’s neglecting his real work -in hunting after me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s what Mortimer thought.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did he? Now—don’t you see that my way -is the better?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It doesn’t make any difference. I won’t leave -you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t you know I hate the mere thought -of it? But, George, I won’t sacrifice the -future to the present, as you’re so ready to -do. It isn’t as if you were going millions of -miles away. You can easily run up to town -every now and then—you needn’t go near -the studio, just stop here a night or two. I -<span class='pageno' title='140' id='Page_140'></span> -can run down to Brighton. You mustn’t be -obstinate.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I shall hate it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So shall I!” she exclaimed, jumping up, “so -shall I. But it’s the best way. Do you love me -so little, George, that you don’t know that I’m -only thinking of how we can be happiest in the -end? We must buy the future at the expense of -the present.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then, sitting on his knees, she took his -face between her warm hands, looked into his -eyes, slowly put her lips to his, slowly kissed -him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You witch!” he said. “You always have -your own way!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How untrue! But, George,” she added -quickly, laying her head on his shoulder, “don’t -misunderstand me, <span class='it'>don’t</span>. I want you, want you -always, and I shall be miserable while you are -away. I shall just count the days. But you’ll -come up to see me and I’ll come down to see you; -it might be worse. And how lovely it’ll be when -you come back.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison was dining out that night, and she -made him resist the sudden temptation to telegraph -to his hostess, pleading illness as an excuse -for not keeping his engagement. They talked -on until at the last he was compelled to hurry off, -<span class='pageno' title='141' id='Page_141'></span> -the leave-taking abruptly ended by her laughingly -pushing him out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then she danced back to the drawing room, -overjoyed that fate had played so well into her -hands, offering her the opportunity for which she -had been longing, of being free upon occasion -to go whither she liked and to do what she -willed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If only all men were as easy to fool!” she -thought; “perhaps they are, when one knows them -and they don’t know us.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She picked up her hat which she had flung on -the sofa, and pinned it on quickly. Then she went -out, closing the hall door quietly behind her, but -instead of going down, ran upstairs to the top -floor, where Ethel Harding lived, as she said, -nearer heaven in this world than she was likely to -be in the next.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hullo, it’s you!” she said, answering herself -to Marian’s ring. “Come along in. The girl’s -out and I’m all alone and lonely.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She led the way into a small sitting room, comfortably -but somewhat gaudily furnished and decorated; -a bright fire burned in the small grate; an -incandescent gas light glared on each side of the -overmantel; on the round table in the center were a -dilapidated flower in a crimson pot; an ash tray, -full to overflowing with cigarette ends and ashes; -<span class='pageno' title='142' id='Page_142'></span> -and, on a dirty cheap Japanese tray, a half-empty -siphon of soda water, a bottle of brandy three -parts full, and a tumbler.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m in an awful mess, I always am!” Mrs. -Harding exclaimed, as she picked a newspaper -and a novel out of an armchair and flung them -on the sofa. “There, do sit down. Look at me -too, but this old tea gown is comfy. I hope you’ve -had your tea?—Eh?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just finished it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good, for there isn’t a drop of hot water -ready. I’m not much of a tea fighter myself—a -B. and S. is more in my line. Have one? No? -Well, smoke anyway. Here’s a new sort the -old man brought along: they’re not bad; they’re -like him, not bad but might be better. Though -I mustn’t grumble at him now, for he just ran -up to give me these and to say he’s off for a -week.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is he? Then I’m in luck, for I’m alone too. -Can’t we go out and dine somewhere?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, yes. We’ll go to the Inferno, as I call -it; we’re sure to meet some pals; at least I shall, -and I’ll introduce them if you like.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course I should. I haven’t been there for -an age, and I do want some fun.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Getting tired of Georgie? He is a bit -serious.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='143' id='Page_143'></span> -“Well, I think I shall appreciate him all the -more if I don’t see too much of him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And he’ll like you all the longer if he don’t -see too much of you. That sounds jolly rude, don’t -it? But men are all alike in some things, and -one of them is that they’re always singing ‘When -<span class='it'>other</span> lips.’ And just you beware when they begin -to protest that they can’t get on without you: that’s -always a sign of the beginning of the end to my -mind. Right-oh! Have a B. and S.? No—well, -daresay you’re right. I’ll have one more -and then I’ll dress and we’ll be off. The Inferno’s -crammed always and I hate sitting at a table with -other people, unless I’m one and <span class='it'>he</span> the other,” -she added, laughing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was something bold and free about the -figure of the woman as she stood beside the table -with her hand raised to put the glass to her mouth, -the clinging folds of the slight tea gown showing -clearly the outline of her stalwart figure, her broad -shoulders and shapely breasts. Marian felt slight -and fragile by comparison.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Something of the difference between them had -evidently struck Mrs. Harding at the same moment, -for she said as she put down the empty -glass:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We make a good couple, we shall never -interfere with each other’s game. I suppose -<span class='pageno' title='144' id='Page_144'></span> -you’re just about as tall as me, but you’re slight -and I’m big—quite big enough; I’m black and -you’re golden. Are you going to change? I -shouldn’t if I were you—that’s right—we can -chat while I get on my togs. Where’s Georgie -off to?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Only dining out.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! Coming along later on?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I expect so.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What a nuisance; you’ll have to be back early, -and I was counting on having some fun and perhaps -bringing a couple of boys home with us. -Well, you must make the best of a short time and -hope for better luck.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian made no response, though she was -disappointed and wished that she were free for -adventure, any that would break the dull monotony -of her present way of living. The license -of this woman’s life made hers by comparison all -the more strait.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pausing for a minute at her flat to put on her -furs, Marian and her new friend went down.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Shall we bump it in a motor, or go comfy in -a hansom?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Whichever you like,” Marian answered. -“I’ve not much choice, but I feel rather ‘hansomy’ -this evening, don’t you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I always do. I was born with the itch of -<span class='pageno' title='145' id='Page_145'></span> -spending. The only thing that I shall do cheap -will be my funeral, and I don’t worry about that. -Here’s one, with a horse that don’t show too many -of his ribs. Jump in and I’ll climb sedately -after—not that there’s anyone about who’d admire -my tootsies if I did show ’em and a trifle -more.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Comparatively early as they were, the big grill -room was nearly full, and they had to content -themselves with a small table in a far corner, -where, however, they could see, even if not much -seen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It does make me laugh,” said Mrs. Harding, -as she rolled back her gloves, “to see -the calm cheek of some fellows. See that bald-headed -old Jew just over there? That’s his -wife with him. Last night he was sitting at the -same table with Florrie Kemp. You don’t know -her?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She’s a devil. Drinks like a fish. Now what -are we going to eat and drink?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a short while Marian seemed out of tune -with the scene and with her comrade, but the -heat of the room, the swirl of the music and the -buzz of voices, the rich food and the wine -warmed her, and she fell in with the spirit of her -companion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='146' id='Page_146'></span> -“Hullo! There’s Nosey Geraldstein staring -at you as if he’d like to eat you. He hates me, -so let’s have him over. He’s mean as Moses, -and it’ll be fun to make him pay the bill and -then say ‘Good night’! He’s coming! He’s the -ugliest man in London and—always gets any -girl he wants. So, look out for yourself. Hullo, -Sydney, you tried to look the other way; yes, you -may join us, if you promise to behave nicely. Let -me introduce you to Mrs. Squire.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian thought that the description of Geraldstein -as the ugliest man in town was, at any -rate, no gross exaggeration; his heavy, dark face, -black and lusterless eyes, lusterless, lank, black -hair, and gross, prominent chin, were far from -prepossessing. To her surprise his voice was soft, -pleasant and refined; she almost laughed, it was -so unexpected: a voice that to a handsome man -would have been an added attraction, came as if -contrary to the course of nature from one so -grotesquely, almost bestially, ugly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I never look for anyone here,” he said. “If -a friend sees me and says, ‘Hail, fellow,’ all right, -but in a crowd I’m lost. This is a nice, secluded -haven of refuge you’ve found, and it’s very good -of you to let me share it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“These are his ‘just-introduced-to-a-stranger’ -manners, Marian. Sydney’s got more soft soap -<span class='pageno' title='147' id='Page_147'></span> -at his command than all the washerwomen in -London.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But not enough to cleanse the reputations of -some of my friends,” said Geraldstein. “Why -drink Burgundy? It’s a dull, stupid wine. There -are only three wines worth drinking: Rhine wine -when I want to be inspired; claret when I want -to be stimulated; and champagne when I want -to remember the days when we were all young -and innocent. So—shall we have a bottle of—fizzy -wine?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’d take several bottles to make you forget -yourself,” said Mrs. Harding, who had flushed -uneasily under his open sneer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, Ethel, you’ll never make a conversationalist; -you should learn to give and never take. -Here’s Francis—I call all waiters Francis, it reminds -me of the Boar’s Head—he’s one of my -tame waiters. It pays to have a tame waiter everywhere.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The time went by quickly, Geraldstein exerting -himself to please Marian, who for her part -enjoyed herself thoroughly. The good talk, the -good wine and good food, the atmosphere of -gayety, the sense of freedom, intoxicated her -senses, and Geraldstein congratulated himself that -he had thought it worth while suffering Ethel -Harding for the sake of an introduction to the -<span class='pageno' title='148' id='Page_148'></span> -pretty woman with her. He wondered who she -could be and what—evidently not an ordinary -woman of the town.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The wine heated Marian, who usually drank -sparingly, calling a splendid glow to her cheeks -and brilliancy to her eyes; many of the men there -envied Geraldstein. She listened to his gay -chatter and to Ethel Harding’s coarser talk, joining -in gayly herself, not caring what she said, -uttering every quip and innuendo that came to her -lips, and taking the meaning of his delicately-veiled -impudences with laughter and railing rejoinders. -A woman to go mad about for a time -at any rate, thought Geraldstein. But a peculiarly -broad remark of Mrs. Harding’s grated on her, -and chilled her spirit. She suddenly realized that -Geraldstein was examining her points as he would -those of a horse or a dog the purchase of which -he was considering. She seemed to hear the -chink of his gold as he bid for her favors, and -the thought sickened her. She could understand -the drunkenness of indiscriminate passion or the -joy of purchasing power by the pretense of -passion, but cold-blooded bargaining with coins -disgusted her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was now past ten o’clock, and she made the -hour an excuse for moving.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t let me break up the party; you’re in -<span class='pageno' title='149' id='Page_149'></span> -no hurry, Ethel!” she said, using the Christian -name as Mrs. Harding had used hers, “but I must -be off.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Off?” said Geraldstein. “What a pity! It’s -quite early.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, quite early,” Marian answered. “I like -being quite early. You settle the bill, Ethel, and -I’ll square up with you to-morrow.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’ll let me see you into a cab?” Geraldstein -protested.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, thanks. I can look after myself quite -well.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Geraldstein did not press the point, and Marian -went away alone.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='150' id='Page_150'></span>CHAPTER XII</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>It</span> was on one of those warm, sunshiny mornings -with which Londoners are sometimes startled -in mid January that Maddison drove down to -Victoria Station <span class='it'>en route</span> for Brighton. So -glorious was the weather that, despite his heartache -at parting with Marian, he found himself -looking forward eagerly to his holiday by the -sea.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The platform was crowded, and having run -himself rather close for time, he found there would -be difficulty in securing a comfortable seat. As he -made his way along through the din and hubbub -a hand was laid heavily on his shoulder and turning -round sharply he faced Philip West.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hullo, Maddison, off to Brighton? Come -along with us, I’ve got a compartment—lots of -room, and the missis and Miss Lane. Mrs. West’s -not been up to much lately, and the doctor says -‘Brighton.’ Might be worse; some pokey, invalidy -place down in the South. I can manage to -amuse myself in Brighton, and it’s convenient for -town anyway.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nothing much the matter, I hope?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='151' id='Page_151'></span> -“Oh, nothing at all, probably; translated into -brutal truth, the doctor said she ate too many -sweets and nonsense and too little food. Run -down.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison thought West’s manner rather callous, -and wondered what Marian would feel if -he ever came to speak so lightly of her. Was -West already finding out the emptiness of his house -of love?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. West greeted Maddison effusively, and -Miss Lane did so quietly; a minute later they were -rushing along Southward Ho!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What brings you out of town, Maddison?” -West asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Work. I’ve got some work I want to do and -don’t seem to settle down to it in town.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But is Brighton any better for work?” Mrs. -West said, as she snuggled down into her corner -and drew her furs closely round her. Maddison -thought she looked all the prettier for her -frailty.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m not going to Brighton,” he answered; -“I’ve got a cottage over at Rottingdean, two -rooms and a kitchen. I’m going to settle down -there for a bit.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How nice! We can run over in the motor, -and you can begin my portrait right away. Will -you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='152' id='Page_152'></span> -West laughed, hoping that the direct question -would embarrass Maddison, who replied -promptly:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That will do splendidly, if you’re stopping -long enough.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We <span class='it'>will</span> stop long enough. I’m so glad to -have an excuse for not going back too soon. -The country’s stupid in the winter and Brighton’s -jolly, although Philip did try to grumble about -coming.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Try’ is the word,” rejoined West, biting -the end of his cigar; “try! When you get married, -Maddison, you’ll remember that little word -‘try.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t be naughty, Philip,” said Mrs. -West, pouting. “You know you always -have your own way, except about grumbling. -Life’s too short for grumbling, isn’t it, Mr. -Maddison?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Much. Your husband as a business man -ought to know better than to waste his -time.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What a prosaic view to take!” Mrs. West -answered. “He ought to leave business behind -him in the office and just waste his time when -he’s at home. But all men are prosaic, I -think.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And all women are—?” asked West.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='153' id='Page_153'></span> -“Just what you like to make them,” his wife -replied. “That’s the worst of it—what <span class='it'>we</span> are -depends on what <span class='it'>you</span> are.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What do you say to such views, Alice?” -West said, appealing to Miss Lane, who was looking -out of the window at the miles of dreary suburbs -flying by.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nothing!” she answered. “You know I -never theorize about things. What’s the use -of it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Practical, steady, unemotional Alice!” -laughed Mrs. West; but Maddison knew better, -for he caught a glimpse of a look of contemptuous -scorn before Miss Lane turned away again to -the window.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where are you going to put up?” Maddison -asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At the Metropole, it’s amusing,” answered -Mrs. West. “You must come in and dine -with us.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Maddison hates big hotels,” said West.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Big anything,” interjected Maddison, “except -when Nature provides them. Most of men’s big -things are vulgar failures. London, for example, -you needn’t go farther.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is a bad example,” rejoined West. “That -example won’t prove your point: just the opposite. -On the whole, London is a success; it’s the -<span class='pageno' title='154' id='Page_154'></span> -most comfortable, most luxurious and most beautiful -city in the world.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And the most comfortless, most squalid, and -most ugly,” said Maddison. “That’s where London -is such a dismal failure; she’s just like a horse -with an uncertain temper: one moment an angel, -the next a devil.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Or you can put it another way and draw -another conclusion; London has just that charm -which belongs to a woman—you’re never quite -certain of her—at least if she’s worth bothering -about. It may be a scratch, it may be a kiss.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t like your talking that way, Phil,” said -Mrs. West; “you know you don’t mean it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’d be too stupid if we only said what we -meant; most of us mean such commonplaces.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. West picked up a magazine, and neither -of the men feeling inclined to talk, the conversation -dropped.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>West was glad of Maddison’s company and -pleased that he was to be a neighbor. The portrait-painting -would occupy some of that time -which Agatha found weighing so heavy on her -hands, and would relieve him from being always -called upon to lighten her burden and to listen to -her complaints. He had been accustomed for -years past to have his own way with those around -him, and the women with whom he had chiefly -<span class='pageno' title='155' id='Page_155'></span> -mixed had been those who must please to live. -Now and again he had felt the need for a settled -home and had vaguely contemplated matrimony. -But the idea had not crystallized until last spring -he had met Agatha, who seemed to offer him all -that he wanted in a wife—good looks, good -temper, good nature. The love-making had been -quick and strong; the engagement brief. Now, -a few months after their marriage, he was beginning -to understand the nature of his acquisition -wholly he thought, forgetting that a man -has never yet entirely understood a woman any -more than any woman has entirely understood a -man. We set out to judge others by their -motives, which we hope to trace from their -actions, but half of what we do in life is purposeless, -merely impulsive, and the other half unintentional. -It was West’s dangerous pride to feel -convinced that he owned the gift of seeing into -the hearts and souls of men and women. He -had come to the conclusion that good looks were -all his wife’s endowment, and that the good nature -would not stand against the test of self-sacrifice -in any degree however small, and that the good -temper was not proof against disappointment and -contradiction. Once or twice lately she had asked -him for extravagances which he told her he -considered unnecessary, which when she pressed -<span class='pageno' title='156' id='Page_156'></span> -him he said he could not afford, his means not -being limitless. He did not add that at the -moment it would have been more correct to say -that his income was by no means so large as the -world believed it to be, one or two speculations -having turned out considerable losses. He was -not embarrassed as yet, but the next few months -would be full of anxiety, with another brilliant -success or a startling failure at the end of them. -He had never before felt any desire to share his -business worries with anyone, had never, in fact, -had anyone with whom he was tempted to do so, -but now to a certain degree it irritated him to know -that if he had desired to confide in Agatha it would -lead to no good result; the mere fact that she -was not his helpmeet made him wish for such an -one.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison parted with the Wests at Brighton -Station, and having confided his luggage and -paraphernalia to the carrier who had driven in to -meet him, set forth on foot for Rottingdean. -The air was crisper, fresher here than it had been -in London, and as he strode along the broad -pathway on the edge of the cliff, drinking in the -salt breeze, he felt that he would have been -perfectly content had only Marian been by his -side.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then his thoughts turned to the Wests. The -<span class='pageno' title='157' id='Page_157'></span> -man was strong and could take care of himself, -but he was sorry for Agatha. There was to him -something pathetic in her foolish, pretty helplessness, -the pathos that there is in a dumb beast’s -futile efforts to understand a world that is beyond -his ken. He knew now that he could paint her -portrait, not in the jeering spirit he had intended, -but so that he would show in the pretty -face the struggling of a soul unborn. Would it -ever see the light of life? Perhaps better not, -he thought; souls suffer more keenly than mere -clay.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He paused when he had left the houses some -way behind, and looked out over the white-flecked -sea, boundless, apparently, save for the distant -bank of mist that crept treacherously along; -away to the right the dun cloud of smoke over -the town; behind him the rolling downs; to the -left, Rottingdean, nestling down in its cradle; -and before him the white-flecked sea. No living -being in sight, yet thousands so near. He felt -lonely, and there swept over him a passionate -longing for Marian, to have her standing with -her hand in his, looking out with him over the -white-flecked sea; they two together, what would -it matter then if there were no other living soul -in the world? It took all his will to master his -impulse to retrace his steps, and to go straight -<span class='pageno' title='158' id='Page_158'></span> -back to town. Could he endure the staying -down here? Could he wait even the few days -he had promised to remain before going up to -see her? Where was she at this moment? What -was she doing? Was she, perhaps, thinking of -him?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He remembered so well the building of the -cottage—how clearly its white walls stood out -against the green background of the downs, and -how pleasantly the months had slipped away when -he stayed there the last summer; he almost dreaded -now to go on and to cross its threshold; it would -be so dreary and so empty.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With a half laugh, he shook himself free from -these oppressive thoughts, and hurried along down -the chalky road into the village, where many -homely acquaintances greeted him warmly, expressing -surprise at his visiting them at such a -time of the year.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Witchout, who “did” for him, stood on -the doorstep ready to greet him. She was an -abnormally tall, abnormally thin, abnormally -pinched-faced and red-nosed woman, which beacon -was a libel upon her teetotal principles and -practice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The fire’s burnin’ nicerly, and your luggidge’s -all piled upinaheap,” said Mrs. Witchout, in her -piping voice, which came startlingly as would the -<span class='pageno' title='159' id='Page_159'></span> -note of a penny whistle from a lengthy organ -pipe. “I didn’t like to sort it out not knowin’-whatswhat.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Witchout’s most remarkable gift was a -breathless way of running two or three words into -one, which was not only astonishing but often -perplexing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s all right, Mrs. Witchout. How are -you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m myself, which comes to the same as sayin’ -I’m middlin’; w’en I ain’t got a cold in the -’ead I’m sure to have a blister on my ’eel, but -I managesterfergitit by not thinkin’ abart myself. -Ain’t you ’ungry, sir? I do ’ope so. I’ve -got two sich nice chops, pertaties, cabidgeanda -cheese.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hungry! I should say I am! The walk -across the cliffs is better than any pick-me-up in -the world. So on with the chops and out with the -cheese.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The north end of the cottage was occupied by -one large room, lit by a long lattice window and -a skylight above; a passage ran from the front -door right through to the back, and on the south -there were two floors, the lower half kitchen, -half sitting room, the upper a bedroom reached -by a narrow stair from the passage. A snug -nest Maddison had thought it, but despite the -<span class='pageno' title='160' id='Page_160'></span> -bright fires in studio and kitchen and Mrs. -Witchout’s warm welcome, there was a sense of -desolateness about the place that hurt him. He -carried his portmanteau up to the bedroom, unstrapped -it, then sat down on the edge of the -bed and looked out of the open window, through -which the breeze came cool and crisp. There -lay the sea, spread out like a great, gray drugget, -and in the distance the gathering fog. It <span class='it'>was</span> -dreary.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Chopson the table!” Mrs. Witchout called -up the stairs. “Wat’llyoudrink? Beer?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Beer will do A1!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Again Maddison tried to shake himself free of -his oppression, and ran down the stairs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re a brick, Mrs. Witchout: chops and -cheese and beer! Here goes!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Witchout tucked her hands under her -apron and looked on approvingly as he set to -vigorously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Brick!” she said meditatively. “Now I -wonders could you explain w’ytheycall pussons -‘bricks’? It’s meant a complimentapparently, -but I don’t see ’ow: bricks bein’ ’ardandangular, -which I ’ope I ain’t either. Perhaps it alludes to -being full baked. Wot do you think, sir?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I think it’s a very interesting question and -that this is excellent beer. I hope it doesn’t ruin -<span class='pageno' title='161' id='Page_161'></span> -your reputation as a teetotaler your purchasing -beer?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s a poor sort of repitation as wouldn’t -stand a dozen of bassordered forsomeoneelse. -Not that people don’t talk when they’ve got no -reason for to do so. If people only opened their -mouths when there was somethin’ worth comin’ -out to come out most folks would go aboutwi’ -their mouths shut. We didn’t expect you down -afore the springtime anyway, but I keeps everything -ready, as you toldmeto, and pleasant nice -work it is lookin’ arter ’m. Stoppin’ long, -sir?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A month or so, if you don’t get too tired -of me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Witchout smiled broadly, as who should -say that the impossible had been mentioned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After lunch, leaving Mrs. Witchout to wash -up and set things tidy and ready for tea, -Maddison devoted his energies to unpacking -and putting everything in order. He took -“The Rebel” from its packing-case, and set it -up on an easel, and sat down before it. It was -a good picture and he knew it, but he knew also -how much better he had meant it to be. In the -waning afternoon light the unfinished portions -scarcely showed; there sat Marian, the rebel, -the queen of rebels, bright, beautiful—his, “The -<span class='pageno' title='162' id='Page_162'></span> -Rebel!” Should he paint a companion picture?—Marian -sitting by the fireside—here in his -cottage studio—the light of love in her eyes. -He looked across at the empty chair, a fellow -of one that she often sat in at home—there she -was visible, to his mind’s eye, sitting there, gracious -and lovely—his and his only.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='163' id='Page_163'></span>CHAPTER XIII</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> next morning all trace of mist on the distant -sea had vanished, but though the sun shone -splendidly, the air still bit shrewdly. West rose -with the spirit of discontent in him, breakfasted -early and alone, then set out to walk to Rottingdean. -Maddison, palette in hand, answered the -knock at the door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hullo! The early bird does the work,” -said West. “May I come in and talk while you -paint?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come along. You’re a fairly early bird too. -There are cigars and cigarettes over there, and an -unopened bottle of whisky and a siphon in the -locker by the window.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>West took a cigar, and then wandered aimlessly -about the room, while Maddison worked -at “The Rebel.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah! <span class='it'>My</span> picture!” exclaimed West, looking -over his shoulder. “It’s the best thing you’ve -ever done, Maddison. Won’t the critics fight -over it. You hit on a thundering good model -for it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Your picture! I didn’t promise to let -<span class='pageno' title='164' id='Page_164'></span> -you have it. I’m doubtful if I shall sell it at -all.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh!” said West, with a queer intonation, -“I didn’t know you ever felt that way about -your work. I thought you laughed at art for -art’s sake, and all that damned nonsense, and -preached that the laborer is worthy of his hire—eh?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As a rule. But—somehow this has got hold -of me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Or—the pretty model—eh? Well, I envy -you; you’re a lucky devil. What’s the poor curate -say? Or is he guilty of the ignorance which is -bliss?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison bit his lips; this raillery which before -would have amused him, now made him angry. -He felt that the best way to put an end to it would -be to speak outright and to show that he did not -like West’s tone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Her husband does know. The facts are just -these, West. Mrs. Squire has left her husband; -it was a far from happy marriage. He’s High -Church or something and won’t give her a divorce. -So—we have to make the best of it. I think it -right you should know exactly how matters stand, -as she may, in fact, will, be coming down here, -and your wife may chance to meet her with me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Agatha isn’t a prig. Nor is Alice.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='165' id='Page_165'></span> -“Alice?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Miss Lane.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, yes, I forgot that was her Christian name. -So now you understand why I may not wish to -part with this picture. If anyone has it it shall -be you, if you don’t change your mind.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Change my mind! It’s not a thing I used -often to do, but I seem always to be at it now. I -meant to go up to town this morning, but didn’t. -If I’d intended to come here, ten to one I should -have run up to town. I’m too young to be growing -old, but I feel deuced old all the same, at -times.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was again strolling vaguely about the room, -now pausing to look at a sketch, now glancing -out of the window at the undulating stretch of -green down.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You look just as young as the first day I -met you,” he continued; “haven’t changed a -hair. I suppose it’s care that kills men as well as -cats. There’s more real care in a successful career -than in a failure. A small shopkeeper can’t lose -much, and doesn’t run many risks. Now I—why, -good Lord! I may go bust—sky high—any -day. Big business is all a big gamble, the -margin between a huge profit and a huge loss is -so small—a puff of wind, and over you go on -the money side. Now you—you’re above fate -<span class='pageno' title='166' id='Page_166'></span> -now; you’re known; competition can never touch -you; the speculation is entirely on the part of those -who buy your pictures. In a hundred years they -may be worth thousands or nothing. Yes, you’re -a lucky devil.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Luck. Do you believe in luck?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Luck? It’s the only real thing in the world. -It rules the world! Believe in it? Of course I -do. I shouldn’t ever have been anything more -than a small shopkeeper if I hadn’t been lucky. -I inherited a tiny corner shop in a back street; -fate—or the Metropolitan Board of Works—decided -to drive a new thoroughfare past my place. -Wasn’t that luck? Isn’t marriage all a matter -of luck? What man can know anything at all -about his wife, until she is his wife and free to -show him her real self? Luck! I never trust -the man who sneers at luck and talks about the -reward of honest labor; he’s a liar or a fool, both -equally bad to deal with in business.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t believe in luck. Which am I, knave -or fool?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, you’re an artist, and the artistic temperament -covers a multitude of eccentricities.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The hooting of a motor-horn drew him to the -window again, from which a glimpse of the road -could be seen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hullo! Here’s Alice and Agatha, early birds -<span class='pageno' title='167' id='Page_167'></span> -too. But she’s come to bully you into starting the -portrait. Are you going to do it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes. Why not?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He put down his palette, took the picture off -the easel and set it in a corner with its face to the -wall, and then went out to welcome his guests, -followed by West.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Mr. Maddison, I do hope you don’t -mind my having come,” said Mrs. West, leaning -from the car, and holding out her small, daintily -gloved hand. “May I come in? I want to talk -business.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Delighted, Mrs. West. Good morning, Miss -Lane.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I guessed you’d come here, Phil,” Mrs. West -went on, as Maddison helped her to alight, “but -you’re not to stay. You take Alice for a spin and -then come back for us. Perhaps Mr. Maddison -will come back to lunch with us?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison accepted the invitation, and West -climbed into the car.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. West and Maddison watched them till a -turn in the road put them out of sight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, Mr. Maddison, do take me into your -studio. I want you to tell me, seriously, will you -paint my portrait? Phil tells me I should look -on it as a great compliment if you do. I like -compliments, don’t you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='168' id='Page_168'></span> -“Of course I do, everyone does; even when I -know they are undeserved; it’s pleasant to be able -to please people, and only people who are pleased -pay compliments worth having.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What a jolly room!” Mrs. West exclaimed, -as she sat down and looked round critically. -“There doesn’t seem to be anything really unusual -about it, except the swords and daggery -things on the wall, but it looks quite different to -other studios. Now, will you paint my portrait, -Mr. Maddison?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I will, with pleasure, if you’ll let me paint it -my own way. I always make that condition.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I want to be painted just as I am. I don’t -want to be flattered: I really mean that.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m glad you do, for—that’s my way. Please -sit straight up in that chair, and look at me, so—yes, -that’s it. I shan’t keep you in that pose long -at a time, and I shan’t do much this morning, -just rough in the head and figure if I can—if I’m -in the mood. I never know whether I am or not -till I begin to work.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“May I talk?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not for a few minutes—just look straight at -me—so.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For some ten minutes he worked rapidly and -surely, pausing every now and again to examine -her face intently. Only in the eyes lay anything -<span class='pageno' title='169' id='Page_169'></span> -of character, and from them looked out, so he -thought, not only the struggling soul he expected -to see, but a rebellious discontent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now you can do what you like for a time, -Mrs. West, and talk to me if you’ll be so good—but -you mustn’t expect me to answer much—I’ll -go on working.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She did not, however, leave the chair, but relaxing -her upright attitude, sank back, and watched -him steadily.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have you known Phil long, Mr. Maddison?” -she asked suddenly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, off and on, for years.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Has he changed much since you first knew -him?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, I don’t think so. He was always much -the same.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He seems to me to have changed a lot since—we -were married. Or perhaps I knew nothing -of him then—and am only getting to know him -now. I suppose everybody knows all about me the -minute they meet me. I know you won’t want -to answer—but isn’t that so?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s a common mistake to think that one can -know much about anyone until one has known -them intimately a long time—and then the much—isn’t -much. I’ve sometimes thought—at least -I used to do so—that I had put all a sitter’s character -<span class='pageno' title='170' id='Page_170'></span> -upon my canvas, but now I know better. -The face tells everything, if only one can read all -its lines.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I wonder what you read in my face?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What I think I see there, I shall try to paint—and -then, why, then, no one may be able -to see in my painting what I have tried to put -there.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not even I?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Probably you least of all.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps you’re right. I do fancy I don’t -know much about myself. I used to think everybody -liked me—” she hesitated and then turned -toward the window, keeping silent for a time.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I suppose you look at people’s faces in quite -a different way to what other people do, Mr. Maddison?” -she said after a while.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“At any rate I think I do. If a face seems to -have a story to tell, I like to read it. But most -faces are masks to empty heads.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She again kept silent, then stood up.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“May I come and see how you’re getting on?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not yet, please—I’d rather you waited until -I’ve finished; I can’t work if I’m watched.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She wandered aimlessly about the room, her -thoughts evidently intent upon something of which -she desired but hesitated to speak.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is Alice Lane’s face a mask to an empty -<span class='pageno' title='171' id='Page_171'></span> -head?” she asked suddenly, looking at him -keenly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The question startled him, and he hesitated how -he should answer it, making absorption in his work -his excuse for not immediately replying.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Miss Lane’s—eh? Oh—no, I should say she -has a very decided character.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A strong character, you mean?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ye-es—you might put it that way.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She loves my husband.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. West!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, of course that’s an extraordinary thing -for me to say to anybody, especially to you, who -I don’t really know. But I must speak to someone, -and I’ve no relations and no real friend—unless -you’ll be one.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison left the easel, and went across the -room to where she was standing by the window.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. West, take my advice: don’t tell me -any more, and don’t ask me anything. I—don’t -see how—I know that I can’t help you——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You won’t help me?” she asked, disappointment -in her tone. “You won’t? I—thought you -would.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not won’t—<span class='it'>can’t</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How can you tell? I’ve not really told you -anything yet.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’ve told me enough for me to be able, -<span class='pageno' title='172' id='Page_172'></span> -more or less, to guess the rest—and I’m sure that -there is only one person in the world that can really -help you—you must help yourself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s so easy to say. I don’t know how. I -don’t know how.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She sank down upon the window seat, burying -her face in her hands, and sobbing in a quiet, childish -fashion. Intense pity for this helpless, weak -woman touched him, but he knew that her only -real chance of salvation in this world was for her -to find herself through suffering, and that if she -continued to depend upon any other for support, -she would never be strong enough to stand alone. -He did not speak until she raised her face, and her -sobbing had almost died away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course you will think me very hard-hearted -and brutal, Mrs. West,” he said, “but I must risk -that. If things are going wrong, you must help -yourself. The only thing I can do is to tell you -that from what I know of your husband, he would -love his wife to be as strong and self-dependent as -himself. Now, please go back to your chair, and -sit as you were at first.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His heart was full of sympathy for the weak, -little woman, so pretty, so vain, so helpless. There -was little chance, he felt sure, that she would ever -develop into strength, or that she would retain her -husband’s affection, if Alice Lane—quiet, determined, -<span class='pageno' title='173' id='Page_173'></span> -and very passionate as he believed her to be—were -bent on winning it. West’s restless manner -and talk had shown that something was amiss. -The old story—the vessel of porcelain and the -vessel of iron. She a joy to him so long as she -continued to amuse and please, but thrown aside -broken, when her charm had gone. Maddison had -foreseen some such event as this, but had not -thought that she would suffer greatly, or at any -rate, for a length of time, taking her to be one -who would be content with luxuries and pretty -things. But he realized now that there was a -depth of affection in her, childish perhaps, but none -the less deep, which might lead to tragedy, if West -turned her out of his life. But he knew that he -was helpless to assist: West was masterful and -ruthless; the pity of it was that he had been so -blind as not to see that this simple child could not -long content him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He scarcely dared look at the pitiable face that -he must truly reproduce upon his canvas. Could -he allow anyone save herself to see this portrait -of an unhappy woman?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then it occurred to him that perhaps he was -unduly apprehensive; that after all, his first surmise -might be correct, and that when she had -ceased to cry for her lost toy, she would dry her -eyes and be happy with something more costly and -<span class='pageno' title='174' id='Page_174'></span> -less valuable than human love. At any rate, there -was no aid that he could render; the tragedy, or -the comedy, must play itself out, with himself -among the spectators.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Before he had released her, the other two returned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come along,” shouted West; “it’s getting -late. We won’t come in.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As they were leaving the studio, Mrs. West -held out her hand to Maddison, saying:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thank you. You said you couldn’t help me—but -you have.”</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='175' id='Page_175'></span>CHAPTER XIV</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Probably</span> Maddison alone knew that Mortimer -was not the empty-hearted cynic that he wished -the world to believe him to be. Mortimer’s terrible -handicap was that his character was for -the most part a compound of tender-heartedness -and shyness. A jeer, a jest at his expense, a snub, -a misunderstanding, a rebuff of proffered sympathy -cut him to the quick, and he had gradually -schooled himself into presenting to his friends, -even to those with whom he was intimate, an -exterior of callous carelessness, not realizing that -while by so doing he would save himself from -much pain, he would inevitably also deprive himself -of some of the highest joys a man can experience. -A true-hearted woman’s love would -have rescued him from his error, but the woman -he had loved had sold herself to a Jew for diamonds -and a house in Park Lane. Living so -self-centered as he did, or rather so self-contained, -Mortimer’s friends were few, while his acquaintances -were innumerable. The one he knew best -was George Maddison, to whom he was attached, -and attached not so much because he found in him -<span class='pageno' title='176' id='Page_176'></span> -any true comradeship, but because he felt for -him a certain pity. He knew how much there -was of splendor in Maddison’s nature and he -knew equally well how much there was of weakness. -He looked upon him as a fair-weather sailor, -a man who delighted to rove over sunlit, peaceful -seas, who loved to listen to the voices of the -sirens and who, if caught by Circe’s enchantments, -might sink down among the beasts. Indeed, he -counted him very much as a brilliant, passionate, -wayward child. So far Maddison had met with -no storms, the wind had always been fair, the sun -unclouded, the sirens more attracted by him than -he by them, but this attachment, this passion for -Marian, frightened Mortimer. An absorbing -love for a good woman might have been Maddison’s -salvation, but Marian was utterly bad -in his estimation, and he could not perceive -ahead anything save misery. That Marian would -not rest content with Maddison’s love and protection -he was assured; already she might be -playing false to him; when Maddison discovered—as -discover one day he must—that he had -adored and sacrificed himself to a false goddess, -what would be the outcome? If Maddison had -been strong, the stinging lesson might prove a -purifying trial; but—Maddison being weak in all -save his art and his passion, what could possibly -<span class='pageno' title='177' id='Page_177'></span> -be the upshot but tragedy? The greater the -hold she gained upon him the greater the disaster. -It delighted Mortimer that Maddison had left -town; at any rate he would not constantly be -under Marian’s spell; he might find that Marian -was not, as he thought, entirely necessary to his -happiness; absence might enable him to see in -her faults to which the unbroken charm of her -presence blinded him; he might gradually shake -himself free, gradually waken from dreams of -heaven to the realities of common sense. This -was only a hope, however, and Mortimer felt -impelled to do anything that in him lay to enable -Maddison to regain his freedom. Things were -bad, and the lapse of time might, of course, make -them worse instead of better. Cruel as would be -the cure, the best and surest way to liberate -Maddison would be to open his eyes to Marian’s -real character. For her Mortimer had no sympathy -or pity; she was merely one more of those -mortal pests born to kill men, body, heart and -soul. Maddison was worth saving from her poisonous -influence. It was not as a prude that -Mortimer judged the matter. He enjoyed to the -full the pleasures of the world and of the flesh, -but Marian was a devouring devil. “Religion -must have been invented by women,” he once said, -“for the devil is always represented as a man.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='178' id='Page_178'></span> -The single point was this: Maddison firmly -believed that Marian loved him; that belief must -be shattered; he must be shown, with proof and -above doubt, that Marian loved herself only and -cared for Maddison simply because he had enabled -her to shake herself free from her husband, and -had provided her with money and pleasure. -Marian so far had been very guarded in her conduct, -but Mortimer judged that there were two -temptations, to one of which she would succumb, -if not to both: a love of power, and a quickly -growing, and in the end probably overwhelming, -desire for gross pleasures. She was now alone; -probably eagerly searching for temptation. The -matter was simple; she must be watched.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So the day of Maddison’s leaving for Brighton, -Mortimer went to see his solicitor, who could -probably, he thought, tell him to whom it -would be best to apply for the work he wished -done.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You want some one watched, carefully and -discreetly. Man or woman?” asked the placid, -well-groomed man of law, who looked more of a -prosperous city merchant than an astute, busy -lawyer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Does that make any difference?” asked Mortimer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A great deal. Set a thief to catch a thief—a -<span class='pageno' title='179' id='Page_179'></span> -man to catch a man—a woman to catch a -woman.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, it’s a woman.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“H’m,” said the lawyer, meditatively looking -at his client. “What kind of woman? You -mustn’t mind my asking all these questions. I -can’t help you if I don’t know something of the -circumstances.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The fact is,” said Mortimer, “I’m interfering -in a business that has nothing to do with me. -A friend of mine is entangled with a woman -whom <span class='it'>he believes</span> to be sincerely fond of him. -<span class='it'>I believe</span> her to be a thoroughly reckless, bad -woman. I want to know.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I see. I think Davis will be the best man for -you to go to. Mention my name. Here’s his -address.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But you said a woman?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes—Davis will get you one. I should not -tell Davis <span class='it'>anything</span> more than that you want this -woman watched and to learn exactly what she -does, where she goes, whom she meets, and so -on.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very well. Thank you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mortimer was surprised at the address: Henry -William Davis—Pall Mall East; still more surprised -when he was asked to wait in a cozily furnished -sitting room, which had every appearance of -<span class='pageno' title='180' id='Page_180'></span> -being occupied by an ordinary man about town; -still more surprised by the entrance of a slim man -of middle height, quietly but fashionably dressed, -fair-haired and blue-eyed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You asked to see me? I’m Mr. Davis. The -servant gave me your name as Mortimer. You -discreetly did not trust me with your card.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My name is Mortimer. Mr. John Battersea—my -solicitor—advised me to obtain your—help—but—” -Mortimer looked doubtfully at Davis, -and then round the room, with its elaborate -grate and overmantel, the white wood dado, the -monochrome olive-green walls, the heavy green -plush curtains, the admirable etchings and engravings, -the few pieces of choice silver and -china.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not exactly the kind of man or room you -expected to see, Mr. Mortimer? Well, please -sit down; you may be sure Battersea would not -have sent you to the wrong place. Won’t you -have a cigarette? There are matches beside you. -Now—to business. You needn’t tell me who you -are, I know you well by sight and reputation. -Well?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He spoke in a slow, soft voice, which was not -in any way weak, but on the contrary impressed -the hearer with the conviction that he was a man -of quiet, firm determination.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='181' id='Page_181'></span> -“My business is very simple, and I was told -you could get it carried out for me. I want a -woman watched; I want to know what she does, -where she goes and with whom—in fact all you -can find out about her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s simple enough. What kind of woman? -Respectable, or apparently so, or disreputable?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Disreputable, I believe. Her name’s Marian -Squire; she’s living apart from her husband; -there’s her address.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very well. I’ll have her watched and report -to you daily or weekly, as you prefer. That’s -all?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And as I said, very simple. Do you merely -wish for information? Or for evidence as well? -I mean, will the case be likely to appear in -court?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No. I merely want trustworthy information -for my own use,” Mortimer answered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very well. I can promise to obtain it for -you. You want me to tell you all I can find out -about this woman. That’s the long and short of -it. Nothing more? Then—good morning.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a few minutes after Mortimer had gone, -Mr. Davis stood before the fire, quietly smoking -his cigarette. Then he rang the bell and told -<span class='pageno' title='182' id='Page_182'></span> -the sedate manservant to ring for a special messenger. -He sat down at a small writing table -standing by the window and scribbled a note which -he folded with deliberation and then put into a -thick envelope which he carefully sealed and addressed -to Mrs. Ethel Harding.</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison had persuaded Marian to breakfast -with him at the studio on the morning of his departure. -They had not heard or seen anything -more of her husband, and Maddison had more -than once hinted his doubts as to there being -any need for the separation, suggesting that she -should go with him to Rottingdean. The mere -thought of this had irritated Marian beyond endurance, -though she concealed her feeling from -him, only urging that no real change had taken -place in the circumstances which had caused them -to decide upon their plan, and she felt grateful to -Mortimer when she heard that his advice and -opinion accorded with hers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The delight with which she saw Maddison’s -luggage-laden cab turn the corner of the street -soon gave way, as she walked homeward, to a -sense of inability as to how she could best make -use of her new liberty. Pleasure at any cost was -her first aim and requirement. In addition to -Mortimer she had casually met a few of Maddison’s -<span class='pageno' title='183' id='Page_183'></span> -more Bohemian friends, but she neither -desired nor dared approach them. Mortimer -was wealthy, but it would be too risky, she counted, -to ask him for anything, though anything he cared -to offer she was prepared to accept. Then there -was “Nosey” Geraldstein, who, Ethel Harding -told her, was most anxious to know her, but she -did not like him, and she had not yet plumbed that -depth of callousness which makes a woman readily -render herself to any man who will purchase her -material pleasures; she could not yet content herself -with the mere prose of lust; she still asked for -some remnant of poetry, however ragged. There -remained Ethel Harding.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Passing by her own door, she went on up to her -friend’s, where her knock was answered by the -maid, who said that Mrs. Harding was not yet up. -But the door of the bedroom standing ajar, Marian’s -inquiry had been heard, and Mrs. Harding -called out:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come along in, Marian. I’m lazy and having -breakfast in bed. Come in.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian went into the stuffy room, which was -dimly lighted, the curtain being only half drawn -from the window.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Find a chair, my dear; throw those things on -to the floor. My head’s aching like the devil. -I had a wild night of it. Have something? I -<span class='pageno' title='184' id='Page_184'></span> -tried a cup of tea, but it tasted like sand and -water, so I’m indulging in a B. and S. Have -one?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, thanks, I couldn’t!” Marian answered, -laughing apologetically.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Couldn’t? Well, I used to say that once -upon a time,” Mrs. Harding replied; then -stretching out her shapely, strong arms and -yawning desperately: “That’s the worst of taking -a bit too much; one feels dead beat, but can’t -sleep a twopenny wink; and you dream and toss -about, and your mouth and tongue get so dry that -they feel as if they were cracking all over. But -the first drop in the morning pulls one together a -bit. It makes a lot of difference what’s the -lotion. Never get squiffy on phiz, my dear, it’s -poison. Stick to brandy, it doesn’t hang about so -much. So Master George is off to the country -and you’ve got a holiday! What are you going -to do with it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s just what I don’t know. I’m running -down to Brighton in a few days, but I don’t want -to go to sleep till then. I came up to see if you -could suggest anything. Are you free to-night? -Couldn’t we go somewhere together?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lots of places if you have any coppers. I’m -cleaned out. My old man’s away, I’ve spent all -he left me, so I’ll hunt for rhino while you hunt -<span class='pageno' title='185' id='Page_185'></span> -for fun; sometimes you can manage to haul in -both, but it’s generally the stupid beasts who -have the cash. Never mind, we’ll trust to luck, -and if none turns up you shall liquidate the bill. -Now I’m going to turn you out; just pull the -curtains to, like a dear, and I’ll indulge in some -more beauty sleep. I’ll look you up about tea-time, -and we can talk over the plan of campaign. -Ta-ta!”</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='186' id='Page_186'></span>CHAPTER XV</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> days passed slowly and disagreeably for -Maddison, the monotony broken only by Mrs. -West’s sittings.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He worked occasionally at “The Rebel,” but -dared not touch the face or hands. Marian’s absence, -however, served to increase her influence -over him greatly; he longed with painful intensity -to return to her; he wrote long letters to -her daily, and chafed at the brevity of her replies, -though he had not any fault to find with their -tenor; she wrote affectionately, warmly, sending -messages of love and again and again expressing -the delight with which she was looking forward -to seeing him again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It had not heretofore been Maddison’s habit of -mind to weigh the wisdom of any of his acts, or -to analyze any of his emotions. He had been -frankly pagan, the joy of life was his while it was -his with little if any alloy of pain or doubt; -questions of present action or future conduct had -not occurred to him. His emotions with regard -to women had not been deep; they were a -beautiful provision of nature for adding beauty -<span class='pageno' title='187' id='Page_187'></span> -to an already beautiful world; their voices, their -graces, their loveliness, their caresses had charmed -him, but had never absorbed him; not one of -them had ever attained to any influence over him -until his renewed friendship with Marian. In -fact, nature had been his real mistress; when last -at Rottingdean, for many weeks together he had -led practically the life of a hermit, working in -the studio and rambling far and wide across the -country or along the coast. It was absolute joy -to him to lie on his back, watching the panorama -of the sky; to stand on the edge of the cliff, -looking out over the sea, noting its subtle changes -of color. Everything in nature, big or little, was -lovable to him; the vast glory of a blood-red sunset; -the minute perfection of a weed; the tumult -and splendid power of a storm-smitten sea; the -dewdrops upon a spraying fern; the cold, clear -tones of sunrise or the trembling mystery of -midday heat. No season came amiss to him: -winter, spring, summer, autumn, there was no -sameness in nature, save that of unadulterated -beauty.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But he understood now that a change had come -over him; between him and nature had come one -woman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The weather was cold, with days of biting, -searching east wind; he could not saunter about -<span class='pageno' title='188' id='Page_188'></span> -the countryside, but would stride along at a great -pace. What was it that had come into the foreground -of every picture upon which his eyes -rested? It seemed to him as if he were never -alone now—Marian was always with him, persistently -whispering in his ear: “You love me—you -love me!” She had taken entire and sole possession -of him; round her centered his every desire, -every hope, every ambition.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One bright morning he stood at the edge of -the cliff, some little distance from the village, the -gentle murmur of a calm sea far below, and in -his ears that weird muttering of vagrant winds -which comes before the breaking of a tempest. -He stood looking down on the rocks and shingle -far below, thinking of Marian, counting the number -of hours that remained to pass before her -approaching visit, for it had been arranged that -she should come down soon for a few days. Suddenly -the thought came into his mind of the horror -of her standing there beside him, of her being -giddy, of her reeling, and clutching at his arm, -missing her hold, falling down—down—a shapeless -mass on the stones below. The horror of it -sickened him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Why had this woman come into his life? She -had given him a supreme joy, the like of which -he had never even dreamed of before; but might -<span class='pageno' title='189' id='Page_189'></span> -not that joy be too dearly purchased with the -price of the contingent agony her love might -bring him?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One evening he went down the village street, -down through the gap to the edge of the sea, -where the tumbling waves were bursting with sullen -roar and crash upon the shingle. The storm -that had raged all the day and the previous night -was dying away, slowly, as if reluctant; the -wind blew in fitful gusts; the clouds scurried -across the moon, which shot down intermittent -beams upon the tossing waters. His life, he -thought, had hitherto been calm; but now a tempest -raged within him, rising in strength day by -day, hour by hour, so that there was but one -thing in his being—love of Marian, that first, that -last, that all in all. Away from the thought of her -and his passion for her he could never tear himself; -it was always with him. When he painted, -there was her face before him, dim but insistent. -Something of her features seemed to creep even -into the portrait he was painting of Agatha West. -When he read, the words conveyed no thought, no -sense to his mind; he was thinking of her, wondering -where she was and what she was doing, -with whom if not alone. She possessed him, heart, -soul and body; he was all hers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>More than once a frenzy of jealousy had -<span class='pageno' title='190' id='Page_190'></span> -attacked him: did she truly love him? Or was -she just play-acting, fooling him, deceiving him, -betraying him, laughing at him and his blind -love? The impulse came on him strongly to go -up to town, without warning her, and to watch—watch, -unseen. But he dared not; in such a case, -he thought, ignorance would be bliss compared -with knowledge.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At last dawned the wished-for day on which -Marian was to come. He had lain tossing awake -all the night. Hours yet remained to be gotten -through somehow before he could set out to walk -to the station. After breakfast at nine, he set -about tidying the studio, filling the vases with -flowers, and setting “The Rebel” in a place of -honor by the window. Then in the sitting room -he cleared up the litter of pipes and books, and -helped to decorate the table for luncheon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At length he felt that he could linger no longer -indoors, and started out to walk slowly along the -cliffs toward Brighton. There was no stir in the -air, the sea lay placid, the sun shone down as if -with a promise of spring. He went slowly along, -his heart light as a lad’s when going out to meet -his first mistress. He knew how it would throb -when he caught sight of her face. Would hers -do so likewise? He knew how words would fail -him, and how he would stammer out some stupid -<span class='pageno' title='191' id='Page_191'></span> -commonplace. Would it be so with her? He -knew how anxiously he would await the train’s -arrival, how eagerly he would scan the alighting -passengers, seeking her. Would it be the same -with her? Would she look on with indifference at -one and another until her eyes met his? Then—would -hers light up with the fire of love?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He reached the station half an hour before the -train was due, and paced impatiently up and down -through the throng, cursing the clock, the hands -of which seemed to stand still. The train at last -came in; out of one of the first compartments -stepped Philip West, who caught hold of Maddison -as he rushed by.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All right, old chap, don’t be in such a hurry. -I’ve had a fellow-passenger, who knows you and -wants to speak to you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison checked himself impatiently, yet -afraid to show his anger at the interruption. He -shook West’s out-held hand; and then looked, and -there was Marian.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I met Mrs. Squire at Victoria, and took charge -of her as she was all alone. I got her heaps -of magazines and papers, and books, and—she -did nothing but—talk all the way down. I -never knew before how near Brighton is to -London.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian laughed merrily, returning the close -<span class='pageno' title='192' id='Page_192'></span> -pressure of Maddison’s eager hand. How deliciously -pretty she looked, he thought; how wildly -aggravating that West should be there.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now I’m off; I’ve no luggage to worry -about,” said West. “Good-by, Mrs. Squire, and -thank you for a very pleasant journey. Good-by, -Maddison, see you soon.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>West strode off through the bustling crowd. -Then everything vanished for Maddison save -Marian.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My dear, my dear,” he said, taking her hand -in his again. “My dear——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The tears started into his eyes as he strove in -vain to speak.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My dear old boy! It’s jolly to be together -again, isn’t it? Come along. Take me out of -this. We can’t talk here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Soon they were driving along through the brisk -air, he seated opposite her so that he might see her -the better.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was luck meeting Mr. West, wasn’t it? -He’d been up for the night, and it was much nicer -than traveling alone.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bother West,” said Maddison. “He’s nothing. -What about yourself? Tell me all about -yourself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All? All? Where shall I begin. From the -moment you went off?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='193' id='Page_193'></span> -“Till this minute! A few days ago! It seems -years to me. It was all I could do to keep from -rushing up to town to see you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You know I missed you dreadfully,” she said, -leaning forward and resting her hand on his knee. -“It was just as bad for me as for you. But -now we’re together, don’t let’s worry about what -has been; I’ve come down to be happy, dear, to -be happy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Look here. We shall be out of the town -soon. If you’re not tired, let’s get out and walk -along the cliff. The fly can take the traps along. -Shall we?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’d be jolly. I’ve been sitting all the morning. -What a lovely day! it was foggy and horrid -in town.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So intense was Maddison’s happiness that he -was content to be silent, as he walked along by her -side, as was she, for she went in fear of letting him -see that her pleasure at the meeting was not so -great as his. Moreover, the journey with West -had given her food for thought, and the knowledge -that he was staying at Brighton had altered altogether -the plans she had made. A day or two -alone with Maddison was all that she felt she could -endure, but with West near by it might be foolish -to return to town so soon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Suddenly Maddison stopped and took her -<span class='pageno' title='194' id='Page_194'></span> -eagerly by the hands; stood close to her, looking -down into her eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I wonder if you know what this meeting -means to me, Marian? I thought I knew how -much you are to me, but I didn’t—not till I came -down here and was without you. You’re all the -world to me, Marian, just all the world. There’s -nothing else in the world for me but you. Are you -<span class='it'>glad</span>? Very glad——?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very glad!” she answered softly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I used to laugh at men who went mad after -a woman; but I’m mad for you, Marian; crazy -as can be! And you—I wonder, have you suffered -as much as I have done? I hope <span class='it'>not</span> for your -sake, but I’m selfish, and really hope that you have. -Have you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How can I tell, dear? I know—I missed you -very much, ever so much. But, oh, why, George, -worry about that? Isn’t the present good enough -to make us forget all about it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re right! By Jove, you’re right. Let’s -get on—I want to have you all alone—in my arms, -and to hold you so tight that you can never slip -away again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s all right!” she answered, laughing, -“but I’m not a man with seven-leagued legs, so -unless you want to get there before me, don’t rush -along like that!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='195' id='Page_195'></span> -He slackened his speed, and they went along, -he thinking of her, and stealing look after look at -her. She was wondering if she would have the -skill and the strength to play her game so that he -should not discover that what was so earnest to -him to her was only make-believe. She consoled -herself with the thought that perhaps did he love -her less his penetration would be more keen and -that the very excess of his ardor would make -him blind. Nevertheless, there was great need -for care upon her part, which would indeed have -been unendurable to her had she not known that -the visit was to be brief and that in a few days’ -time she would be back in town, free. She was -consoled, too, by the remembrance that West had -asked permission to call upon her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When they reached the cottage Mrs. Witchout -stood in the doorway, anxiety writ large upon her -wrinkled face and her nose more than usually -rubicund.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good mornin’, ma’am,” she said. “I was -beginnin’ to worrit about the food. Cookin’s -cookin’, I always says, and doin’ things to rags is -’nother thing. But you’re justin time, which is -more than Mr. Maddison usually is.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. Witchout keeps me in grand order, Marian, -and if you want anything while you’re here, -don’t ask me for it—I’m not boss of the show.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='196' id='Page_196'></span> -“That’s the way he always runs on; don’t -take anynoticeofhim, I don’t. Would you like -to go up to your room? It’s upstairs—if -youcancall these stepladdery things stairs. This -way, m’m.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Witchout led the way upstairs, Maddison -holding Marian back a minute to whisper to -her:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“By the way, you’re my <span class='it'>sister</span>! I’ve had a -bed made up in the studio for myself. Don’t -give the show away.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian laughed as she ran up, and Maddison -turned into the living room. Everything was -ready, the table neat, cozy and pretty, a covered -dish and the plates warming by the fire, which -blazed up cheerily; the lattice windows were -thrown wide open and the sun streamed in -warmly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You don’t look much alike,” said Mrs. -Witchout, coming in. “If you takes arter your -father she must take arter her mother, and a -’andsome couple they must ’ave been, I’m -thinkin’.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t try to flatter me, Mrs. Witchout,” -Maddison answered, with a laugh, as he sat down -on the window seat, watching her picking up the -dish with the assistance of her apron. “It’s no -use your coming over me and you mustn’t spoil -<span class='pageno' title='197' id='Page_197'></span> -her with compliments, though the biggest would -have been to have told her that she is nearly as -good-looking as I am.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lawks!” was Mrs. Witchout’s comment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What a jolly little room!” exclaimed -Marian, pausing in the doorway and looking -round. “And what flowers! And the windows, -wide open, just as if it was springtime. It feels -like it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes—and termorrer you’ll have east winds -and wet to bring out yer rheumattics, leastways my -rheumattics, beggin’ pardon.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come along; I’m sure you’re hungry, Marian, -everybody always is here. And Mrs. Witchout, -you just be off! We’ll look after ourselves and -won’t make your life a burden to you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ll go when I’m ready, Mr. Maddison, not -afore.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There, Marian, what did I tell you? You -see what you can do.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t show him up my first day here, Mrs. -Witchout; let him have his way, <span class='it'>for once</span>!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For once! They always do say it’s your own -fam’ly who knows least about yer! For once! -He always do ’ave it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So saying, Mrs. Witchout hustled from the -room with a pretense of anger that was transparent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='198' id='Page_198'></span> -“At last!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison strode across the room, laid his hands -on Marian’s shoulders, holding her at arm’s length -while he gazed at her. Then he drew her close to -him, feverishly kissing her again and again, kissing -her lips, her hair, her eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Haven’t you a kiss for me, Marian?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Their lips met, and his heart beat as though it -would burst.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Marian, Marian, we must never part -again!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For the moment his passion overcame her, and -she lay close in his arms, panting, forgetful.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='199' id='Page_199'></span>CHAPTER XVI</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Alice Lane</span> walked quietly along the pier -toward the sea, having left West alone with his -wife, who was suffering from one of her racking -headaches that formed the chief symptom of her -illness. Sedate, tall, well-proportioned, with ample -movements and strong, straight, alert gaze, more -than one man turned to look after her as she went -by, thinking that this was a woman upon whom -a man could rely for sufficient help in time of -trouble. But calm as was her outward seeming, -her brain was busied over the problem which had -become the great question of her life, and which -she believed would soon have to be answered. She -did not think that West had guessed the secret of -her love for him, the secret which she had so jealously -guarded, but she feared that Agatha had discovered -it, for she had noticed lately a coolness in -her manner and a watchfulness that was new. She -had noticed, also, a distinct change in West’s bearing -toward his wife, for which she was puzzled to -account. She had all along felt that he would not -be able to find abiding content in the companionship -of Agatha; that to win his lasting affection -<span class='pageno' title='200' id='Page_200'></span> -something more was needed than mere prettiness -and winsomeness, but the change had come sooner -than she had expected, and she fancied that perhaps -there might be some external influence at -work, perhaps another woman. Had Agatha contented -West and made him happy, Alice Lane -would have suffered silently, have made no sign, -would never have attempted to win his love. But -if Agatha had lost him, she felt free to take him -if she could gain him, no matter at what cost to -herself. Her love for him was unselfish, and if -by any sacrifice she could achieve his welfare, she -would gladly make it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Both Agatha and he pooh-poohed any suggestion -on her part that her visit to them must come -to an end, but she had decided that it must do so, -and at once. She could no longer bear the strain -of guarding her every action, look and word for -fear that either of them should see into her heart. -That she had some way betrayed herself to Agatha -she was assured, but she must keep her secret from -Philip until such time as he should have a secret -to confide to her. Leave them then she must, returning -to town and the companionship of her -brother.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She watched from the end of the pier the soft -glitter of the sunshine upon the broken water. -She tried to puzzle out her future course, but the -<span class='pageno' title='201' id='Page_201'></span> -way was not plain to her. There was this added -to her concern, that apart from the breaking up -of his love for his wife, West was restless and -evidently worried by some business care. It hurt -her to think of him alone with his trouble, with -no one who, even without understanding, could -give him nourishing sympathy. She would have -sacrificed her soul to have been free to link her -arm in his and to offer to walk the difficult way -by his side, not supported by him, not supporting -him, but mutually confident, comrades, allies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was suddenly aware of some one standing -close beside her, and turning slowly found that -West was watching her with evident amusement. -Taking his cigar out of his mouth, he said:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A penny for your thoughts!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not for sale,” she replied. “I did not know -you were coming out.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Neither did I. But Aggy was—out of sorts,” -he said slowly, “out of sorts. So I sent her off -to lie down and rest; and came along here at a -venture, knowing how fond you are of drinking -in the fresh air. Not that you seemed to be doing -so just now in any great quantities, for your mouth -was close shut, and you looked as if you were -wanting to fight somebody. How do you feel for -a sharp walk? Let’s go along to Hove and back, -it’ll brisk us up; at least I want brisking up. You -<span class='pageno' title='202' id='Page_202'></span> -never seem to vary, like a weatherglass fixed at -‘set fair.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Blessed are good appearances,” she said, tacitly -accepting his suggestion; “I fancy it’s best -not to show your emotions; so few people know -how to sympathize. Most of them talk, and that’s -the least part of sympathy—at least I think so.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do I show my emotions?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can only guess whether you do or not. I -might think I knew what you were feeling, and -I might be quite wrong.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What am I feeling now?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Glad to be out in the fresh air; glad to be -moving; hoping by talking to me to be able to -forget for a while—your worries.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My worries?” he asked, looking at her -keenly, and wondering why she turned her face -away and gazed steadily out at the sea. “My -worries? H’m. I don’t think much of you as -a thought-reader; you might say that to any busy -man, who has had a hard day and most of a -night working in town.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes—but you don’t usually carry your business -worries about with you, as you have been -doing lately.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh! Lately. Those quiet gray eyes of yours -are keen. Well, it’s quite true, I am unusually -worried just now, and you’ll be surprised to hear -<span class='pageno' title='203' id='Page_203'></span> -that I hate having to bear my worries alone. I -used not to mind that when I was alone. You -see, Aggy doesn’t understand business; it isn’t her -line exactly——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He stopped short, for it occurred to him that -it was an awkward thing to discuss his wife with -another woman, however intimate a friend she -might be of them both.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Besides,” he went on quickly, “it isn’t fair -to worry her just now; she’s seedy and out of sorts -and wants cheering, not depressing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Depressing?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, so it would be to tell her I’m worried, -for she knows I don’t fidget about trifles. I must -go up to town again to-morrow and tackle a lot -of old fossils who are driving me to exasperation.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I suppose you’ll be going by the early train?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes—why?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If you could wait till a bit later—you might -escort me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, what are you running up for? Can’t -I do it for you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m running away altogether. Now, don’t -interrupt. I must go; I told you I was going, -and you wouldn’t believe me. So now you must -both accept your fate and make the best of me at -a distance.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I jolly well won’t. Your brother said I was -<span class='pageno' title='204' id='Page_204'></span> -to take care of you and how the doose can I do -that if you won’t stay with us? Besides, I must -be away a good deal at present, and Aggy will be -lonely——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She has other friends. And—I don’t think -Aggy is quite so fond of me as she used to be.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, nonsense. She’s not quite herself now; -you mustn’t mind her when she’s a bit off color.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s not why I’m going; I merely mentioned -it to show that there was less reason for -my staying than you supposed. It’s very good -and very kind of you—of you both—to have had -me with you so long, and not to have got tired of -my sober-sidedness. But don’t you know yet how -obstinate I am?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Obstinate? I should hardly put it that way. -Firm, I should say. Yes, I’ve observed it; you -generally have your own way.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I didn’t mean that. And how can you tell? -Perhaps I’m wise enough only to let my wishes -be known when I feel pretty sure of getting them, -and to bottle them up tight when I know they’re -hopeless.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They walked along some way in silence. Alice -had become a habit, and to learn that she was -going to leave them made him realize that the -absence of her quiet influence would make a real -change to him. His wife had almost suddenly -<span class='pageno' title='205' id='Page_205'></span> -grown to be nothing to him but a burden which -he had taken up and which he must carry with as -good an outward grace as he could assume. He -believed her emotions to be so shallow that she -would not long moan over his dead affection and -that she would be reasonably content so long as he -could provide her with luxuries and amusement. -But now he was brought definitely face to face -with the fact that he was bound to a companion -who was becoming every day more distasteful to -him and with whom he would have to spend many -days alone. There are people whose influence -though strong is so quiet that we do not value -them at their true price until they are taken from -us; such an one was Alice Lane. Her suddenly -announced departure showed plainly to West that -she had become almost a necessity to him; that she -had helped often to smooth away asperities and -to cover over Agatha’s deficiencies, and that she -could give him that comradeship which he had -learned the need of by discovering his wife’s inability -to give it to him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Comradeship only, he believed, for he did not, -in any usual sense of the word, love her. She -had become a quiet, steadying, soothing influence, -a mental support and sedative. It was not her -strange, placid comeliness that appealed to him; -it was not the feminine in her: she was almost to -<span class='pageno' title='206' id='Page_206'></span> -him what a man friend would be, save that, as a -woman, he had to treat her with respect, and with -self-respect. She had not come between him and -his wife, but, on the contrary, by complementing -her deficiencies, had made her the longer endurable. -He had grown accustomed during the last -few months to her companionship; he had not, -indeed, talked much to her, or in any degree -sought her confidence, but her mere presence had -acted soothingly upon him; and to be with her had -been restful and pacifying. Her return to her -brother’s house would practically mean that she -would go out of his life, except for occasional visits -and meetings. But he could think of no compelling -reason that he could urge for her staying longer -with them, and, as she had accused him of being, -he was well aware of her firmness in carrying out -any decision to which she had come. He had been -accustomed to having his own way with those -around him, but instead of irritating him, it added -to his respect and admiration for her, to find that -what she thought right to do, she would do, and -that no persuasion of his could move or stay her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tell me why you are going?” he asked, as -they turned to go homeward, and faced the eager -wind. “And why you think that Aggy doesn’t -care so much for you as she used to do?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If I were a man I suppose I should be expected -<span class='pageno' title='207' id='Page_207'></span> -to give a reason for my doings. But you -see, I’m a mere woman, and of course act on -impulse.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not at all a mere woman. And much too -clever, not to know that generalizations are always -untrue. I conclude that a man’s an ignorant ass -when he says that something or other is ‘just like -a woman.’ Though it is rather like a woman to -avoid answering a question by making an aimless -remark. Why are you going home?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why should I have stayed so long? Why -shouldn’t I go away? Why—why—lots of -‘whys.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t you enjoy being with us?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course I do,” she answered, no sign of the -pain the question caused her showing in her tone, -though she ached to be able to tell him how exquisite -was the torture to which he was putting -her. “Of course I do. I <span class='it'>did</span> think you knew -that; you’re not the sort of man who needs to be -told everything every day.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, I won’t make use of an old friend’s -privilege of worrying you. But, look here, when’ll -you come to see us again?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“When Aggy asks me, if she doesn’t ask me -too soon.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The words sprang to her lips in such haste that -she could not stay them. She repented them bitterly, -<span class='pageno' title='208' id='Page_208'></span> -for she realized at once that they might lead -to disaster for Agatha, who might refuse to ask -her again to visit her; who might, rendered brave -by jealousy, oppose her husband’s wish, who -might, in a moment of anger, give her reason -for so doing, thereby perhaps making an inevitable -breach in her married happiness. But the -words being said, any attempt to withdraw them -might stimulate dangerous questioning on his part.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“When Aggy asks you!” he answered, throwing -his head up and laughing gayly. “Well, you -may as well not go away at all, then. Does she -know you’re going to-morrow?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I told her yesterday.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Funny she didn’t tell me. What did <span class='it'>she</span> -say?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Asked me to stay.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There you are!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She bit her lip and looked away from him, but -he could see the expression of trouble that was -upon her face, and felt compunction at having so -over-eagerly pressed her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What an obstinate tease I am!” he said. -“When I can’t have my own way, I’ve a beastly -habit of plugging away till I get it, quite forgetting -what it may cost the other chap to give it. What -a clumsy boor you must think me; I deserve -to be kicked. I ought to know well enough -<span class='pageno' title='209' id='Page_209'></span> -that you always have a real reason for what you -do.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She dared not reply, for fear her voice would -betray her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When they reached the hotel he went up to -his wife’s room, hoping to find her physically better, -and less querulous for her rest. She was lying -on the bed, covered with a thick eider-down quilt, -and turned slowly to look at him as he came in -tiptoe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was just going to sleep, and now you’ve -roused me up,” she complained, and turned away -again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m so sorry, dearie; it was clumsy of me,” -he said, going round the bed, and sitting down -on the side. He took her hand, which she let -lie passively in his.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t feel any better?” he asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My head’s not aching so much, at least not -quite.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s fine. ‘Once on the mend, soon at an -end.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where did you walk?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just along the front with Alice, nearly to -Hove. The wind’s jolly cold.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Jolly? It’s horrid; Brighton’s horrid: too -cold to go out, and the hotel is so stuffy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is it? I hadn’t noticed it. But I do wish -<span class='pageno' title='210' id='Page_210'></span> -you would go out more. You know what the -doctor said—lots of fresh air.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But he didn’t tell me to go out when it -was so cold it gave me neuralgia all over my -head.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let me ring and we’ll have tea up here. It’ll -cheer you up.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I do wish you wouldn’t always treat me like -a child!” she said pettishly; “so long as you give -me pretty things or feed me with sweets you think -I’m happy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aren’t you happy, dear?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, I’m not!” she answered sharply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not?” he repeated, as he stood up and started -to walk about the room. “I thought you were, -dear. What can I do? I’ve always tried my best -to give you what you wanted.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Please don’t walk about like that, you don’t -know what a headache is. You—don’t understand -things.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t I?” he asked, standing with his back -to the fire; “then why not try to teach me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You always think you know everything, and -are always right and that I’m always wrong. But -I’m right sometimes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, Aggy, what on earth have I done to -deserve such a slating?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As she did not make any reply he went across -<span class='pageno' title='211' id='Page_211'></span> -to the bedside, and, stooping down, kissed her, -upon which she turned impatiently away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If you don’t want me to treat you as a child -you shouldn’t behave like one,” he said, and, after -a moment’s hesitation, walked out of the room.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='212' id='Page_212'></span>CHAPTER XVII</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>While</span> the sun was shining cheerily at Brighton -the rain was pouring down drearily in London, -Acacia Grove looking its very worst under the -leaden sky; the roadway a sea of mud, the leafless -branches of the trees dripping and streaming, -the evergreen shrubs in the scrubby gardens none -the less dirty for their washing; even the sharp -rat-tat, rat-tat, of the postman as he went from -house to house sounding dismal, as if all the letters -he bore must announce death or disaster.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Squire had finished his frugal breakfast, and -stood, newspaper in hand, looking aimlessly out -of the window. The trouble through which he -was passing had left no trace or mark upon his -face, but there was a restless misery in his eyes. -Sighing heavily, he held up the paper and glanced -at it without purpose, almost unconsciously. -“Sunshine at Brighton” was the heading of an -article down which his eye ran without comprehension -until Maddison’s name fixed his attention:—“Another -well-known face occasionally -seen on the King’s Road is that of Mr. George -<span class='pageno' title='213' id='Page_213'></span> -Maddison, the A.R.A., who is staying at his cottage -at Rottingdean.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He crushed the paper angrily and threw it -aside. They were at Rottingdean, then; that was -why his watch upon the studio had been vain. -They had gone away, trusting to his not being able -to trace them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Since his interview with Maddison, Squire’s -life had been a restless dream; every purpose had -left him save one, the finding of Marian. Despite -the upshot of his last conversation with her, -he still felt confident that he could rescue her -from the terrible life she was leading. Hour -after hour, sometimes by day, sometimes by night, -he had watched the studio in hopes of meeting -her. He had seen Maddison several times, but -had avoided him; it was Marian with whom he -desired to speak. He had tried to track Maddison -more than once, but one accident or another had -baffled him. Then Maddison appeared no more, -and he had had to wait upon “the skirts of happy -chance,” and now fate had helped him. Still he -hesitated, for by several incidents it had been -borne in upon him that to save one soul he was -neglecting many others intrusted to his care—sinners, -some of them, greater even than Marian. -Could he feel assured that he was pursuing the -right course? That there was no element of self -<span class='pageno' title='214' id='Page_214'></span> -in his eagerness to find Marian and to save her? -Would he have been so eager had she been a -stranger to him? He was torn this way and that -by the doubts which assailed him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the efficacy of prayer he had absolute faith, -and consternation had assailed him when he found -that prayer brought no relief to his agony or solution -of his difficulty. He had asked for guidance, -and God had not granted him any. Heretofore -prayer had always brought him peace; not realizing -that he had never before been in distress -or difficulty, it shocked, then stunned him, that -no response apparently was to be made to his -faithful pleading for assistance. It is said that -the extreme terror caused by an earthquake arises -from the failure of the one last resort of safety -when all else is crumbling, by the trembling, the -shattering beneath the feet of the solid earth itself; -when that fails no refuge is left. It was thus -with Squire now; misery might be his lot, but -not terror at any disaster or misfortune, for -“God’s in His heaven, all’s right with the world”—that -had been his faith. But was God in His -heaven? He had raised his voice to heaven and -had prayed for succor, but there had been no -answer: had God forgotten him? There was -no sense of rebellion or of protest in his heart, -only piteous helplessness and loneliness. His spiritual -<span class='pageno' title='215' id='Page_215'></span> -pride had died; humility had taken its place, -but mingled with it was an almost insane dread -that unwittingly he had sinned so heinously -that God had cast him away. As he had knelt -this morning, words of prayer had refused to -come. He had striven to say “Our Father Which -art in Heaven,” but his trembling lips had stumbled; -in agony he had buried his face in his hands -and wept.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a friend whom more than once he -had thought of consulting, but a sense of shame -had restrained him. Now in this crisis of his -affairs, he felt that no other course lay open to -him, and that if it was in any way possible he -should act upon whatsoever advice should be -given him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He wrapped himself in his heavy mackintosh, -pressed down his soft felt hat closely, and set out -to walk toward Dulwich through the wind and -the rain. The raw air at first chilled then stimulated -him and he made his way along rapidly. -Gradually the ferment in his mind was allayed, and -when he arrived in sight of his friend’s house, he -almost hesitated as to going in; the physical exercise -seemed to have cleared his mental horizon. -But the half-hesitation brought back the feeling of -helplessness from which he was trying to escape -and he hurried on.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='216' id='Page_216'></span> -“Why, Edward! You! It’s an age since -you came my way; I thought you’d forgotten me. -Give the girl your things—so—come along in here -and warm yourself by the fire. You don’t know -how glad I am to see you. But—you’re not looking -well, though you’ve got a color.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The speaker was a middle-aged, thin little -woman, with a sharp face, stamped deeply by the -hand of pain, with deep-set, kindly gray eyes and -a mouth that seemed formed so as to be able to -give utterance only to words of kindness or of -consolation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She sat down opposite him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aren’t you well, Edward?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, yes, thank you, I’m quite well in body. -I see—you haven’t heard?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Heard? Marian’s all well, I hope?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He did not answer, and after a searching look -at him, she went on:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She’s not ill? If she is, why <span class='it'>didn’t</span> you send -for me, or come for me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, no, no, it’s not that,” he broke in, vehemently; -“it’s something far worse than that. I -scarcely know how to tell you. She’s—gone away—away -from me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Gone away? What do you mean, Edward?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We weren’t happy together; at least, she -<span class='pageno' title='217' id='Page_217'></span> -wasn’t happy; she went away and she’s living a -life of sin with another man. Oh, what am I -to do?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“This is terrible. My poor boy, my poor -boy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She went quietly over to him, and putting her -arm round his shoulder, drew his head gently to -her. Then his pent-up suffering broke its bonds, -and he sobbed bitterly as he rested there, near that -kind heart to which no one in sorrow had ever -appealed in vain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My poor boy, why didn’t you come to me -sooner?—instead of fighting it out all alone, -though not alone, for I know you have faith in -the great Comforter.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He held her hand tightly as he began, at first -brokenly, to tell her all that had happened. She -knit her brows as she listened, and when he ceased -speaking, drew her hand gently from him, and -drew back.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What am I to do?” he repeated.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let me think a minute. But first, Edward, -let us pray.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They kneeled down side by side at the table, and -she prayed simply, uttering the petition of a -helpless child to her Father, asking that this -sorely-tried man and herself, his weak friend, -might be guided rightly in all they should do and -<span class='pageno' title='218' id='Page_218'></span> -that the way might be made plain to them. The -words brought comfort to him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, Edward,” she said, “I know you do -not expect me to say anything except exactly what -I believe to be true. I did not often see you and -Marian together, but I sometimes wondered if in -your own strength you did not sometimes fail to -make allowances for her weakness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve tried to see my own faults. I’ve no -doubt I am much to blame. But does the knowledge -of that help me now? It would help me if -I could bring Marian back to me—but it’s not -that which has made me come to you for advice. -What am I to <span class='it'>do</span>? Am I to go down to Rottingdean, -see Marian and make another appeal to -her? And if I do and if I fail—am I to try -again and again? To do that means that I -should be neglecting my work. Don’t you -see?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He then went on to tell her, what he had not -yet mentioned, of the horrible terror that had -struck him when he found that God, as he believed, -was deaf to his prayers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now,” he said—“now you understand all. -Can you help me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t know. One thing I know we must do -if we are to help her. We must try to forget -all about you and to put ourselves in her place as -<span class='pageno' title='219' id='Page_219'></span> -far as we can. Strangely enough, I fancy perhaps -I can do that better than you could. I know -you better than you know yourself and so can possibly -see you more as she sees you; then I’m a -woman and so, though I don’t know half as much -about her as you do, it’s more than likely that I -understand her a great deal better. You say she -changed greatly, after you had been some -time in town, from what she had been in the -country?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, yes; she seemed to me to become utterly -different.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just so. But of course she didn’t change at -all—she only found herself. She had been simply -an artificial, vicarage-bred girl; she became a -woman. She never did anything very wrong at -the vicarage—there wasn’t any temptation. In -town she picked up some of the fruit of the tree -and began to nibble at it and found it sweet. She -never really loved you—I’m sorry, but I must -hurt you if I’m to help you—it wasn’t till she -came up here that she realized that she was a -woman; she had no love for you, no interest in -the life you set before her, no faith; she is young, -beautiful, full of life and energy and strong emotions—so -far all’s simple enough. But what further? -Is she really wicked or only a sinner? -If she’s really through and through bad, I know -<span class='pageno' title='220' id='Page_220'></span> -no power on earth can help her or save her. If -she’s only a sinner she will save herself. At any -rate what <span class='it'>can</span> you do or say that you haven’t -tried? She knows you love her and would forgive -her—I don’t see, Edward, what can be -gained by your going down to Rottingdean. I -daresay you think I’m talking hardly, but I’m -not. I’m only being practical, and there’s no -reason I’ve ever heard of why one shouldn’t be -truly religious at the same time. God doesn’t love -fools.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps that’s why He doesn’t love me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She did not answer, but for a moment a smile -hovered at the corners of her mouth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You good people are so very difficult to help,” -she went on; “you’re always so utterly other-worldish -that when you’ve got to worry out some -worldly trouble you don’t know what on earth -to do, and that being the case—pray for help, -instead of for strength to help yourself. What -to do? It seems to me your way is plain: go -back to your work; work hard; work yourself sick -if you like, and instead of praying so much for -yourself, pray more for her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He turned away from her, and looked out at -the gray rain. She had spoken almost sharply, -but the soft tenderness in her eyes as she looked -pityingly at him betrayed that the sharpness lay -<span class='pageno' title='221' id='Page_221'></span> -only in the expression of the comfort she had -offered him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I feel that you are right,” he said, going back -to her and holding out his hands, into which she -gave hers; “thank you. I’ll try.”</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='222' id='Page_222'></span>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>These</span> days were almost unalloyed joy to Maddison, -and full of pleasure to Marian, only checkered -by the difficulty which she saw before her -of persuading him to allow her to return to town -while he remained where he was. The fear of -Squire molesting them was now, she felt, an insufficient -excuse for their separation, not sufficient, -at any rate, to compel Maddison to forego his -decision that he would not be parted from her -again. At any rate this motive alone was not -strong enough, and she searched in vain for some -further argument to support it. Determined she -was to free herself partially from him, but she did -not wish to break entirely with him yet; indeed, he -was essential to her still. She would not run any -risk she could avoid or foresee, but equally she -would not leave any effort untried to obtain her -own way.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The Rebel” was quickly completed, and he -had no other work on hand. Mrs. West had -learned from her husband who this friend was, -and therefore accepted the excuse. But West -himself came over one afternoon in the motor car, -<span class='pageno' title='223' id='Page_223'></span> -and was told by Marian, who came to the door, -that Maddison had walked into Brighton, and that -she was alone, nursing a headache.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m awfully sorry,” West said, thinking how -extraordinarily pretty she looked against the dark -shadow behind her. “If it’s not a real bad one, -come for a spin in the car: the air will blow it out -of you in no time.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I believe it would, but——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I know; never mind Maddison. Leave -a note pinned up for him to tell him where -you’ve gone in case he’s back before we -are. Now, do come; I’m sure it will do you -good.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s awfully kind of you. Very well. I must -just run up for my hat and coat. I shan’t be two -minutes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Two minutes! I’ll give you five!” adding to -himself: “she’s worth waiting for.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>West laughed at Marian’s coat, “which -might,” he said, “keep a few flies out,” and -wrapped her in rugs, until little of her could be -seen save her face, peeping out beneath the natty -fur hat which she had tied down with a thick -brown veil.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“By Jove, you look like Mother Christmas,” -laughed West. “All snug? Right! Forrard!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s glorious!” she said, as they sped along a -<span class='pageno' title='224' id='Page_224'></span> -short piece of broad, level road. “I don’t wonder -men go mad over it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t you ever go mad over things?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I? No, I don’t think so. I’ve never come -across anything which tempted me quite enough -to make me go mad over it. Perhaps I was born -hopelessly sane. It must be rather nice to feel real -mad sometimes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, it’s intoxicating, just that. Don’t be -scared, I’m not going to do it now anyway, but -I sometimes feel horribly tempted to turn on full -speed, let her rip, put my hands in my pockets -and see——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But then—you’d never be able to get intoxicated -again. I prefer something less final than -that. A big business—to be at the head of it—a -sort of king—with every other king’s hand -against me—that would intoxicate me. If I were -a man, I should like to be a speaker and make -thousands drunk with my words.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“An actress?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes; that must be intoxicating too—just to -play on an audience—but—I can’t do any of these -things, so I must content myself with watching -other people—getting intoxicated. You men have -most of the good things in the way of power.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Except power over ourselves. That belongs -to you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='225' id='Page_225'></span> -“Does it? Perhaps to some of us. I haven’t -got it—at least—I want to persuade George to do -something sensible and I can’t.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps he’s intoxicated?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He can’t afford to be every day. He’s not -done a stroke of work since I’ve come down -here—or rather for the last two days, not touched -Mrs. West’s portrait, and won’t—I’m afraid—till -I go away, and he won’t let me go. I came -down on condition that I only stayed three days; -I’ve been here five now. I daresay you think it -queer my talking to you—but you see I haven’t -got any friends, and you’re George’s friend too. -Couldn’t you—couldn’t you—just give him a bit -of advice?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, lots, heaps, tons!” West replied, laughing; -“and couldn’t he and wouldn’t he refuse to -take an ounce of it? Of course he would, even -if he didn’t tell me to go to the—to go to, forsooth!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Probably,” said Marian, smiling; “but you -wouldn’t mind that, would you? You needn’t go. -Don’t you see, it’s this way: he might pay a little -more attention to <span class='it'>my</span> advice if he found that you -gave him just the same.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps. But he’s got an obstinate little way -of his own, has Master George. Besides, do you -really think that if you can’t get a thing from him -<span class='pageno' title='226' id='Page_226'></span> -by yourself you’ll be able to do so with my -help?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re so strong,” Marian said, in such a -matter-of-fact tone of voice that West laughed -out loud, though this very tone flattered and -pleased him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I think I must stop the car, get out and bow -to the ground in gratitude,” he said. “It isn’t -often a pretty woman pays a pretty compliment -in such a tone that there’s no doubting its genuineness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are men any better? I should hate to pay -a man false compliments, but I never expect him -to do anything else. When a man thinks a woman -pretty he calls her lovely, and when she’s ugly he -says she’s pretty, and—we—oh, we’re just weak -fools enough to love a pretty lie and to hate an -ugly truth.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you?” he asked bluntly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Present company always excepted.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you think so? When anyone says that -I at once conclude that present company was -particularly meant. Yes, it’s wonderful what you -can do with soft-sawder, especially in business. -Only you must be careful to deal with each man -as an individual: some like their compliments hot, -some cold, some spoken, some implied, some like -to be taken for saints and some for sinners. -<span class='pageno' title='227' id='Page_227'></span> -Here’s the whole art of big business in a nutshell—‘play -high, play low,’ high stakes and a low -estimate of the strength of human nature; every -man has his price, though more often than not it -isn’t money.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re a cynic!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t believe in labels; I try to flatter myself -that I’m a practical man of business, while all -the time at the bottom of my heart, I know that -I’m what every man and woman really is—just -a mere emotional creature of impulse. Oh, yes, -I’ve met those cold-blooded, calculating, anæmic-looking -men, but they’re just as impulsive, only -they hoodwink themselves by finding reasons for -their impulse, and very often by the time they’ve -found them it’s too late to act on their impulse. -Study history; you won’t find any really big man -who didn’t act on impulse at all the important -moments of his life; impulse unconsciously checked -and guided by the intuition which makes a man -a genius.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How is it there are no great women, then? -We’ve got impulses and intuition.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The average woman has more intuition than -the average man, but almost all women are just -average. Then you let your emotions run away -with you more often than we do, and you run away -so far that you generally can’t get back again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='228' id='Page_228'></span> -“That’s true. It comes back to what I said: -men have most of the good things.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We have to work hard to keep them. Then—it -isn’t till we’re old and worn out that we -know what’s worth having; life’s a long chase -after knowledge, and when we’ve caught it up—if -we ever do—we’ve no time left to use it in.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But meantime you’ve thoroughly enjoyed the -chase?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, that’s true; by God, that’s true. If life -was a certainty and not the wild speculation it is—it -wouldn’t be worth living.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He stopped short, slowed down the pace of -the car almost to a crawl, as he turned and looked -searchingly at her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re—what shall I call you?” he asked—“a -witch or a fairy or what? You’ve made me -talk more than I’ve ever done to any woman, or -man, for the matter of that. There are so few -people worth talking to.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Because there are so few who know how to -listen.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>West greeted this retort with a shout of -laughter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A hit!” he exclaimed. “Yes, I suppose that’s -horribly true—you’re kind enough not to have -shown me how I bored you, and so—I’ve thoroughly -enjoyed myself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='229' id='Page_229'></span> -“It’s not that at all,” Marian retorted, putting -a touch of anger into her voice. “That’s -rude of you; it’s calling me deliberately insincere -and also pointing out that what I’ve said might -just as well have been unsaid for all you heard or -noticed it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mrs. Squire, ’pon my honor you’re taking -things—seriously; you’re not really angry——?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I am. I am. I was enjoying myself, and -you suddenly—Please drive on, quick, quick. -You can’t talk if you go quick, and then shan’t -<span class='it'>I</span> bore <span class='it'>you</span>.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But really, Mrs. Squire, I——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Please drive on—quick!” Marian interrupted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She’s a masterful little devil,” West thought, -as he obeyed her orders, and he also decided that -Maddison was a lucky devil. A woman who is -difficult to win or a man who has won is usually -likened to the greatest of the fallen angels. The -devil has many unconscious admirers and there are -many who envy him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>West slowed down again when they were nearing -home.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There! Wasn’t I good?” he asked. “I -obeyed orders like a lamb. Have you forgiven -me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, I haven’t,” Marian answered, with a -<span class='pageno' title='230' id='Page_230'></span> -catch in her voice as she went on: “it’s not easy -to forgive anyone who smashes up a pleasant -time——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But, Mrs. Squire, really I didn’t do anything -much——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Much! You said the wrong thing and it -jarred; that’s all, but it’s a good deal when -you’re really enjoying yourself. Here we are -home, and there’s George. Don’t forget your -promise, if you get a chance of speaking to him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But I didn’t promise——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, keep it all the same—just to show -you’re sorry for what you’ve done. I was going -to thank you for the ride, but I shan’t now.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison helped Marian to alight, and welcomed -West warmly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Go and put your box of tricks up at the -garage and come back here to tea? Good! -Then we’ll expect you in a quarter of an hour at -most; don’t stop down there discussing motor -mysteries.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I hope you didn’t think it horrid of me to -go out for a run with Mr. West; I thought the -blow might do my head good.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And has it, sweetheart?” he asked, as he -nestled her head against his shoulder and kissed -her. “I do hope it has. I hate you having any -pain.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='231' id='Page_231'></span> -“Yes, dear, it’s quite gone away—but—you -asked Mr. West to tea and there won’t be any -for him if—you insist on going on in this way!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She broke away from him, laughing merrily, -and slammed the parlor door and locked it in his -face as he ran after her, calling to him:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Cook won’t have you in her kitchen! I must -attend to the kettle and not to you for once!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She took off her heavy coat and then set about -preparing the tea things, and as she busied herself -with them, thought over the events of the afternoon. -She was certain that West was to be -caught only by making him feel that he was pursuer, -not pursued; by no art of coquetry on her -part, but by a show of absolute indifference to -him, which would lure him to win her out of pride -if not for love. Once she could rouse his interest -in her, she was confident the game would be in -her own hands. She was pleased at the way -in which she had made the most of West’s innocent -speech, and made up her mind that merely -pleasant friendliness must be her attitude toward -him, until he sought to make her change it, and -even then he must find anything further difficult -to gain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>West was in the studio when she carried in -the tray, and insisted on taking it from her, while -Maddison drew up a table to the fireside. Cakes -<span class='pageno' title='232' id='Page_232'></span> -were set close to the blazing fire to keep hot. -Maddison drew the curtains and struck a match.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t light the lamps yet, George,” said -Marian, “unless you and Mr. West dislike blindman’s -holiday. Stir up the fire and make a big -blaze and we’ll have tea by firelight; it’s much -more cozy—and artistic too, so there!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The rough cottage fireplace, with old-fashioned -blue tiles and broad grate; the rich blaze; the -dark background of the studio; Marian, her red-gold -hair gloriously lit by the dancing flames, -graceful, lithe; Maddison, with his dusky, refined -face and his midnight eyes; West, long, lank, -angular, with his shock of dark hair and his eyes -of deep blue: the man of art, the man of the world, -and the woman; each man wishing that the other -were absent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, Mr. West, open the door,” said Marian, -after tea, as she put the cups and saucers together -on the tray. “Please open the door—I’m off to -wash up. I always wash up the tea things, because -it secures a lecture from Mrs. Witchout in the -morning, which is always delightful. You and -George can talk high art and smoke.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison lit a pipe, while West contented himself -with a cigarette.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“When you told me about yourself and Mrs. -Squire, I naturally thought you’d made a fool -<span class='pageno' title='233' id='Page_233'></span> -of yourself or been made a fool of, Maddison,” -West said, as he prowled about; “but you’re a -lucky devil. She’s a clever, interesting woman. -No wonder she couldn’t stick to the curate—I wonder -how she ever came to marry him. Hullo! -Here’s ‘The Rebel.’ Can’t see by this jumpy -light—is it finished?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes—as far as <span class='it'>I</span> can finish it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If you can’t, who can? Anything else on -hand beside the portrait of the missis?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re getting lazy. You’re enjoying yourself -too much. I must tell Mrs. Squire to buck -you up and make you work. Don’t forget, old -chap, that I want ‘The Rebel’ if you’ll let me -have it. I don’t mind your doing a replica for -yourself, provided you never part with it. Think -it over. You haven’t much more than three -months before you’ll have to send in—I forgot -you’re a blooming A.R.A.—but buck up, it don’t -do to rest on your oars nowadays, competition’s -too keen and you must keep yourself before the -public if you don’t want to be forgotten.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s shop talk, West.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All the world’s a shop, my boy; always has -been, always will be. Why, even the socialist idea -is to turn the country into a universal provider. -Don’t think it would help matters if poets and -<span class='pageno' title='234' id='Page_234'></span> -painters were endowed by the State and hadn’t to -work for a living. You can’t tell me of any -rich man—any man born rich—who has ever done -any art work worth talking about. If it weren’t -for women and money the world would die of -inanition.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What rot you do talk sometimes, West; I -suppose you find it a useful habit in business; when -a wise man can disguise himself as a foolish, he’s -sure to get on.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And the reverse also holds good, from which, -logically, it must be deduced that to appear other -than you are is the first law of existence! But -as a matter of fact you know I’m not talking -nonsense. If I were to say to you: ‘I’ll give you -an annuity of three thousand a year, on condition -that you give me all the pictures you paint, -but you’ve only to paint when you feel inspired -to do so,’ why, my dear fellow, you know as well -as I do that your career would be over. Thank -your lucky stars you’ve got to work for your -living. Well, I must be off, Aggy will wonder -what on earth’s become of me. She’s always expecting -me to smash myself. Do you think I may -‘walk into the parlor’ and say ‘good-by’ to—cook?”</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='235' id='Page_235'></span>CHAPTER XIX</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Had</span> Maddison known that West’s advice had -been inspired by Marian he would have set it aside -angrily, but in his ignorance he looked on it as -curiously coincidental with much of what she had -said to him, when she had urged upon him the -necessity of their separating again. The fear of -Squire’s persecution had been thrust into the background, -and he had tried also to shake off the feeling -that had gradually been growing upon him, -that his love for her was interfering detrimentally -with his work. “The Rebel” he believed, in fact -he knew, to be the finest picture he had yet painted, -and the portrait of Mrs. West would, he believed, -be good; but beyond these two canvases he could -not see. Marian seemed to stand between him and -his inspiration, upon which he had never before -called in vain, upon which, indeed, he had never -before been compelled to call, for it had always -come unsummoned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Many difficulties faced him. He could not -bring himself to sell “The Rebel,” even to West—it -seemed like parting with Marian. The portrait -would bring him in a large sum, but not sufficient -<span class='pageno' title='236' id='Page_236'></span> -to meet the expense of the coming year. His resources -were low; he had always lived close up -to his income, saving scarcely anything, and that -little had now been drawn upon to the full. All -this would not have mattered had he been alone, -with only himself to care for; though fond of -luxury, he was not a slave to it. But he had taken -Marian into his charge, was responsible for her -well-being, not only now, but under compulsion -of honor and love not to leave her penniless if -anything ill should chance to come to him. The -fact that faced him was that he must set to work -at once, must work rapidly and well. It was not -essential that his pictures should be exhibited at -any of the spring shows—the dealers were always -ready to welcome and able to dispose of any work -he could offer them. Nevertheless time pressed, -unless he borrowed upon work undone, so mortgaging -the future, of doing which he hated and -feared the thought.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With Marian as model he could doubtless paint -more than one picture, but strive as he would -he could think of no subject; it was Marian as -Marian who occupied him entirely, and to paint -her portrait in this, that and the other attitude -would be not merely banal, but distasteful to him. -Further still, with her beside him, near him, within -call, there seemed to be no room in his life for any -<span class='pageno' title='237' id='Page_237'></span> -other desire than to be with her, just to see her, -to love her, to please her. On the other hand, if -they parted, did the experience of the short -separation through which he had gone hold out -any promise of greater ability to work? Not -much. But this new separation would be -different; it would be caused by the necessity -of work so that they might be together; the -better, the quicker the work, the shorter the -separation; surely that great incentive would spur -him on to success? It was Marian alone whom -he must consider. To go on as he was meant -being forced to ask her to make sacrifices, and -that idea he put behind him at once and -finally. To go away for a while, with only -occasional meetings with her during the next few -months, was her own suggestion, based, indeed, -upon other reasons than those upon which he -would act, and he appreciated what he believed -to be the loving unselfishness that inspired it, for -to her, as to him, the parting and the separation -would be full of pain. But did not love for her -demand of him that he should pursue this course? -After all, would not the resultant reward be great? -It seemed to him that it refined and purified his -love for Marian the making of this sacrifice for -her sake. So far his passion had been entirely -selfish; he had thought so little of herself and so -<span class='pageno' title='238' id='Page_238'></span> -much of himself; so much of what she gave him, -so little of what he gave her; so much of his -future with her, so little of what might come to -her. It was hot passion at first, overwhelming -passion for a beautiful, desirable woman; this passion -had not decreased, had not in any way been -satiated by possession, but added to it now was -the other part of love, which is as unselfish as passion -is selfish. Her happiness, her peace, her delight, -how could he best secure them? It shocked -him at first when he tried to reduce this vague -wish to practicality, to find that the first thing he -must do was to work for money. There was no -escaping from that—he must make money; he -must work. He could not work with her beside -him—at least he could not do so now; perhaps -the time would come when he could not work -apart from her—perhaps that time had indeed -come, though he did not know it—perhaps—perhaps—; -so round and round in this circle his -thoughts flew, and the one thing that came forth -clear to him was that he must agree to Marian -returning to town and to his not seeing her for -some weeks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He saw her off; stood looking after her, almost -dazed, then turned away like one blind, and walked -slowly home to the empty studio and the empty -life.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='239' id='Page_239'></span> -Far different were Marian’s feelings on parting -with him. His decision had taken her by -surprise, until he had put fairly before her the -reasons that were his motives. She had feigned -willingness to share any degree of poverty with -him, well knowing that she did not risk anything -by so doing, but on the contrary fixed more -firmly his determination to ask her for no sacrifice. -Of Squire they had not spoken. She was -not so inhuman as not to feel any touch of gratitude, -or any spark of pity for the man who loved -her so truly and so unselfishly; she almost wished -she could have loved him; but being what she was, -these emotions did not make her for a moment -hesitate to pursue the course she had mapped -out for herself. The love of power, which had -once been her strongest motive, was growing -weaker day by day; the love of luxury and -pleasure growing in intensity; the world declining -in its attractions; the flesh and the devil -in her increasing in their sway over her wishes -and actions. Philip West now attracted her -chiefly as a rich man, only in the second place -because of the satisfaction it would be to reduce -a strong man to her command; Sydney -Geraldstein appealed to all that was basest -in her. She had not seen West since he had -driven her in his car, but she knew that -<span class='pageno' title='240' id='Page_240'></span> -he would hear at once of her return to town, -for Maddison had decided to call on Mrs. West, -in order to arrange for the resumption of -the sittings for the portrait. How soon -would West come to see her? Would he come -at all?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She had taken the precaution of telegraphing -the hour of return, so found tea waiting ready -for her, and the rooms looking very cozy. There -were a few letters, bills chiefly, which might -wait, as she didn’t want to bother Maddison -with them just at once, and the dressmaker’s -was for a considerable sum. Also a note from -Geraldstein asking her to dine with him, curiously -enough, this very evening; he would call -for her at half-past seven, if he did not hear to -the contrary.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Should she accept? He had asked her -once before, but she had refused, chiefly because -he appeared to be so assured that she -would accept. Something in his dogged sensuality -appealed to her; of course, acceptance -would be taken by him, and must be meant -by her, as the first sign of capitulation on her -part, though she had no intention whatever of -surrendering at once, if at all. The thought -of West gave her pause. Geraldstein would -leave and forget her very quickly—variety was -<span class='pageno' title='241' id='Page_241'></span> -the essence of his pleasures. West, if she secured -him, might be a lifelong friend—but—was not -variety growing to be a fascination to her? West -was at Brighton—she would run the risk.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Geraldstein was shown into the drawing room, -being told that Mrs. Squire would not keep him -waiting more than a few minutes. An incredulous -smile flitted across his heavy face, as he glanced -impatiently at the clock, which pointed exactly to -the half hour.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s lucky,” he thought, as he lit a cigarette, -“that we want women for pleasure, not for business. -Time means nothing to them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He picked up the bills which Marian had -left lying upon the mantelpiece, and looked -at them quizzically. Then he glanced at a -photograph of Maddison, and wondered how -long the painter chap would be able to stand -the racket. After a moment’s hesitation, he -folded up the dressmaker’s account, and put -it in his pocket. There was nothing else in -the room that had any interest for him, save -that he glanced at the music on the piano, -and was surprised to find that it was not -music-hall or musical comedy songs. Most of -these women were such coarse brutes; there was -something piquant and appetizing about Marian’s -daintiness and culture.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='242' id='Page_242'></span> -She came quickly in, with a pretty plea for -forgiveness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’ve only kept me three minutes, but it -seemed like an hour,” said Geraldstein restraining -himself by an effort from giving way to the -strong impulse to take her in his arms. “You’re -evidently not an epicure, or you would know what -a crime it is to keep dinner even three minutes -late. However, with luck and a good horse -we shall be in good time. I’ve booked my -pet corner table at Goldoni’s, my pet waiter, -ordered my pet dinner and my pet wine—all—in -honor of you. Have you ever been to -Goldoni’s?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Never; I’ve only heard wonderful tales of it—fairy -tales, I always thought them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, come along to fairyland.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The few who can afford to dine at Goldoni’s -seldom care to dine elsewhere, or rather when they -are elsewhere they sigh for Goldoni’s. Marian -was curious to see for herself what manner of -place was this famous restaurant, and was duly -grateful to Geraldstein for taking her there; she -had feared that he might choose one of the less -reputable haunts of merriment by night, which in -his company might have proved distasteful.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Everything at Goldoni’s is refined except the -company, which has but one common virtue, -<span class='pageno' title='243' id='Page_243'></span> -money. Outwardly, however, even the most gross -conduct themselves there in seemly fashion. On -one occasion only it had not been so, and the -peccant guest had been politely but firmly refused -a table when next he had desired to dine there. -The warning had acted efficaciously and at the -same time had vastly enhanced the renown of -the place. With the exception that instead of -one large there are many small tables in the dining -room the effect aimed at and achieved is that of -a wealthy private house; in fact, it is a private -house in every way; there is no sign above the -ordinary hall door, sedate green with ponderous -brass knocker. Faultless footmen relieve the men -of their coats and hats, and then usher them -into the fine reception room where they wait for -the ladies who are being attended by equally -faultless maidservants. The dining room is a -long, finely proportioned room, broken into halves -by two graceful pillars; the fireplaces are exquisitely -designed—the whole indeed is an admirable -example of Adam’s best work. Along -the top of the cornice, hidden from sight, runs a -row of electric lamps by which, reflected from the -ceiling, a cool light is shed on the apartment. -The table appointments are perfectly simple, just -those of any rich and refined household, and the -attendance is—silent. For the cooking and the -<span class='pageno' title='244' id='Page_244'></span> -wines, “they are not perfection,” M. Goldoni -frankly admits, adding: “but we strive after it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Though Geraldstein was not personally acquainted -with any of the other diners, he knew -many of them by sight and reputation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There—you see that thin little man over -there, with the full-blown wife and half-ripe -daughters—that’s Markham, the American millionaire, -who has more money and less digestion -than any man in the world. He never eats -anything but peptonized biscuit and drinks warm -water.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why does he come here, then?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“To see and be seen. One of the girls—the -least unripe—is engaged to Lord Kent. That -woman at the next table to us is a mystery; nobody -seems to know for certain who she is, whether she’s -a Russian spy, or the natural daughter of a Grand -Duke—or both, or neither.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Geraldstein chatted while Marian quietly but -entirely enjoyed herself. There was a spice in -the knowledge that her companion admired her, -and that, boor as he was in many ways, he was -sufficiently refined to appreciate her and to like -to see her in a worthy setting. Her costume became -her, was a perfect support to her beauty; -the luxury around pleased her; for the time being -she was content, and she did not permit any doubt -<span class='pageno' title='245' id='Page_245'></span> -of the future to depreciate the sure delights of -the present.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The wine Geraldstein had chosen was one of -those Bordeaux for which M. Goldoni’s cellar is -far famed; a mellow, tender wine, whose subtle -flavor passes like the vanishing of a dream, an -innocent wine to the taste, but insidious, full of the -warmth and languor of the sunshine that ripened -the grapes from which it is crushed. Marian -drank it slowly, fully appreciative; it fired her -blood, brought added color to her cheeks and -softness to her eyes. The subdued hum of conversation, -the quiet light, the silent waiters, the -delicious flavor of the foods, the wine—induced a -gentle intoxication and a sense of unreality. She -scarcely heard half of what Geraldstein said to -her. After a while he too became almost silent, -watching her with ever-increasing delight in her -beauty.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked by -and by.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very much. Did you think I wasn’t because -I didn’t talk? I am enjoying myself—very much. -I’d heard a lot about Goldoni’s, but it’s even -better than they said it was. Everything’s puffect, -so are most of the people. What a lovely woman -that is—nearly opposite me—with the black hair -and eyes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='246' id='Page_246'></span> -“That’s the Duchess of Bermondsey and the -Duke. They’re a regular young Darby and Joan, -always together and always looking happy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perhaps they are happy——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why not? There are many varieties of -happiness. I was amused looking over a woman’s -confession-book once, to find that no two of her -friends had—or confessed to having—exactly -the same idea of happiness. I wonder what -yours is?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She turned quickly to him, his question jarring -on her present mood.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m a woman and change my mind every five -minutes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But <span class='it'>now</span>,” he persisted. “If I could satisfy -any wish you had—what would you wish?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t wish for anything—I’m quite content.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Quite content? That means you’re miserable. -Life wouldn’t be worth living if there wasn’t -something left we want and can’t have. I always -seem to be wanting something. I shall look on -it as a sign of old age when I begin to be content. -That’s the one drawback to this place—it’s perfect. -There’s only one perfection I’ve ever found -that I wouldn’t have altered.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='247' id='Page_247'></span> -“What an elaborately led-up-to compliment!” -Marian said, laughing consciously. “How often -has it done duty? Do you pay it to everyone who -dines with you here?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not—quite everyone,” replied Geraldstein, -who behind his exterior heaviness hid a diplomatic -readiness, which was sometimes near akin -to wit. “No, I haven’t used it for a long time. -Not since I met you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not since you met me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, for you’ve altered my standard of perfection.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s very nice, but perhaps that’s been said -before too?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t remember saying it to anyone else. -But are you quite fair? If I didn’t do homage -you would think me a fool, and when I do you -call me a frivol. It’s not much of a choice for a -fellow, is it? Ah! Happy interlude! Coffee. -Goldoni’s coffee, and Goldoni’s <span class='it'>fine champagne</span>, I -give you no choice. And a cigarette? It is -allowed.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian leaned back in her chair, supremely -content; lazily happy, idly watching the other -diners, satisfied with herself, kindly disposed even -to her host.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I hope you don’t mind my not having asked -anyone else,” he said after a while. “I knew how -<span class='pageno' title='248' id='Page_248'></span> -much more I should enjoy myself this way, and—I’m -nothing if not selfish. Have you enjoyed -yourself?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Need you ask? Can’t you see?” she replied, -looking at him with half-closed eyes. “It seems -like a dream—don’t wake me from it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t let us wake from it till—to-morrow.”</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='249' id='Page_249'></span>CHAPTER XX</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> next few days were to Marian days of tumult. -Her abandonment of herself to Geraldstein -had wrought in her a far more serious and far -different change to that which had resulted from -her leaving her husband and going to live with -Maddison. The latter loved her, Geraldstein did -not, indeed made no pretense of doing so, and -her feeling toward him was simply one of desire -for physical excitement and abandon. With Maddison -it was, though of course she did not consciously -argue it out as such, an illegal marriage; -with Geraldstein she stood merely on the footing -of a woman with a price. She now felt utterly -adrift, floating upon the ferocious stream of sensual -pleasure, intoxicated with excitement, and, as -is always the case with every form of intoxication, -the hours of recovery, of struggling back to sobriety, -were hours of pain, half-regrets, half-formed -resolutions toward future restraint, and of -deep depression and reaction.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She realized fully that she had sold herself to -Geraldstein when she received a letter from him -inclosing her dressmaker’s bill receipted, and an -<span class='pageno' title='250' id='Page_250'></span> -apology from him for having ventured without -first asking her permission, to take this care off -her hands. Her first impulse was to be indignantly -angry; then with a half laugh, half shudder, she -threw the bill aside. As she had sold herself she -would be foolish to reject any portion of the price.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Very quickly all regret for what she had done, -and for having committed herself irretrievably to -the life of a common woman, faded away. The -sensation of physical intoxication, of delight in the -delirium of yielding to every sensual impulse, was -fresh and keen, and had not yet lost anything of -its savor. Momentary hesitations, indeed, came -to her, but arising solely from the fear that perhaps -she might have jeopardized her chances -with West. She had not yet lost all ambition, -though mere love of pleasure was rapidly -assuming imperious sway over her deeds and -thoughts.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Physical reaction and depression came to her -now and again, as it must come after all pleasures -which are themselves entirely physical. Lassitude, -tiredness, irritability assailed her, and more and -more frequently she felt compelled to seek in stimulants -an escape from <span class='it'>ennui</span> and weariness. She -talked freely and with frank confidence to Mrs. -Harding, in whose companionship she no longer -felt any restraint. Hitherto this woman, with her -<span class='pageno' title='251' id='Page_251'></span> -outspoken brutality, had half amused, half offended -her; but now there was full community of -aims and practice between them; their lives were -alike, so were their pleasures and their longings.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She laughed with her over her dealings with -Geraldstein and joked over the gross deception -she was practicing on Maddison. She canvassed -with her the schemes she had formed with regard -to West, and the difficulty and possibilities of accomplishing -her aims. All this and more that she -observed for herself, Mrs. Harding reported fully -to her employer Davis, who in turn communicated -it to Mortimer, who in turn kept his counsel, believing -it to be best to wait until a fitting opportunity -arose for opening Maddison’s eyes to the -real character of the woman for whom he was -sacrificing so much of the present and perhaps all -of the future.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Early one evening, about a week after the dinner -at Goldoni’s, West called upon Marian. Although -it was only a little past six o’clock he was -in evening dress.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m so glad to find you at home,” he said. -“I’m all alone and have been working like a nigger -never does. I wonder will you take pity on -me and come and dine with me? We could go -on to the theater or a music-hall afterward, whatever -you like best. I do hope you’re not already -<span class='pageno' title='252' id='Page_252'></span> -booked up—and will take pity on a lonesome -grass-widower.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian had not hoped for any so early an -opening as this, and felt that she must be guarded -in taking advantage of it. West, she felt assured, -was not a man who cared to buy his company -cheaply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I should like it very much,” she answered. -“I don’t often go out—George doesn’t like my -going about much while he’s away. But—I’m -sure he wouldn’t mind my dining with you. I’m -a bit lonesome, too; it’s rather dreary sometimes -when he’s not here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, let’s cheer each other up and be sociable. -I got a regular scare this afternoon; for the first -time in my life I felt not young, and I’m blowed -if I’m going to grow old yet—not me. But work, -work, work and——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He broke off without finishing his sentence and -stared gloomily into the fire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You old!” said Marian, laughing, “I can’t -imagine you that. I thought you were one of those -men too full of energy ever to grow old. I expect -you’re tired.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I guess so, but I shall stay tired, unless I have -something to stop my stewing over business. I’ve -had a tough fight for the last few days, but I’ve -downed a man who tried to down me; but he -<span class='pageno' title='253' id='Page_253'></span> -fought well and has tried me. Young men ought -to feel all the fresher after a fight.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fight! It must be good to be a man and able -to fight. A woman’s just an onlooker—a silly, -helpless onlooker. Oh! How I should love to -be a man and to fight! It’s sickening,” she exclaimed, -pacing angrily up and down the room, her -fists clenched, her cheeks glowing, all for the moment -forgotten except the fiery ambition which -had been smoldering and not yet extinct. “It’s -sickening to have one’s hands tied. A woman -can’t <span class='it'>do</span> anything, she’s not allowed. She’s just a -doll, an ugly doll or a pretty doll, and she squeaks -the words she’s expected to say.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re not like that, though,” West said, -watching her with undisguised admiration.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Here for the first time he was in contact with -a woman both beautiful and intellectually gifted. -He envied Maddison, who, he felt assured, could -never call forth all that Marian could give a man. -Maddison did not deserve her, and if he could -he would win her away from him. He thought of -his wife, the pretty doll; he looked at Marian. -This was the woman who could stir his pulse and -who would spur him on to fight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re not like that,” he repeated; “you -forget one thing. A man fights for himself; a -woman may not be able to do that, but she can -<span class='pageno' title='254' id='Page_254'></span> -make a man fight for her as well as for himself. -That’s the fight worth having. Often and often, -do you know, when I’ve scored heavily, I’ve just -dropped my hands and wondered what on earth I -was working for. Ambition? That’s not worth -a damn. Money? I’ve got more now than I -know how to spend; I just spend it, risk it, for -the sake of making more—a regular wild gambler’s -risk very often. But—well, be a good soul, -pop on a pretty frock and come along.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ll come. Would you like a drink? A -B. and S., or anything—well, not anything, for my -cellar’s jolly low at present.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not for me, thanks. Appetizers spoil my appetite, -and I’ve a rattling good one at the present -moment. How long’ll you be—half an hour—or -an hour—eh?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Half an hour, really not more. I won’t keep -you waiting.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Right. Well, I’ll be back in half an hour, -sharp.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But won’t you wait here?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, thanks; I’ll go for a stroll and a cigarette. -<span class='it'>Au revoir.</span>”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They were both punctual, in fact, Marian was -waiting for him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He held out a spray of green orchids.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I went out to get you these—do wear them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='255' id='Page_255'></span> -She looked magnificent, he thought; a conqueror.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Under Maddison’s guidance she had cultivated -her innate taste for Oriental color and magnificence; -gold and silver embroideries, touches of -brilliant flaming orange and scarlet seemed to defy, -but in reality enhanced, the splendid richness of her -red-gold hair.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She stood before West in a strange greenish-blue -cloak, with heavy gold tassels and braid and -with a hoodlike drapery of sable round her shoulders. -An antique Oriental silver comb, studded -with green and blue stones, held her hair.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How strange,” he said, as she fastened the -flowers in the corsage of her amber gown, “how -strange! If I’d known what you were going to put -on, I couldn’t have chosen the flowers better.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There’s one great pull you women have over -us,” West said, as he looked round the restaurant -with its over-gorgeous gilding and its over-fed -crowd of men and women, “you can dress; men -merely wear clothes. Just look at all these silly -black coats and blank white shirt fronts. What a -difference it would make if we weren’t afraid of -colors and dressed for effect!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It tempts women to wear what doesn’t suit -them, though.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Either you’re not tempted, or you’re very -<span class='pageno' title='256' id='Page_256'></span> -clever and strong-minded. Brave too—there are -not many who could stand those colors you have, -and no one else I know who could wear them as -if any other colors would be wrong. You forget -that among my many businesses I’m a man milliner. -It’s the most difficult job I’ve had to run -that department. Men are easy enough to content, -no matter what they want to buy—clothes, -cigars, wine; they’ve no scope for choice, it’s just -a question of good or bad; but women—and -dresses! My goodness! Now, I wonder if your -taste in dinners is—well, I was going to say as -good as your taste in dress, but what I really mean -is—the same as mine. No soup; just fish, a bird -and a sweet and one wine?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m not going to give myself away. You’re -my host; the guests don’t choose but take. But -I’ll tell you candidly afterward whether I’ve enjoyed -it or not. Unless you’d rather I’d say nice -things whether I mean them or not.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He laughed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s difficult to know—difficult to choose between -pretty insincerity or candid—cold water.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I should have thought you would always -choose candor.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A woman’s why; I’ve no reason, but I sort -of feel it. Aren’t I right?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='257' id='Page_257'></span> -“Do you really expect me to answer—candidly? -To confess being fond of being humbugged, or to -tell a story and say I like candor always? Of -course I don’t; I like being made a fool of, so -now you know and can act accordingly.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I? You’ve handicapped me. It’s no fun -being humbugged when you know it, is it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m not so sure of that,” said West, critically -examining the <span class='it'>sole à la Marguery</span>, which the -waiter submitted for his inspection; “I fancy it -rather depends upon the humbugger. It’s funny -in business to know a man is trying to ‘do’ you, -and to know that he doesn’t know you suspect -him. And—I think most men are rather pleasantly -tickled when they find a pretty woman who -thinks it worth while getting round them. That’s -where you have a man; the greatest compliment -you can pay a man is to flatter him by trying to -lay hold of him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Doesn’t that depend upon the motive? A -rich, ugly man must get rather tired of being run -after.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, it’s one of the pleasant powers that money -brings with it; there’s compensation in thinking -that the handsome poor fool longs in vain to have -what you can command.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You talk as if you were—” Marian broke off -short.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='258' id='Page_258'></span> -“I <span class='it'>know</span> you were going to say,” exclaimed -West, laughing, “that I was the rich, ugly man. -You’re quite wrong,” he added, his eyes still -twinkling with fun; “I’m one of the exceptions: -I’m rich, <span class='it'>and</span> young <span class='it'>and</span> handsome. Don’t -think me conceited, but I can’t bear mock -modesty.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And yet I’m sure you’re ready enough to call -a woman conceited if she’s pretty and shows that -she knows it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not a bit; it’s part of the charm of a pretty -woman that she cannot hide her self-consciousness. -Do you know I haven’t enjoyed a dinner so much -for ages.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They do cook well here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Cook! Cook!” he answered, looking at her -quizzically. “Do you really think I referred to -the food? Of course you don’t. You’re too -sensible; I can buy food of the best every day, -but I’m sorry to say I—can’t have you opposite -me always. That’s very badly put, isn’t it? -Never mind, a compliment prettily paid is generally -a stock one, trotted out on all proper and -some improper occasions; but joking apart, it is -a treat to meet with a woman who can keep up -her own end in a game of conversation. Especially -if she’s——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I <span class='it'>know</span> what you were going to say——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='259' id='Page_259'></span> -“Then I needn’t say it. People are so desperately -stupid, or if they’re not then they’re so desperately -in earnest. A clever woman who can -frivol is delightful.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So is a clever man.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let’s drink our mutual admiration, then,” -said West, looking at her over his glass of sparkling -Rhine wine; “let’s form a mutual admiration -society, strictly limited to two; the only rule being -that we shall dine together at suitable and short -intervals. At present the club’s confined to one -member, myself; will you join it? And consider -to-night the first meeting—of many?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It would be very jolly. But I think you’d -better wait till the evening is over before you -decide whether I’m a properly qualified member, -don’t you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No—I don’t, and I guess that what you really -mean is that you’re not so sure about me. We’ll -pass a new rule then at once: any member tired -of any other member is to confess candidly and -to retire from the club. Now you’re safe——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And—so are you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After due consultation with Marian and an -evening paper, West had telephoned for a box at -the Empire, luckily securing one that had been -returned at the last moment, the house being otherwise -full, it being the first night of a new ballet. -<span class='pageno' title='260' id='Page_260'></span> -Marian was passionately fond of music and sat -behind the curtain of the box, feeling almost as -if she were alone in the vast, crowded theater, listening -intently to the swinging rhythms of the orchestra. -West sat close beside her, watching her -face in the glow reflected from the brilliantly-lit -stage. She looked singularly lovely, her beauty -soft and refined, a glow of quiet content in her -eyes; he noted the delicate molding of her arms -and her tapering fingers as she held up her opera -glasses; he saw the gentle rise and fall of the ruby -star nestling in her bosom; she intoxicated him. -He old! No, young, young, young—an impassioned -youth in love: his mistress a goddess whom -he scarce dared approach! Half unconsciously he -laid his hand on hers as it rested on her lap.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She drew it gently away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t, please don’t. Please don’t spoil -things.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He did not speak for some time, while she apparently -again became absorbed in the <span class='it'>spectacle</span>.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I suppose you’re very fond of Maddison?” -he asked by and by.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fond of him? What a curious question to -ask! Of course I am. Very.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Somehow—I thought you weren’t. I—hoped -you weren’t.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am.” Then turning full toward him, she -<span class='pageno' title='261' id='Page_261'></span> -said earnestly: “Why must you spoil things by -talking this way? What can you think of me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Think of you? You make me afraid to tell -you what I think of you. I—won’t say anything -more—I’ll be good.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To a crash and uproar of applause the curtain -fell and Marian quickly rose.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t want to see anything more. That was -beautiful. Will you put me into a hansom?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let’s go on to supper somewhere. We needn’t -really have supper if you’re not hungry. We can -just pretend and have another chat.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I thought ours was a dining club,” Marian -replied, smiling. “No, thank you very much. -I’ve had an awfully good time, but I’m tired.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When she arrived home she was surprised to -see that the dining room was lit up, still more -surprised to find Geraldstein ensconced there, -smoking a cigar, and a brandy and soda on the -table beside him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“By Jove!” he exclaimed, turning round. “I -believe I was half asleep. I hope you don’t mind -my having made myself at home?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I mind your being here at all,” Marian answered, -angry at the thought of what would have -occurred if West had returned with her. “You -shouldn’t have come in when you found I wasn’t -here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='262' id='Page_262'></span> -“My dear girl, what nonsense. Why not?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Because—I don’t like it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You handsome little tyrant,” he said, laughing -and lazily stretching himself. “You look uncommonly -like Cleopatra, but I can’t flatter myself -I’m an Antony. Don’t be cross.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am cross. It’s late. Good night.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re alone, aren’t you?” he asked suspiciously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What do you mean?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, don’t pretend to be young-missish. If -you’re not alone, I won’t leave you alone, that’s -what I mean.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The reply stung her as would a lash from a -whip; he had a right to make it, a right given to -him by her—in that lay the sting. It was a mere -question of buying and selling now with her; and -this man had bought and demanded payment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where have you been?” he asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It doesn’t concern you,” she replied fiercely. -“I don’t belong to you. Go away.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Go away! Don’t be rude, and don’t tempt -me to be rude and remind you of facts.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There is nothing to compel me to keep you -here to-night. Will you go?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He stood up, yawned, stretched his arms and -then stood looking at her insolently.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re deuced pretty, as you know, and look -<span class='pageno' title='263' id='Page_263'></span> -splendid in those clothes—but clothes cost money -and money can’t be got for nothing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You beast!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Beauty and the beast, capital!” Then he -seized her by the wrists and looked her up and -down, as if she were something offered for sale of -which he was trying to appraise the value. “You -little fool, you’re young and pretty now, but in a -few years you won’t be so proud. All right. There -are others in the market besides you, and they do -pretend, at any rate, to be glad to see me. But -mind, she that will not when she may. Well, I’m -off. Ta-ta!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She did not move until she heard the outer -door shut behind him. He had frightened her, -and what was worse had driven home to her the -fact that she was for sale. For sale to any man -who chose to buy—unless West should rescue her.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='264' id='Page_264'></span>CHAPTER XXI</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>In</span> the early days of their acquaintanceship Mrs. -Harding had felt very favorably disposed toward -Marian, but gradually appreciation had given -place to envy, and liking had been displaced by -dislike. She understood that Marian was her -superior not only in beauty, which she would have -forgiven, but in education and social standing, -which deeply galled her. She realized how badly -she compared with Marian in conversation and -the amenities of life. At first she laughed, -shrugged her sturdy shoulders, consoling herself -with the thought that after all men do not fall in -love with a tongue; but gradually, as she realized -that pretty speech is an excellent support to a -pretty face, she began to hate Marian’s dainty -ways and facile talk. More than once, too, Marian -had shown by some little gesture or some -uncontrolled look that Mrs. Harding’s coarse -coarseness annoyed and jarred upon her. The -latter’s treachery also filled her with the spite -that so often comes to a mean spirit, who has -wronged another. It was not the first time that -Davis had called on her to spy upon a woman -<span class='pageno' title='265' id='Page_265'></span> -with whom she was upon terms of familiarity, but -in other cases the victims had always been those -to whom she had not made any pretense of real -friendship and whose confidence she had not -sought. But Marian had trusted her, and the -betrayal of this trust, combined with jealousy, -drove her for refuge from compunction to hatred -and malice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A further point was this. Some of the practices -to which Mrs. Harding was addicted were -obviously distasteful to Marian; it was a temptation -to her, therefore, to reduce Marian to her -own level, and to this temptation she now yielded. -The episode with Geraldstein pleased her, as a -step in the direction to which she desired to drive -Marian.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One of the practices which was at present abhorrent -to Marian was over-indulgence in drink. -Once she had been spending the evening at a -rather noisy restaurant with Mrs. Harding; they -had met there two young fellows, of that age -when women and wine are temptations all the -more deadly because the yielding to them is held -in reprobation by those from whose authority they -have but recently been released. Marian was utterly -bored by the pointless and often indecent jests, -and watched with disgust the quantity of wine -which her friend drank and its influence upon her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='266' id='Page_266'></span> -Mrs. Harding saw that she was being watched.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t mind her,” she said to the youth who -sat beside Marian, pestering her with his plain-spoken -attentions. “She’s young and is afraid of -being jolly. Some night she’ll get a bottle of -fizzy inside her, and’ll be all over the place before -she knows where she is. Once bitten, never shy -again. Drink up, Marian, it won’t hurt you. -Let’s have another bottle, boys.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian left the party, her departure not meeting -with any real protest, and the next morning -received a visit from Mrs. Harding, whose skin -was unwholesome to look at and her eyes blowzed -and bloodshot.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I suppose you’ll tell me it serves me right,” -she said, “but my head’s aching fit to split. I -wouldn’t have come down, but I’ve run out of -brandy; don’t preach, dear, but just be good and -give me a B. and S.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a week or so after the dinner with West, -Marian’s life was very quiet outwardly. Inwardly -she lived tossed this way and that by a -turmoil of contrary desires. She realized with -terror that she was losing grip upon herself; that -her physical emotions were daily growing more -and more imperious. When she had sundered -herself from her old and had plunged into this -new life, she had fully counted on using her -<span class='pageno' title='267' id='Page_267'></span> -bodily gifts to procure her the ends for which her -soul thirsted. But this life was different to what -she had expected it to be, and now her mental desires -were rapidly growing weaker, and the lust of -mere pleasure and excitement was usurping their -place.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Her visit to Maddison at Rottingdean and her -friendship with West had stayed for a while this -degeneration, and now she had come to look upon -the latter as the one bulwark remaining between -her and a life of promiscuous debauchery.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The time, too, was approaching for her to go -down to Rottingdean again, and the thought of -seeing Maddison was very distasteful. His letters -came regularly, full of love and devotion, -telling how much he missed her, how often he -thought of her, how difficult he found it to stick -to his work, how dissatisfied he was with the -result, and how he counted the hours to the day -when he should see her again. She wrote at less -length and less frequently than he did, and each -time the effort was more laborious to her. She -was anxious that he should not discover her discontent, -still more that he should not obtain any -inkling that he was not as dear and as necessary -to her as she was to him. Now and again dread -came to her when she thought of what might happen -when she dismissed him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='268' id='Page_268'></span> -Her loneliness rendered all these thoughts -the more distressing to her; she was unable to -escape from herself, and herself was the very -worst and most hurtful company that she could -have.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Broken sleep, which quickly became night-long -sleeplessness, was the inevitable result.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One night she lay awake, restlessly shifting her -position from time to time; striving to rest her -mind by fixing it upon matters of indifference, but -without success. Then of a sudden there swept -down upon her a terror that had often stricken -her when a child, but from which she had not -suffered of recent years. What if this sleeplessness -should prove incurable and kill her? Or the -beginning of a dangerous illness? She turned cold -and faint with the horror of the thought of death. -Not of the physical pain with which it might be -accompanied, but of the thing itself. She could -not lie there any longer in the dark; turning up -the light brought no comfort, only rendering the -idea of death more real. She imagined herself -lying there, a nurse in the room, Maddison, perhaps, -by her side. She knowing, they knowing, -that Death stood outside the door, his grisly -knuckle sounding for the admission that could not -be denied. There was added an oppressive sense -of being alone; she refrained with difficulty from -<span class='pageno' title='269' id='Page_269'></span> -shrieking, just for the sake of hearing some living -response.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She recalled how once, soon after their marriage, -her husband had suffered from a long spell -of sleeplessness, brought upon him by over-work, -and how she had told him again and again that if -he would only exert his will he could overcome -his trouble. She remembered, too, that the doctor -had ordered him to set aside his teetotal scruples, -and drink each night before going to bed a glass -of brandy and water, and how much she had disliked -the smell of the spirit.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She slipped out of bed, shivering, for the night -was bitter cold, and having wrapped herself in -her dressing gown made her way to the dining -room. She poured out about a wineglassful of -brandy into a tumbler, added water, and drank -it hastily. She shuddered as she put the glass -down, but the quick warmth of the liquor comforted -her, running like heat through her frame.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After a while she slept heavily, wakening late -in the morning, parched and unrefreshed. She was -not hungry, but drank her tea eagerly, feeling refreshed -for a time.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The following night she placed the decanter of -brandy and the water carafe on the table by her -bedside, and as soon as she became restless had -recourse to them. This time the spirit did not -<span class='pageno' title='270' id='Page_270'></span> -soothe but excited her; wild, aimless thoughts -chased one another rapidly, until it seemed as if -her brain would burst. She drank again, pouring -out a larger amount of the brandy than before; -stupor, then restless slumber resulting.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The thought of each approaching night came to -be a terror by day. She sat up late reading—reading -until her eyes fell heavy with sleep. Then to -bed and to sleeplessness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She saw no one; Geraldstein had dropped her; -West did not come, and she did not see anything -of Mortimer. Mrs. Harding came in once or -twice, but her presence was an irritation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then came the appointed day for her going to -Maddison, and, to her surprise, it was with a sense -almost of relief that she found herself in the train, -speeding away from London.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He met her at the station, and although he said -little, she could not but discern in his face the intense -joy it was to him to see her again. He -looked tired and troubled; even the light of love -that sprang into his eyes as they rested on her -did not dispel from them the curious look that -shows in them when a man is eagerly searching -after that which he cannot find. As it was raining -they drove the whole way to the cottage, not -talking much as they went, he seemingly content -to be quiet, holding her hand tightly in his own.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='271' id='Page_271'></span> -Mrs. Witchout greeted Marian cordially.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You don’t lookaswell, though, as when you -went away,” she said critically; “does she, Mr. -Maddison? I do hear as rosy cheeks ain’t the -fashun in Lunnon. But, there, Lunnon fashuns -ain’t the onlyonesworth follering. Lunch is -ready; Mr. Maddison says I ought to call it -luncheon, but I don’t see that it matters what -you callthingso long as peopleknows whatyermeans.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And how’s the work getting on?” Marian -asked, as they went into the studio.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lamely. Only hobbling. I’ve finished Mrs. -West. What do <span class='it'>you</span> think of it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What does she is more to the point?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No; what do you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian looked long at the portrait before she -answered. It was evidently very like the original, -but there was something in the face that puzzled -her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You told me she was a doll!” she exclaimed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, but I’ve discovered that dolls have hearts -as well as sawdust in them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is that all you notice?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ye-es, I think so,” she answered. “I like -it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He laid his hands on her shoulders, and moved -<span class='pageno' title='272' id='Page_272'></span> -her so that the light fell full upon her face; then -scanned her features closely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m right,” he said, “right. Go and look in -the glass there, then look at the picture again, -and see if <span class='it'>you</span> don’t find something of yourself -reflected in what I meant to be a portrait of another -woman.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian looked closely again at the picture; it -was true; as he said there was a distinct semblance -of herself, a fleeting likeness which it was impossible -to define, but unmistakable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You see, Marian, I’ve tried doing without -you and I cannot; we must never leave each other -again—why should we? We love each other—you -do love me still, dear, don’t you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, George, of course I do.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course you do! That sounds so cold. It -seems to me this way,” he said, sitting down, drawing -her on to his knee and resting his head against -her shoulder; “life’s so short, and there’s only one -thing in it worth having; your love’s just all to me. -So why waste any of our time by being apart? -We can go away and live quite quietly somewhere, -or live here—it’s cheap enough; and if I only paint -a picture a year we shall be well off, even if they’re -not my best,” he added, sighing and looking at the -portrait.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She did not answer him, but fondled his hair -<span class='pageno' title='273' id='Page_273'></span> -and pressed him close to her, which she knew -would speak to him more eloquently than any -words she could put together. Never before -had she felt quite so helpless to deal with this -love of his, which had grown so much more intense -than she had counted upon its becoming. -At any rate the time was not yet come for her -to show him anything of coldness, and her cool -fingers ran through his thick dark hair and he was -comforted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I must put you into another picture; make -myself immortal by painting you always; you -must be my Emma. What shall it be next? As -a Bacchante? Your eyes wild with excitement and -your cheeks glowing like red roses? Your lips -just parted and your little teeth peeping out between? -I <span class='it'>could</span> do it; by Jove, I will do it. We’ll -begin to-morrow; we mustn’t work to-day. That’s -my mistake! I ought never to have tried to paint -without you as my model.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re forgetting me!” she said, an idea coming -to her, which held out promise of sufficient -excuse for leaving him again soon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Forgetting you—do you think that I ever -forget you for a single moment? You know—I -often used to think myself in love, but it never -lasted. Then I began to believe that love wasn’t -very much after all, and that people were fools -<span class='pageno' title='274' id='Page_274'></span> -or ignorant who said it was the only thing in life -worth having. You’ve taught me better, dear. -But what did you mean by saying I’d forgotten -you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’ve—left me out of your plans!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Left you out? Why, you’re just everything!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not quite. You couldn’t go on loving a -woman who had no pride, could you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I could love you whatever you were.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But that’s not right, George. When I—came -to you, you were a great man, but not nearly -so great as you were going to be. And now I -have spoiled all your future and you don’t seem -to have any ambition left. No,” she said, forcing -herself away from him and with a gesture forbidding -him to follow her, “I’m <span class='it'>not</span> going to spoil -your life. If I come between you and your work—I’ll—leave -you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Leave me!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The agony in his voice startled her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Leave me!” he repeated, striding across to -her and holding her fiercely to him. “I think I’d -kill you before I’d let you do that.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t, George, don’t,” she gasped; “you’re -frightening me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m so sorry, love, but—why do you say such -horrid things to me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='275' id='Page_275'></span> -“What I said was right. If I can’t help you -with your work, George, I’ll do this; if in a few -days you can’t begin a picture without me in it, -can’t prove that you can work with me near you—I’ll -go away and I’ll stay away until you can -tell me that I can come back safely to you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So that’s your plan! But it will take two to -carry it out, and I won’t make the second. I simply -<span class='it'>won’t</span> let you go. So that’s settled.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You don’t want me to be happy? Is your love -so selfish as all that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So selfish!” he said, freeing her, dropping his -arms, standing amazed. “Selfish! Oh, my love, -you’re right, right. It was damnably selfish; I was -just thinking of myself. But—are you happy -when you’re not with me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You know I’m not, George. But—I’m so -proud of you, and I should hate myself if I -knew I was standing in your way. I should be -unhappy with you then. Besides, dear, is—is——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is it right to love me like that? Love ought -to help you, not harm you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Help me! It has helped me to understand -what happiness is. I didn’t know that before.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, George, you mustn’t kill my pride; -keep me proud of you, proud of having helped -<span class='pageno' title='276' id='Page_276'></span> -you, proud of myself. There, we’ll talk no more -about it now, and to-morrow, or the next day, -you shall start another picture, only I will not be -your model.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No! We’re not going to argue the first day -we are together. Look, the rain’s over and the -sun’s trying to come out. I’ll run up and put on -my country boots and hat, and we’ll go for a walk -over the downs.”</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='277' id='Page_277'></span>CHAPTER XXII</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>For</span> the first time West hesitated in his dealing -with a woman. Partly it was that Marian puzzled -as well as attracted him, partly it was that the -precipitancy of his marriage with Agatha and its -failure gave him pause before he took the step of -trying to win Marian away from Maddison. He -admired her, but he was by no means sure that -the admiration was mutual; indeed part of her -attraction for him was that she had not in any way, -so far as he could see, endeavored to bring him -to her side. Hitherto the women whom he had -met had made little effort to conceal the fact that -his money rendered him a welcome suitor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was his custom every morning to walk in -Hyde Park before going to business; it was usually -the only hour in the day which was not interrupted -and in which, therefore, he could think -clearly. This mental constitutional was broken -up one day by meeting Alice Lane. They came -suddenly face to face at a sharp turning close by -the Serpentine.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re most unfashionably early!” he said, -falling into step with her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='278' id='Page_278'></span> -“I’m unfashionable in everything, I think. I -didn’t know you were in town.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is that a kind of way of reminding me that -I ought to have called? I’ve been awfully -busy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How’s Agatha? Is she still at Brighton?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes. She’s much better and beginning to enjoy -herself. What have you been doing?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Just nothing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can’t believe that of you. You’d go crazy if -you hadn’t something to do.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, I stopped weeks with you and didn’t -do a single thing the whole time.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s true,” he admitted, laughing; “but -you always manage to give the impression of being -busy. Like one of my men, whom I had to fire -out the other day—he was always awfully busy and -didn’t get any work done.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve no work to do.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>West felt curiously constrained; not that anything -in her tone or manner jarred upon him; she -was frankly kind as she always was to him. He -did not feel that he had anything to say to her -and small talk failed him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They walked on for some little distance without -speaking.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My brother’s engaged to be married,” she said -suddenly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='279' id='Page_279'></span> -“Really! That’s good. I must write and congratulate -him. But it’ll be a nuisance for you, -won’t it? I suppose it will be the customary -‘two’s company.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I shan’t try to make it anything else. It -wouldn’t be fair to her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fair to her! That’s like you; that’s you all -over. I’d bet anything you haven’t bothered to -think about yourself. What a show up you good -women make of us men!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t say things like that about me,” she -answered, so fiercely that he stared at her astonished, -“<span class='it'>don’t</span>. It’s so utterly untrue. What on -earth does a man ever know about a woman? I’m -hateful to myself, and I’d be hateful to you if -you knew me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m sorry—something’s wrong and I’ve -touched you on the raw; I’m sorry. Not that I -believe you a bit you’re worrying about something -that wouldn’t give me a twinge. I—suppose -I can’t help you any way?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You—no, no, thanks.” She clenched her fingers -tightly inside her muff. “No one can help -me and I can’t help myself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “You’re such a -good sort, I hate to see you suffering; I’m afraid -it’s something pretty bad.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’d rather not talk about myself. Tell me -<span class='pageno' title='280' id='Page_280'></span> -about yourself. Don’t you feel lonesome up here -without Agatha?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, we’re settling down into conventional -married life. Quite pleased to be together, but not -inconsolable when we’re apart. Aggy’s growing -up and finding other amusements in life besides -honeymooning.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And you?” she asked, not looking at him, -but fixing her gaze straight ahead.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I? Didn’t I tell you I’m very busy?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And that’s all you care about?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m beginning to think so. It’s really the -only game worth playing. Now, here we are at -Hyde Park corner. Shall I take a turn back -with you and be late at the office? Or be a -good boy, remember that work’s first, pleasure -second?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Be a good boy,” she replied, holding out her -hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She stood still, watching him as he strode -rapidly away, and when he was out of sight, still -stood there, her lips tightly pressed together, suppressing -the cry of hopelessness that tried to force -its way from her heart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>West telegraphed later on in the morning to -Marian, saying that he would call in the evening -on the chance that she would be free to dine with -him and go on to a theater afterward, and Marian -<span class='pageno' title='281' id='Page_281'></span> -on her arrival from Brighton found the telegram -awaiting her and welcomed it. Her stay -at Rottingdean had rested her, had done good -to her physically, but had sent her back thirsty -for amusement. She had intended to write to -West, but good fortune had brought him to her -uncalled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She dressed herself with peculiar care, and was -ready for him when he arrived.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“By Jove, this is luck,” he said, “unless you’ve -dressed to go out somewhere else? Don’t tell me -that and turn a lonely man out on a lonely -world.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, I didn’t know what I was going to do -with myself when I found your wire here. I only -came up from Brighton to-day.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’ve been down there? Well, where shall -we go?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Anywhere, only somewhere where there are -lots of people. I went down there for a change; -I’ve come up here for a change.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aren’t I change enough? There’s conceit! -Here, slip on your cloak, and we’ll discuss our -destination in the cab as we go along.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian had chosen to go to the Gaiety and -West had telephoned to the theater, being lucky -enough to secure two good stalls. The first act -was well under way when they entered the darkened -<span class='pageno' title='282' id='Page_282'></span> -theater, slipping quietly into their seats, amid -the more or less skillfully disguised annoyance of -their neighbors.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When the curtain fell, Marian looked round -the well-dressed house, with its atmosphere of -well-to-do-ness and good dinners. West noted the -graceful curves of the arm as she held up her -opera-glasses, and when she laid them down on her -lap and turned to him, noticed, too, how brightly -her eyes shone and how well her flushed cheeks -became her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You do love pleasure, <span class='it'>don’t</span> you?” he said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I do. Don’t you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes. But somebody told me the other day -that I was getting old. Perhaps that explains -why I don’t seem able to let myself go as I used -to do.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Doesn’t that depend a good deal upon who -you are with?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I’ve been keeping dull company lately, -chiefly my own.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s not a pretty compliment to me!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I said ‘lately,’ not to-night. I don’t think -even a plaster saint could be dull with you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can be dull with myself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That may be; it takes flint and steel to strike -a spark.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Which am I?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='283' id='Page_283'></span> -“Does it matter—so long as the flame -comes?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was looking vaguely round as he spoke to -her, but suddenly his eyes rested on Alice Lane -sitting in a box with two other ladies and her -brother. She saw and recognized him at the -same moment. He felt uncomfortable; he did -not mind who else saw him, but he would have -preferred not having been seen by her in Marian’s -company; he knew that she would understand -the character of the woman he was with, even if -she did not already know her by sight and reputation. -Though after all, why should it worry -him? Women did not seem to take any account -of such things nowadays. But it did annoy him, -argue as he would, for he was sure that Alice was -not one of the many.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have you found some friends?” asked Marian, -following the direction of his eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Acquaintances. One always meets some one -one knows here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The electric bells were ringing for the beginning -of the next act, and in the bustle made by -men returning to their seats, and the striking up -of the orchestra, conversation dropped, though -Marian scanned curiously the calm, strong face of -the woman in the box, who, instinct told her, was -the one who knew West.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='284' id='Page_284'></span> -He had made up his mind to put his fortune to -the touch with Marian this evening, feeling fairly -certain from her manner toward him at dinner -that she liked him and would desert Maddison for -him. He had decided to take another flat for her, -it not being his taste to keep his lady-bird in a nest -that another man had feathered. At any rate, -no real harm could come of the experiment; if -she proved difficult or dull, a check would cut -him loose.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He watched the performance without interest. -The sight of Alice Lane had stirred something in -him that had taken away his relish of Marian’s -company. He could not but compare the two. -Alice so strong, so trusty, such a good, true comrade. -Marian pretty, bright, empty-hearted, -ready to sell herself to anyone who could assure -her luxury and pleasure, or even luxury alone. -Then his thoughts ran on to his wife, a nonentity -to him. What a difference it would have made -had he not married her, had he really known -Alice first, and been able to make her love him. -There would be no tiring of her, he knew. -Or if Marian were Alice—there had been such -women, or scarcely exactly such, but rather -women like Alice, who counted the world’s opinion -as nothing, and were ready and happy to -throw aside every other joy in life, in exchange -<span class='pageno' title='285' id='Page_285'></span> -for the men they loved. But Alice was not -like that, and did he love her? Of that he did -not feel so certain. He was very fond of her, -but surely not in love, or he would have missed -her more than he had done. He felt rather that, -if he were free to love her, he could and would -do so, would do so passionately and forever. -But she was not for him; it was sheer folly -to let his thoughts stray toward the impossible. -The possible sat beside him, and with that he -must try to content himself; try to be content -with pretty make-believe instead of a beautiful -reality.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He would wait, however, until to-morrow or -the next day. Marian would not run away, and -perhaps would behave all the better for finding -that he was not easily caught.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So as they went out of the theater he -said:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I hope you won’t think me very rude not asking -you to supper, but I’ve an appointment at my -club I must keep.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I think it’s awfully kind of you to have -given me such a jolly evening—that’s all I -think.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But he knew well enough from the dark look -that she could not keep out of her eyes, that she -was disappointed and angry. It amused him, and -<span class='pageno' title='286' id='Page_286'></span> -assured him that he had only to ask and she would -give.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She clenched her teeth angrily as the hansom -spun along homeward. She had meant that he -should ride by her side this night.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='287' id='Page_287'></span>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> next morning West walked as usual -through the Park, and to his surprise again met -Alice Lane, who greeted him cordially.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You offered me the chance of a talk with you -yesterday,” she said abruptly, “and I was rude -enough to refuse. Will you give me another -chance?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why, of course you know I will,” he answered, -eyeing her keenly, wondering if after all -she were about to tell him that he could help her -in the difficulty created by her brother’s engagement; -hoping, indeed, that it was so.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had walked home the night before, and had -sat up late over the fire, thinking the whole -while about her. It had been borne in upon him -that in reality he did love her; not as he had -loved other women from mere physical attraction, -but with a strong, deep affection that made her -necessary to him, as he now understood. So -long as she did not care for anyone else, so long -as he could have her frequent companionship -and sympathy, he would, he hoped, be content. -So far as anything else could be, he had given a -<span class='pageno' title='288' id='Page_288'></span> -hostage to fortune; his wife stood between him -and the one woman who had raised his desires -above mere sensuality.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You were at the theater last night,” she said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He laughed as he answered:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So were you. I saw you and you saw me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, it was a stupid remark. I was going to -say that I know who was the woman with you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She spoke nervously, hesitatingly, in strong -contrast to her usual quiet, serene way of speaking.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I saw her at Brighton with Mr. Maddison, -and Agatha told me about her. But even if I’d -not heard anything about her, I should have -known <span class='it'>what</span> she is. Are you disgusted at my -talking like this? Are you going to tell me—quite -kindly, I know—to mind my own business? -I think it <span class='it'>is</span> my business. I’m your friend, and -with me friendship doesn’t mean sitting by and -watching a friend—lowering himself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re a real friend,” he said, holding out -his hand and pressing hers—“a real friend. But -friendship’s blind as well as love. You put me -higher than I am; I’m not lowering myself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not higher than you were once, at any rate. -And what you were once, you can be again. You -don’t love Agatha, then?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He hesitated a moment before replying.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='289' id='Page_289'></span> -“No, and I see now I never did,” he answered. -“I didn’t know anything about her when I married -her, or about myself either. I thought I could -go on loving her and that we should be happy together. -We aren’t. I can’t make her happy and -she can’t make me. You knew that when you -asked me, didn’t you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, but I wanted to hear you say so.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You don’t care for that other woman?” she -asked, ignoring his question.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You know that too. You know I don’t.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And—you can’t live alone?” she spoke almost -in a whisper so that he could scarcely catch -her words.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s just it. I can’t bear being alone now. -I used not to mind it a bit, but somehow I seem -to have been changing lately—since I found out -that Agatha couldn’t be a real companion to -me. I never wanted one before; I suppose thinking -I had found one and finding I had not, has -made me long for one. So—don’t blame me too -much.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m not blaming you,” she said fiercely almost. -“You don’t think I’m preaching to you?—don’t -think that. How little you know of me! -I suppose you imagine I’m a cold-blooded saint? -I’m not. I’m a woman. I can forgive any man, -<span class='pageno' title='290' id='Page_290'></span> -or any woman either, anything that they do for -love, real love. But—women like the one you -were with last night I can’t forgive—they’re pests, -beasts themselves and making beasts of others. Is -that the kind of thing you expected <span class='it'>me</span> to say? I -can see it isn’t.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>West did not answer. He was utterly amazed -at his complete ignorance of one he believed he -knew well.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’ve never—really understood what love -means,” she went on; “I sometimes think that -only women do.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re wrong there, Alice. I, for one, know. -Only—only, I found out too late. I did not find -out until after I was married and the woman I -love—well—you understand. I’ve got what I -don’t want and I can’t get what I do.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re not a coward?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A coward? I hope not. One never knows.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But isn’t it rather cowardly because you -think you can’t have what you long for, to -go and play at love—with such women as -that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It means nothing. No more than a good -dinner or a beautiful picture or a play. Just -passes the time.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It means more than that,” she said, speaking -very earnestly and quickly, “ever so much -<span class='pageno' title='291' id='Page_291'></span> -more than that. It means that you are degrading -love, by taking part of it and making it common -and vile. That’s what it means, and you see it -clearly enough when a woman does it. Don’t -you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I suppose so.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You do, you <span class='it'>do</span>,” she exclaimed, standing -still and looking straight at him; but he dropped -his eyes before hers, and ground his heel into the -soft gravel, “you do! I don’t care what a man -or a woman does for love. I’m not talking unthinking -nonsense about the sanctity of marriage—there’s -just one thing in the world, and everything -done in its name is forgivable.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You mean——?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Love.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He looked at her now.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Love?” he said. “My God, there’s no man -in the world worthy of you. Alice, I thought you -were really in trouble yesterday, and I wanted to -help you—is it that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is it—what?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you in love, and—are things going -wrong? Perhaps I can’t help you really, but at -any rate I can sympathize.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes,” she answered, still looking at him. He -had never realized fully the beauty of her face, -softened now from its wonted passivity, or the -<span class='pageno' title='292' id='Page_292'></span> -deep splendor of her eyes. “I do love, so I <span class='it'>can</span> -understand.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m so sorry,” he said, angry with himself at -the downright incompetency of his words.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You needn’t be. I didn’t know how incomplete -my life was until—I loved. It’s made me -happy. Doesn’t it help you, too? Even though -it must be hopeless?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, it’s strange; I didn’t know until last -night that I really did love anyone. When I said -good-by to her—at the theater—I walked home, -and I sat alone by my fire and thought. A lot of -things I hadn’t understood came clear, and now—I -hardly think I’m the same man I was yesterday. -But—I know myself too well; I shall soon drift -back to what I was. If she loved me—it would -be different. Now, don’t talk any more about -myself. Tell me—can I help you in any -way?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, you can.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How? I’m so glad. You’re such a thundering -good sort that—I’d give a great deal to be -able to do you a good turn. What a fool the -fellow must be!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You can help me a great deal, by helping me -to honor and respect the man—I love.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why,” he asked, puzzled and surprised, -“how can I do that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='293' id='Page_293'></span> -“By remembering what I’ve said about not -lowering yourself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Still she looked straight at him, and he at her. -Gradually he came to understand what she meant.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Alice—it’s me you love! No, don’t answer -me till I’ve spoken. I told you that I found -myself last night, and found out that I loved a -woman, really and truly loved her. You’re the -woman, Alice, but I never dreamed that you could -care for me. Tell me now—is it me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was no necessity for her to speak. The -light in her eyes was more eloquent than any -words could have been, and careless whether -anyone was watching, he seized her hands in -his.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Alice, you do love me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then he drew himself apart quickly, saying:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I forgot.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What is it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Agatha.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t pretend not to know what you mean,” -she said slowly. “Do you think I haven’t -thought of her? If she had loved you, or -been able to love you, you should never have -known. But as things are—there’s only one way—we -love.”</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='294' id='Page_294'></span>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Marian</span> was very angry at West’s unexpected -desertion after the theater. When she reached -home she sat down by the bright fire in the -drawing room, which she had told the servant to -keep up well, and gave full rein to her disappointment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It would soon be time to go down again to -Rottingdean; Maddison had written to say that -work was progressing fast and well, and calling -on her to keep her promise to return to him when -he could truly report that things were going satisfactorily. -She hated the very thought of him now—without -any reason, as she admitted to herself. -She had looked to West for rescue, and now he -seemed about to fail her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A ring at the outer bell surprised her, and, -knowing her maid to be in bed, she went to answer -it herself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hullo,” said Mrs. Harding, as Marian -opened the door and looked inquiringly out. “Are -you alone?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, come in.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Only for half a shake. I’ve got two boys -<span class='pageno' title='295' id='Page_295'></span> -upstairs, and I thought if you were alone, you’d -like to come up for a bit. They’re both pretty -oofy, and I can spare you one of them. Come -along. You look spiffing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The angry blood in her jumped at this unexpected -opportunity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Harding’s room reeked with cigarette -smoke and the smell of spirits. Two well-dressed -young men lounged one on each side of -the fireplace, in front of which stood the sofa -on which Mrs. Harding had evidently been -lying.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here, boys,” she said, ushering in Marian. -“Now we shall be a four. Two’s company, so’s -four, when they split into twos. I’m not good -at introductions: Bobby Williams and Chawles -Brewer, who never gets quite so intossicated as his -name suggests, and this is Marian, though I can’t -call her Maid Marian. Now, you sit down that -end of the sofa and keep your eye on Bobby or -he’ll run you in before you know where you are. -Have a drink? I’ve only got B. and S.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, thanks, I’m thirsty. I’ve been at the -Gaiety, and theaters always make me dry.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Bobby, as a rule, was not at a loss for conversation -in such society as the present, but Marian’s -beauty and style overawed him at first. As for -her, she was mad with the spirit of dare-devilry -<span class='pageno' title='296' id='Page_296'></span> -and threw away all remaining sense of decency. -She drank eagerly at the brandy-and-soda, soon -handing the glass to Bobby to be replenished.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Say when,” he said, holding up the tumbler -and the spirit decanter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“When!” said Marian, stopping him when he -had poured out a stiff allowance, “and not too -much water. And then you may mix quite a mild -dose for yourself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She laughed gayly as she took the glass from -him, and Mrs. Harding was not so engrossed in -her companion’s talk as to fail noticing Marian’s -wildness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Been dining too—eh, Maid Marian?” she -asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, so I’m not hungry, only thirsty. Now, -Bobby, amuse me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What shall I do?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Talk, tell stories, anything except be serious. -I daresay Ethel told you I was a serious young -person, but I’m not. She don’t really know -me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nor do I,” said Bobby; his eyes adding that -he would like to do so.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s a misfortune that can be mended.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Her color heightened and her eyes grew -brighter as the brandy warmed her blood, and a -stray tress of hair fell deliciously down her -<span class='pageno' title='297' id='Page_297'></span> -neck. She put up her feet on his knees as she -repeated:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bobby, amuse me. I want amusing badly. -You look full of fun. Look here, Ethel, you -play us a tune and we’ll dance. I must do something!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She sprang up and was pushing the table aside -with Bobby’s assistance, when Mrs. Harding -stopped her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For the Lord’s sake, no. We shall wake the -people below, and they’re goody-goody and will -kick up a devil of a fuss.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She tried to push Marian back on to the sofa, -but she resisted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, I won’t. You said the four had better -split up. So we will. Come along, Bobby, we’ll -trot downstairs to my place and leave these two -to canoodle by themselves.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>The next day her head ached rackingly, and -she had but dim recollections of what she had -done the night before. She remembered getting -out a bottle of wine, which she and Bobby had -drunk together; remembered having become uproariously -merry; then quarrelsome over something -he had said or done; then madly merry -again; she dimly remembered his embrace and -his going away in the dim gray of the early -<span class='pageno' title='298' id='Page_298'></span> -morning, making some excuse about having to go -back to his rooms to dress as he had to be at the -office early. Her head ached and her eyes were -heavy and hot. Her clothes were wildly tossed -about the room and one of his white gloves -stared at her ridiculously as it lay on the dark -carpet. Several sovereigns lay on the dressing -table. She rang the bell and the maid brought -her tea, which seemed tasteless, and a letter from -Maddison, which she threw impatiently aside, -unopened.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The day seemed endless.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Harding came down to her in the afternoon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, you’re a nice cup of tea, you are; you -demure little monkey, do you often carry on like -that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If I did, I suppose I shouldn’t have such a -beastly headache.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t know so much about that; I’m a pretty -hardened vessel, but a drink too much always -gets back at you in the morning, I find. I don’t -feel too bright myself, and I don’t look much of -a beauty,” she said, looking into the glass. “This -life knocks spots out of one, there’s no doubt, but -it’s the only one worth living—merry if it is short. -Had a hair of the dog that bit? If not, why not? -I’ll have one too, he bit me a bit.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='299' id='Page_299'></span> -“Help yourself; you’ll find it on the sideboard -in the next room.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Feel so cheap as all that? Buck up! Have -one with me, and you’ll soon feel spry again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian did not refuse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What are you doing to-night?” asked -Mrs. Harding. “I’m dining out with my old -man, who’s just wired me he gets back this -afternoon, or we could have had a lark together -somewhere.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m not doing anything.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How’s your young man? George’s been -away a long time. Wouldn’t he be wild if he -knew what a rollicking time the mouse has when -the cat’s away. It’s just like men; they expect -us to be jolly when they want us, and we jolly -well have to be—but as for being jolly when -they’re away—oh, Lord, no, that’s shocking. -My lord may carry on with as many as he likes, -but one woman one man. Thank goodness, they’re -easily bamboozled.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mrs. Harding did not remain for long. She -did not care for dull company, which Marian -undoubtedly was this afternoon. She felt a -trifle mean, too. She did not know for what -purpose Davis desired the information he had -asked her to obtain, but believed it to be for -Maddison, and knew that if such was the case, -<span class='pageno' title='300' id='Page_300'></span> -Marian’s next meeting with him would not be -pleasant.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Marian did not go out that day or the next, -spending her time reading and dozing over the -fire. She hoped to hear from West, but no message -of any sort came from him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On the third day, she dressed early in the -afternoon, and went in the omnibus down to -Regent Street. As she stepped on to the pavement -at Oxford Circus, she knocked against -a man who was passing. He did not notice -her, but she recognized West, and with him -the woman she had seen at the Gaiety. They -were evidently absorbed in one another, so -much so that he did not apologize to Marian -for an accident which was more than half his -fault. Her first impulse was to walk up to -him and speak to him. Then a sickening sense -of the difference between the other woman and -herself stopped her; they could not be rivals. -She had set her wares before West, and if he did -not wish to buy them, she could not force him -to do so.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She went slowly on past the shops, to look -into the windows of which was usually a -pleasure to her, but now she saw nothing except -a vague throng going to and fro; she -heard vaguely the roar of the traffic; she was -<span class='pageno' title='301' id='Page_301'></span> -looking vaguely straight ahead at her future, -and listening to its call. This was then the -end of her ambitions? Well, after all, did -it matter so much to her? There were other -joys in life, and while she retained her beauty, -she need not want for luxury and ease. The -future called to her and her vicious blood -soon answered almost gladly, almost eagerly; -she had sipped already at the cup of unruly -pleasures, she would drink deep of it now. -The thought of reckless, unrestrained, unlicensed -enjoyment intoxicated her. As she -passed a painted, over-dressed Frenchwoman, -she thanked God that she was not such as that -one. Not such to look at; but the very relics -of decency in her seemed to drive her on to -acting like the lowest of them all. As for -Maddison—she would write and tell him she was -tired of him. He would probably make a scene, -but that would not hurt her, and then she would -be free.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She turned up a side street and went into a -public-house to which Mrs. Harding had once -taken her late at night and which had then been -crowded with men and women. The saloon bar, -with its pretentious decorations, was empty and -looked seedy and shabby by the light of day. -She ordered a liqueur of brandy and sipped it -<span class='pageno' title='302' id='Page_302'></span> -slowly, listening the while to a heated controversy -between two cabmen in the next compartment. -As she went out of the heavy swing -doors, a man passed quickly by; he looked at -her surprised—she recognized Mortimer. She -watched him as he walked on and round the -corner into Regent Street, and then followed in -the same direction, but did not catch sight of him -again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was utterly at a loss what to do to while -away the afternoon. Later on she intended to -dine and then go to a music-hall. Meanwhile, -the hours would hang heavy on her hands. The -spirit she had drunk, too strong and none too pure, -filled her with spurious energy that a sharp -walk soon dispelled, leaving behind a feeling half -of nausea, half of faintness. She laughed as she -remembered Mrs. Harding’s invariable remedy on -similar occasions, and went into another public-house, -but this time did not drink the brandy -neat. A man was leaning over the bar talking -familiarly with the barmaid, and he turned to -look inquisitively at Marian. When she raised -her glass to drink he did the same, looking at -her insolently, and followed her when she left -the place.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, my dear, where are you off to?” he -asked, slipping his hand through her arm. “If -<span class='pageno' title='303' id='Page_303'></span> -you’ve nothing better to do—and what could be -better?—take me to tea at your place. Here’s a -hansom; let’s jump in.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a moment she hesitated. Then, with a -laugh and look, stepped with him into the cab.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='304' id='Page_304'></span>CHAPTER XXV</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>Though</span> the days were lengthening out toward -the spring, there were many hours during each -when the light was not clean and clear enough -for painting; these Maddison found unspeakably -dreary. He was greatly tempted often -either to call Marian back to him or to run up -to town to see her, but he did not give way to -the impulse, for he had determined to test this -plan of hers to the bitter end. He did not much -believe that she was right and that separation -would enable him to do better with his work. -Rather to the opposite opinion he inclined, that -constant companionship would make them become -one, all in all to each other, so that no longer -would her presence disturb him, but on the contrary -would inspire and spur him on to greater -things than he had ever achieved before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The new picture, a view of the downs and the -gray sea beyond, progressed apace, but he was -not satisfied with it. There was no defect in it -that he could name or which he felt he could -amend, but there was something lacking. The -outward semblance was right; it was the inward -<span class='pageno' title='305' id='Page_305'></span> -spiritual grace that was lacking. Probably no -other than himself would notice it, yet it hurt -him. He felt as if some power had gone out of -him, and that he painted no longer with gusto or -firm, imperative inspiration. His skill had not -deserted him, the coloring and the drawing satisfied -his exacting taste and his intimate knowledge -of nature. But it was only the outside of nature -that he had caught and fixed; the heart of her -was not there, as it had been in the pictures that -had brought him name and fame. This was a -dead thing—there was no life in it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He could not understand why his love for -Marian should have affected him in this way or -to so great an extent. Why should the absorption -in her of all his hopes in any degree depreciate -his insight into and love of nature? Surely a -man might serve a woman and nature too? But -though he could not trace its working or even fix -in what it lay, he knew that some change had -come over him, and that since he and Marian had -been together he was a different man. This love -that he had fully counted on to elevate and -ennoble him, seemed to restrain him from reaching -to that which had before been easily within -his grasp.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Perhaps, he sometimes thought, it was that he -was not altogether free from anxiety concerning -<span class='pageno' title='306' id='Page_306'></span> -her. To her this separation had not appeared to -be so miserable a thing as it was to him. She -had suggested it, had argued for it, had not admitted -any of the drawbacks which he had seen -in it, and had absolutely refused to be shaken -from her determination. On the other hand, she -might have felt it as deeply and as keenly as he -had done, while for his sake and to make it bearable -for him, she had just put on a brave face, -smiling when tears would easily have come. If -this were so, how brave she had been and how -cowardly he.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This thought had come to him one morning -when he had found work difficult, and was about -to leave it for the day. It invigorated him; he -would not be outdone by her, or he would ever -have to reproach himself for not having faithfully -abided by his word to work with all his might. -Work! Yes, not for himself, but for her. If -that did not drive him on, if that failed to inspire -him, he was weak indeed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Again and again, however, fears and doubts -assailed him. He would wake suddenly in the -night, aroused by no apparent cause, and would -start thinking about her, wondering if she were -well and happy. At first he had written to her -almost daily, until she had forbidden him to do -so any longer, urging that it was nearly, if not -<span class='pageno' title='307' id='Page_307'></span> -quite as harmful for him to do this as to have -her chattering and laughing by his side. Her letters -to him had grown more and more infrequent, -shorter and shorter; mere little messages now, -that stimulated a hunger they did not do anything -to satisfy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A curious change had come over his imaginings. -In the early days after her going away he had -found no difficulty in conjuring up her face before -his mind’s eye. Gradually the image had grown -vaguer and more vague until at last, if he would -think of her as she was, he had to look at “The -Rebel.” What memories the picture called back -to him! The meeting with her that foggy afternoon -in Bond Street; years ago it seemed, but in -reality only a few brief months; the afternoon he -had first gone down to visit her at Kennington; -the thought that he had then that she was -deliciously beautiful, and that he would love to -have her for his playmate; the birth of a better -feeling, the growth of his deep love for her; the -finding her alone and lonely in that stuffy -Bloomsbury hotel; the long days and nights of -delight that they had passed together since. -Again and again he reproached himself for little -attentions that he had failed to pay her, and for -the few bitter words that he had spoken to her -once in a moment of irritation. He was so utterly -<span class='pageno' title='308' id='Page_308'></span> -unworthy of her that in good truth he should -have done for her all the little that was in his -power. He had kept her apart from his friends -selfishly, with the result that she must be very -lonely now. He had written to Mortimer asking -him to do anything he could to relieve the monotony -of her existence. What a dear woman she -was, he thought over and over again, to put up -with all the troubles and worries he had brought -upon her—all for love of him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So whenever any slightest shadow of doubt of -her entered his mind, he gave it no resting-place -there, but chased it away as an insult and a deep -wrong to the woman who had intrusted her life’s -happiness to his poor keeping.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As the picture drew near completion he worked -every minute that the sun gave to him, for when -it was finished he would be free to go to her. It -was his letter telling her that but a few more days, -a week at most, kept them apart, which she had -tossed aside unopened and had afterward thrown -upon the fire unread.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had been painting patiently all one morning, -almost angrily sometimes because he could not -exactly translate his thought to the canvas, when -he was surprised by a knock at the door of the -cottage. Mrs. Witchout had not yet returned -from her morning’s marketing, so he went to the -<span class='pageno' title='309' id='Page_309'></span> -door himself, expecting to find some casual visitor -from Brighton who had heard of his being down -here. He was astonished to see Mortimer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My dear Fred, is it you or your ghost?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t suppose any ghost ever had such a -thirst on him as I have; show me the way to -the pump; I could drink buckets even of -water.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, we’re not so primitive as that—but, rot! -you’ve been here before. Come along, there’s -whisky and a siphon in the locker here. Drink, -smoke and chat while I paint, only don’t mind -if I don’t hear a word you say. I’m at a ticklish -point. How are you and what brings you down? -Spread your answer out as long as you can, so -that I needn’t say anything for at least five -minutes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m well. Came down because there was a -rush of work in the office and I was afraid I -might be in the way,” Mortimer answered, with -a chuckle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He then lighted a cigarette, sat down on the -window seat and looked aimlessly out over the -broad down. The sun was shining brightly, a -lark was singing somewhere high up in the blue, -through the open window drifted the keen, fresh -air, full of the salt fragrance of the sea; the -world looked young down here to the eye of -<span class='pageno' title='310' id='Page_310'></span> -the Londoner. Then, stealthily, he watched Maddison. -At first he saw no change in him: he appeared -well and hearty; but later he noticed a -tired, nervous look about the eyes, and that every -now and then he bit his lip as if impatient at some -difficulty he could not immediately overcome. He -had often before watched him at work and had -always wondered at the vigorous joy Maddison -found in his labor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“May I look?” he asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I don’t mind your looking; you don’t -imagine you really know anything about pictures -and so you don’t chatter bosh and think it -criticism.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mortimer stood in front of the easel, looking -keenly at the picture—a great stretch of the downs -and the gray sea beyond, overhead a splendid -tumult of rain cloud.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, say something, however idiotic!” exclaimed -Maddison, after impatiently waiting for -Mortimer to speak.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My dear boy, what’s up? Have I interrupted -you at an awkward moment? Why -didn’t you tell me?” said Mortimer, turning -quickly, surprised at the tone in which Maddison -had spoken.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, no, of course not.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s the first time I’ve heard you speak as if -<span class='pageno' title='311' id='Page_311'></span> -you were put out about something. Nothing’s -wrong?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, no!” Maddison answered, laying his -hand heartily on Mortimer’s shoulder, “not a bit. -But—what do you think of it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And this is the first time you’ve ever <span class='it'>asked</span> -my humble opinion. I like it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That sounds rather dubious. Speak out—you -mean you don’t like it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mortimer looked again at the picture hesitatingly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You <span class='it'>don’t</span> like it,” said Maddison again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I like it. But there’s something wanting; -it doesn’t seem to me quite you. It’s the only -picture of yours I’ve ever seen that somebody else -might have painted.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison turned sharply away and strode over -to the window.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, rot, old chap, you mustn’t mind what I -say,” protested Mortimer. “You hinted just now -that what I don’t know about pictures would set -up half a dozen critics, and here you are getting -the hump over my nonsense.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It isn’t nonsense. You’ve seen straight off -what I’ve been trying not to see. You’re right, -damnably right. It’s as dead as can be—not a -touch of life or light in it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He threw down his palette and brushes impatiently, -<span class='pageno' title='312' id='Page_312'></span> -crossed once again to Mortimer and -stood behind him, gazing gloomily over his -shoulder.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The critics will probably say I’ve eclipsed -myself, all except Tasker, who will say that, but -mean total eclipse. But so long as it sells well, -what does it matter?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Look here, Maddison,” said Mortimer, -sharply, “there <span class='it'>is</span> something wrong, or you -couldn’t speak like that. This hermitizing down -here don’t suit you. Lock up the shop for to-day -at any rate, and come into Brighton for a -blow off. Now, I know you’re going to say ‘no,’ -but I say ‘yes,’ and if you’ll give me a shake-down -I’ll bring my traps over to stay the night -here.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison hesitated a moment, then consented.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They drove back after dinner at the Metropole, -where Mortimer had intended to stop. The -night was bitterly cold, and the huge fire which -Mrs. Witchout had made up in the studio was -grateful.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, I want to have a real yarn with you, -George,” Mortimer said, as he stretched his cold -hands toward the warmth. “I told you a tarradiddle -this morning—I came down simply because -I’ve something I want to talk to you about.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There’s nothing wrong with Marian, is -<span class='pageno' title='313' id='Page_313'></span> -there?” Maddison asked, leaning forward eagerly -and speaking anxiously. “It’s not <span class='it'>that</span>?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She was quite well when I last saw her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison sighed with relief and sat back again -in his chair, puffing steadily at his pipe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But tell me first,” Mortimer continued after -a pause, “what’s wrong with you? I know there -is something; I saw it in your face this morning, -and though you’ve been as jolly as jolly all day, -you’ve not been quite your real self. What -is it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So I look different, and seem different, and -my picture’s not mine. There’s nothing wrong, -Fred, nothing that I can lay a name to, but you’re -right. I’m changed. It’s this beastly separation -from Marian that doesn’t agree with me. I’ll -come up to town with you to-morrow and fetch -her down here, or settle into the old place -again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re very fond of her,” Mortimer said -meditatively, staring at the blazing coals. “I was -in love once, and I know what it means, old -chap.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I never knew that——?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re the only one beside myself that does. -She wasn’t for me. I’ve told you this because -I’ve something—very difficult to tell you, and I -want you to understand that—I understand.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='314' id='Page_314'></span> -“It <span class='it'>is</span> something wrong with Marian then?” -Maddison exclaimed, starting to his feet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sit down, George, sit down. I’ll walk about -in the dark while I tell you; that’s why I asked -you not to light the lamps. Sit down, and hold -on tight, grit your teeth, George; I’m going to -hurt you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mortimer paced slowly up and down, while -Maddison sat down again, awed into obedience.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m going to hurt you, George; I needn’t tell -you that I’d give a lot not to have to do it. But -you’d better hear it from me than find it out for -yourself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Quick, quick, don’t beat about the bush. -What is it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It <span class='it'>is</span> about Mrs. Squire. I knew it was no -good talking to you until I had facts to tell you. -She’s—she’s—my God, it’s hard to tell you!—she’s -utterly worthless. She’s——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t say another word, or I’ll kill you, on -my soul I will!” Maddison shrieked, leaping up, -his eyes blazing with anger, his hands clenched.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I must, I <span class='it'>must</span>,” said Mortimer, standing -quietly before him, “and you must hear me. It’s -not suspicions, it’s facts. More than one man -has been with her while you’ve been down here. -I suspected it; I had her watched and there’s no -room for doubt. I think you know Geraldstein—he’s -<span class='pageno' title='315' id='Page_315'></span> -been with her; another man was with her -only the other night. I saw her myself come out -of a disreputable public-house with a man and -drive off with him. It was sheer accident I saw -her; I didn’t follow—I knew enough already. -I’m putting it brutally: there’s no good mincing -matters. If she was merely your mistress I -wouldn’t have worried, but——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Maddison turned away, leaning against the -mantelshelf, his face buried in his arms; Mortimer -went up to him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“George, old man——”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t—don’t touch me! Leave me alone for -a bit.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mortimer sat down. Not a sound broke the -silence except the loud ticking of the clock. It -seemed to him hours and hours, though it was -barely more than a minute, before Maddison -spoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What a fool I am, and what a beast,” he -said, turning fiercely, “to believe a word of what -you’ve said. It’s all some mad mistake. It can’t -be true.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you think I’d have told you if I weren’t -absolutely certain?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You don’t know her as I do. She couldn’t. -She loves me. Now look here, I won’t hear -another word, and to-morrow I’ll go to her. I’ll -<span class='pageno' title='316' id='Page_316'></span> -never leave her again, open to such filthy suspicions. -You know your room. I’ll stop here. -Good night.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here are the reports from the agent,” said -Mortimer, ignoring Maddison’s anger and holding -out a bundle of papers. Maddison snatched -them from him and flung them into the fire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you want me to murder you? Can’t you -leave me? For God’s sake, leave me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mortimer realized that it would not avail anything -to press matters at that moment, so without -another word he went out of the room.</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><span class='pageno' title='317' id='Page_317'></span>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> -</div> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='sc'>The</span> instant the door had shut behind Mortimer, -Maddison plucked the scorching papers from the -fire; they had by sheer chance fallen on a mass of -black coals out of reach of the flames. They were -hot and crackled in his fingers as he opened them. -Then he sat down, and leaning forward read them -by the dancing firelight. They contained a cold, -bloodless account of all that Mrs. Harding knew -of Marian, and by their very lifelessness carried -conviction. It was not without a struggle, however, -that he allowed himself to believe the accusations -brought against her; for long his heart -refused to be subservient to his reason.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He sat motionless and intent; the fire waned and -the room grew darker and darker until at length -there was only the glow of dying embers left in -the grate; the papers had fallen to the floor unheeded; -his hands lay limp and his head hung -heavily. His eyes stared blankly; he saw nothing, -felt nothing, was numb, crushed, stricken.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The striking of the clock roused him. There -were hours still before the starting of the first -train for London. Should he go there? To what -<span class='pageno' title='318' id='Page_318'></span> -end? He knew that what he had been told was -true. What was the use of seeing her? She would -only laugh at him. It was nothing to her; it was -the shattering of life to him. God! How greatly -he had loved her, did love her still. How he had -trusted her, believing that she greatly loved him. -How easily she had played with him; all this -pretense of separation for his welfare, the reality -being that she wished to be free to follow her -lusts. Could such a woman be such a mere beast? -Why, yes, it was only an old tale retold; no new -thing in it; the devouring woman, the hoodwinked -man. There was nothing to be done. No hope, -no hope.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Once again her face came vividly before him: -its splendid oval, the deep eyes, the glory of her -hair, the half-parted lips, with a little smile hovering -round them—how lovely he had often seen -her, and yet she was a mere beast, who had -sold herself to him and was selling herself to -others.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But nothing that she had done or would do -could kill his love for her. A dry, choking sob -broke from him; he staggered, drunk with misery, -across the room, pulled aside the curtains and -looked out on the cold, moonlit night. Was there -nothing to be done? No smallest ray of hope? -No hope, no hope.</p> - -<p class='pindent'><span class='pageno' title='319' id='Page_319'></span> -He lit a lamp and set it on a table before the -easel on which stood “The Rebel.” Yes, there -she sat, as she had been when first the desire -came to him to have her for his own. His -own! His shout of laughter filled the room. -His! Any man’s who cared to pay her price. -Just a mere beast, no more. And yet, there -she sat, the beautiful rebel who had caught -him body and soul. He picked a dagger -off the wall and slashed the canvas to tatters; -that lie at least was dead. He looked at -the white blade as if there ought to be blood -upon it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had killed that lie; it was agony as if he -had killed part of himself. But life was the -agony now for him. She had taken from him -everything that made the world worth having; -killed his art, killed his love. There was no hope, -no hope.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He looked again at the white blade as if there -ought to be blood upon it.</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Mortimer woke early, roused by Mrs. Witchout -knocking at the house door. Wrapping himself -in his dressing gown he went down and let her in, -briefly answering her exclamations of surprise at -seeing him there.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He wondered why Maddison had not heard -<span class='pageno' title='320' id='Page_320'></span> -her. He listened at the studio door, there was no -sound within. He knocked—there was no reply.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The dead do not answer the living.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Before the easel on which stood the tattered -remnants of “The Rebel” Maddison lay dead.</p> - -<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;margin-top:3em;font-size:.8em;'>THE END</p> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<h3>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE</h3> - -<p class='pindent'>Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Inconsistencies in punctuation have been maintained.</p> - -<p class='line'> </p> - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PEST***</p> -<p>******* This file should be named 50453-h.htm or 50453-h.zip *******</p> -<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/0/4/5/50453">http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/4/5/50453</a></p> -<p> -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed.</p> - -<p>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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