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diff --git a/5247-0.txt b/5247-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3092b24 --- /dev/null +++ b/5247-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,24991 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 5247 *** + + + + +The Old Wives' Tale + +Arnold Bennett + + + + +To W. W. K. + + + + +PREFACE TO THIS EDITION + +In the autumn of 1903 I used to dine frequently in a restaurant in the +Rue de Clichy, Paris. Here were, among others, two waitresses that +attracted my attention. One was a beautiful, pale young girl, to whom I +never spoke, for she was employed far away from the table which I +affected. The other, a stout, middle-aged managing Breton woman, had +sole command over my table and me, and gradually she began to assume +such a maternal tone towards me that I saw I should be compelled to +leave that restaurant. If I was absent for a couple of nights running +she would reproach me sharply: "What! you are unfaithful to me?" Once, +when I complained about some French beans, she informed me roundly that +French beans were a subject which I did not understand. I then decided +to be eternally unfaithful to her, and I abandoned the restaurant. A +few nights before the final parting an old woman came into the +restaurant to dine. She was fat, shapeless, ugly, and grotesque. She +had a ridiculous voice, and ridiculous gestures. It was easy to see +that she lived alone, and that in the long lapse of years she had +developed the kind of peculiarity which induces guffaws among the +thoughtless. She was burdened with a lot of small parcels, which she +kept dropping. She chose one seat; and then, not liking it, chose +another; and then another. In a few moments she had the whole +restaurant laughing at her. That my middle-aged Breton should laugh was +indifferent to me, but I was pained to see a coarse grimace of giggling +on the pale face of the beautiful young waitress to whom I had never +spoken. + +I reflected, concerning the grotesque diner: "This woman was once +young, slim, perhaps beautiful; certainly free from these ridiculous +mannerisms. Very probably she is unconscious of her singularities. Her +case is a tragedy. One ought to be able to make a heartrending novel +out of the history of a woman such as she." Every stout, ageing woman +is not grotesque--far from it!--but there is an extreme pathos in the +mere fact that every stout ageing woman was once a young girl with the +unique charm of youth in her form and movements and in her mind. And +the fact that the change from the young girl to the stout ageing woman +is made up of an infinite number of infinitesimal changes, each +unperceived by her, only intensifies the pathos. + +It was at this instant that I was visited by the idea of writing the +book which ultimately became "The Old Wives' Tale." Of course I felt +that the woman who caused the ignoble mirth in the restaurant would not +serve me as a type of heroine. For she was much too old and obviously +unsympathetic. It is an absolute rule that the principal character of a +novel must not be unsympathetic, and the whole modern tendency of +realistic fiction is against oddness in a prominent figure. I knew that +I must choose the sort of woman who would pass unnoticed in a crowd. + +I put the idea aside for a long time, but it was never very distant +from me. For several reasons it made a special appeal to me. I had +always been a convinced admirer of Mrs. W. K. Clifford's most precious +novel, "Aunt Anne," but I wanted to see in the story of an old woman +many things that Mrs. W. K. Clifford had omitted from "Aunt Anne." +Moreover, I had always revolted against the absurd youthfulness, the +unfading youthfulness of the average heroine. And as a protest against +this fashion, I was already, in 1903, planning a novel ("Leonora") of +which the heroine was aged forty, and had daughters old enough to be in +love. The reviewers, by the way, were staggered by my hardihood in +offering a woman of forty as a subject of serious interest to the +public. But I meant to go much farther than forty! Finally as a supreme +reason, I had the example and the challenge of Guy de Maupassant's "Une +Vie." In the nineties we used to regard "Une Vie" with mute awe, as +being the summit of achievement in fiction. And I remember being very +cross with Mr. Bernard Shaw because, having read "Une Vie" at the +suggestion (I think) of Mr. William Archer, he failed to see in it +anything very remarkable. Here I must confess that, in 1908, I read +"Une Vie" again, and in spite of a natural anxiety to differ from Mr. +Bernard Shaw, I was gravely disappointed with it. It is a fine novel, +but decidedly inferior to "Pierre et Jean" or even "Fort Comme la +Mort." To return to the year 1903. "Une Vie" relates the entire life +history of a woman. I settled in the privacy of my own head that my +book about the development of a young girl into a stout old lady must +be the English "Une Vie." I have been accused of every fault except a +lack of self-confidence, and in a few weeks I settled a further point, +namely, that my book must "go one better" than "Une Vie," and that to +this end it must be the life-history of two women instead of only one. +Hence, "The Old Wives' Tale" has two heroines. Constance was the +original; Sophia was created out of bravado, just to indicate that I +declined to consider Guy de Maupassant as the last forerunner of the +deluge. I was intimidated by the audacity of my project, but I had +sworn to carry it out. For several years I looked it squarely in the +face at intervals, and then walked away to write novels of smaller +scope, of which I produced five or six. But I could not dally forever, +and in the autumn of 1907 I actually began to write it, in a village +near Fontainebleau, where I rented half a house from a retired railway +servant. I calculated that it would be 200,000 words long (which it +exactly proved to be), and I had a vague notion that no novel of such +dimensions (except Richardson's) had ever been written before. So I +counted the words in several famous Victorian novels, and discovered to +my relief that the famous Victorian novels average 400,000 words +apiece. I wrote the first part of the novel in six weeks. It was fairly +easy to me, because, in the seventies, in the first decade of my life, +I had lived in the actual draper's shop of the Baines's, and knew it as +only a child could know it. Then I went to London on a visit. I tried +to continue the book in a London hotel, but London was too distracting, +and I put the thing away, and during January and February of 1908, I +wrote "Buried Alive," which was published immediately, and was received +with majestic indifference by the English public, an indifference which +has persisted to this day. + +I then returned to the Fontainebleau region and gave "The Old Wives' +Tale" no rest till I finished it at the end of July, 1908. It was +published in the autumn of the same year, and for six weeks afterward +the English public steadily confirmed an opinion expressed by a certain +person in whose judgment I had confidence, to the effect that the work +was honest but dull, and that when it was not dull it had a regrettable +tendency to facetiousness. My publishers, though brave fellows, were +somewhat disheartened; however, the reception of the book gradually +became less and less frigid. + +With regard to the French portion of the story, it was not until I had +written the first part that I saw from a study of my chronological +basis that the Siege of Paris might be brought into the tale. The idea +was seductive; but I hated, and still hate, the awful business of +research; and I only knew the Paris of the Twentieth Century. Now I was +aware that my railway servant and his wife had been living in Paris at +the time of the war. I said to the old man, "By the way, you went +through the Siege of Paris, didn't you?" He turned to his old wife and +said, uncertainly, "The Siege of Paris? Yes, we did, didn't we?" The +Siege of Paris had been only one incident among many in their lives. Of +course, they remembered it well, though not vividly, and I gained much +information from them. But the most useful thing which I gained from +them was the perception, startling at first, that ordinary people went +on living very ordinary lives in Paris during the siege, and that to +the vast mass of the population the siege was not the dramatic, +spectacular, thrilling, ecstatic affair that is described in history. +Encouraged by this perception, I decided to include the siege in my +scheme. I read Sarcey's diary of the siege aloud to my wife, and I +looked at the pictures in Jules Claretie's popular work on the siege +and the commune, and I glanced at the printed collection of official +documents, and there my research ended. + +It has been asserted that unless I had actually been present at a +public execution, I could not have written the chapter in which Sophia +was at the Auxerre solemnity. I have not been present at a public +execution, as the whole of my information about public executions was +derived from a series of articles on them which I read in the Paris +Matin. Mr. Frank Harris, discussing my book in "Vanity Fair," said it +was clear that I had not seen an execution, (or words to that effect), +and he proceeded to give his own description of an execution. It was a +brief but terribly convincing bit of writing, quite characteristic and +quite worthy of the author of "Montes the Matador" and of a man who has +been almost everywhere and seen almost everything. I comprehended how +far short I had fallen of the truth! I wrote to Mr. Frank Harris, +regretting that his description had not been printed before I wrote +mine, as I should assuredly have utilized it, and, of course, I +admitted that I had never witnessed an execution. He simply replied: +"Neither have I." This detail is worth preserving, for it is a reproof +to that large body of readers, who, when a novelist has really carried +conviction to them, assert off hand: "O, that must be autobiography!" + +ARNOLD BENNETT. + + + + + + +CONTENTS + + +BOOK I. + +MRS. BAINES + + I. THE SQUARE + + II. THE TOOTH + + III. A BATTLE + + IV. ELEPHANT + + V. THE TRAVELLER + + VI. ESCAPADE + + VII. A DEFEAT + + + +BOOK II. + +CONSTANCE + + I. REVOLUTION + + II. CHRISTMAS AND THE FUTURE + + III. CYRIL + + IV. CRIME + + V. ANOTHER CRIME + + VI. THE WIDOW + + VII. BRICKS AND MORTAR + +VIII. THE PROUDEST MOTHER + + + +BOOK III. + +SOPHIA + + I. THE ELOPEMENT + + II. SUPPER + + III. AN AMBITION SATISFIED + + IV. A CRISIS FOR GERALD + + V. FEVER + + VI. THE SIEGE + + VII. SUCCESS + + + +BOOK IV. + +WHAT LIFE IS + + I. FRENSHAM'S + + II. THE MEETING + + III. TOWARDS HOTEL LIFE + + IV. END OF SOPHIA + + V. END OF CONSTANCE + + + + + + +BOOK I + +MRS. BAINES + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE SQUARE + +I + + +Those two girls, Constance and Sophia Baines, paid no heed to the +manifold interest of their situation, of which, indeed, they had never +been conscious. They were, for example, established almost precisely on +the fifty-third parallel of latitude. A little way to the north of +them, in the creases of a hill famous for its religious orgies, rose +the river Trent, the calm and characteristic stream of middle England. +Somewhat further northwards, in the near neighbourhood of the highest +public-house in the realm, rose two lesser rivers, the Dane and the +Dove, which, quarrelling in early infancy, turned their backs on each +other, and, the one by favour of the Weaver and the other by favour of +the Trent, watered between them the whole width of England, and poured +themselves respectively into the Irish Sea and the German Ocean. What a +county of modest, unnoticed rivers! What a natural, simple county, +content to fix its boundaries by these tortuous island brooks, with +their comfortable names--Trent, Mease, Dove, Tern, Dane, Mees, Stour, +Tame, and even hasty Severn! Not that the Severn is suitable to the +county! In the county excess is deprecated. The county is happy in not +exciting remark. It is content that Shropshire should possess that +swollen bump, the Wrekin, and that the exaggerated wildness of the Peak +should lie over its border. It does not desire to be a pancake like +Cheshire. It has everything that England has, including thirty miles of +Watling Street; and England can show nothing more beautiful and nothing +uglier than the works of nature and the works of man to be seen within +the limits of the county. It is England in little, lost in the midst of +England, unsung by searchers after the extreme; perhaps occasionally +somewhat sore at this neglect, but how proud in the instinctive +cognizance of its representative features and traits! + +Constance and Sophia, busy with the intense preoccupations of youth, +recked not of such matters. They were surrounded by the county. On +every side the fields and moors of Staffordshire, intersected by roads +and lanes, railways, watercourses and telegraph-lines, patterned by +hedges, ornamented and made respectable by halls and genteel parks, +enlivened by villages at the intersections, and warmly surveyed by the +sun, spread out undulating. And trains were rushing round curves in +deep cuttings, and carts and waggons trotting and jingling on the +yellow roads, and long, narrow boats passing in a leisure majestic and +infinite over the surface of the stolid canals; the rivers had only +themselves to support, for Staffordshire rivers have remained virgin of +keels to this day. One could imagine the messages concerning prices, +sudden death, and horses, in their flight through the wires under the +feet of birds. In the inns Utopians were shouting the universe into +order over beer, and in the halls and parks the dignity of England was +being preserved in a fitting manner. The villages were full of women +who did nothing but fight against dirt and hunger, and repair the +effects of friction on clothes. Thousands of labourers were in the +fields, but the fields were so broad and numerous that this scattered +multitude was totally lost therein. The cuckoo was much more +perceptible than man, dominating whole square miles with his resounding +call. And on the airy moors heath-larks played in the ineffaceable +mule-tracks that had served centuries before even the Romans thought of +Watling Street. In short, the usual daily life of the county was +proceeding with all its immense variety and importance; but though +Constance and Sophia were in it they were not of it. + +The fact is, that while in the county they were also in the district; +and no person who lives in the district, even if he should be old and +have nothing to do but reflect upon things in general, ever thinks +about the county. So far as the county goes, the district might almost +as well be in the middle of the Sahara. It ignores the county, save +that it uses it nonchalantly sometimes as leg-stretcher on holiday +afternoons, as a man may use his back garden. It has nothing in common +with the county; it is richly sufficient to itself. Nevertheless, its +self-sufficiency and the true salt savour of its life can only be +appreciated by picturing it hemmed in by county. It lies on the face of +the county like an insignificant stain, like a dark Pleiades in a green +and empty sky. And Hanbridge has the shape of a horse and its rider, +Bursley of half a donkey, Knype of a pair of trousers, Longshaw of an +octopus, and little Turnhill of a beetle. The Five Towns seem to cling +together for safety. Yet the idea of clinging together for safety would +make them laugh. They are unique and indispensable. From the north of +the county right down to the south they alone stand for civilization, +applied science, organized manufacture, and the century--until you come +to Wolverhampton. They are unique and indispensable because you cannot +drink tea out of a teacup without the aid of the Five Towns; because +you cannot eat a meal in decency without the aid of the Five Towns. For +this the architecture of the Five Towns is an architecture of ovens and +chimneys; for this its atmosphere is as black as its mud; for this it +burns and smokes all night, so that Longshaw has been compared to hell; +for this it is unlearned in the ways of agriculture, never having seen +corn except as packing straw and in quartern loaves; for this, on the +other hand, it comprehends the mysterious habits of fire and pure, +sterile earth; for this it lives crammed together in slippery streets +where the housewife must change white window-curtains at least once a +fortnight if she wishes to remain respectable; for this it gets up in +the mass at six a.m., winter and summer, and goes to bed when the +public-houses close; for this it exists--that you may drink tea out of +a teacup and toy with a chop on a plate. All the everyday crockery used +in the kingdom is made in the Five Towns--all, and much besides. A +district capable of such gigantic manufacture, of such a perfect +monopoly--and which finds energy also to produce coal and iron and +great men--may be an insignificant stain on a county, considered +geographically, but it is surely well justified in treating the county +as its back garden once a week, and in blindly ignoring it the rest of +the time. + +Even the majestic thought that whenever and wherever in all England a +woman washes up, she washes up the product of the district; that +whenever and wherever in all England a plate is broken the fracture +means new business for the district--even this majestic thought had +probably never occurred to either of the girls. The fact is, that while +in the Five Towns they were also in the Square, Bursley and the Square +ignored the staple manufacture as perfectly as the district ignored the +county. Bursley has the honours of antiquity in the Five Towns. No +industrial development can ever rob it of its superiority in age, which +makes it absolutely sure in its conceit. And the time will never come +when the other towns--let them swell and bluster as they may--will not +pronounce the name of Bursley as one pronounces the name of one's +mother. Add to this that the Square was the centre of Bursley's retail +trade (which scorned the staple as something wholesale, vulgar, and +assuredly filthy), and you will comprehend the importance and the +self-isolation of the Square in the scheme of the created universe. +There you have it, embedded in the district, and the district embedded +in the county, and the county lost and dreaming in the heart of England! + +The Square was named after St. Luke. The Evangelist might have been +startled by certain phenomena in his square, but, except in Wakes Week, +when the shocking always happened, St. Luke's Square lived in a manner +passably saintly--though it contained five public-houses. It contained +five public-houses, a bank, a barber's, a confectioner's, three +grocers', two chemists', an ironmonger's, a clothier's, and five +drapers'. These were all the catalogue. St. Luke's Square had no room +for minor establishments. The aristocracy of the Square undoubtedly +consisted of the drapers (for the bank was impersonal); and among the +five the shop of Baines stood supreme. No business establishment could +possibly be more respected than that of Mr. Baines was respected. And +though John Baines had been bedridden for a dozen years, he still lived +on the lips of admiring, ceremonious burgesses as 'our honoured +fellow-townsman.' He deserved his reputation. + +The Baines's shop, to make which three dwellings had at intervals been +thrown into one, lay at the bottom of the Square. It formed about +one-third of the south side of the Square, the remainder being made up +of Critchlow's (chemist), the clothier's, and the Hanover Spirit +Vaults. ("Vaults" was a favourite synonym of the public-house in the +Square. Only two of the public-houses were crude public-houses: the +rest were "vaults.") It was a composite building of three storeys, in +blackish-crimson brick, with a projecting shop-front and, above and +behind that, two rows of little windows. On the sash of each window was +a red cloth roll stuffed with sawdust, to prevent draughts; plain white +blinds descended about six inches from the top of each window. There +were no curtains to any of the windows save one; this was the window of +the drawing-room, on the first floor at the corner of the Square and +King Street. Another window, on the second storey, was peculiar, in +that it had neither blind nor pad, and was very dirty; this was the +window of an unused room that had a separate staircase to itself, the +staircase being barred by a door always locked. Constance and Sophia +had lived in continual expectation of the abnormal issuing from that +mysterious room, which was next to their own. But they were +disappointed. The room had no shameful secret except the incompetence +of the architect who had made one house out of three; it was just an +empty, unemployable room. The building had also a considerable frontage +on King Street, where, behind the shop, was sheltered the parlour, with +a large window and a door that led directly by two steps into the +street. A strange peculiarity of the shop was that it bore no +signboard. Once it had had a large signboard which a memorable gale had +blown into the Square. Mr. Baines had decided not to replace it. He had +always objected to what he called "puffing," and for this reason would +never hear of such a thing as a clearance sale. The hatred of "puffing" +grew on him until he came to regard even a sign as "puffing." +Uninformed persons who wished to find Baines's must ask and learn. For +Mr. Baines, to have replaced the sign would have been to condone, yea, +to participate in, the modern craze for unscrupulous +self-advertisement. This abstention of Mr. Baines's from indulgence in +signboards was somehow accepted by the more thoughtful members of the +community as evidence that the height of Mr. Baines's principles was +greater even than they had imagined. + +Constance and Sophia were the daughters of this credit to human nature. +He had no other children. + +II + +They pressed their noses against the window of the show-room, and gazed +down into the Square as perpendicularly as the projecting front of the +shop would allow. The show-room was over the millinery and silken half +of the shop. Over the woollen and shirting half were the drawing-room +and the chief bedroom. When in quest of articles of coquetry, you +mounted from the shop by a curving stair, and your head gradually rose +level with a large apartment having a mahogany counter in front of the +window and along one side, yellow linoleum on the floor, many cardboard +boxes, a magnificent hinged cheval glass, and two chairs. The +window-sill being lower than the counter, there was a gulf between the +panes and the back of the counter, into which important articles such +as scissors, pencils, chalk, and artificial flowers were continually +disappearing: another proof of the architect's incompetence. + +The girls could only press their noses against the window by kneeling +on the counter, and this they were doing. Constance's nose was snub, +but agreeably so. Sophia had a fine Roman nose; she was a beautiful +creature, beautiful and handsome at the same time. They were both of +them rather like racehorses, quivering with delicate, sensitive, and +luxuriant life; exquisite, enchanting proof of the circulation of the +blood; innocent, artful, roguish, prim, gushing, ignorant, and +miraculously wise. Their ages were sixteen and fifteen; it is an epoch +when, if one is frank, one must admit that one has nothing to learn: +one has learnt simply everything in the previous six months. + +"There she goes!" exclaimed Sophia. + +Up the Square, from the corner of King Street, passed a woman in a new +bonnet with pink strings, and a new blue dress that sloped at the +shoulders and grew to a vast circumference at the hem. Through the +silent sunlit solitude of the Square (for it was Thursday afternoon, +and all the shops shut except the confectioner's and one chemist's) +this bonnet and this dress floated northwards in search of romance, +under the relentless eyes of Constance and Sophia. Within them, +somewhere, was the soul of Maggie, domestic servant at Baines's. Maggie +had been at the shop since before the creation of Constance and Sophia. +She lived seventeen hours of each day in an underground kitchen and +larder, and the other seven in an attic, never going out except to +chapel on Sunday evenings, and once a month on Thursday afternoons. +"Followers" were most strictly forbidden to her; but on rare occasions +an aunt from Longshaw was permitted as a tremendous favour to see her +in the subterranean den. Everybody, including herself, considered that +she had a good "place," and was well treated. It was undeniable, for +instance, that she was allowed to fall in love exactly as she chose, +provided she did not "carry on" in the kitchen or the yard. And as a +fact, Maggie had fallen in love. In seventeen years she had been +engaged eleven times. No one could conceive how that ugly and powerful +organism could softly languish to the undoing of even a butty-collier, +nor why, having caught a man in her sweet toils, she could ever be +imbecile enough to set him free. There are, however, mysteries in the +souls of Maggies. The drudge had probably been affianced oftener than +any woman in Bursley. Her employers were so accustomed to an +interesting announcement that for years they had taken to saying naught +in reply but 'Really, Maggie!' Engagements and tragic partings were +Maggie's pastime. Fixed otherwise, she might have studied the piano +instead. + +"No gloves, of course!" Sophia criticized. + +"Well, you can't expect her to have gloves," said Constance. + +Then a pause, as the bonnet and dress neared the top of the Square. + +"Supposing she turns round and sees us?" Constance suggested. + +"I don't care if she does," said Sophia, with a haughtiness almost +impassioned; and her head trembled slightly. + +There were, as usual, several loafers at the top of the Square, in the +corner between the bank and the "Marquis of Granby." And one of these +loafers stepped forward and shook hands with an obviously willing +Maggie. Clearly it was a rendezvous, open, unashamed. The twelfth +victim had been selected by the virgin of forty, whose kiss would not +have melted lard! The couple disappeared together down Oldcastle Street. + +"WELL!" cried Constance. "Did you ever see such a thing?" + +While Sophia, short of adequate words, flushed and bit her lip. + +With the profound, instinctive cruelty of youth, Constance and Sophia +had assembled in their favourite haunt, the show-room, expressly to +deride Maggie in her new clothes. They obscurely thought that a woman +so ugly and soiled as Maggie was had no right to possess new clothes. +Even her desire to take the air of a Thursday afternoon seemed to them +unnatural and somewhat reprehensible. Why should she want to stir out +of her kitchen? As for her tender yearnings, they positively grudged +these to Maggie. That Maggie should give rein to chaste passion was +more than grotesque; it was offensive and wicked. But let it not for an +instant be doubted that they were nice, kind-hearted, well-behaved, and +delightful girls! Because they were. They were not angels. + +"It's too ridiculous!" said Sophia, severely. She had youth, beauty, +and rank in her favour. And to her it really was ridiculous. + +"Poor old Maggie!" Constance murmured. Constance was foolishly +good-natured, a perfect manufactory of excuses for other people; and +her benevolence was eternally rising up and overpowering her reason. + +"What time did mother say she should be back?" Sophia asked. + +"Not until supper." + +"Oh! Hallelujah!" Sophia burst out, clasping her hands in joy. And they +both slid down from the counter just as if they had been little boys, +and not, as their mother called them, "great girls." + +"Let's go and play the Osborne quadrilles," Sophia suggested (the +Osborne quadrilles being a series of dances arranged to be performed on +drawing-room pianos by four jewelled hands). + +"I couldn't think of it," said Constance, with a precocious gesture of +seriousness. In that gesture, and in her tone, was something which +conveyed to Sophia: "Sophia, how can you be so utterly blind to the +gravity of our fleeting existence as to ask me to go and strum the +piano with you?" Yet a moment before she had been a little boy. + +"Why not?" Sophia demanded. + +"I shall never have another chance like to-day for getting on with +this," said Constance, picking up a bag from the counter. + +She sat down and took from the bag a piece of loosely woven canvas, on +which she was embroidering a bunch of roses in coloured wools. The +canvas had once been stretched on a frame, but now, as the delicate +labour of the petals and leaves was done, and nothing remained to do +but the monotonous background, Constance was content to pin the stuff +to her knee. With the long needle and several skeins of mustard-tinted +wool, she bent over the canvas and resumed the filling-in of the tiny +squares. The whole design was in squares--the gradations of red and +greens, the curves of the smallest buds--all was contrived in squares, +with a result that mimicked a fragment of uncompromising Axminster +carpet. Still, the fine texture of the wool, the regular and rapid +grace of those fingers moving incessantly at back and front of the +canvas, the gentle sound of the wool as it passed through the holes, +and the intent, youthful earnestness of that lowered gaze, excused and +invested with charm an activity which, on artistic grounds, could not +possibly be justified. The canvas was destined to adorn a gilt +firescreen in the drawing-room, and also to form a birthday gift to +Mrs. Baines from her elder daughter. But whether the enterprise was as +secret from Mrs. Baines as Constance hoped, none save Mrs. Baines knew. + +"Con," murmured Sophia, "you're too sickening sometimes." + +"Well," said Constance, blandly, "it's no use pretending that this +hasn't got to be finished before we go back to school, because it has." +Sophia wandered about, a prey ripe for the Evil One. "Oh," she +exclaimed joyously--even ecstatically--looking behind the cheval glass, +"here's mother's new skirt! Miss Dunn's been putting the gimp on it! +Oh, mother, what a proud thing you will be!" Constance heard swishings +behind the glass. "What are you doing, Sophia?" + +"Nothing." + +"You surely aren't putting that skirt on?" + +"Why not?" + +"You'll catch it finely, I can tell you!" + +Without further defence, Sophia sprang out from behind the immense +glass. She had already shed a notable part of her own costume, and the +flush of mischief was in her face. She ran across to the other side of +the room and examined carefully a large coloured print that was affixed +to the wall. + +This print represented fifteen sisters, all of the same height and +slimness of figure, all of the same age--about twenty-five or so, and +all with exactly the same haughty and bored beauty. That they were in +truth sisters was clear from the facial resemblance between them; their +demeanour indicated that they were princesses, offspring of some +impossibly prolific king and queen. Those hands had never toiled, nor +had those features ever relaxed from the smile of courts. The +princesses moved in a landscape of marble steps and verandahs, with a +bandstand and strange trees in the distance. One was in a riding-habit, +another in evening attire, another dressed for tea, another for the +theatre; another seemed to be ready to go to bed. One held a little +girl by the hand; it could not have been her own little girl, for these +princesses were far beyond human passions. Where had she obtained the +little girl? Why was one sister going to the theatre, another to tea, +another to the stable, and another to bed? Why was one in a heavy +mantle, and another sheltering from the sun's rays under a parasol? The +picture was drenched in mystery, and the strangest thing about it was +that all these highnesses were apparently content with the most +ridiculous and out-moded fashions. Absurd hats, with veils flying +behind; absurd bonnets, fitting close to the head, and spotted; absurd +coiffures that nearly lay on the nape; absurd, clumsy sleeves; absurd +waists, almost above the elbow's level; absurd scolloped jackets! And +the skirts! What a sight were those skirts! They were nothing but vast +decorated pyramids; on the summit of each was stuck the upper half of a +princess. It was astounding that princesses should consent to be so +preposterous and so uncomfortable. But Sophia perceived nothing uncanny +in the picture, which bore the legend: "Newest summer fashions from +Paris. Gratis supplement to Myra's Journal." Sophia had never imagined +anything more stylish, lovely, and dashing than the raiment of the +fifteen princesses. + +For Constance and Sophia had the disadvantage of living in the middle +ages. The crinoline had not quite reached its full circumference, and +the dress-improver had not even been thought of. In all the Five Towns +there was not a public bath, nor a free library, nor a municipal park, +nor a telephone, nor yet a board-school. People had not understood the +vital necessity of going away to the seaside every year. Bishop Colenso +had just staggered Christianity by his shameless notions on the +Pentateuch. Half Lancashire was starving on account of the American +war. Garroting was the chief amusement of the homicidal classes. +Incredible as it may appear, there was nothing but a horse-tram running +between Bursley and Hanbridge--and that only twice an hour; and between +the other towns no stage of any kind! One went to Longshaw as one now +goes to Pekin. It was an era so dark and backward that one might wonder +how people could sleep in their beds at night for thinking about their +sad state. + +Happily the inhabitants of the Five Towns in that era were passably +pleased with themselves, and they never even suspected that they were +not quite modern and quite awake. They thought that the intellectual, +the industrial, and the social movements had gone about as far as these +movements could go, and they were amazed at their own progress. Instead +of being humble and ashamed, they actually showed pride in their +pitiful achievements. They ought to have looked forward meekly to the +prodigious feats of posterity; but, having too little faith and too +much conceit, they were content to look behind and make comparisons +with the past. They did not foresee the miraculous generation which is +us. A poor, blind, complacent people! The ludicrous horse-car was +typical of them. The driver rang a huge bell, five minutes before +starting, that could be heard from the Wesleyan Chapel to the Cock +Yard, and then after deliberations and hesitations the vehicle rolled +off on its rails into unknown dangers while passengers shouted +good-bye. At Bleakridge it had to stop for the turnpike, and it was +assisted up the mountains of Leveson Place and Sutherland Street +(towards Hanbridge) by a third horse, on whose back was perched a tiny, +whip-cracking boy; that boy lived like a shuttle on the road between +Leveson Place and Sutherland Street, and even in wet weather he was the +envy of all other boys. After half an hour's perilous transit the car +drew up solemnly in a narrow street by the Signal office in Hanbridge, +and the ruddy driver, having revolved many times the polished iron +handle of his sole brake, turned his attention to his passengers in +calm triumph, dismissing them with a sort of unsung doxology. + +And this was regarded as the last word of traction! A whip-cracking boy +on a tip horse! Oh, blind, blind! You could not foresee the hundred and +twenty electric cars that now rush madly bumping and thundering at +twenty miles an hour through all the main streets of the district! + +So that naturally Sophia, infected with the pride of her period, had no +misgivings whatever concerning the final elegance of the princesses. +She studied them as the fifteen apostles of the ne plus ultra; then, +having taken some flowers and plumes out of a box, amid warnings from +Constance, she retreated behind the glass, and presently emerged as a +great lady in the style of the princesses. Her mother's tremendous new +gown ballooned about her in all its fantastic richness and +expensiveness. And with the gown she had put on her mother's +importance--that mien of assured authority, of capacity tested in many +a crisis, which characterized Mrs. Baines, and which Mrs. Baines seemed +to impart to her dresses even before she had regularly worn them. For +it was a fact that Mrs. Baines's empty garments inspired respect, as +though some essence had escaped from her and remained in them. + +"Sophia!" + +Constance stayed her needle, and, without lifting her head, gazed, with +eyes raised from the wool-work, motionless at the posturing figure of +her sister. It was sacrilege that she was witnessing, a prodigious +irreverence. She was conscious of an expectation that punishment would +instantly fall on this daring, impious child. But she, who never felt +these mad, amazing impulses, could nevertheless only smile fearfully. + +"Sophia!" she breathed, with an intensity of alarm that merged into +condoning admiration. "Whatever will you do next?" + +Sophia's lovely flushed face crowned the extraordinary structure like a +blossom, scarcely controlling its laughter. She was as tall as her +mother, and as imperious, as crested, and proud; and in spite of the +pigtail, the girlish semi-circular comb, and the loose foal-like limbs, +she could support as well as her mother the majesty of the +gimp-embroidered dress. Her eyes sparkled with all the challenges of +the untried virgin as she minced about the showroom. Abounding life +inspired her movements. The confident and fierce joy of youth shone on +her brow. "What thing on earth equals me?" she seemed to demand with +enchanting and yet ruthless arrogance. She was the daughter of a +respected, bedridden draper in an insignificant town, lost in the +central labyrinth of England, if you like; yet what manner of man, +confronted with her, would or could have denied her naive claim to +dominion? She stood, in her mother's hoops, for the desire of the +world. And in the innocence of her soul she knew it! The heart of a +young girl mysteriously speaks and tells her of her power long ere she +can use her power. If she can find nothing else to subdue, you may +catch her in the early years subduing a gate-post or drawing homage +from an empty chair. Sophia's experimental victim was Constance, with +suspended needle and soft glance that shot out from the lowered face. + +Then Sophia fell, in stepping backwards; the pyramid was overbalanced; +great distended rings of silk trembled and swayed gigantically on the +floor, and Sophia's small feet lay like the feet of a doll on the rim +of the largest circle, which curved and arched above them like a +cavern's mouth. The abrupt transition of her features from assured +pride to ludicrous astonishment and alarm was comical enough to have +sent into wild uncharitable laughter any creature less humane than +Constance. But Constance sprang to her, a single embodied instinct of +benevolence, with her snub nose, and tried to raise her. + +"Oh, Sophia!" she cried compassionately--that voice seemed not to know +the tones of reproof--"I do hope you've not messed it, because mother +would be so--" + +The words were interrupted by the sound of groans beyond the door +leading to the bedrooms. The groans, indicating direst physical +torment, grew louder. The two girls stared, wonder-struck and afraid, +at the door, Sophia with her dark head raised, and Constance with her +arms round Sophia's waist. The door opened, letting in a much-magnified +sound of groans, and there entered a youngish, undersized man, who was +frantically clutching his head in his hands and contorting all the +muscles of his face. On perceiving the sculptural group of two prone, +interlocked girls, one enveloped in a crinoline, and the other with a +wool-work bunch of flowers pinned to her knee, he jumped back, ceased +groaning, arranged his face, and seriously tried to pretend that it was +not he who had been vocal in anguish, that, indeed, he was just passing +as a casual, ordinary wayfarer through the showroom to the shop below. +He blushed darkly; and the girls also blushed. + +"Oh, I beg pardon, I'm sure!" said this youngish man suddenly; and with +a swift turn he disappeared whence he had come. + +He was Mr. Povey, a person universally esteemed, both within and +without the shop, the surrogate of bedridden Mr. Baines, the unfailing +comfort and stand-by of Mrs. Baines, the fount and radiating centre of +order and discipline in the shop; a quiet, diffident, secretive, +tedious, and obstinate youngish man, absolutely faithful, absolutely +efficient in his sphere; without brilliance, without distinction; +perhaps rather little-minded, certainly narrow-minded; but what a force +in the shop! The shop was inconceivable without Mr. Povey. He was under +twenty and not out of his apprenticeship when Mr. Baines had been +struck down, and he had at once proved his worth. Of the assistants, he +alone slept in the house. His bedroom was next to that of his employer; +there was a door between the two chambers, and the two steps led down +from the larger to the less. + +The girls regained their feet, Sophia with Constance's help. It was not +easy to right a capsized crinoline. They both began to laugh nervously, +with a trace of hysteria. + +"I thought he'd gone to the dentist's," whispered Constance. + +Mr. Povey's toothache had been causing anxiety in the microcosm for two +days, and it had been clearly understood at dinner that Thursday +morning that Mr. Povey was to set forth to Oulsnam Bros., the dentists +at Hillport, without any delay. Only on Thursdays and Sundays did Mr. +Povey dine with the family. On other days he dined later, by himself, +but at the family table, when Mrs. Baines or one of the assistants +could "relieve" him in the shop. Before starting out to visit her elder +sister at Axe, Mrs. Baines had insisted to Mr. Povey that he had eaten +practically nothing but "slops" for twenty-four hours, and that if he +was not careful she would have him on her hands. He had replied in his +quietest, most sagacious, matter-of-fact tone--the tone that carried +weight with all who heard it--that he had only been waiting for +Thursday afternoon, and should of course go instantly to Oulsnams' and +have the thing attended to in a proper manner. He had even added that +persons who put off going to the dentist's were simply sowing trouble +for themselves. + +None could possibly have guessed that Mr. Povey was afraid of going to +the dentist's. But such was the case. He had not dared to set forth. +The paragon of commonsense, pictured by most people as being somehow +unliable to human frailties, could not yet screw himself up to the +point of ringing a dentist's door-bell. + +"He did look funny," said Sophia. "I wonder what he thought. I couldn't +help laughing!" + +Constance made no answer; but when Sophia had resumed her own clothes, +and it was ascertained beyond doubt that the new dress had not +suffered, and Constance herself was calmly stitching again, she said, +poising her needle as she had poised it to watch Sophia: + +"I was just wondering whether something oughtn't to be done for Mr. +Povey." + +"What?" Sophia demanded. + +"Has he gone back to his bedroom?" + +"Let's go and listen," said Sophia the adventuress. + +They went, through the showroom door, past the foot of the stairs +leading to the second storey, down the long corridor broken in the +middle by two steps and carpeted with a narrow bordered carpet whose +parallel lines increased its apparent length. They went on tiptoe, +sticking close to one another. Mr. Povey's door was slightly ajar. They +listened; not a sound. + +"Mr. Povey!" Constance coughed discreetly. + +No reply. It was Sophia who pushed the door open. Constance made an +elderly prim plucking gesture at Sophia's bare arm, but she followed +Sophia gingerly into the forbidden room, which was, however, empty. The +bed had been ruffled, and on it lay a book, "The Harvest of a Quiet +Eye." + +"Harvest of a quiet tooth!" Sophia whispered, giggling very low. + +"Hsh!" Constance put her lips forward. + +From the next room came a regular, muffled, oratorical sound, as though +some one had begun many years ago to address a meeting and had +forgotten to leave off and never would leave off. They were familiar +with the sound, and they quitted Mr. Povey's chamber in fear of +disturbing it. At the same moment Mr. Povey reappeared, this time in +the drawing-room doorway at the other extremity of the long corridor. +He seemed to be trying ineffectually to flee from his tooth as a +murderer tries to flee from his conscience. + +"Oh, Mr. Povey!" said Constance quickly--for he had surprised them +coming out of his bedroom; "we were just looking for you." + +"To see if we could do anything for you," Sophia added. + +"Oh no, thanks!" said Mr. Povey. + +Then he began to come down the corridor, slowly. + +"You haven't been to the dentist's," said Constance sympathetically. + +"No, I haven't," said Mr. Povey, as if Constance was indicating a fact +which had escaped his attention. "The truth is, I thought it looked +like rain, and if I'd got wet--you see--" + +Miserable Mr. Povey! + +"Yes," said Constance, "you certainly ought to keep out of draughts. +Don't you think it would be a good thing if you went and sat in the +parlour? There's a fire there." + +"I shall be all right, thank you," said Mr. Povey. And after a pause: +"Well, thanks, I will." + +III + +The girls made way for him to pass them at the head of the twisting +stairs which led down to the parlour. Constance followed, and Sophia +followed Constance. + +"Have father's chair," said Constance. + +There were two rocking-chairs with fluted backs covered by +antimacassars, one on either side of the hearth. That to the left was +still entitled "father's chair," though its owner had not sat in it +since long before the Crimean war, and would never sit in it again. + +"I think I'd sooner have the other one," said Mr. Povey, "because it's +on the right side, you see." And he touched his right cheek. + +Having taken Mrs. Baines's chair, he bent his face down to the fire, +seeking comfort from its warmth. Sophia poked the fire, whereupon Mr. +Povey abruptly withdrew his face. He then felt something light on his +shoulders. Constance had taken the antimacassar from the back of the +chair, and protected him with it from the draughts. He did not +instantly rebel, and therefore was permanently barred from rebellion. +He was entrapped by the antimacassar. It formally constituted him an +invalid, and Constance and Sophia his nurses. Constance drew the +curtain across the street door. No draught could come from the window, +for the window was not 'made to open.' The age of ventilation had not +arrived. Sophia shut the other two doors. And, each near a door, the +girls gazed at Mr. Povey behind his back, irresolute, but filled with a +delicious sense of responsibility. + +The situation was on a different plane now. The seriousness of Mr. +Povey's toothache, which became more and more manifest, had already +wiped out the ludicrous memory of the encounter in the showroom. +Looking at these two big girls, with their short-sleeved black frocks +and black aprons, and their smooth hair, and their composed serious +faces, one would have judged them incapable of the least lapse from an +archangelic primness; Sophia especially presented a marvellous +imitation of saintly innocence. As for the toothache, its action on Mr. +Povey was apparently periodic; it gathered to a crisis like a wave, +gradually, the torture increasing till the wave broke and left Mr. +Povey exhausted, but free for a moment from pain. These crises recurred +about once a minute. And now, accustomed to the presence of the young +virgins, and having tacitly acknowledged by his acceptance of the +antimacassar that his state was abnormal, he gave himself up frankly to +affliction. He concealed nothing of his agony, which was fully +displayed by sudden contortions of his frame, and frantic oscillations +of the rocking-chair. Presently, as he lay back enfeebled in the wash +of a spent wave, he murmured with a sick man's voice: + +"I suppose you haven't got any laudanum?" + +The girls started into life. "Laudanum, Mr. Povey?" + +"Yes, to hold in my mouth." + +He sat up, tense; another wave was forming. The excellent fellow was +lost to all self-respect, all decency. + +"There's sure to be some in mother's cupboard," said Sophia. + +Constance, who bore Mrs. Baines's bunch of keys at her girdle, a solemn +trust, moved a little fearfully to a corner cupboard which was hung in +the angle to the right of the projecting fireplace, over a shelf on +which stood a large copper tea-urn. That corner cupboard, of oak inlaid +with maple and ebony in a simple border pattern, was typical of the +room. It was of a piece with the deep green "flock" wall paper, and the +tea-urn, and the rocking-chairs with their antimacassars, and the +harmonium in rosewood with a Chinese paper-mache tea-caddy on the top +of it; even with the carpet, certainly the most curious parlour carpet +that ever was, being made of lengths of the stair-carpet sewn together +side by side. That corner cupboard was already old in service; it had +held the medicines of generations. It gleamed darkly with the grave and +genuine polish which comes from ancient use alone. The key which +Constance chose from her bunch was like the cupboard, smooth and +shining with years; it fitted and turned very easily, yet with a firm +snap. The single wide door opened sedately as a portal. + +The girls examined the sacred interior, which had the air of being +inhabited by an army of diminutive prisoners, each crying aloud with +the full strength of its label to be set free on a mission. + +"There it is!" said Sophia eagerly. + +And there it was: a blue bottle, with a saffron label, "Caution. +POISON. Laudanum. Charles Critchlow, M.P.S. Dispensing Chemist. St. +Luke's Square, Bursley." + +Those large capitals frightened the girls. Constance took the bottle as +she might have taken a loaded revolver, and she glanced at Sophia. +Their omnipotent, all-wise mother was not present to tell them what to +do. They, who had never decided, had to decide now. And Constance was +the elder. Must this fearsome stuff, whose very name was a name of +fear, be introduced in spite of printed warnings into Mr. Povey's +mouth? The responsibility was terrifying. + +"Perhaps I'd just better ask Mr. Critchlow," Constance faltered. + +The expectation of beneficent laudanum had enlivened Mr. Povey, had +already, indeed, by a sort of suggestion, half cured his toothache. + +"Oh no!" he said. "No need to ask Mr. Critchlow ... Two or three drops +in a little water." He showed impatience to be at the laudanum. + +The girls knew that an antipathy existed between the chemist and Mr. +Povey. + +"It's sure to be all right," said Sophia. "I'll get the water." + +With youthful cries and alarms they succeeded in pouring four mortal +dark drops (one more than Constance intended) into a cup containing a +little water. And as they handed the cup to Mr. Povey their faces were +the faces of affrighted comical conspirators. They felt so old and they +looked so young. + +Mr. Povey imbibed eagerly of the potion, put the cup on the +mantelpiece, and then tilted his head to the right so as to submerge +the affected tooth. In this posture he remained, awaiting the sweet +influence of the remedy. The girls, out of a nice modesty, turned away, +for Mr. Povey must not swallow the medicine, and they preferred to +leave him unhampered in the solution of a delicate problem. When next +they examined him, he was leaning back in the rocking-chair with his +mouth open and his eyes shut. + +"Has it done you any good, Mr. Povey?" + +"I think I'll lie down on the sofa for a minute," was Mr. Povey's +strange reply; and forthwith he sprang up and flung himself on to the +horse-hair sofa between the fireplace and the window, where he lay +stripped of all his dignity, a mere beaten animal in a grey suit with +peculiar coat-tails, and a very creased waistcoat, and a lapel that was +planted with pins, and a paper collar and close-fitting paper cuffs. + +Constance ran after him with the antimacassar, which she spread softly +on his shoulders; and Sophia put another one over his thin little legs, +all drawn up. + +They then gazed at their handiwork, with secret self-accusations and +the most dreadful misgivings. + +"He surely never swallowed it!" Constance whispered. + +"He's asleep, anyhow," said Sophia, more loudly. + +Mr. Povey was certainly asleep, and his mouth was very wide open--like +a shop-door. The only question was whether his sleep was not an eternal +sleep; the only question was whether he was not out of his pain for +ever. + +Then he snored--horribly; his snore seemed a portent of disaster. + +Sophia approached him as though he were a bomb, and stared, growing +bolder, into his mouth. + +"Oh, Con," she summoned her sister, "do come and look! It's too droll!" + +In an instant all their four eyes were exploring the singular landscape +of Mr. Povey's mouth. In a corner, to the right of that interior, was +one sizeable fragment of a tooth, that was attached to Mr. Povey by the +slenderest tie, so that at each respiration of Mr. Povey, when his body +slightly heaved and the gale moaned in the cavern, this tooth moved +separately, showing that its long connection with Mr. Povey was drawing +to a close. + +"That's the one," said Sophia, pointing. "And it's as loose as +anything. Did you ever see such a funny thing?" + +The extreme funniness of the thing had lulled in Sophia the fear of Mr. +Povey's sudden death. + +"I'll see how much he's taken," said Constance, preoccupied, going to +the mantelpiece. + +"Why, I do believe--" Sophia began, and then stopped, glancing at the +sewing-machine, which stood next to the sofa. + +It was a Howe sewing-machine. It had a little tool-drawer, and in the +tool-drawer was a small pair of pliers. Constance, engaged in sniffing +at the lees of the potion in order to estimate its probable deadliness, +heard the well-known click of the little tool-drawer, and then she saw +Sophia nearing Mr. Povey's mouth with the pliers. + +"Sophia!" she exclaimed, aghast. "What in the name of goodness are you +doing?" + +"Nothing," said Sophia. + +The next instant Mr. Povey sprang up out of his laudanum dream. + +"It jumps!" he muttered; and, after a reflective pause, "but it's much +better." He had at any rate escaped death. + +Sophia's right hand was behind her back. + +Just then a hawker passed down King Street, crying mussels and cockles. + +"Oh!" Sophia almost shrieked. "Do let's have mussels and cockles for +tea!" And she rushed to the door, and unlocked and opened it, +regardless of the risk of draughts to Mr. Povey. + +In those days people often depended upon the caprices of hawkers for +the tastiness of their teas; but it was an adventurous age, when errant +knights of commerce were numerous and enterprising. You went on to your +doorstep, caught your meal as it passed, withdrew, cooked it and ate +it, quite in the manner of the early Briton. + +Constance was obliged to join her sister on the top step. Sophia +descended to the second step. + +"Fresh mussels and cockles all alive oh!" bawled the hawker, looking +across the road in the April breeze. He was the celebrated Hollins, a +professional Irish drunkard, aged in iniquity, who cheerfully saluted +magistrates in the street, and referred to the workhouse, which he +occasionally visited, as the Bastile. + +Sophia was trembling from head to foot. + +"What ARE you laughing at, you silly thing?" Constance demanded. + +Sophia surreptitiously showed the pliers, which she had partly thrust +into her pocket. Between their points was a most perceptible, and even +recognizable, fragment of Mr. Povey. + +This was the crown of Sophia's career as a perpetrator of the +unutterable. + +"What!" Constance's face showed the final contortions of that horrified +incredulity which is forced to believe. + +Sophia nudged her violently to remind her that they were in the street, +and also quite close to Mr. Povey. + +"Now, my little missies," said the vile Hollins. "Three pence a pint, +and how's your honoured mother to-day? Yes, fresh, so help me God!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE TOOTH + +I + + +The two girls came up the unlighted stone staircase which led from +Maggie's cave to the door of the parlour. Sophia, foremost, was +carrying a large tray, and Constance a small one. Constance, who had +nothing on her tray but a teapot, a bowl of steaming and balmy-scented +mussels and cockles, and a plate of hot buttered toast, went directly +into the parlour on the left. Sophia had in her arms the entire +material and apparatus of a high tea for two, including eggs, jam, and +toast (covered with the slop-basin turned upside down), but not +including mussels and cockles. She turned to the right, passed along +the corridor by the cutting-out room, up two steps into the sheeted and +shuttered gloom of the closed shop, up the showroom stairs, through the +showroom, and so into the bedroom corridor. Experience had proved it +easier to make this long detour than to round the difficult corner of +the parlour stairs with a large loaded tray. Sophia knocked with the +edge of the tray at the door of the principal bedroom. The muffled +oratorical sound from within suddenly ceased, and the door was opened +by a very tall, very thin, black-bearded man, who looked down at Sophia +as if to demand what she meant by such an interruption. + +"I've brought the tea, Mr. Critchlow," said Sophia. + +And Mr. Critchlow carefully accepted the tray. + +"Is that my little Sophia?" asked a faint voice from the depths of the +bedroom. + +"Yes, father," said Sophia. + +But she did not attempt to enter the room. Mr. Critchlow put the tray +on a white-clad chest of drawers near the door, and then he shut the +door, with no ceremony. Mr. Critchlow was John Baines's oldest and +closest friend, though decidedly younger than the draper. He frequently +"popped in" to have a word with the invalid; but Thursday afternoon was +his special afternoon, consecrated by him to the service of the sick. +From two o'clock precisely till eight o'clock precisely he took charge +of John Baines, reigning autocratically over the bedroom. It was known +that he would not tolerate invasions, nor even ambassadorial visits. +No! He gave up his weekly holiday to this business of friendship, and +he must be allowed to conduct the business in his own way. Mrs. Baines +herself avoided disturbing Mr. Critchlow's ministrations on her +husband. She was glad to do so; for Mr. Baines was never to be left +alone under any circumstances, and the convenience of being able to +rely upon the presence of a staid member of the Pharmaceutical Society +for six hours of a given day every week outweighed the slight affront +to her prerogatives as wife and house-mistress. Mr. Critchlow was an +extremely peculiar man, but when he was in the bedroom she could leave +the house with an easy mind. Moreover, John Baines enjoyed these +Thursday afternoons. For him, there was 'none like Charles Critchlow.' +The two old friends experienced a sort of grim, desiccated happiness, +cooped up together in the bedroom, secure from women and fools +generally. How they spent the time did not seem to be certainly known, +but the impression was that politics occupied them. Undoubtedly Mr. +Critchlow was an extremely peculiar man. He was a man of habits. He +must always have the same things for his tea. Black-currant jam, for +instance. (He called it "preserve.") The idea of offering Mr. Critchlow +a tea which did not comprise black-currant jam was inconceivable by the +intelligence of St. Luke's Square. Thus for years past, in the +fruit-preserving season, when all the house and all the shop smelt +richly of fruit boiling in sugar, Mrs. Baines had filled an extra +number of jars with black-currant jam, 'because Mr. Critchlow wouldn't +TOUCH any other sort.' + +So Sophia, faced with the shut door of the bedroom, went down to the +parlour by the shorter route. She knew that on going up again, after +tea, she would find the devastated tray on the doormat. + +Constance was helping Mr. Povey to mussels and cockles. And Mr. Povey +still wore one of the antimacassars. It must have stuck to his +shoulders when he sprang up from the sofa, woollen antimacassars being +notoriously parasitic things. Sophia sat down, somewhat +self-consciously. The serious Constance was also perturbed. Mr. Povey +did not usually take tea in the house on Thursday afternoons; his +practice was to go out into the great, mysterious world. Never before +had he shared a meal with the girls alone. The situation was +indubitably unexpected, unforeseen; it was, too, piquant, and what +added to its piquancy was the fact that Constance and Sophia were, +somehow, responsible for Mr. Povey. They felt that they were +responsible for him. They had offered the practical sympathy of two +intelligent and well-trained young women, born nurses by reason of +their sex, and Mr. Povey had accepted; he was now on their hands. +Sophia's monstrous, sly operation in Mr. Povey's mouth did not cause +either of them much alarm, Constance having apparently recovered from +the first shock of it. They had discussed it in the kitchen while +preparing the teas; Constance's extraordinarily severe and dictatorial +tone in condemning it had led to a certain heat. But the success of the +impudent wrench justified it despite any irrefutable argument to the +contrary. Mr. Povey was better already, and he evidently remained in +ignorance of his loss. + +"Have some?" Constance asked of Sophia, with a large spoon hovering +over the bowl of shells. + +"Yes, PLEASE," said Sophia, positively. + +Constance well knew that she would have some, and had only asked from +sheer nervousness. + +"Pass your plate, then." + +Now when everybody was served with mussels, cockles, tea, and toast, +and Mr. Povey had been persuaded to cut the crust off his toast, and +Constance had, quite unnecessarily, warned Sophia against the deadly +green stuff in the mussels, and Constance had further pointed out that +the evenings were getting longer, and Mr. Povey had agreed that they +were, there remained nothing to say. An irksome silence fell on them +all, and no one could lift it off. Tiny clashes of shell and crockery +sounded with the terrible clearness of noises heard in the night. Each +person avoided the eyes of the others. And both Constance and Sophia +kept straightening their bodies at intervals, and expanding their +chests, and then looking at their plates; occasionally a prim cough was +discharged. It was a sad example of the difference between young +women's dreams of social brilliance and the reality of life. These +girls got more and more girlish, until, from being women at the +administering of laudanum, they sank back to about eight years of +age--perfect children--at the tea-table. + +The tension was snapped by Mr. Povey. "My God!" he muttered, moved by a +startling discovery to this impious and disgraceful oath (he, the +pattern and exemplar--and in the presence of innocent girlhood too!). +"I've swallowed it!" + +"Swallowed what, Mr. Povey?" Constance inquired. + +The tip of Mr. Povey's tongue made a careful voyage of inspection all +round the right side of his mouth. + +"Oh yes!" he said, as if solemnly accepting the inevitable. "I've +swallowed it!" + +Sophia's face was now scarlet; she seemed to be looking for some place +to hide it. Constance could not think of anything to say. + +"That tooth has been loose for two years," said Mr. Povey, "and now +I've swallowed it with a mussel." + +"Oh, Mr. Povey!" Constance cried in confusion, and added, "There's one +good thing, it can't hurt you any more now." + +"Oh!" said Mr. Povey. "It wasn't THAT tooth that was hurting me. It's +an old stump at the back that's upset me so this last day or two. I +wish it had been." + +Sophia had her teacup close to her red face. At these words of Mr. +Povey her cheeks seemed to fill out like plump apples. She dashed the +cup into its saucer, spilling tea recklessly, and then ran from the +room with stifled snorts. + +"Sophia!" Constance protested. + +"I must just--" Sophia incoherently spluttered in the doorway. "I +shall be all right. Don't----" + +Constance, who had risen, sat down again. + +II + +Sophia fled along the passage leading to the shop and took refuge in +the cutting-out room, a room which the astonishing architect had +devised upon what must have been a backyard of one of the three +constituent houses. It was lighted from its roof, and only a wooden +partition, eight feet high, separated it from the passage. Here Sophia +gave rein to her feelings; she laughed and cried together, weeping +generously into her handkerchief and wildly giggling, in a hysteria +which she could not control. The spectacle of Mr. Povey mourning for a +tooth which he thought he had swallowed, but which in fact lay all the +time in her pocket, seemed to her to be by far the most ridiculous, +side-splitting thing that had ever happened or could happen on earth. +It utterly overcame her. And when she fancied that she had exhausted +and conquered its surpassing ridiculousness, this ridiculousness seized +her again and rolled her anew in depths of mad, trembling laughter. + +Gradually she grew calmer. She heard the parlour door open, and +Constance descend the kitchen steps with a rattling tray of tea-things. +Tea, then, was finished, without her! Constance did not remain in the +kitchen, because the cups and saucers were left for Maggie to wash up +as a fitting coda to Maggie's monthly holiday. The parlour door closed. +And the vision of Mr. Povey in his antimacassar swept Sophia off into +another convulsion of laughter and tears. Upon this the parlour door +opened again, and Sophia choked herself into silence while Constance +hastened along the passage. In a minute Constance returned with her +woolwork, which she had got from the showroom, and the parlour received +her. Not the least curiosity on the part of Constance as to what had +become of Sophia! + +At length Sophia, a faint meditative smile being all that was left of +the storm in her, ascended slowly to the showroom, through the shop. +Nothing there of interest! Thence she wandered towards the +drawing-room, and encountered Mr. Critchlow's tray on the mat. She +picked it up and carried it by way of the showroom and shop down to the +kitchen, where she dreamily munched two pieces of toast that had cooled +to the consistency of leather. She mounted the stone steps and listened +at the door of the parlour. No sound! This seclusion of Mr. Povey and +Constance was really very strange. She roved right round the house, and +descended creepingly by the twisted house-stairs, and listened intently +at the other door of the parlour. She now detected a faint regular +snore. Mr. Povey, a prey to laudanum and mussels, was sleeping while +Constance worked at her fire-screen! It was now in the highest degree +odd, this seclusion of Mr. Povey and Constance; unlike anything in +Sophia's experience! She wanted to go into the parlour, but she could +not bring herself to do so. She crept away again, forlorn and puzzled, +and next discovered herself in the bedroom which she shared with +Constance at the top of the house; she lay down in the dusk on the bed +and began to read "The Days of Bruce;" but she read only with her eyes. + +Later, she heard movements on the house-stairs, and the familiar +whining creak of the door at the foot thereof. She skipped lightly to +the door of the bedroom. + +"Good-night, Mr. Povey. I hope you'll be able to sleep." + +Constance's voice! + +"It will probably come on again." + +Mr. Povey's voice, pessimistic! + +Then the shutting of doors. It was almost dark. She went back to the +bed, expecting a visit from Constance. But a clock struck eight, and +all the various phenomena connected with the departure of Mr. Critchlow +occurred one after another. At the same time Maggie came home from the +land of romance. Then long silences! Constance was now immured with her +father, it being her "turn" to nurse; Maggie was washing up in her +cave, and Mr. Povey was lost to sight in his bedroom. Then Sophia heard +her mother's lively, commanding knock on the King Street door. Dusk had +definitely yielded to black night in the bedroom. Sophia dozed and +dreamed. When she awoke, her ear caught the sound of knocking. She +jumped up, tiptoed to the landing, and looked over the balustrade, +whence she had a view of all the first-floor corridor. The gas had been +lighted; through the round aperture at the top of the porcelain globe +she could see the wavering flame. It was her mother, still bonneted, +who was knocking at the door of Mr. Povey's room. Constance stood in +the doorway of her parents' room. Mrs. Baines knocked twice with an +interval, and then said to Constance, in a resonant whisper that +vibrated up the corridor---- + +"He seems to be fast asleep. I'd better not disturb him." + +"But suppose he wants something in the night?" + +"Well, child, I should hear him moving. Sleep's the best thing for him." + +Mrs. Baines left Mr. Povey to the effects of laudanum, and came along +the corridor. She was a stout woman, all black stuff and gold chain, +and her skirt more than filled the width of the corridor. Sophia +watched her habitual heavy mounting gesture as she climbed the two +steps that gave variety to the corridor. At the gas-jet she paused, +and, putting her hand to the tap, gazed up into the globe. + +"Where's Sophia?" she demanded, her eyes fixed on the gas as she +lowered the flame. + +"I think she must be in bed, mother," said Constance, nonchalantly. + +The returned mistress was point by point resuming knowledge and control +of that complicated machine--her household. + +Then Constance and her mother disappeared into the bedroom, and the +door was shut with a gentle, decisive bang that to the silent watcher +on the floor above seemed to create a special excluding intimacy round +about the figures of Constance and her father and mother. The watcher +wondered, with a little prick of jealousy, what they would be +discussing in the large bedroom, her father's beard wagging feebly and +his long arms on the counterpane, Constance perched at the foot of the +bed, and her mother walking to and fro, putting her cameo brooch on the +dressing-table or stretching creases out of her gloves. Certainly, in +some subtle way, Constance had a standing with her parents which was +more confidential than Sophia's. + +III + +When Constance came to bed, half an hour later, Sophia was already in +bed. The room was fairly spacious. It had been the girls' retreat and +fortress since their earliest years. Its features seemed to them as +natural and unalterable as the features of a cave to a cave-dweller. It +had been repapered twice in their lives, and each papering stood out in +their memories like an epoch; a third epoch was due to the replacing of +a drugget by a resplendent old carpet degraded from the drawing-room. +There was only one bed, the bedstead being of painted iron; they never +interfered with each other in that bed, sleeping with a detachment as +perfect as if they had slept on opposite sides of St. Luke's Square; +yet if Constance had one night lain down on the half near the window +instead of on the half near the door, the secret nature of the universe +would have seemed to be altered. The small fire-grate was filled with a +mass of shavings of silver paper; now the rare illnesses which they had +suffered were recalled chiefly as periods when that silver paper was +crammed into a large slipper-case which hung by the mantelpiece, and a +fire of coals unnaturally reigned in its place--the silver paper was +part of the order of the world. The sash of the window would not work +quite properly, owing to a slight subsidence in the wall, and even when +the window was fastened there was always a narrow slit to the left hand +between the window and its frame; through this slit came draughts, and +thus very keen frosts were remembered by the nights when Mrs. Baines +caused the sash to be forced and kept at its full height by means of +wedges--the slit of exposure was part of the order of the world. + +They possessed only one bed, one washstand, and one dressing-table; but +in some other respects they were rather fortunate girls, for they had +two mahogany wardrobes; this mutual independence as regards wardrobes +was due partly to Mrs. Baines's strong commonsense, and partly to their +father's tendency to spoil them a little. They had, moreover, a chest +of drawers with a curved front, of which structure Constance occupied +two short drawers and one long one, and Sophia two long drawers. On it +stood two fancy work-boxes, in which each sister kept jewellery, a +savings-bank book, and other treasures, and these boxes were absolutely +sacred to their respective owners. They were different, but one was not +more magnificent than the other. Indeed, a rigid equality was the rule +in the chamber, the single exception being that behind the door were +three hooks, of which Constance commanded two. + +"Well," Sophia began, when Constance appeared. "How's darling Mr. +Povey?" She was lying on her back, and smiling at her two hands, which +she held up in front of her. + +"Asleep," said Constance. "At least mother thinks so. She says sleep is +the best thing for him." + +"'It will probably come on again,'" said Sophia. + +"What's that you say?" Constance asked, undressing. + +"'It will probably come on again.'" + +These words were a quotation from the utterances of darling Mr. Povey +on the stairs, and Sophia delivered them with an exact imitation of Mr. +Povey's vocal mannerism. + +"Sophia," said Constance, firmly, approaching the bed, "I wish you +wouldn't be so silly!" She had benevolently ignored the satirical note +in Sophia's first remark, but a strong instinct in her rose up and +objected to further derision. "Surely you've done enough for one day!" +she added. + +For answer Sophia exploded into violent laughter, which she made no +attempt to control. She laughed too long and too freely while Constance +stared at her. + +"_I_ don't know what's come over you!" said Constance. + +"It's only because I can't look at it without simply going off into +fits!" Sophia gasped out. And she held up a tiny object in her left +hand. + +Constance started, flushing. "You don't mean to say you've kept it!" +she protested earnestly. "How horrid you are, Sophia! Give it me at +once and let me throw it away. I never heard of such doings. Now give +it me!" + +"No," Sophia objected, still laughing. "I wouldn't part with it for +worlds. It's too lovely." + +She had laughed away all her secret resentment against Constance for +having ignored her during the whole evening and for being on such +intimate terms with their parents. And she was ready to be candidly +jolly with Constance. + +"Give it me," said Constance, doggedly. + +Sophia hid her hand under the clothes. "You can have his old stump, +when it comes out, if you like. But not this. What a pity it's the +wrong one!" + +"Sophia, I'm ashamed of you! Give it me." + +Then it was that Sophia first perceived Constance's extreme +seriousness. She was surprised and a little intimidated by it. For the +expression of Constance's face, usually so benign and calm, was harsh, +almost fierce. However, Sophia had a great deal of what is called +"spirit," and not even ferocity on the face of mild Constance could +intimidate her for more than a few seconds. Her gaiety expired and her +teeth were hidden. + +"I've said nothing to mother----" Constance proceeded. + +"I should hope you haven't," Sophia put in tersely. + +"But I certainly shall if you don't throw that away," Constance +finished. + +"You can say what you like," Sophia retorted, adding contemptuously a +term of opprobrium which has long since passed out of use: "Cant!" + +"Will you give it me or won't you?" + +"No!" + +It was a battle suddenly engaged in the bedroom. The atmosphere had +altered completely with the swiftness of magic. The beauty of Sophia, +the angelic tenderness of Constance, and the youthful, naive, innocent +charm of both of them, were transformed into something sinister and +cruel. Sophia lay back on the pillow amid her dark-brown hair, and +gazed with relentless defiance into the angry eyes of Constance, who +stood threatening by the bed. They could hear the gas singing over the +dressing-table, and their hearts beating the blood wildly in their +veins. They ceased to be young without growing old; the eternal had +leapt up in them from its sleep. + +Constance walked away from the bed to the dressing-table and began to +loose her hair and brush it, holding back her head, shaking it, and +bending forward, in the changeless gesture of that rite. She was so +disturbed that she had unconsciously reversed the customary order of +the toilette. After a moment Sophia slipped out of bed and, stepping +with her bare feet to the chest of drawers, opened her work-box and +deposited the fragment of Mr. Povey therein; she dropped the lid with +an uncompromising bang, as if to say, "We shall see if I am to be trod +upon, miss!" Their eyes met again in the looking-glass. Then Sophia got +back into bed. + +Five minutes later, when her hair was quite finished, Constance knelt +down and said her prayers. Having said her prayers, she went straight +to Sophia's work-box, opened it, seized the fragment of Mr. Povey, ran +to the window, and frantically pushed the fragment through the slit +into the Square. + +"There!" she exclaimed nervously. + +She had accomplished this inconceivable transgression of the code of +honour, beyond all undoing, before Sophia could recover from the +stupefaction of seeing her sacred work-box impudently violated. In a +single moment one of Sophia's chief ideals had been smashed utterly, +and that by the sweetest, gentlest creature she had ever known. It was +a revealing experience for Sophia--and also for Constance. And it +frightened them equally. Sophia, staring at the text, "Thou God seest +me," framed in straw over the chest of drawers, did not stir. She was +defeated, and so profoundly moved in her defeat that she did not even +reflect upon the obvious inefficacy of illuminated texts as a deterrent +from evil-doing. Not that she cared a fig for the fragment of Mr. +Povey! It was the moral aspect of the affair, and the astounding, +inexplicable development in Constance's character, that staggered her +into silent acceptance of the inevitable. + +Constance, trembling, took pains to finish undressing with dignified +deliberation. Sophia's behaviour under the blow seemed too good to be +true; but it gave her courage. At length she turned out the gas and lay +down by Sophia. And there was a little shuffling, and then stillness +for a while. + +"And if you want to know," said Constance in a tone that mingled +amicableness with righteousness, "mother's decided with Aunt Harriet +that we are BOTH to leave school next term." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A BATTLE + +I + + +The day sanctioned by custom in the Five Towns for the making of pastry +is Saturday. But Mrs. Baines made her pastry on Friday, because +Saturday afternoon was, of course, a busy time in the shop. It is true +that Mrs. Baines made her pastry in the morning, and that Saturday +morning in the shop was scarcely different from any other morning. +Nevertheless, Mrs. Baines made her pastry on Friday morning instead of +Saturday morning because Saturday afternoon was a busy time in the +shop. She was thus free to do her marketing without breath-taking +flurry on Saturday morning. + +On the morning after Sophia's first essay in dentistry, therefore, Mrs. +Baines was making her pastry in the underground kitchen. This kitchen, +Maggie's cavern-home, had the mystery of a church, and on dark days it +had the mystery of a crypt. The stone steps leading down to it from the +level of earth were quite unlighted. You felt for them with the feet of +faith, and when you arrived in the kitchen, the kitchen, by contrast, +seemed luminous and gay; the architect may have considered and intended +this effect of the staircase. The kitchen saw day through a wide, +shallow window whose top touched the ceiling and whose bottom had been +out of the girls' reach until long after they had begun to go to +school. Its panes were small, and about half of them were of the "knot" +kind, through which no object could be distinguished; the other half +were of a later date, and stood for the march of civilization. The view +from the window consisted of the vast plate-glass windows of the newly +built Sun vaults, and of passing legs and skirts. A strong wire grating +prevented any excess of illumination, and also protected the glass from +the caprices of wayfarers in King Street. Boys had a habit of stopping +to kick with their full strength at the grating. + +Forget-me-nots on a brown field ornamented the walls of the kitchen. +Its ceiling was irregular and grimy, and a beam ran across it; in this +beam were two hooks; from these hooks had once depended the ropes of a +swing, much used by Constance and Sophia in the old days before they +were grown up. A large range stood out from the wall between the stairs +and the window. The rest of the furniture comprised a table--against +the wall opposite the range--a cupboard, and two Windsor chairs. +Opposite the foot of the steps was a doorway, without a door, leading +to two larders, dimmer even than the kitchen, vague retreats made +visible by whitewash, where bowls of milk, dishes of cold bones, and +remainders of fruit-pies, reposed on stillages; in the corner nearest +the kitchen was a great steen in which the bread was kept. Another +doorway on the other side of the kitchen led to the first coal-cellar, +where was also the slopstone and tap, and thence a tunnel took you to +the second coal-cellar, where coke and ashes were stored; the tunnel +proceeded to a distant, infinitesimal yard, and from the yard, by ways +behind Mr. Critchlow's shop, you could finally emerge, astonished, upon +Brougham Street. The sense of the vast-obscure of those regions which +began at the top of the kitchen steps and ended in black corners of +larders or abruptly in the common dailiness of Brougham Street, a sense +which Constance and Sophia had acquired in infancy, remained with them +almost unimpaired as they grew old. + +Mrs. Baines wore black alpaca, shielded by a white apron whose string +drew attention to the amplitude of her waist. Her sleeves were turned +up, and her hands, as far as the knuckles, covered with damp flour. Her +ageless smooth paste-board occupied a corner of the table, and near it +were her paste-roller, butter, some pie-dishes, shredded apples, sugar, +and other things. Those rosy hands were at work among a sticky +substance in a large white bowl. + +"Mother, are you there?" she heard a voice from above. + +"Yes, my chuck." + +Footsteps apparently reluctant and hesitating clinked on the stairs, +and Sophia entered the kitchen. + +"Put this curl straight," said Mrs. Baines, lowering her head slightly +and holding up her floured hands, which might not touch anything but +flour. "Thank you. It bothered me. And now stand out of my light. I'm +in a hurry. I must get into the shop so that I can send Mr. Povey off +to the dentist's. What is Constance doing?" + +"Helping Maggie to make Mr. Povey's bed." + +"Oh!" + +Though fat, Mrs. Baines was a comely woman, with fine brown hair, and +confidently calm eyes that indicated her belief in her own capacity to +accomplish whatever she could be called on to accomplish. She looked +neither more nor less than her age, which was forty-five. She was not a +native of the district, having been culled by her husband from the +moorland town of Axe, twelve miles off. Like nearly all women who +settle in a strange land upon marriage, at the bottom of her heart she +had considered herself just a trifle superior to the strange land and +its ways. This feeling, confirmed by long experience, had never left +her. It was this feeling which induced her to continue making her own +pastry--with two thoroughly trained "great girls" in the house! +Constance could make good pastry, but it was not her mother's pastry. +In pastry-making everything can be taught except the "hand," light and +firm, which wields the roller. One is born with this hand, or without +it. And if one is born without it, the highest flights of pastry are +impossible. Constance was born without it. There were days when Sophia +seemed to possess it; but there were other days when Sophia's pastry +was uneatable by any one except Maggie. Thus Mrs. Baines, though +intensely proud and fond of her daughters, had justifiably preserved a +certain condescension towards them. She honestly doubted whether either +of them would develop into the equal of their mother. + +"Now you little vixen!" she exclaimed. Sophia was stealing and eating +slices of half-cooked apple. "This comes of having no breakfast! And +why didn't you come down to supper last night?" + +"I don't know. I forgot." + +Mrs. Baines scrutinized the child's eyes, which met hers with a sort of +diffident boldness. She knew everything that a mother can know of a +daughter, and she was sure that Sophia had no cause to be indisposed. +Therefore she scrutinized those eyes with a faint apprehension. + +"If you can't find anything better to do," said she, "butter me the +inside of this dish. Are your hands clean? No, better not touch it." + +Mrs. Baines was now at the stage of depositing little pats of butter in +rows on a large plain of paste. The best fresh butter! Cooking butter, +to say naught of lard, was unknown in that kitchen on Friday mornings. +She doubled the expanse of paste on itself and rolled the butter +in--supreme operation! + +"Constance has told you--about leaving school?" said Mrs. Baines, in +the vein of small-talk, as she trimmed the paste to the shape of a +pie-dish. + +"Yes," Sophia replied shortly. Then she moved away from the table to +the range. There was a toasting-fork on the rack, and she began to play +with it. + +"Well, are you glad? Your aunt Harriet thinks you are quite old enough +to leave. And as we'd decided in any case that Constance was to leave, +it's really much simpler that you should both leave together." + +"Mother," said Sophia, rattling the toasting-fork, "what am I going to +do after I've left school?" + +"I hope," Mrs. Baines answered with that sententiousness which even the +cleverest of parents are not always clever enough to deny themselves, +"I hope that both of you will do what you can to help your mother--and +father," she added. + +"Yes," said Sophia, irritated. "But what am I going to DO?" + +"That must be considered. As Constance is to learn the millinery, I've +been thinking that you might begin to make yourself useful in the +underwear, gloves, silks, and so on. Then between you, you would one +day be able to manage quite nicely all that side of the shop, and I +should be--" + +"I don't want to go into the shop, mother." + +This interruption was made in a voice apparently cold and inimical. But +Sophia trembled with nervous excitement as she uttered the words. Mrs. +Baines gave a brief glance at her, unobserved by the child, whose face +was towards the fire. She deemed herself a finished expert in the +reading of Sophia's moods; nevertheless, as she looked at that straight +back and proud head, she had no suspicion that the whole essence and +being of Sophia was silently but intensely imploring sympathy. + +"I wish you would be quiet with that fork," said Mrs. Baines, with the +curious, grim politeness which often characterized her relations with +her daughters. + +The toasting-fork fell on the brick floor, after having rebounded from +the ash-tin. Sophia hurriedly replaced it on the rack. + +"Then what SHALL you do?" Mrs. Baines proceeded, conquering the +annoyance caused by the toasting-fork. "I think it's me that should ask +you instead of you asking me. What shall you do? Your father and I were +both hoping you would take kindly to the shop and try to repay us for +all the--" + +Mrs. Baines was unfortunate in her phrasing that morning. She happened +to be, in truth, rather an exceptional parent, but that morning she +seemed unable to avoid the absurd pretensions which parents of those +days assumed quite sincerely and which every good child with meekness +accepted. + +Sophia was not a good child, and she obstinately denied in her heart +the cardinal principle of family life, namely, that the parent has +conferred on the offspring a supreme favour by bringing it into the +world. She interrupted her mother again, rudely. + +"I don't want to leave school at all," she said passionately. + +"But you will have to leave school sooner or later," argued Mrs. +Baines, with an air of quiet reasoning, of putting herself on a level +with Sophia. "You can't stay at school for ever, my pet, can you? Out +of my way!" + +She hurried across the kitchen with a pie, which she whipped into the +oven, shutting the iron door with a careful gesture. + +"Yes," said Sophia. "I should like to be a teacher. That's what I want +to be." + +The tap in the coal-cellar, out of repair, could be heard distinctly +and systematically dropping water into a jar on the slopstone. + +"A school-teacher?" inquired Mrs. Baines. + +"Of course. What other kind is there?" said Sophia, sharply. "With Miss +Chetwynd." + +"I don't think your father would like that," Mrs. Baines replied. "I'm +sure he wouldn't like it." + +"Why not?" + +"It wouldn't be quite suitable." + +"Why not, mother?" the girl demanded with a sort of ferocity. She had +now quitted the range. A man's feet twinkled past the window. + +Mrs. Baines was startled and surprised. Sophia's attitude was really +very trying; her manners deserved correction. But it was not these +phenomena which seriously affected Mrs. Baines; she was used to them +and had come to regard them as somehow the inevitable accompaniment of +Sophia's beauty, as the penalty of that surpassing charm which +occasionally emanated from the girl like a radiance. What startled and +surprised Mrs. Baines was the perfect and unthinkable madness of +Sophia's infantile scheme. It was a revelation to Mrs. Baines. Why in +the name of heaven had the girl taken such a notion into her head? +Orphans, widows, and spinsters of a certain age suddenly thrown on the +world--these were the women who, naturally, became teachers, because +they had to become something. But that the daughter of comfortable +parents, surrounded by love and the pleasures of an excellent home, +should wish to teach in a school was beyond the horizons of Mrs. +Baines's common sense. Comfortable parents of to-day who have a +difficulty in sympathizing with Mrs. Baines, should picture what their +feelings would be if their Sophias showed a rude desire to adopt the +vocation of chauffeur. + +"It would take you too much away from home," said Mrs. Baines, +achieving a second pie. + +She spoke softly. The experience of being Sophia's mother for nearly +sixteen years had not been lost on Mrs. Baines, and though she was now +discovering undreamt-of dangers in Sophia's erratic temperament, she +kept her presence of mind sufficiently well to behave with diplomatic +smoothness. It was undoubtedly humiliating to a mother to be forced to +use diplomacy in dealing with a girl in short sleeves. In HER day +mothers had been autocrats. But Sophia was Sophia. + +"What if it did?" Sophia curtly demanded. + +"And there's no opening in Bursley," said Mrs. Baines. + +"Miss Chetwynd would have me, and then after a time I could go to her +sister." + +"Her sister? What sister?" + +"Her sister that has a big school in London somewhere." + +Mrs. Baines covered her unprecedented emotions by gazing into the oven +at the first pie. The pie was doing well, under all the circumstances. +In those few seconds she reflected rapidly and decided that to a +desperate disease a desperate remedy must be applied. + +London! She herself had never been further than Manchester. London, +'after a time'! No, diplomacy would be misplaced in this crisis of +Sophia's development! + +"Sophia," she said, in a changed and solemn voice, fronting her +daughter, and holding away from her apron those floured, ringed hands, +"I don't know what has come over you. Truly I don't! Your father and I +are prepared to put up with a certain amount, but the line must be +drawn. The fact is, we've spoilt you, and instead of getting better as +you grow up, you're getting worse. Now let me hear no more of this, +please. I wish you would imitate your sister a little more. Of course +if you won't do your share in the shop, no one can make you. If you +choose to be an idler about the house, we shall have to endure it. We +can only advise you for your own good. But as for this ..." She +stopped, and let silence speak, and then finished: "Let me hear no more +of it." + +It was a powerful and impressive speech, enunciated clearly in such a +tone as Mrs. Baines had not employed since dismissing a young lady +assistant five years ago for light conduct. + +"But, mother--" + +A commotion of pails resounded at the top of the stone steps. It was +Maggie in descent from the bedrooms. Now, the Baines family passed its +life in doing its best to keep its affairs to itself, the assumption +being that Maggie and all the shop-staff (Mr. Povey possibly excepted) +were obsessed by a ravening appetite for that which did not concern +them. Therefore the voices of the Baineses always died away, or fell to +a hushed, mysterious whisper, whenever the foot of the eavesdropper was +heard. + +Mrs. Baines put a floured finger to her double chin. "That will do," +said she, with finality. + +Maggie appeared, and Sophia, with a brusque precipitation of herself, +vanished upstairs. + +II + +"Now, really, Mr. Povey, this is not like you," said Mrs. Baines, who, +on her way into the shop, had discovered the Indispensable in the +cutting-out room. + +It is true that the cutting-out room was almost Mr. Povey's sanctum, +whither he retired from time to time to cut out suits of clothes and +odd garments for the tailoring department. It is true that the +tailoring department flourished with orders, employing several tailors +who crossed legs in their own homes, and that appointments were +continually being made with customers for trying-on in that room. But +these considerations did not affect Mrs. Baines's attitude of +disapproval. + +"I'm just cutting out that suit for the minister," said Mr. Povey. + +The Reverend Mr. Murley, superintendent of the Wesleyan Methodist +circuit, called on Mr. Baines every week. On a recent visit Mr. Baines +had remarked that the parson's coat was ageing into green, and had +commanded that a new suit should be built and presented to Mr. Murley. +Mr. Murley, who had a genuine mediaeval passion for souls, and who +spent his money and health freely in gratifying the passion, had +accepted the offer strictly on behalf of Christ, and had carefully +explained to Mr. Povey Christ's use for multifarious pockets. + +"I see you are," said Mrs. Baines tartly. "But that's no reason why you +should be without a coat--and in this cold room too. You with +toothache!" + +The fact was that Mr. Povey always doffed his coat when cutting out. +Instead of a coat he wore a tape-measure. + +"My tooth doesn't hurt me," said he, sheepishly, dropping the great +scissors and picking up a cake of chalk. + +"Fiddlesticks!" said Mrs. Baines. + +This exclamation shocked Mr. Povey. It was not unknown on the lips of +Mrs. Baines, but she usually reserved it for members of her own sex. +Mr. Povey could not recall that she had ever applied it to any +statement of his. "What's the matter with the woman?" he thought. The +redness of her face did not help him to answer the question, for her +face was always red after the operations of Friday in the kitchen. + +"You men are all alike," Mrs. Baines continued. "The very thought of +the dentist's cures you. Why don't you go in at once to Mr. Critchlow +and have it out--like a man?" + +Mr. Critchlow extracted teeth, and his shop sign said "Bone-setter and +chemist." But Mr. Povey had his views. + +"I make no account of Mr. Critchlow as a dentist," said he. + +"Then for goodness' sake go up to Oulsnam's." + +"When? I can't very well go now, and to-morrow is Saturday." + +"Why can't you go now?" + +"Well, of course, I COULD go now," he admitted. + +"Let me advise you to go, then, and don't come back with that tooth in +your head. I shall be having you laid up next. Show some pluck, do!" + +"Oh! pluck--!" he protested, hurt. + +At that moment Constance came down the passage singing. + +"Constance, my pet!" Mrs. Baines called. + +"Yes, mother." She put her head into the room. "Oh!" Mr. Povey was +assuming his coat. + +"Mr. Povey is going to the dentist's." + +"Yes, I'm going at once," Mr. Povey confirmed. + +"Oh! I'm so GLAD!" Constance exclaimed. Her face expressed a pure +sympathy, uncomplicated by critical sentiments. Mr. Povey rapidly +bathed in that sympathy, and then decided that he must show himself a +man of oak and iron. + +"It's always best to get these things done with," said he, with stern +detachment. "I'll just slip my overcoat on." + +"Here it is," said Constance, quickly. Mr. Povey's overcoat and hat +were hung on a hook immediately outside the room, in the passage. She +gave him the overcoat, anxious to be of service. + +"I didn't call you in here to be Mr. Povey's valet," said Mrs. Baines +to herself with mild grimness; and aloud: "I can't stay in the shop +long, Constance, but you can be there, can't you, till Mr. Povey comes +back? And if anything happens run upstairs and tell me." + +"Yes, mother," Constance eagerly consented. She hesitated and then +turned to obey at once. + +"I want to speak to you first, my pet," Mrs. Baines stopped her. And +her tone was peculiar, charged with import, confidential, and therefore +very flattering to Constance. + +"I think I'll go out by the side-door," said Mr. Povey. "It'll be +nearer." + +This was truth. He would save about ten yards, in two miles, by going +out through the side-door instead of through the shop. Who could have +guessed that he was ashamed to be seen going to the dentist's, afraid +lest, if he went through the shop, Mrs. Baines might follow him and +utter some remark prejudicial to his dignity before the assistants? +(Mrs. Baines could have guessed, and did.) + +"You won't want that tape-measure," said Mrs. Baines, dryly, as Mr. +Povey dragged open the side-door. The ends of the forgotten +tape-measure were dangling beneath coat and overcoat. + +"Oh!" Mr. Povey scowled at his forgetfulness. + +"I'll put it in its place," said Constance, offering to receive the +tape-measure. + +"Thank you," said Mr. Povey, gravely. "I don't suppose they'll be long +over my bit of a job," he added, with a difficult, miserable smile. + +Then he went off down King Street, with an exterior of gay briskness +and dignified joy in the fine May morning. But there was no May morning +in his cowardly human heart. + +"Hi! Povey!" cried a voice from the Square. + +But Mr. Povey disregarded all appeals. He had put his hand to the +plough, and he would not look back. + +"Hi! Povey!" + +Useless! + +Mrs. Baines and Constance were both at the door. A middle-aged man was +crossing the road from Boulton Terrace, the lofty erection of new shops +which the envious rest of the Square had decided to call "showy." He +waved a hand to Mrs. Baines, who kept the door open. + +"It's Dr. Harrop," she said to Constance. "I shouldn't be surprised if +that baby's come at last, and he wanted to tell Mr. Povey." + +Constance blushed, full of pride. Mrs. Povey, wife of "our Mr. Povey's" +renowned cousin, the high-class confectioner and baker in Boulton +Terrace, was a frequent subject of discussion in the Baines family, +but this was absolutely the first time that Mrs. Baines had +acknowledged, in presence of Constance, the marked and growing change +which had characterized Mrs. Povey's condition during recent months. +Such frankness on the part of her mother, coming after the decision +about leaving school, proved indeed that Constance had ceased to be a +mere girl. + +"Good morning, doctor." + +The doctor, who carried a little bag and wore riding-breeches (he was +the last doctor in Bursley to abandon the saddle for the dog-cart), +saluted and straightened his high, black stock. + +"Morning! Morning, missy! Well, it's a boy." + +"What? Yonder?" asked Mrs. Baines, indicating the confectioner's. + +Dr. Harrop nodded. "I wanted to inform him," said he, jerking his +shoulder in the direction of the swaggering coward. + +"What did I tell you, Constance?" said Mrs. Baines, turning to her +daughter. + +Constance's confusion was equal to her pleasure. The alert doctor had +halted at the foot of the two steps, and with one hand in the pocket of +his "full-fall" breeches, he gazed up, smiling out of little eyes, at +the ample matron and the slender virgin. + +"Yes," he said. "Been up most of th' night. Difficult! Difficult!" + +"It's all RIGHT, I hope?" + +"Oh yes. Fine child! Fine child! But he put his mother to some trouble, +for all that. Nothing fresh?" This time he lifted his eyes to indicate +Mr. Baines's bedroom. + +"No," said Mrs. Baines, with a different expression. + +"Keeps cheerful?" + +"Yes." + +"Good! A very good morning to you." + +He strode off towards his house, which was lower down the street. + +"I hope she'll turn over a new leaf now," observed Mrs. Baines to +Constance as she closed the door. Constance knew that her mother was +referring to the confectioner's wife; she gathered that the hope was +slight in the extreme. + +"What did you want to speak to me about, mother?" she asked, as a way +out of her delicious confusion. + +"Shut that door," Mrs. Baines replied, pointing to the door which led +to the passage; and while Constance obeyed, Mrs. Baines herself shut +the staircase-door. She then said, in a low, guarded voice-- + +"What's all this about Sophia wanting to be a school-teacher?" + +"Wanting to be a school-teacher?" Constance repeated, in tones of +amazement. + +"Yes. Hasn't she said anything to you?" + +"Not a word!" + +"Well, I never! She wants to keep on with Miss Chetwynd and be a +teacher." Mrs. Baines had half a mind to add that Sophia had mentioned +London. But she restrained herself. There are some things which one +cannot bring one's self to say. She added, "Instead of going into the +shop!" + +"I never heard of such a thing!" Constance murmured brokenly, in the +excess of her astonishment. She was rolling up Mr. Povey's tape-measure. + +"Neither did I!" said Mrs. Baines. + +"And shall you let her, mother?" + +"Neither your father nor I would ever dream of it!" Mrs. Baines +replied, with calm and yet terrible decision. "I only mentioned it to +you because I thought Sophia would have told you something." + +"No, mother!" + +As Constance put Mr. Povey's tape-measure neatly away in its drawer +under the cutting-out counter, she thought how serious life was--what +with babies and Sophias. She was very proud of her mother's confidence +in her; this simple pride filled her ardent breast with a most +agreeable commotion. And she wanted to help everybody, to show in some +way how much she sympathized with and loved everybody. Even the madness +of Sophia did not weaken her longing to comfort Sophia. + +III + +That afternoon there was a search for Sophia, whom no one had seen +since dinner. She was discovered by her mother, sitting alone and +unoccupied in the drawing-room. The circumstance was in itself +sufficiently peculiar, for on weekdays the drawing-room was never used, +even by the girls during their holidays, except for the purpose of +playing the piano. However, Mrs. Baines offered no comment on Sophia's +geographical situation, nor on her idleness. + +"My dear," she said, standing at the door, with a self-conscious effort +to behave as though nothing had happened, "will you come and sit with +your father a bit?" + +"Yes, mother," answered Sophia, with a sort of cold alacrity. + +"Sophia is coming, father," said Mrs. Baines at the open door of the +bedroom, which was at right-angles with, and close to, the drawing-room +door. Then she surged swishing along the corridor and went into the +showroom, whither she had been called. + +Sophia passed to the bedroom, the eternal prison of John Baines. +Although, on account of his nervous restlessness, Mr. Baines was never +left alone, it was not a part of the usual duty of the girls to sit +with him. The person who undertook the main portion of the vigils was a +certain Aunt Maria--whom the girls knew to be not a real aunt, not a +powerful, effective aunt like Aunt Harriet of Axe--but a poor second +cousin of John Baines; one of those necessitous, pitiful relatives who +so often make life difficult for a great family in a small town. The +existence of Aunt Maria, after being rather a "trial" to the Baineses, +had for twelve years past developed into something absolutely +"providential" for them. (It is to be remembered that in those days +Providence was still busying himself with everybody's affairs, and +foreseeing the future in the most extraordinary manner. Thus, having +foreseen that John Baines would have a "stroke" and need a faithful, +tireless nurse, he had begun fifty years in advance by creating Aunt +Maria, and had kept her carefully in misfortune's way, so that at the +proper moment she would be ready to cope with the stroke. Such at least +is the only theory which will explain the use by the Baineses, and +indeed by all thinking Bursley, of the word "providential" in +connection with Aunt Maria.) She was a shrivelled little woman, capable +of sitting twelve hours a day in a bedroom and thriving on the regime. +At nights she went home to her little cottage in Brougham Street; she +had her Thursday afternoons and generally her Sundays, and during the +school vacations she was supposed to come only when she felt inclined, +or when the cleaning of her cottage permitted her to come. Hence, in +holiday seasons, Mr. Baines weighed more heavily on his household than +at other times, and his nurses relieved each other according to the +contingencies of the moment rather than by a set programme of hours. + +The tragedy in ten thousand acts of which that bedroom was the scene, +almost entirely escaped Sophia's perception, as it did Constance's. +Sophia went into the bedroom as though it were a mere bedroom, with its +majestic mahogany furniture, its crimson rep curtains (edged with +gold), and its white, heavily tasselled counterpane. She was aged four +when John Baines had suddenly been seized with giddiness on the steps +of his shop, and had fallen, and, without losing consciousness, had +been transformed from John Baines into a curious and pathetic survival +of John Baines. She had no notion of the thrill which ran through the +town on that night when it was known that John Baines had had a stroke, +and that his left arm and left leg and his right eyelid were paralyzed, +and that the active member of the Local Board, the orator, the +religious worker, the very life of the town's life, was permanently +done for. She had never heard of the crisis through which her mother, +assisted by Aunt Harriet, had passed, and out of which she had +triumphantly emerged. She was not yet old enough even to suspect it. +She possessed only the vaguest memory of her father before he had +finished with the world. She knew him simply as an organism on a bed, +whose left side was wasted, whose eyes were often inflamed, whose mouth +was crooked, who had no creases from the nose to the corners of the +mouth like other people, who experienced difficulty in eating because +the food would somehow get between his gums and his cheek, who slept a +great deal but was excessively fidgety while awake, who seemed to hear +what was said to him a long time after it was uttered, as if the sense +had to travel miles by labyrinthine passages to his brain, and who +talked very, very slowly in a weak, trembling voice. + +And she had an image of that remote brain as something with a red spot +on it, for once Constance had said: "Mother, why did father have a +stroke?" and Mrs. Baines had replied: "It was a haemorrhage of the +brain, my dear, here"--putting a thimbled finger on a particular part +of Sophia's head. + +Not merely had Constance and Sophia never really felt their father's +tragedy; Mrs. Baines herself had largely lost the sense of it--such is +the effect of use. Even the ruined organism only remembered fitfully +and partially that it had once been John Baines. And if Mrs. Baines had +not, by the habit of years, gradually built up a gigantic fiction that +the organism remained ever the supreme consultative head of the family; +if Mr. Critchlow had not obstinately continued to treat it as a crony, +the mass of living and dead nerves on the rich Victorian bedstead would +have been of no more account than some Aunt Maria in similar case. +These two persons, his wife and his friend, just managed to keep him +morally alive by indefatigably feeding his importance and his dignity. +The feat was a miracle of stubborn self-deceiving, splendidly blind +devotion, and incorrigible pride. + +When Sophia entered the room, the paralytic followed her with his +nervous gaze until she had sat down on the end of the sofa at the foot +of the bed. He seemed to study her for a long time, and then he +murmured in his slow, enfeebled, irregular voice: + +"Is that Sophia?" + +"Yes, father," she answered cheerfully. + +And after another pause, the old man said: "Ay! It's Sophia." + +And later: "Your mother said she should send ye." + +Sophia saw that this was one of his bad, dull days. He had, +occasionally, days of comparative nimbleness, when his wits seized +almost easily the meanings of external phenomena. + +Presently his sallow face and long white beard began to slip down the +steep slant of the pillows, and a troubled look came into his left eye. +Sophia rose and, putting her hands under his armpits, lifted him higher +in the bed. He was not heavy, but only a strong girl of her years could +have done it. + +"Ay!" he muttered. "That's it. That's it." + +And, with his controllable right hand, he took her hand as she stood by +the bed. She was so young and fresh, such an incarnation of the spirit +of health, and he was so far gone in decay and corruption, that there +seemed in this contact of body with body something unnatural and +repulsive. But Sophia did not so feel it. + +"Sophia," he addressed her, and made preparatory noises in his throat +while she waited. + +He continued after an interval, now clutching her arm, "Your mother's +been telling me you don't want to go in the shop." + +She turned her eyes on him, and his anxious, dim gaze met hers. She +nodded. + +"Nay, Sophia," he mumbled, with the extreme of slowness. "I'm surprised +at ye... Trade's bad, bad! Ye know trade's bad?" He was still +clutching her arm. + +She nodded. She was, in fact, aware of the badness of trade, caused by +a vague war in the United States. The words "North" and "South" had a +habit of recurring in the conversation of adult persons. That was all +she knew, though people were starving in the Five Towns as they were +starving in Manchester. + +"There's your mother," his thought struggled on, like an aged horse +over a hilly road. "There's your mother!" he repeated, as if wishful to +direct Sophia's attention to the spectacle of her mother. "Working +hard! Con--Constance and you must help her.... Trade's bad! What can I +do ... lying here?" + +The heat from his dry fingers was warming her arm. She wanted to move, +but she could not have withdrawn her arm without appearing impatient. +For a similar reason she would not avert her glance. A deepening flush +increased the lustre of her immature loveliness as she bent over him. +But though it was so close he did not feel that radiance. He had long +outlived a susceptibility to the strange influences of youth and beauty. + +"Teaching!" he muttered. "Nay, nay! I canna' allow that." + +Then his white beard rose at the tip as he looked up at the ceiling +above his head, reflectively. + +"You understand me?" he questioned finally. + +She nodded again; he loosed her arm, and she turned away. She could not +have spoken. Glittering tears enriched her eyes. She was saddened into +a profound and sudden grief by the ridiculousness of the scene. She had +youth, physical perfection; she brimmed with energy, with the sense of +vital power; all existence lay before her; when she put her lips +together she felt capable of outvying no matter whom in fortitude of +resolution. She had always hated the shop. She did not understand how +her mother and Constance could bring themselves to be deferential and +flattering to every customer that entered. No, she did not understand +it; but her mother (though a proud woman) and Constance seemed to +practise such behaviour so naturally, so unquestioningly, that she had +never imparted to either of them her feelings; she guessed that she +would not be comprehended. But long ago she had decided that she would +never "go into the shop." She knew that she would be expected to do +something, and she had fixed on teaching as the one possibility. These +decisions had formed part of her inner life for years past. She had not +mentioned them, being secretive and scarcely anxious for +unpleasantness. But she had been slowly preparing herself to mention +them. The extraordinary announcement that she was to leave school at +the same time as Constance had taken her unawares, before the +preparations ripening in her mind were complete--before, as it were, +she had girded up her loins for the fray. She had been caught unready, +and the opposing forces had obtained the advantage of her. But did they +suppose she was beaten? + +No argument from her mother! No hearing, even! Just a curt and haughty +'Let me hear no more of this'! And so the great desire of her life, +nourished year after year in her inmost bosom, was to be flouted and +sacrificed with a word! Her mother did not appear ridiculous in the +affair, for her mother was a genuine power, commanding by turns genuine +love and genuine hate, and always, till then, obedience and the respect +of reason. It was her father who appeared tragically ridiculous; and, +in turn, the whole movement against her grew grotesque in its +absurdity. Here was this antique wreck, helpless, useless, +powerless--merely pathetic--actually thinking that he had only to +mumble in order to make her 'understand'! He knew nothing; he perceived +nothing; he was a ferocious egoist, like most bedridden invalids, out +of touch with life,--and he thought himself justified in making +destinies, and capable of making them! Sophia could not, perhaps, +define the feelings which overwhelmed her; but she was conscious of +their tendency. They aged her, by years. They aged her so that, in a +kind of momentary ecstasy of insight, she felt older than her father +himself. + +"You will be a good girl," he said. "I'm sure o' that." + +It was too painful. The grotesqueness of her father's complacency +humiliated her past bearing. She was humiliated, not for herself, but +for him. Singular creature! She ran out of the room. + +Fortunately Constance was passing in the corridor, otherwise Sophia had +been found guilty of a great breach of duty. + +"Go to father," she whispered hysterically to Constance, and fled +upwards to the second floor. + +IV + +At supper, with her red, downcast eyes, she had returned to sheer +girlishness again, overawed by her mother. The meal had an unusual +aspect. Mr. Povey, safe from the dentist's, but having lost two teeth +in two days, was being fed on 'slops'--bread and milk, to wit; he sat +near the fire. The others had cold pork, half a cold apple-pie, and +cheese; but Sophia only pretended to eat; each time she tried to +swallow, the tears came into her eyes, and her throat shut itself up. +Mrs. Baines and Constance had a too careful air of eating just as +usual. Mrs. Baines's handsome ringlets dominated the table under the +gas. + +"I'm not so set up with my pastry to-day," observed Mrs. Baines, +critically munching a fragment of pie-crust. + +She rang a little hand-bell. Maggie appeared from the cave. She wore a +plain white bib-less apron, but no cap. + +"Maggie, will you have some pie?" + +"Yes, if you can spare it, ma'am." + +This was Maggie's customary answer to offers of food. + +"We can always spare it, Maggie," said her mistress, as usual. "Sophia, +if you aren't going to use that plate, give it to me." + +Maggie disappeared with liberal pie. + +Mrs. Baines then talked to Mr. Povey about his condition, and in +particular as to the need for precautions against taking cold in the +bereaved gum. She was a brave and determined woman; from start to +finish she behaved as though nothing whatever in the household except +her pastry and Mr. Povey had deviated that day from the normal. She +kissed Constance and Sophia with the most exact equality, and called +them 'my chucks' when they went up to bed. + +Constance, excellent kind heart, tried to imitate her mother's tactics +as the girls undressed in their room. She thought she could not do +better than ignore Sophia's deplorable state. + +"Mother's new dress is quite finished, and she's going to wear it on +Sunday," said she, blandly. + +"If you say another word I'll scratch your eyes out!" Sophia turned on +her viciously, with a catch in her voice, and then began to sob at +intervals. She did not mean this threat, but its utterance gave her +relief. Constance, faced with the fact that her mother's shoes were too +big for her, decided to preserve her eyesight. + +Long after the gas was out, rare sobs from Sophia shook the bed, and +they both lay awake in silence. + +"I suppose you and mother have been talking me over finely to-day?" +Sophia burst forth, to Constance's surprise, in a wet voice. + +"No," said Constance soothingly. "Mother only told me." + +"Told you what?" + +"That you wanted to be a teacher." + +"And I will be, too!" said Sophia, bitterly. + +"You don't know mother," thought Constance; but she made no audible +comment. + +There was another detached, hard sob. And then, such is the astonishing +talent of youth, they both fell asleep. + +The next morning, early, Sophia stood gazing out of the window at the +Square. It was Saturday, and all over the Square little stalls, with +yellow linen roofs, were being erected for the principal market of the +week. In those barbaric days Bursley had a majestic edifice, black as +basalt, for the sale of dead animals by the limb and rib--it was +entitled 'the Shambles'--but vegetables, fruit, cheese, eggs, and +pikelets were still sold under canvas. Eggs are now offered at five +farthings apiece in a palace that cost twenty-five thousand pounds. Yet +you will find people in Bursley ready to assert that things generally +are not what they were, and that in particular the romance of life has +gone. But until it has gone it is never romance. To Sophia, though she +was in a mood which usually stimulates the sense of the romantic, there +was nothing of romance in this picturesque tented field. It was just +the market. Holl's, the leading grocer's, was already open, at the +extremity of the Square, and a boy apprentice was sweeping the pavement +in front of it. The public-houses were open, several of them +specializing in hot rum at 5.30 a.m. The town-crier, in his blue coat +with red facings, crossed the Square, carrying his big bell by the +tongue. There was the same shocking hole in one of Mrs. Povey's +(confectioner's) window-curtains--a hole which even her recent travail +could scarcely excuse. Such matters it was that Sophia noticed with +dull, smarting eyes. + +"Sophia, you'll take your death of cold standing there like that!" + +She jumped. The voice was her mother's. That vigorous woman, after a +calm night by the side of the paralytic, was already up and neatly +dressed. She carried a bottle and an egg-cup, and a small quantity of +jam in a table-spoon. + +"Get into bed again, do! There's a dear! You're shivering." + +White Sophia obeyed. It was true; she was shivering. Constance awoke. +Mrs. Baines went to the dressing-table and filled the egg-cup out of +the bottle. + +"Who's that for, mother?" Constance asked sleepily. + +"It's for Sophia," said Mrs. Baines, with good cheer. "Now, Sophia!" +and she advanced with the egg-cup in one hand and the table-spoon in +the other. + +"What is it, mother?" asked Sophia, who well knew what it was. + +"Castor-oil, my dear," said Mrs. Baines, winningly. + +The ludicrousness of attempting to cure obstinacy and yearnings for a +freer life by means of castor-oil is perhaps less real than apparent. +The strange interdependence of spirit and body, though only understood +intelligently in these intelligent days, was guessed at by sensible +mediaeval mothers. And certainly, at the period when Mrs. Baines +represented modernity, castor-oil was still the remedy of remedies. It +had supplanted cupping. And, if part of its vogue was due to its +extreme unpleasantness, it had at least proved its qualities in many a +contest with disease. Less than two years previously old Dr. Harrop +(father of him who told Mrs. Baines about Mrs. Povey), being then aged +eighty-six, had fallen from top to bottom of his staircase. He had +scrambled up, taken a dose of castor-oil at once, and on the morrow was +as well as if he had never seen a staircase. This episode was town +property and had sunk deep into all hearts. + +"I don't want any, mother," said Sophia, in dejection. "I'm quite well." + +"You simply ate nothing all day yesterday," said Mrs. Baines. And she +added, "Come!" As if to say, "There's always this silly fuss with +castor-oil. Don't keep me waiting." + +"I don't WANT any," said Sophia, irritated and captious. + +The two girls lay side by side, on their backs. They seemed very thin +and fragile in comparison with the solidity of their mother. Constance +wisely held her peace. + +Mrs. Baines put her lips together, meaning: "This is becoming tedious. +I shall have to be angry in another moment!" + +"Come!" said she again. + +The girls could hear her foot tapping on the floor. + +"I really don't want it, mamma," Sophia fought. "I suppose I ought to +know whether I need it or not!" This was insolence. + +"Sophia, will you take this medicine, or won't you?" + +In conflicts with her children, the mother's ultimatum always took the +formula in which this phrase was cast. The girls knew, when things had +arrived at the pitch of 'or won't you' spoken in Mrs. Baines's firmest +tone, that the end was upon them. Never had the ultimatum failed. + +There was a silence. + +"And I'll thank you to mind your manners," Mrs. Baines added. + +"I won't take it," said Sophia, sullenly and flatly; and she hid her +face in the pillow. + +It was a historic moment in the family life. Mrs. Baines thought the +last day had come. But still she held herself in dignity while the +apocalypse roared in her ears. + +"OF COURSE I CAN'T FORCE YOU TO TAKE IT," she said with superb +evenness, masking anger by compassionate grief. "You're a big girl and +a naughty girl. And if you will be ill you must." + +Upon this immense admission, Mrs. Baines departed. + +Constance trembled. + +Nor was that all. In the middle of the morning, when Mrs. Baines was +pricing new potatoes at a stall at the top end of the Square, and +Constance choosing threepennyworth of flowers at the same stall, whom +should they both see, walking all alone across the empty corner by the +Bank, but Sophia Baines! The Square was busy and populous, and Sophia +was only visible behind a foreground of restless, chattering figures. +But she was unmistakably seen. She had been beyond the Square and was +returning. Constance could scarcely believe her eyes. Mrs. Baines's +heart jumped. For let it be said that the girls never under any +circumstances went forth without permission, and scarcely ever alone. +That Sophia should be at large in the town, without leave, without +notice, exactly as if she were her own mistress, was a proposition +which a day earlier had been inconceivable. Yet there she was, and +moving with a leisureliness that must be described as effrontery! + +Red with apprehension, Constance wondered what would happen. Mrs. +Baines said nought of her feelings, did not even indicate that she had +seen the scandalous, the breath-taking sight. And they descended the +Square laden with the lighter portions of what they had bought during +an hour of buying. They went into the house by the King Street door; +and the first thing they heard was the sound of the piano upstairs. +Nothing happened. Mr. Povey had his dinner alone; then the table was +laid for them, and the bell rung, and Sophia came insolently downstairs +to join her mother and sister. And nothing happened. The dinner was +silently eaten, and Constance having rendered thanks to God, Sophia +rose abruptly to go. + +"Sophia!" + +"Yes, mother." + +"Constance, stay where you are," said Mrs. Baines suddenly to +Constance, who had meant to flee. Constance was therefore destined to +be present at the happening, doubtless in order to emphasize its +importance and seriousness. + +"Sophia," Mrs. Baines resumed to her younger daughter in an ominous +voice. "No, please shut the door. There is no reason why everybody in +the house should hear. Come right into the room--right in! That's it. +Now, what were you doing out in the town this morning?" + +Sophia was fidgeting nervously with the edge of her little black apron, +and worrying a seam of the carpet with her toes. She bent her head +towards her left shoulder, at first smiling vaguely. She said nothing, +but every limb, every glance, every curve, was speaking. Mrs. Baines +sat firmly in her own rocking-chair, full of the sensation that she had +Sophia, as it were, writhing on the end of a skewer. Constance was +braced into a moveless anguish. + +"I will have an answer," pursued Mrs. Baines. "What were you doing out +in the town this morning?" + +"I just went out," answered Sophia at length, still with eyes downcast, +and in a rather simpering tone. + +"Why did you go out? You said nothing to me about going out. I heard +Constance ask you if you were coming with us to the market, and you +said, very rudely, that you weren't." + +"I didn't say it rudely," Sophia objected. + +"Yes you did. And I'll thank you not to answer back." + +"I didn't mean to say it rudely, did I, Constance?" Sophia's head +turned sharply to her sister. Constance knew not where to look. + +"Don't answer back," Mrs. Baines repeated sternly. "And don't try to +drag Constance into this, for I won't have it." + +"Oh, of course Constance is always right!" observed Sophia, with an +irony whose unparalleled impudence shook Mrs. Baines to her massive +foundations. + +"Do you want me to have to smack you, child?" + +Her temper flashed out and you could see ringlets vibrating under the +provocation of Sophia's sauciness. Then Sophia's lower lip began to +fall and to bulge outwards, and all the muscles of her face seemed to +slacken. + +"You are a very naughty girl," said Mrs. Baines, with restraint. ("I've +got her," said Mrs. Baines to herself. "I may just as well keep my +temper.") + +And a sob broke out of Sophia. She was behaving like a little child. +She bore no trace of the young maiden sedately crossing the Square +without leave and without an escort. + +("I knew she was going to cry," said Mrs. Baines, breathing relief.) + +"I'm waiting," said Mrs. Baines aloud. + +A second sob. Mrs. Baines manufactured patience to meet the demand. + +"You tell me not to answer back, and then you say you're waiting," +Sophia blubbered thickly. + +"What's that you say? How can I tell what you say if you talk like +that?" (But Mrs. Baines failed to hear out of discretion, which is +better than valour.) + +"It's of no consequence," Sophia blurted forth in a sob. She was +weeping now, and tears were ricocheting off her lovely crimson cheeks +on to the carpet; her whole body was trembling. + +"Don't be a great baby," Mrs. Baines enjoined, with a touch of rough +persuasiveness in her voice. + +"It's you who make me cry," said Sophia, bitterly. "You make me cry and +then you call me a great baby!" And sobs ran through her frame like +waves one after another. She spoke so indistinctly that her mother now +really had some difficulty in catching her words. + +"Sophia," said Mrs. Baines, with god-like calm, "it is not I who make +you cry. It is your guilty conscience makes you cry. I have merely +asked you a question, and I intend to have an answer." + +"I've told you." Here Sophia checked the sobs with an immense effort. + +"What have you told me?" + +"I just went out." + +"I will have no trifling," said Mrs. Baines. "What did you go out for, +and without telling me? If you had told me afterwards, when I came in, +of your own accord, it might have been different. But no, not a word! +It is I who have to ask! Now, quick! I can't wait any longer." + +("I gave way over the castor-oil, my girl," Mrs. Baines said in her own +breast. "But not again! Not again!") + +"I don't know," Sophia murmured. + +"What do you mean--you don't know?" + +The sobbing recommenced tempestuously. "I mean I don't know. I just +went out." Her voice rose; it was noisy, but scarcely articulate. "What +if I did go out?" + +"Sophia, I am not going to be talked to like this. If you think because +you're leaving school you can do exactly as you like--" + +"Do I want to leave school?" yelled Sophia, stamping. In a moment a +hurricane of emotion overwhelmed her, as though that stamping of the +foot had released the demons of the storm. Her face was transfigured by +uncontrollable passion. "You all want to make me miserable!" she +shrieked with terrible violence. "And now I can't even go out! You are +a horrid, cruel woman, and I hate you! And you can do what you like! +Put me in prison if you like! I know you'd be glad if I was dead!" + +She dashed from the room, banging the door with a shock that made the +house rattle. And she had shouted so loud that she might have been +heard in the shop, and even in the kitchen. It was a startling +experience for Mrs. Baines. Mrs. Baines, why did you saddle yourself +with a witness? Why did you so positively say that you intended to have +an answer? + +"Really," she stammered, pulling her dignity about her shoulders like a +garment that the wind has snatched off. "I never dreamed that poor girl +had such a dreadful temper! What a pity it is, for her OWN sake!" It +was the best she could do. + +Constance, who could not bear to witness her mother's humiliation, +vanished very quietly from the room. She got halfway upstairs to the +second floor, and then, hearing the loud, rapid, painful, regular +intake of sobbing breaths, she hesitated and crept down again. + +This was Mrs. Baines's first costly experience of the child thankless +for having been brought into the world. It robbed her of her profound, +absolute belief in herself. She had thought she knew everything in her +house and could do everything there. And lo! she had suddenly stumbled +against an unsuspected personality at large in her house, a sort of +hard marble affair that informed her by means of bumps that if she did +not want to be hurt she must keep out of the way. + +V + +On the Sunday afternoon Mrs. Baines was trying to repose a little in +the drawing-room, where she had caused a fire to be lighted. Constance +was in the adjacent bedroom with her father. Sophia lay between +blankets in the room overhead with a feverish cold. This cold and her +new dress were Mrs. Baines's sole consolation at the moment. She had +prophesied a cold for Sophia, refuser of castor-oil, and it had come. +Sophia had received, for standing in her nightdress at a draughty +window of a May morning, what Mrs. Baines called 'nature's slap in the +face.' As for the dress, she had worshipped God in it, and prayed for +Sophia in it, before dinner; and its four double rows of gimp on the +skirt had been accounted a great success. With her lace-bordered mantle +and her low, stringed bonnet she had assuredly given a unique lustre to +the congregation at chapel. She was stout; but the fashions, +prescribing vague outlines, broad downward slopes, and vast amplitudes, +were favourable to her shape. It must not be supposed that stout women +of a certain age never seek to seduce the eye and trouble the +meditations of man by other than moral charms. Mrs. Baines knew that +she was comely, natty, imposing, and elegant; and the knowledge gave +her real pleasure. She would look over her shoulder in the glass as +anxious as a girl: make no mistake. + +She did not repose; she could not. She sat thinking, in exactly the +same posture as Sophia's two afternoons previously. She would have been +surprised to hear that her attitude, bearing, and expression powerfully +recalled those of her reprehensible daughter. But it was so. A good +angel made her restless, and she went idly to the window and glanced +upon the empty, shuttered Square. She too, majestic matron, had +strange, brief yearnings for an existence more romantic than this; +shootings across her spirit's firmament of tailed comets; soft, +inexplicable melancholies. The good angel, withdrawing her from such a +mood, directed her gaze to a particular spot at the top of the square. + +She passed at once out of the room--not precisely in a hurry, yet +without wasting time. In a recess under the stairs, immediately outside +the door, was a box about a foot square and eighteen inches deep +covered with black American cloth. She bent down and unlocked this box, +which was padded within and contained the Baines silver tea-service. +She drew from the box teapot, sugar-bowl, milk-jug, sugar-tongs, +hot-water jug, and cake-stand (a flattish dish with an arching +semicircular handle)--chased vessels, silver without and silver-gilt +within; glittering heirlooms that shone in the dark corner like the +secret pride of respectable families. These she put on a tray that +always stood on end in the recess. Then she looked upwards through the +banisters to the second floor. + +"Maggie!" she piercingly whispered. + +"Yes, mum," came a voice. + +"Are you dressed?" + +"Yes, mum. I'm just coming." + +"Well, put on your muslin." "Apron," Mrs. Baines implied. + +Maggie understood. + +"Take these for tea," said Mrs. Baines when Maggie descended. "Better +rub them over. You know where the cake is--that new one. The best cups. +And the silver spoons." + +They both heard a knock at the side-door, far off, below. + +"There!" exclaimed Mrs. Baines. "Now take these right down into the +kitchen before you open." + +"Yes, mum," said Maggie, departing. + +Mrs. Baines was wearing a black alpaca apron. She removed it and put on +another one of black satin embroidered with yellow flowers, which, by +merely inserting her arm into the chamber, she had taken from off the +chest of drawers in her bedroom. Then she fixed herself in the +drawing-room. + +Maggie returned, rather short of breath, convoying the visitor. + +"Ah! Miss Chetwynd," said Mrs. Baines, rising to welcome. "I'm sure I'm +delighted to see you. I saw you coming down the Square, and I said to +myself, 'Now, I do hope Miss Chetwynd isn't going to forget us.'" + +Miss Chetwynd, simpering momentarily, came forward with that +self-conscious, slightly histrionic air, which is one of the penalties +of pedagogy. She lived under the eyes of her pupils. Her life was one +ceaseless effort to avoid doing anything which might influence her +charges for evil or shock the natural sensitiveness of their parents. +She had to wind her earthly way through a forest of the most delicate +susceptibilities--fern-fronds that stretched across the path, and that +she must not even accidentally disturb with her skirt as she passed. No +wonder she walked mincingly! No wonder she had a habit of keeping her +elbows close to her sides, and drawing her mantle tight in the streets! +Her prospectus talked about 'a sound and religious course of training,' +'study embracing the usual branches of English, with music by a +talented master, drawing, dancing, and calisthenics.' Also 'needlework +plain and ornamental;' also 'moral influence;' and finally about terms, +'which are very moderate, and every particular, with references to +parents and others, furnished on application.' (Sometimes, too, without +application.) As an illustration of the delicacy of fern-fronds, that +single word 'dancing' had nearly lost her Constance and Sophia seven +years before! + +She was a pinched virgin, aged forty, and not 'well off;' in her family +the gift of success had been monopolized by her elder sister. For these +characteristics Mrs. Baines, as a matron in easy circumstances, pitied +Miss Chetwynd. On the other hand, Miss Chetwynd could choose ground +from which to look down upon Mrs. Baines, who after all was in trade. +Miss Chetwynd had no trace of the local accent; she spoke with a +southern refinement which the Five Towns, while making fun of it, +envied. All her O's had a genteel leaning towards 'ow,' as ritualism +leans towards Romanism. And she was the fount of etiquette, a wonder of +correctness; in the eyes of her pupils' parents not so much 'a perfect +LADY' as 'a PERFECT lady.' So that it was an extremely nice question +whether, upon the whole, Mrs. Baines secretly condescended to Miss +Chetwynd or Miss Chetwynd to Mrs. Baines. Perhaps Mrs. Baines, by +virtue of her wifehood, carried the day. + +Miss Chetwynd, carefully and precisely seated, opened the conversation +by explaining that even if Mrs. Baines had not written she should have +called in any case, as she made a practice of calling at the home of +her pupils in vacation time: which was true. Mrs. Baines, it should be +stated, had on Friday afternoon sent to Miss Chetwynd one of her most +luxurious notes--lavender-coloured paper with scalloped edges, the +selectest mode of the day--to announce, in her Italian hand, that +Constance and Sophia would both leave school at the end of the next +term, and giving reasons in regard to Sophia. + +Before the visitor had got very far, Maggie came in with a lacquered +tea-caddy and the silver teapot and a silver spoon on a lacquered tray. +Mrs. Baines, while continuing to talk, chose a key from her bunch, +unlocked the tea-caddy, and transferred four teaspoonfuls of tea from +it to the teapot and relocked the caddy. + +"Strawberry," she mysteriously whispered to Maggie; and Maggie +disappeared, bearing the tray and its contents. + +"And how is your sister? It is quite a long time since she was down +here," Mrs. Baines went on to Miss Chetwynd, after whispering +"strawberry." + +The remark was merely in the way of small-talk--for the hostess felt a +certain unwilling hesitation to approach the topic of daughters--but it +happened to suit the social purpose of Miss Chetwynd to a nicety. Miss +Chetwynd was a vessel brimming with great tidings. + +"She is very well, thank you," said Miss Chetwynd, and her expression +grew exceedingly vivacious. Her face glowed with pride as she added, +"Of course everything is changed now." + +"Indeed?" murmured Mrs. Baines, with polite curiosity. + +"Yes," said Miss Chetwynd. "You've not heard?" + +"No," said Mrs. Baines. Miss Chetwynd knew that she had not heard. + +"About Elizabeth's engagement? To the Reverend Archibald Jones?" + +It is the fact that Mrs. Baines was taken aback. She did nothing +indiscreet; she did not give vent to her excusable amazement that the +elder Miss Chetwynd should be engaged to any one at all, as some women +would have done in the stress of the moment. She kept her presence of +mind. + +"This is really MOST interesting!" said she. + +It was. For Archibald Jones was one of the idols of the Wesleyan +Methodist Connexion, a special preacher famous throughout England. At +'Anniversaries' and 'Trust sermons,' Archibald Jones had probably no +rival. His Christian name helped him; it was a luscious, resounding +mouthful for admirers. He was not an itinerant minister, migrating +every three years. His function was to direct the affairs of the 'Book +Room,' the publishing department of the Connexion. He lived in London, +and shot out into the provinces at week-ends, preaching on Sundays and +giving a lecture, tinctured with bookishness, 'in the chapel' on Monday +evenings. In every town he visited there was competition for the +privilege of entertaining him. He had zeal, indefatigable energy, and a +breezy wit. He was a widower of fifty, and his wife had been dead for +twenty years. It had seemed as if women were not for this bright star. +And here Elizabeth Chetwynd, who had left the Five Towns a quarter of a +century before at the age of twenty, had caught him! Austere, +moustached, formidable, desiccated, she must have done it with her +powerful intellect! It must be a union of intellects! He had been +impressed by hers, and she by his, and then their intellects had +kissed. Within a week fifty thousand women in forty counties had +pictured to themselves this osculation of intellects, and shrugged +their shoulders, and decided once more that men were incomprehensible. +These great ones in London, falling in love like the rest! But no! Love +was a ribald and voluptuous word to use in such a matter as this. It +was generally felt that the Reverend Archibald Jones and Miss Chetwynd +the elder would lift marriage to what would now be termed an astral +plane. + +After tea had been served, Mrs. Baines gradually recovered her +position, both in her own private esteem and in the deference of Miss +Aline Chetwynd. + +"Yes," said she. "You can talk about your sister, and you can call HIM +Archibald, and you can mince up your words. But have you got a +tea-service like this? Can you conceive more perfect strawberry jam +than this? Did not my dress cost more than you spend on your clothes in +a year? Has a man ever looked at you? After all, is there not something +about my situation ... in short, something...?" + +She did not say this aloud. She in no way deviated from the scrupulous +politeness of a hostess. There was nothing in even her tone to indicate +that Mrs. John Baines was a personage. Yet it suddenly occurred to Miss +Chetwynd that her pride in being the prospective sister-in-law of the +Rev. Archibald Jones would be better for a while in her pocket. And she +inquired after Mr. Baines. After this the conversation limped somewhat. + +"I suppose you weren't surprised by my letter?" said Mrs. Baines. + +"I was and I wasn't," answered Miss Chetwynd, in her professional +manner and not her manner of a prospective sister-in-law. "Of course I +am naturally sorry to lose two such good pupils, but we can't keep our +pupils for ever." She smiled; she was not without fortitude--it is +easier to lose pupils than to replace them. "Still"--a pause--"what you +say of Sophia is perfectly true, perfectly. She is quite as advanced as +Constance. Still"--another pause and a more rapid enunciation--"Sophia +is by no means an ordinary girl." + +"I hope she hasn't been a very great trouble to you?" + +"Oh NO!" exclaimed Miss Chetwynd. "Sophia and I have got on very well +together. I have always tried to appeal to her reason. I have never +FORCED her ... Now, with some girls ... In some ways I look on Sophia +as the most remarkable girl--not pupil--but the most remarkable--what +shall I say?--individuality, that I have ever met with." And her +demeanour added, "And, mind you, this is something--from me!" + +"Indeed!" said Mrs. Baines. She told herself, "I am not your common +foolish parent. I see my children impartially. I am incapable of being +flattered concerning them." + +Nevertheless she was flattered, and the thought shaped itself that +really Sophia was no ordinary girl. + +"I suppose she has talked to you about becoming a teacher?" asked Miss +Chetwynd, taking a morsel of the unparalleled jam. + +She held the spoon with her thumb and three fingers. Her fourth finger, +in matters of honest labour, would never associate with the other +three; delicately curved, it always drew proudly away from them. + +"Has she mentioned that to you?" Mrs. Baines demanded, startled. + +"Oh yes!" said Miss Chetwynd. "Several times. Sophia is a very +secretive girl, very--but I think I may say I have always had her +confidence. There have been times when Sophia and I have been very near +each other. Elizabeth was much struck with her. Indeed, I may tell you +that in one of her last letters to me she spoke of Sophia and said she +had mentioned her to Mr. Jones, and Mr. Jones remembered her quite +well." + +Impossible for even a wise, uncommon parent not to be affected by such +an announcement! + +"I dare say your sister will give up her school now," observed Mrs. +Baines, to divert attention from her self-consciousness. + +"Oh NO!" And this time Mrs. Baines had genuinely shocked Miss Chetwynd. +"Nothing would induce Elizabeth to give up the cause of education. +Archibald takes the keenest interest in the school. Oh no! Not for +worlds!" + +"THEN YOU THINK SOPHIA WOULD MAKE A GOOD TEACHER?" asked Mrs. Baines +with apparent inconsequence, and with a smile. But the words marked an +epoch in her mind. All was over. + +"I think she is very much set on it and--" + +"That wouldn't affect her father--or me," said Mrs. Baines quickly. + +"Certainly not! I merely say that she is very much set on it. Yes, she +would, at any rate, make a teacher far superior to the average." ("That +girl has got the better of her mother without me!" she reflected.) "Ah! +Here is dear Constance!" + +Constance, tempted beyond her strength by the sounds of the visit and +the colloquy, had slipped into the room. + +"I've left both doors open, mother," she excused herself for quitting +her father, and kissed Miss Chetwynd. + +She blushed, but she blushed happily, and really made a most creditable +debut as a young lady. Her mother rewarded her by taking her into the +conversation. And history was soon made. + +So Sophia was apprenticed to Miss Aline Chetwynd. Mrs. Baines bore +herself greatly. It was Miss Chetwynd who had urged, and her respect +for Miss Chetwynd ... Also somehow the Reverend Archibald Jones came +into the cause. + +Of course the idea of Sophia ever going to London was ridiculous, +ridiculous! (Mrs. Baines secretly feared that the ridiculous might +happen; but, with the Reverend Archibald Jones on the spot, the worst +could be faced.) Sophia must understand that even the apprenticeship in +Bursley was merely a trial. They would see how things went on. She had +to thank Miss Chetwynd. + +"I made Miss Chetwynd come and talk to mother," said Sophia +magnificently one night to simple Constance, as if to imply, 'Your Miss +Chetwynd is my washpot.' + +To Constance, Sophia's mere enterprise was just as staggering as her +success. Fancy her deliberately going out that Saturday morning, after +her mother's definite decision, to enlist Miss Chetwynd in her aid! + +There is no need to insist on the tragic grandeur of Mrs. Baines's +renunciation--a renunciation which implied her acceptance of a change +in the balance of power in her realm. Part of its tragedy was that +none, not even Constance, could divine the intensity of Mrs. Baines's +suffering. She had no confidant; she was incapable of showing a wound. +But when she lay awake at night by the organism which had once been her +husband, she dwelt long and deeply on the martyrdom of her life. What +had she done to deserve it? Always had she conscientiously endeavoured +to be kind, just, patient. And she knew herself to be sagacious and +prudent. In the frightful and unguessed trials of her existence as a +wife, surely she might have been granted consolations as a mother! Yet +no; it had not been! And she felt all the bitterness of age against +youth--youth egotistic, harsh, cruel, uncompromising; youth that is so +crude, so ignorant of life, so slow to understand! She had Constance. +Yes, but it would be twenty years before Constance could appreciate the +sacrifice of judgment and of pride which her mother had made, in a +sudden decision, during that rambling, starched, simpering interview +with Miss Aline Chetwynd. Probably Constance thought that she had +yielded to Sophia's passionate temper! Impossible to explain to +Constance that she had yielded to nothing but a perception of Sophia's +complete inability to hear reason and wisdom. Ah! Sometimes as she lay +in the dark, she would, in fancy, snatch her heart from her bosom and +fling it down before Sophia, bleeding, and cry: "See what I carry about +with me, on your account!" Then she would take it back and hide it +again, and sweeten her bitterness with wise admonitions to herself. + +All this because Sophia, aware that if she stayed in the house she +would be compelled to help in the shop, chose an honourable activity +which freed her from the danger. Heart, how absurd of you to bleed! + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +ELEPHANT + +I + + +"Sophia, will you come and see the elephant? Do come!" Constance +entered the drawing-room with this request on her eager lips. + +"No," said Sophia, with a touch of condescension. "I'm far too busy for +elephants." + +Only two years had passed; but both girls were grown up now; long +sleeves, long skirts, hair that had settled down in life; and a +demeanour immensely serious, as though existence were terrific in its +responsibilities; yet sometimes childhood surprisingly broke through +the crust of gravity, as now in Constance, aroused by such things as +elephants, and proclaimed with vivacious gestures that it was not dead +after all. The sisters were sharply differentiated. Constance wore the +black alpaca apron and the scissors at the end of a long black elastic, +which indicated her vocation in the shop. She was proving a +considerable success in the millinery department. She had learnt how to +talk to people, and was, in her modest way, very self-possessed. She +was getting a little stouter. Everybody liked her. Sophia had developed +into the student. Time had accentuated her reserve. Her sole friend was +Miss Chetwynd, with whom she was, having regard to the disparity of +their ages, very intimate. At home she spoke little. She lacked +amiability; as her mother said, she was 'touchy.' She required +diplomacy from others, but did not render it again. Her attitude, +indeed, was one of half-hidden disdain, now gentle, now coldly bitter. +She would not wear an apron, in an age when aprons were almost +essential to decency. No! She would not wear an apron, and there was an +end of it. She was not so tidy as Constance, and if Constance's hands +had taken on the coarse texture which comes from commerce with needles, +pins, artificial flowers, and stuffs, Sophia's fine hands were seldom +innocent of ink. But Sophia was splendidly beautiful. And even her +mother and Constance had an instinctive idea that that face was, at any +rate, a partial excuse for her asperity. + +"Well," said Constance, "if you won't, I do believe I shall ask mother +if she will." + +Sophia, bending over her books, made no answer. But the top of her head +said: "This has no interest for me whatever." + +Constance left the room, and in a moment returned with her mother. + +"Sophia," said her mother, with gay excitement, "you might go and sit +with your father for a bit while Constance and I just run up to the +playground to see the elephant. You can work just as well in there as +here. Your father's asleep." + +"Oh, very, well!" Sophia agreed haughtily. "Whatever is all this fuss +about an elephant? Anyhow, it'll be quieter in your room. The noise +here is splitting." She gave a supercilious glance into the Square as +she languidly rose. + +It was the morning of the third day of Bursley Wakes; not the modern +finicking and respectable, but an orgiastic carnival, gross in all its +manifestations of joy. The whole centre of the town was given over to +the furious pleasures of the people. Most of the Square was occupied by +Wombwell's Menagerie, in a vast oblong tent, whose raging beasts roared +and growled day and night. And spreading away from this supreme +attraction, right up through the market-place past the Town Hall to +Duck Bank, Duck Square and the waste land called the 'playground' were +hundreds of booths with banners displaying all the delights of the +horrible. You could see the atrocities of the French Revolution, and of +the Fiji Islands, and the ravages of unspeakable diseases, and the +living flesh of a nearly nude human female guaranteed to turn the scale +at twenty-two stone, and the skeletons of the mysterious phantoscope, +and the bloody contests of champions naked to the waist (with the +chance of picking up a red tooth as a relic). You could try your +strength by hitting an image of a fellow-creature in the stomach, and +test your aim by knocking off the heads of other images with a wooden +ball. You could also shoot with rifles at various targets. All the +streets were lined with stalls loaded with food in heaps, chiefly dried +fish, the entrails of animals, and gingerbread. All the public-houses +were crammed, and frenzied jolly drunkards, men and women, lunged along +the pavements everywhere, their shouts vying with the trumpets, horns, +and drums of the booths, and the shrieking, rattling toys that the +children carried. + +It was a glorious spectacle, but not a spectacle for the leading +families. Miss Chetwynd's school was closed, so that the daughters of +leading families might remain in seclusion till the worst was over. The +Baineses ignored the Wakes in every possible way, choosing that week to +have a show of mourning goods in the left-hand window, and refusing to +let Maggie outside on any pretext. Therefore the dazzling social +success of the elephant, which was quite easily drawing Mrs. Baines +into the vortex, cannot imaginably be over-estimated. + +On the previous night one of the three Wombwell elephants had suddenly +knelt on a man in the tent; he had then walked out of the tent and +picked up another man at haphazard from the crowd which was staring at +the great pictures in front, and tried to put this second man into his +mouth. Being stopped by his Indian attendant with a pitchfork, he +placed the man on the ground and stuck his tusk through an artery of +the victim's arm. He then, amid unexampled excitement, suffered himself +to be led away. He was conducted to the rear of the tent, just in front +of Baines's shuttered windows, and by means of stakes, pulleys, and +ropes forced to his knees. His head was whitewashed, and six men of the +Rifle Corps were engaged to shoot at him at a distance of five yards, +while constables kept the crowd off with truncheons. He died instantly, +rolling over with a soft thud. The crowd cheered, and, intoxicated by +their importance, the Volunteers fired three more volleys into the +carcase, and were then borne off as heroes to different inns. The +elephant, by the help of his two companions, was got on to a railway +lorry and disappeared into the night. Such was the greatest sensation +that has ever occurred, or perhaps will ever occur, in Bursley. The +excitement about the repeal of the Corn Laws, or about Inkerman, was +feeble compared to that excitement. Mr. Critchlow, who had been called +on to put a hasty tourniquet round the arm of the second victim, had +popped in afterwards to tell John Baines all about it. Mr. Baines's +interest, however, had been slight. Mr. Critchlow succeeded better with +the ladies, who, though they had witnessed the shooting from the +drawing-room, were thirsty for the most trifling details. + +The next day it was known that the elephant lay near the playground, +pending the decision of the Chief Bailiff and the Medical Officer as to +his burial. And everybody had to visit the corpse. No social +exclusiveness could withstand the seduction of that dead elephant. +Pilgrims travelled from all the Five Towns to see him. + +"We're going now," said Mrs. Baines, after she had assumed her bonnet +and shawl. + +"All right," said Sophia, pretending to be absorbed in study, as she +sat on the sofa at the foot of her father's bed. + +And Constance, having put her head in at the door, drew her mother +after her like a magnet. + +Then Sophia heard a remarkable conversation in the passage. + +"Are you going up to see the elephant, Mrs. Baines?" asked the voice of +Mr. Povey. + +"Yes. Why?" + +"I think I had better come with you. The crowd is sure to be very +rough." Mr. Povey's tone was firm; he had a position. + +"But the shop?" + +"We shall not be long," said Mr. Povey. + +"Oh yes, mother," Constance added appealingly. + +Sophia felt the house thrill as the side-door banged. She sprang up and +watched the three cross King Street diagonally, and so plunge into the +Wakes. This triple departure was surely the crowning tribute to the +dead elephant! It was simply astonishing. It caused Sophia to perceive +that she had miscalculated the importance of the elephant. It made her +regret her scorn of the elephant as an attraction. She was left behind; +and the joy of life was calling her. She could see down into the Vaults +on the opposite side of the street, where working men--potters and +colliers--in their best clothes, some with high hats, were drinking, +gesticulating, and laughing in a row at a long counter. + +She noticed, while she was thus at the bedroom window, a young man +ascending King Street, followed by a porter trundling a flat barrow of +luggage. He passed slowly under the very window. She flushed. She had +evidently been startled by the sight of this young man into no ordinary +state of commotion. She glanced at the books on the sofa, and then at +her father. Mr. Baines, thin and gaunt, and acutely pitiable, still +slept. His brain had almost ceased to be active now; he had to be fed +and tended like a bearded baby, and he would sleep for hours at a +stretch even in the daytime. Sophia left the room. A moment later she +ran into the shop, an apparition that amazed the three young lady +assistants. At the corner near the window on the fancy side a little +nook had been formed by screening off a portion of the counter with +large flower-boxes placed end-up. This corner had come to be known as +"Miss Baines's corner." Sophia hastened to it, squeezing past a young +lady assistant in the narrow space between the back of the counter and +the shelf-lined wall. She sat down in Constance's chair and pretended +to look for something. She had examined herself in the cheval-glass in +the showroom, on her way from the sick-chamber. When she heard a voice +near the door of the shop asking first for Mr. Povey and then for Mrs. +Baines, she rose, and seizing the object nearest to her, which happened +to be a pair of scissors, she hurried towards the showroom stairs as +though the scissors had been a grail, passionately sought and to be +jealously hidden away. She wanted to stop and turn round, but something +prevented her. She was at the end of the counter, under the curving +stairs, when one of the assistants said: + +"I suppose you don't know when Mr. Povey or your mother are likely to +be back, Miss Sophia? Here's--" + +It was a divine release for Sophia. + +"They're--I--" she stammered, turning round abruptly. Luckily she was +still sheltered behind the counter. + +The young man whom she had seen in the street came boldly forward. + +"Good morning, Miss Sophia," said he, hat in hand. "It is a long time +since I had the pleasure of seeing you." + +Never had she blushed as she blushed then. She scarcely knew what she +was doing as she moved slowly towards her sister's corner again, the +young man following her on the customer's side of the counter. + +II + +She knew that he was a traveller for the most renowned and gigantic of +all Manchester wholesale firms--Birkinshaws. But she did not know his +name, which was Gerald Scales. He was a rather short but extremely +well-proportioned man of thirty, with fair hair, and a distinguished +appearance, as became a representative of Birkinshaws. His broad, tight +necktie, with an edge of white collar showing above it, was +particularly elegant. He had been on the road for Birkinshaws for +several years; but Sophia had only seen him once before in her life, +when she was a little girl, three years ago. The relations between the +travellers of the great firms and their solid, sure clients in small +towns were in those days often cordially intimate. The traveller came +with the lustre of a historic reputation around him; there was no need +to fawn for orders; and the client's immense and immaculate +respectability made him the equal of no matter what ambassador. It was +a case of mutual esteem, and of that confidence-generating phenomenon, +"an old account." The tone in which a commercial traveller of middle +age would utter the phrase "an old account" revealed in a flash all +that was romantic, prim, and stately in mid-Victorian commerce. In the +days of Baines, after one of the elaborately engraved advice-circulars +had arrived ('Our Mr. ---- will have the pleasure of waiting upon you +on ----day next, the ---- inst.') John might in certain cases be expected to +say, on the morning of ----day, 'Missis, what have ye gotten for supper +to-night?' + +Mr. Gerald Scales had never been asked to supper; he had never even +seen John Baines; but, as the youthful successor of an aged traveller +who had had the pleasure of St. Luke's Square, on behalf of +Birkinshaws, since before railways, Mrs. Baines had treated him with a +faint agreeable touch of maternal familiarity; and, both her daughters +being once in the shop during his visit, she had on that occasion +commanded the gawky girls to shake hands with him. + +Sophia had never forgotten that glimpse. The young man without a name +had lived in her mind, brightly glowing, as the very symbol and +incarnation of the masculine and the elegant. + +The renewed sight of him seemed to have wakened her out of a sleep. +Assuredly she was not the same Sophia. As she sat in her sister's chair +in the corner, entrenched behind the perpendicular boxes, playing +nervously with the scissors, her beautiful face was transfigured into +the ravishingly angelic. It would have been impossible for Mr. Gerald +Scales, or anybody else, to credit, as he gazed at those lovely, +sensitive, vivacious, responsive features, that Sophia was not a +character of heavenly sweetness and perfection. She did not know what +she was doing; she was nothing but the exquisite expression of a deep +instinct to attract and charm. Her soul itself emanated from her in an +atmosphere of allurement and acquiescence. Could those laughing lips +hang in a heavy pout? Could that delicate and mild voice be harsh? +Could those burning eyes be coldly inimical? Never! The idea was +inconceivable! And Mr. Gerald Scales, with his head over the top of the +boxes, yielded to the spell. Remarkable that Mr. Gerald Scales, with +all his experience, should have had to come to Bursley to find the +pearl, the paragon, the ideal! But so it was. They met in an equal +abandonment; the only difference between them was that Mr. Scales, by +force of habit, kept his head. + +"I see it's your wakes here," said he. + +He was polite to the wakes; but now, with the least inflection in the +world, he put the wakes at its proper level in the scheme of things as +a local unimportance! She adored him for this; she was athirst for +sympathy in the task of scorning everything local. + +"I expect you didn't know," she said, implying that there was every +reason why a man of his mundane interests should not know. + +"I should have remembered if I had thought," said he. "But I didn't +think. What's this about an elephant?" + +"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Have you heard of that?" + +"My porter was full of it." + +"Well," she said, "of course it's a very big thing in Bursley." + +As she smiled in gentle pity of poor Bursley, he naturally did the +same. And he thought how much more advanced and broad the younger +generation was than the old! He would never have dared to express his +real feelings about Bursley to Mrs. Baines, or even to Mr. Povey (who +was, however, of no generation); yet here was a young woman actually +sharing them. + +She told him all the history of the elephant. + +"Must have been very exciting," he commented, despite himself. + +"Do you know," she replied, "it WAS." + +After all, Bursley was climbing in their opinion. + +"And mother and my sister and Mr. Povey have all gone to see it. That's +why they're not here." + +That the elephant should have caused both Mr. Povey and Mrs. Baines to +forget that the representative of Birkinshaws was due to call was +indeed a final victory for the elephant. + +"But not you!" he exclaimed. + +"No," she said. "Not me." + +"Why didn't you go too?" He continued his flattering investigations +with a generous smile. + +"I simply didn't care to," said she, proudly nonchalant. + +"And I suppose you are in charge here?" + +"No," she answered. "I just happened to have run down here for these +scissors. That's all." + +"I often see your sister," said he. "'Often' do I say?--that is, +generally, when I come; but never you." + +"I'm never in the shop," she said. "It's just an accident to-day." + +"Oh! So you leave the shop to your sister?" + +"Yes." She said nothing of her teaching. + +Then there was a silence. Sophia was very thankful to be hidden from +the curiosity of the shop. The shop could see nothing of her, and only +the back of the young man; and the conversation had been conducted in +low voices. She tapped her foot, stared at the worn, polished surface +of the counter, with the brass yard-measure nailed along its edge, and +then she uneasily turned her gaze to the left and seemed to be +examining the backs of the black bonnets which were perched on high +stands in the great window. Then her eyes caught his for an important +moment. + +"Yes," she breathed. Somebody had to say something. If the shop missed +the murmur of their voices the shop would wonder what had happened to +them. + +Mr. Scales looked at his watch. '"I dare say if I come in again about +two--" he began. + +"Oh yes, they're SURE to be in then," she burst out before he could +finish his sentence. + +He left abruptly, queerly, without shaking hands (but then it would +have been difficult--she argued--for him to have put his arm over the +boxes), and without expressing the hope of seeing her again. She peeped +through the black bonnets, and saw the porter put the leather strap +over his shoulders, raise the rear of the barrow, and trundle off; but +she did not see Mr. Scales. She was drunk; thoughts were tumbling about +in her brain like cargo loose in a rolling ship. Her entire conception +of herself was being altered; her attitude towards life was being +altered. The thought which knocked hardest against its fellows was, +"Only in these moments have I begun to live!" + +And as she flitted upstairs to resume watch over her father she sought +to devise an innocent-looking method by which she might see Mr. Scales +when he next called. And she speculated as to what his name was. + +III + +When Sophia arrived in the bedroom, she was startled because her +father's head and beard were not in their accustomed place on the +pillow. She could only make out something vaguely unusual sloping off +the side of the bed. A few seconds passed--not to be measured in +time--and she saw that the upper part of his body had slipped down, and +his head was hanging, inverted, near the floor between the bed and the +ottoman. His face, neck, and hands were dark and congested; his mouth +was open, and the tongue protruded between the black, swollen, mucous +lips; his eyes were prominent and coldly staring. The fact was that Mr. +Baines had wakened up, and, being restless, had slid out partially from +his bed and died of asphyxia. After having been unceasingly watched for +fourteen years, he had, with an invalid's natural perverseness, taken +advantage of Sophia's brief dereliction to expire. Say what you will, +amid Sophia's horror, and her terrible grief and shame, she had +visitings of the idea: he did it on purpose! + +She ran out of the room, knowing by intuition that he was dead, and +shrieked out, "Maggie," at the top of her voice; the house echoed. + +"Yes, miss," said Maggie, quite close, coming out of Mr. Povey's +chamber with a slop-pail. + +"Fetch Mr. Critchlow at once. Be quick. Just as you are. It's father--" + +Maggie, perceiving darkly that disaster was in the air, and instantly +filled with importance and a sort of black joy, dropped her pail in the +exact middle of the passage, and almost fell down the crooked stairs. +One of Maggie's deepest instincts, always held in check by the stern +dominance of Mrs. Baines, was to leave pails prominent on the main +routes of the house; and now, divining what was at hand, it flamed into +insurrection. + +No sleepless night had ever been so long to Sophia as the three minutes +which elapsed before Mr. Critchlow came. As she stood on the mat +outside the bedroom door she tried to draw her mother and Constance and +Mr. Povey by magnetic force out of the wakes into the house, and her +muscles were contracted in this strange effort. She felt that it was +impossible to continue living if the secret of the bedroom remained +unknown one instant longer, so intense was her torture, and yet that +the torture which could not be borne must be borne. Not a sound in the +house! Not a sound from the shop! Only the distant murmur of the wakes! + +"Why did I forget father?" she asked herself with awe. "I only meant to +tell him that they were all out, and run back. Why did I forget +father?" She would never be able to persuade anybody that she had +literally forgotten her father's existence for quite ten minutes; but +it was true, though shocking. + +Then there were noises downstairs. + +"Bless us! Bless us!" came the unpleasant voice of Mr. Critchlow as he +bounded up the stairs on his long legs; he strode over the pail. +"What's amiss?" He was wearing his white apron, and he carried his +spectacles in his bony hand. + +"It's father--he's--" Sophia faltered. + +She stood away so that he should enter the room first. He glanced at +her keenly, and as it were resentfully, and went in. She followed, +timidly, remaining near the door while Mr. Critchlow inspected her +handiwork. He put on his spectacles with strange deliberation, and +then, bending his knees outwards, thus lowered his body so that he +could examine John Baines point-blank. He remained staring like this, +his hands on his sharp apron-covered knees, for a little space; and +then he seized the inert mass and restored it to the bed, and wiped +those clotted lips with his apron. + +Sophia heard loud breathing behind her. It was Maggie. She heard a +huge, snorting sob; Maggie was showing her emotion. + +"Go fetch doctor!" Mr. Critchlow rasped. "And don't stand gaping there!" + +"Run for the doctor, Maggie," said Sophia. + +"How came ye to let him fall?" Mr. Critchlow demanded. + +"I was out of the room. I just ran down into the shop--" + +"Gallivanting with that young Scales!" said Mr. Critchlow, with +devilish ferocity. "Well, you've killed yer father; that's all!" + +He must have been at his shop door and seen the entry of the traveller! +And it was precisely characteristic of Mr. Critchlow to jump in the +dark at a horrible conclusion, and to be right after all. For Sophia +Mr. Critchlow had always been the personification of malignity and +malevolence, and now these qualities in him made him, to her, almost +obscene. Her pride brought up tremendous reinforcements, and she +approached the bed. + +"Is he dead?" she asked in a quiet tone. (Somewhere within a voice was +whispering, "So his name is Scales.") + +"Don't I tell you he's dead?" + +"Pail on the stairs!" + +This mild exclamation came from the passage. Mrs. Baines, misliking the +crowds abroad, had returned alone; she had left Constance in charge of +Mr. Povey. Coming into her house by the shop and showroom, she had +first noted the phenomenon of the pail--proof of her theory of +Maggie's incurable untidiness. + +"Been to see the elephant, I reckon!" said Mr. Critchlow, in fierce +sarcasm, as he recognized Mrs. Baines's voice. + +Sophia leaped towards the door, as though to bar her mother's entrance. +But Mrs. Baines was already opening the door. + +"Well, my pet--" she was beginning cheerfully. + +Mr. Critchlow confronted her. And he had no more pity for the wife than +for the daughter. He was furiously angry because his precious property +had been irretrievably damaged by the momentary carelessness of a silly +girl. Yes, John Baines was his property, his dearest toy! He was +convinced that he alone had kept John Baines alive for fourteen years, +that he alone had fully understood the case and sympathized with the +sufferer, that none but he had been capable of displaying ordinary +common sense in the sick-room. He had learned to regard John Baines as, +in some sort, his creation. And now, with their stupidity, their +neglect, their elephants, between them they had done for John Baines. +He had always known it would come to that, and it had come to that. + +"She let him fall out o' bed, and ye're a widow now, missis!" he +announced with a virulence hardly conceivable. His angular features and +dark eyes expressed a murderous hate for every woman named Baines. + +"Mother!" cried Sophia, "I only ran down into the shop to--to--" + +She seized her mother's arm in frenzied agony. + +"My child!" said Mrs. Baines, rising miraculously to the situation with +a calm benevolence of tone and gesture that remained for ever sublime +in the stormy heart of Sophia, "do not hold me." With infinite +gentleness she loosed herself from those clasping hands. "Have you sent +for the doctor?" she questioned Mr. Critchlow. + +The fate of her husband presented no mysteries to Mrs. Baines. +Everybody had been warned a thousand times of the danger of leaving the +paralytic, whose life depended on his position, and whose fidgetiness +was thereby a constant menace of death to him. For five thousand nights +she had wakened infallibly every time he stirred, and rearranged him by +the flicker of a little oil lamp. But Sophia, unhappy creature, had +merely left him. That was all. + +Mr. Critchlow and the widow gazed, helplessly waiting, at the pitiable +corpse, of which the salient part was the white beard. They knew not +that they were gazing at a vanished era. John Baines had belonged to +the past, to the age when men really did think of their souls, when +orators by phrases could move crowds to fury or to pity, when no one +had learnt to hurry, when Demos was only turning in his sleep, when the +sole beauty of life resided in its inflexible and slow dignity, when +hell really had no bottom, and a gilt-clasped Bible really was the +secret of England's greatness. Mid-Victorian England lay on that +mahogany bed. Ideals had passed away with John Baines. It is thus that +ideals die; not in the conventional pageantry of honoured death, but +sorrily, ignobly, while one's head is turned-- + +And Mr. Povey and Constance, very self-conscious, went and saw the dead +elephant, and came back; and at the corner of King Street, Constance +exclaimed brightly-- + +"Why! who's gone out and left the side-door open?" + +For the doctor had at length arrived, and Maggie, in showing him +upstairs with pious haste, had forgotten to shut the door. + +And they took advantage of the side-door, rather guiltily, to avoid the +eyes of the shop. They feared that in the parlour they would be the +centre of a curiosity half ironical and half reproving; for had they +not accomplished an escapade? So they walked slowly. + +The real murderer was having his dinner in the commercial room up at +the Tiger, opposite the Town Hall. + +IV + +Several shutters were put up in the windows of the shop, to indicate a +death, and the news instantly became known in trading circles +throughout the town. Many people simultaneously remarked upon the +coincidence that Mr. Baines should have died while there was a show of +mourning goods in his establishment. This coincidence was regarded as +extremely sinister, and it was apparently felt that, for the sake of +the mind's peace, one ought not to inquire into such things too +closely. From the moment of putting up the prescribed shutters, John +Baines and his funeral began to acquire importance in Bursley, and +their importance grew rapidly almost from hour to hour. The wakes +continued as usual, except that the Chief Constable, upon +representations being made to him by Mr. Critchlow and other citizens, +descended upon St. Luke's Square and forbade the activities of +Wombwell's orchestra. Wombwell and the Chief Constable differed as to +the justice of the decree, but every well-minded person praised the +Chief Constable, and he himself considered that he had enhanced the +town's reputation for a decent propriety. It was noticed, too, not +without a shiver of the uncanny, that that night the lions and tigers +behaved like lambs, whereas on the previous night they had roared the +whole Square out of its sleep. + +The Chief Constable was not the only individual enlisted by Mr. +Critchlow in the service of his friend's fame. Mr. Critchlow spent +hours in recalling the principal citizens to a due sense of John +Baines's past greatness. He was determined that his treasured toy +should vanish underground with due pomp, and he left nothing undone to +that end. He went over to Hanbridge on the still wonderful horse-car, +and saw the editor-proprietor of the Staffordshire Signal (then a +two-penny weekly with no thought of Football editions), and on the very +day of the funeral the Signal came out with a long and eloquent +biography of John Baines. This biography, giving details of his public +life, definitely restored him to his legitimate position in the civic +memory as an ex-chief bailiff, an ex-chairman of the Burial Board, and +of the Five Towns Association for the Advancement of Useful Knowledge, +and also as a "prime mover" in the local Turnpike Act, in the +negotiations for the new Town Hall, and in the Corinthian facade of the +Wesleyan Chapel; it narrated the anecdote of his courageous speech from +the portico of the Shambles during the riots of 1848, and it did not +omit a eulogy of his steady adherence to the wise old English maxims of +commerce and his avoidance of dangerous modern methods. Even in the +sixties the modern had reared its shameless head. The panegyric closed +with an appreciation of the dead man's fortitude in the terrible +affliction with which a divine providence had seen fit to try him; and +finally the Signal uttered its absolute conviction that his native town +would raise a cenotaph to his honour. Mr. Critchlow, being unfamiliar +with the word "cenotaph," consulted Worcester's Dictionary, and when he +found that it meant "a sepulchral monument to one who is buried +elsewhere," he was as pleased with the Signal's language as with the +idea, and decided that a cenotaph should come to pass. + +The house and shop were transformed into a hive of preparation for the +funeral. All was changed. Mr. Povey kindly slept for three nights on +the parlour sofa, in order that Mrs. Baines might have his room. The +funeral grew into an obsession, for multitudinous things had to be +performed and done sumptuously and in strict accordance with precedent. +There were the family mourning, the funeral repast, the choice of the +text on the memorial card, the composition of the legend on the coffin, +the legal arrangements, the letters to relations, the selection of +guests, and the questions of bell-ringing, hearse, plumes, number of +horses, and grave-digging. Nobody had leisure for the indulgence of +grief except Aunt Maria, who, after she had helped in the laying-out, +simply sat down and bemoaned unceasingly for hours her absence on the +fatal morning. "If I hadn't been so fixed on polishing my +candle-sticks," she weepingly repeated, "he mit ha' been alive and well +now." Not that Aunt Maria had been informed of the precise +circumstances of the death; she was not clearly aware that Mr. Baines +had died through a piece of neglect. But, like Mr. Critchlow, she was +convinced that there had been only one person in the world truly +capable of nursing Mr. Baines. Beyond the family, no one save Mr. +Critchlow and Dr. Harrop knew just how the martyr had finished his +career. Dr. Harrop, having been asked bluntly if an inquest would be +necessary, had reflected a moment and had then replied: "No." And he +added, "Least said soonest mended--mark me!" They had marked him. He +was commonsense in breeches. + +As for Aunt Maria, she was sent about her snivelling business by Aunt +Harriet. The arrival in the house of this genuine aunt from Axe, of +this majestic and enormous widow whom even the imperial Mrs. Baines +regarded with a certain awe, set a seal of ultimate solemnity on the +whole event. In Mr. Povey's bedroom Mrs. Baines fell like a child into +Aunt Harriet's arms and sobbed: + +"If it had been anything else but that elephant!" + +Such was Mrs. Baines's sole weakness from first to last. + +Aunt Harriet was an exhaustless fountain of authority upon every detail +concerning interments. And, to a series of questions ending with the +word "sister," and answers ending with the word "sister," the +prodigious travail incident to the funeral was gradually and +successfully accomplished. Dress and the repast exceeded all other +matters in complexity and difficulty. But on the morning of the funeral +Aunt Harriet had the satisfaction of beholding her younger sister the +centre of a tremendous cocoon of crape, whose slightest pleat was +perfect. Aunt Harriet seemed to welcome her then, like a veteran, +formally into the august army of relicts. As they stood side by side +surveying the special table which was being laid in the showroom for +the repast, it appeared inconceivable that they had reposed together in +Mr. Povey's limited bed. They descended from the showroom to the +kitchen, where the last delicate dishes were inspected. The shop was, +of course, closed for the day, but Mr. Povey was busy there, and in +Aunt Harriet's all-seeing glance he came next after the dishes. She +rose from the kitchen to speak with him. + +"You've got your boxes of gloves all ready?" she questioned him. + +"Yes, Mrs. Maddack." + +"You'll not forget to have a measure handy?" + +"No, Mrs. Maddack." + +"You'll find you'll want more of seven-and-three-quarters and eights +than anything." + +"Yes. I have allowed for that." + +"If you place yourself behind the side-door and put your boxes on the +harmonium, you'll be able to catch every one as they come in." + +"That is what I had thought of, Mrs. Maddack." + +She went upstairs. Mrs. Baines had reached the showroom again, and was +smoothing out creases in the white damask cloth and arranging glass +dishes of jam at equal distances from each other. + +"Come, sister," said Mrs. Maddack. "A last look." + +And they passed into the mortuary bedroom to gaze at Mr. Baines before +he should be everlastingly nailed down. In death he had recovered some +of his earlier dignity; but even so he was a startling sight. The two +widows bent over him, one on either side, and gravely stared at that +twisted, worn white face all neatly tucked up in linen. + +"I shall fetch Constance and Sophia," said Mrs. Maddack, with tears in +her voice. "Do you go into the drawing-room, sister." + +But Mrs. Maddack only succeeded in fetching Constance. + +Then there was the sound of wheels in King Street. The long rite of the +funeral was about to begin. Every guest, after having been measured and +presented with a pair of the finest black kid gloves by Mr. Povey, had +to mount the crooked stairs and gaze upon the carcase of John Baines, +going afterwards to the drawing-room to condole briefly with the widow. +And every guest, while conscious of the enormity of so thinking, +thought what an excellent thing it was that John Baines should be at +last dead and gone. The tramping on the stairs was continual, and +finally Mr. Baines himself went downstairs, bumping against corners, +and led a cortege of twenty vehicles. + +The funeral tea was not over at seven o'clock, five hours after the +commencement of the rite. It was a gigantic and faultless meal, worthy +of John Baines's distant past. Only two persons were absent from +it--John Baines and Sophia. The emptiness of Sophia's chair was much +noticed; Mrs. Maddack explained that Sophia was very high-strung and +could not trust herself. Great efforts were put forth by the company to +be lugubrious and inconsolable, but the secret relief resulting from +the death would not be entirely hidden. The vast pretence of acute +sorrow could not stand intact against that secret relief and the lavish +richness of the food. + +To the offending of sundry important relatives from a distance, Mr. +Critchlow informally presided over that assemblage of grave men in high +stocks and crinolined women. He had closed his shop, which had never +before been closed on a weekday, and he had a great deal to say about +this extraordinary closure. It was due as much to the elephant as to +the funeral. The elephant had become a victim to the craze for +souvenirs. Already in the night his tusks had been stolen; then his +feet disappeared for umbrella-stands, and most of his flesh had +departed in little hunks. Everybody in Bursley had resolved to +participate in the elephant. One consequence was that all the chemists' +shops in the town were assaulted by strings of boys. 'Please a pennorth +o' alum to tak' smell out o' a bit o' elephant.' Mr. Critchlow hated +boys. + +"'I'll alum ye!' says I, and I did. I alummed him out o' my shop with a +pestle. If there'd been one there'd been twenty between opening and +nine o'clock. 'George,' I says to my apprentice, 'shut shop up. My old +friend John Baines is going to his long home to-day, and I'll close. +I've had enough o' alum for one day.'" + +The elephant fed the conversation until after the second relay of hot +muffins. When Mr. Critchlow had eaten to his capacity, he took the +Signal importantly from his pocket, posed his spectacles, and read the +obituary all through in slow, impressive accents. Before he reached the +end Mrs. Baines began to perceive that familiarity had blinded her to +the heroic qualities of her late husband. The fourteen years of +ceaseless care were quite genuinely forgotten, and she saw him in his +strength and in his glory. When Mr. Critchlow arrived at the eulogy of +the husband and father, Mrs. Baines rose and left the showroom. The +guests looked at each other in sympathy for her. Mr. Critchlow shot a +glance at her over his spectacles and continued steadily reading. After +he had finished he approached the question of the cenotaph. + +Mrs. Baines, driven from the banquet by her feelings, went into the +drawing-room. Sophia was there, and Sophia, seeing tears in her +mother's eyes, gave a sob, and flung herself bodily against her mother, +clutching her, and hiding her face in that broad crape, which abraded +her soft skin. + +"Mother," she wept passionately, "I want to leave the school now. I +want to please you. I'll do anything in the world to please you. I'll +go into the shop if you'd like me to!" Her voice lost itself in tears. + +"Calm yourself, my pet," said Mrs. Baines, tenderly, caressing her. It +was a triumph for the mother in the very hour when she needed a triumph. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE TRAVELLER + +I + + +'Equisite, 1s. 11d.' + +These singular signs were being painted in shiny black on an +unrectangular parallelogram of white cardboard by Constance one evening +in the parlour. She was seated, with her left side to the fire and to +the fizzing gas, at the dining-table, which was covered with a checked +cloth in red and white. Her dress was of dark crimson; she wore a cameo +brooch and a gold chain round her neck; over her shoulders was thrown a +white knitted shawl, for the weather was extremely cold, the English +climate being much more serious and downright at that day than it is +now. She bent low to the task, holding her head slightly askew, putting +the tip of her tongue between her lips, and expending all the energy of +her soul and body in an intense effort to do what she was doing as well +as it could be done. + +"Splendid!" said Mr. Povey. + +Mr. Povey was fronting her at the table; he had his elbows on the +table, and watched her carefully, with the breathless and divine +anxiety of a dreamer who is witnessing the realization of his dream. +And Constance, without moving any part of her frame except her head, +looked up at him and smiled for a moment, and he could see her +delicious little nostrils at the end of her snub nose. + +Those two, without knowing or guessing it, were making history--the +history of commerce. They had no suspicion that they were the forces of +the future insidiously at work to destroy what the forces of the past +had created, but such was the case. They were conscious merely of a +desire to do their duty in the shop and to the shop; probably it had +not even occurred to them that this desire, which each stimulated in +the breast of the other, had assumed the dimensions of a passion. It +was ageing Mr. Povey, and it had made of Constance a young lady +tremendously industrious and preoccupied. + +Mr. Povey had recently been giving attention to the question of +tickets. It is not too much to say that Mr. Povey, to whom heaven had +granted a minimum share of imagination, had nevertheless discovered his +little parcel of imagination in the recesses of being, and brought it +effectively to bear on tickets. Tickets ran in conventional grooves. +There were heavy oblong tickets for flannels, shirting, and other +stuffs in the piece; there were smaller and lighter tickets for +intermediate goods; and there were diamond-shaped tickets (containing +nothing but the price) for bonnets, gloves, and flimflams generally. +The legends on the tickets gave no sort of original invention. The +words 'lasting,' 'durable,' 'unshrinkable,' 'latest,' 'cheap,' +'stylish,' 'novelty,' 'choice' (as an adjective), 'new,' and +'tasteful,' exhausted the entire vocabulary of tickets. Now Mr. Povey +attached importance to tickets, and since he was acknowledged to be the +best window-dresser in Bursley, his views were entitled to respect. He +dreamed of other tickets, in original shapes, with original legends. In +brief, he achieved, in regard to tickets, the rare feat of ridding +himself of preconceived notions, and of approaching a subject with +fresh, virginal eyes. When he indicated the nature of his wishes to Mr. +Chawner, the wholesale stationer who supplied all the Five Towns with +shop-tickets, Mr. Chawner grew uneasy and worried; Mr. Chawner was +indeed shocked. For Mr. Chawner there had always been certain +well-defined genera of tickets, and he could not conceive the existence +of other genera. When Mr. Povey suggested circular tickets--tickets +with a blue and a red line round them, tickets with legends such as +'unsurpassable,' 'very dainty,' or 'please note,' Mr. Chawner hummed +and hawed, and finally stated that it would be impossible to +manufacture these preposterous tickets, these tickets which would +outrage the decency of trade. + +If Mr. Povey had not happened to be an exceedingly obstinate man, he +might have been defeated by the crass Toryism of Mr. Chawner. But Mr. +Povey was obstinate, and he had resources of ingenuity which Mr. +Chawner little suspected. The great, tramping march of progress was not +to be impeded by Mr. Chawner. Mr. Povey began to make his own tickets. +At first he suffered as all reformers and inventors suffer. He used the +internal surface of collar-boxes and ordinary ink and pens, and the +result was such as to give customers the idea that Baineses were too +poor or too mean to buy tickets like other shops. For bought tickets +had an ivory-tinted gloss, and the ink was black and glossy, and the +edges were very straight and did not show yellow between two layers of +white. Whereas Mr. Povey's tickets were of a bluish-white, without +gloss; the ink was neither black nor shiny, and the edges were +amateurishly rough: the tickets had an unmistakable air of having been +'made out of something else'; moreover, the lettering had not the free, +dashing style of Mr. Chawner's tickets. + +And did Mrs. Baines encourage him in his single-minded enterprise on +behalf of HER business? Not a bit! Mrs. Baines's attitude, when not +disdainful, was inimical! So curious is human nature, so blind is man +to his own advantage! Life was very complex for Mr. Povey. It might +have been less complex had Bristol board and Chinese ink been less +expensive; with these materials he could have achieved marvels to +silence all prejudice and stupidity; but they were too costly. Still, +he persevered, and Constance morally supported him; he drew his +inspiration and his courage from Constance. Instead of the internal +surface of collar-boxes, he tried the external surface, which was at +any rate shiny. But the ink would not 'take' on it. He made as many +experiments as Edison was to make, and as many failures. Then Constance +was visited by a notion for mixing sugar with ink. Simple, innocent +creature--why should providence have chosen her to be the vessel of +such a sublime notion? Puzzling enigma, which, however, did not +exercise Mr. Povey! He found it quite natural that she should save him. +Save him she did. Sugar and ink would 'take' on anything, and it shone +like a 'patent leather' boot. Further, Constance developed a 'hand' for +lettering which outdid Mr. Povey's. Between them they manufactured +tickets by the dozen and by the score--tickets which, while possessing +nearly all the smartness and finish of Mr. Chawner's tickets, were much +superior to these in originality and strikingness. Constance and Mr. +Povey were delighted and fascinated by them. As for Mrs. Baines, she +said little, but the modern spirit was too elated by its success to +care whether she said little or much. And every few days Mr. Povey +thought of some new and wonderful word to put on a ticket. + +His last miracle was the word 'exquisite.' 'Exquisite,' pinned on a +piece of broad tartan ribbon, appeared to Constance and Mr. Povey as +the finality of appropriateness. A climax worthy to close the year! Mr. +Povey had cut the card and sketched the word and figures in pencil, and +Constance was doing her executive portion of the undertaking. They were +very happy, very absorbed, in this strictly business matter. The clock +showed five minutes past ten. Stern duty, a pure desire for the +prosperity of the shop, had kept them at hard labour since before eight +o'clock that morning! + +The stairs-door opened, and Mrs. Baines appeared, in bonnet and furs +and gloves, all clad for going out. She had abandoned the cocoon of +crape, but still wore weeds. She was stouter than ever. + +"What!" she cried. "Not ready! Now really!" + +"Oh, mother! How you made me jump!" Constance protested. "What time is +it? It surely isn't time to go yet!" + +"Look at the clock!" said Mrs. Baines, drily. + +"Well, I never!" Constance murmured, confused. + +"Come, put your things together, and don't keep me waiting," said Mrs. +Baines, going past the table to the window, and lifting the blind to +peep out. "Still snowing," she observed. "Oh, the band's going away at +last! I wonder how they can play at all in this weather. By the way, +what was that tune they gave us just now? I couldn't make out whether +it was 'Redhead,' or--" + +"Band?" questioned Constance--the simpleton! + +Neither she nor Mr. Povey had heard the strains of the Bursley Town +Silver Prize Band which had been enlivening the season according to its +usual custom. These two practical, duteous, commonsense young and +youngish persons had been so absorbed in their efforts for the welfare +of the shop that they had positively not only forgotten the time, but +had also failed to notice the band! But if Constance had had her wits +about her she would at least have pretended that she had heard it. + +"What's this?" asked Mrs. Baines, bringing her vast form to the table +and picking up a ticket. + +Mr. Povey said nothing. Constance said: "Mr. Povey thought of it +to-day. Don't you think it's very good, mother?" + +"I'm afraid I don't," Mrs. Baines coldly replied. + +She had mildly objected already to certain words; but 'exquisite' +seemed to her silly; it seemed out of place; she considered that it +would merely bring ridicule on her shop. 'Exquisite' written upon a +window-ticket! No! What would John Baines have thought of 'exquisite'? + +"'Exquisite!'" She repeated the word with a sarcastic inflection, +putting the accent, as every one put it, on the second syllable. "I +don't think that will quite do." + +"But why not, mother?" + +"It's not suitable, my dear." + +She dropped the ticket from her gloved hand. Mr. Povey had darkly +flashed. Though he spoke little, he was as sensitive as he was +obstinate. On this occasion he said nothing. He expressed his feelings +by seizing the ticket and throwing it into the fire. + +The situation was extremely delicate. Priceless employes like Mr. Povey +cannot be treated as machines, and Mrs. Baines of course instantly saw +that tact was needed. + +"Go along to my bedroom and get ready, my pet," said she to Constance. +"Sophia is there. There's a good fire. I must just speak to Maggie." +She tactfully left the room. + +Mr. Povey glanced at the fire and the curling red remains of the +ticket. Trade was bad; owing to weather and war, destitution was +abroad; and he had been doing his utmost for the welfare of the shop; +and here was the reward! + +Constance's eyes were full of tears. "Never mind!" she murmured, and +went upstairs. + +It was all over in a moment. + +II + +In the Wesleyan Methodist Chapel on Duck Bank there was a full and +influential congregation. For in those days influential people were not +merely content to live in the town where their fathers had lived, +without dreaming of country residences and smokeless air--they were +content also to believe what their fathers had believed about the +beginning and the end of all. There was no such thing as the unknowable +in those days. The eternal mysteries were as simple as an addition sum; +a child could tell you with absolute certainty where you would be and +what you would be doing a million years hence, and exactly what God +thought of you. Accordingly, every one being of the same mind, every +one met on certain occasions in certain places in order to express the +universal mind. And in the Wesleyan Methodist Chapel, for example, +instead of a sparse handful of persons disturbingly conscious of being +in a minority, as now, a magnificent and proud majority had collected, +deeply aware of its rightness and its correctness. + +And the minister, backed by minor ministers, knelt and covered his face +in the superb mahogany rostrum; and behind him, in what was then still +called the 'orchestra' (though no musical instruments except the grand +organ had sounded in it for decades), the choir knelt and covered their +faces; and all around in the richly painted gallery and on the +ground-floor, multitudinous rows of people, in easy circumstances of +body and soul, knelt in high pews and covered their faces. And there +floated before them, in the intense and prolonged silence, the clear +vision of Jehovah on a throne, a God of sixty or so with a moustache +and a beard, and a non-committal expression which declined to say +whether or not he would require more bloodshed; and this God, destitute +of pinions, was surrounded by white-winged creatures that wafted +themselves to and fro while chanting; and afar off was an obscene +monstrosity, with cloven hoofs and a tail very dangerous and rude and +interfering, who could exist comfortably in the middle of a coal-fire, +and who took a malignant and exhaustless pleasure in coaxing you by +false pretences into the same fire; but of course you had too much +sense to swallow his wicked absurdities. Once a year, for ten minutes +by the clock, you knelt thus, in mass, and by meditation convinced +yourself that you had too much sense to swallow his wicked absurdities. +And the hour was very solemn, the most solemn of all the hours. + +Strange that immortal souls should be found with the temerity to +reflect upon mundane affairs in that hour! Yet there were undoubtedly +such in the congregation; there were perhaps many to whom the vision, +if clear, was spasmodic and fleeting. And among them the inhabitants of +the Baines family pew! Who would have supposed that Mr. Povey, a recent +convert from Primitive Methodism in King Street to Wesleyan Methodism +on Duck Bank, was dwelling upon window-tickets and the injustice of +women, instead of upon his relations with Jehovah and the tailed one? +Who would have supposed that the gentle-eyed Constance, pattern of +daughters, was risking her eternal welfare by smiling at the tailed +one, who, concealing his tail, had assumed the image of Mr. Povey? Who +would have supposed that Mrs. Baines, instead of resolving that Jehovah +and not the tailed one should have ultimate rule over her, was +resolving that she and not Mr. Povey should have ultimate rule over her +house and shop? It was a pew-ful that belied its highly satisfactory +appearance. (And possibly there were other pew-fuls equally deceptive.) + +Sophia alone, in the corner next to the wall, with her beautiful stern +face pressed convulsively against her hands, was truly busy with +immortal things. Turbulent heart, the violence of her spiritual life +had made her older! Never was a passionate, proud girl in a harder case +than Sophia! In the splendour of her remorse for a fatal forgetfulness, +she had renounced that which she loved and thrown herself into that +which she loathed. It was her nature so to do. She had done it +haughtily, and not with kindness, but she had done it with the whole +force of her will. Constance had been compelled to yield up to her the +millinery department, for Sophia's fingers had a gift of manipulating +ribbons and feathers that was beyond Constance. Sophia had accomplished +miracles in the millinery. Yes, and she would be utterly polite to +customers; but afterwards, when the customers were gone, let mothers, +sisters, and Mr. Poveys beware of her fiery darts! + +But why, when nearly three months had elapsed after her father's death, +had she spent more and more time in the shop, secretly aflame with +expectancy? Why, when one day a strange traveller entered the shop and +announced himself the new representative of Birkinshaws--why had her +very soul died away within her and an awful sickness seized her? She +knew then that she had been her own deceiver. She recognized and +admitted, abasing herself lower than the lowest, that her motive in +leaving Miss Chetwynd's and joining the shop had been, at the best, +very mixed, very impure. Engaged at Miss Chetwynd's, she might easily +have never set eyes on Gerald Scales again. Employed in the shop, she +could not fail to meet him. In this light was to be seen the true +complexion of the splendour of her remorse. A terrible thought for her! +And she could not dismiss it. It contaminated her existence, this +thought! And she could confide in no one. She was incapable of showing +a wound. Quarter had succeeded quarter, and Gerald Scales was no more +heard of. She had sacrificed her life for worse than nothing. She had +made her own tragedy. She had killed her father, cheated and shamed +herself with a remorse horribly spurious, exchanged content for misery +and pride for humiliation--and with it all, Gerald Scales had vanished! +She was ruined. + +She took to religion, and her conscientious Christian virtues, +practised with stern inclemency, were the canker of the family. Thus a +year and a half had passed. + +And then, on this last day of the year, the second year of her shame +and of her heart's widowhood, Mr. Scales had reappeared. She had gone +casually into the shop and found him talking to her mother and Mr. +Povey. He had come back to the provincial round and to her. She shook +his hand and fled, because she could not have stayed. None had noticed +her agitation, for she had held her body as in a vice. She knew the +reason neither of his absence nor of his return. She knew nothing. And +not a word had been said at meals. And the day had gone and the night +come; and now she was in chapel, with Constance by her side and Gerald +Scales in her soul! Happy beyond previous conception of happiness! +Wretched beyond an unutterable woe! And none knew! What was she to pray +for? To what purpose and end ought she to steel herself? Ought she to +hope, or ought she to despair? "O God, help me!" she kept whispering to +Jehovah whenever the heavenly vision shone through the wrack of her +meditation. "O God, help me!" She had a conscience that, when it was in +the mood for severity, could be unspeakably cruel to her. + +And whenever she looked, with dry, hot eyes, through her gloved +fingers, she saw in front of her on the wall a marble tablet inscribed +in gilt letters, the cenotaph! She knew all the lines by heart, in +their spacious grandiloquence; lines such as: + +EVER READY WITH HIS TONGUE HIS PEN AND HIS PURSE TO HELP THE CHURCH OF +HIS FATHERS IN HER HE LIVED AND IN HER HE DIED CHERISHING A DEEP AND +ARDENT AFFECTION FOR HIS BELOVED FAITH AND CREED. + +And again: + +HIS SYMPATHIES EXTENDED BEYOND HIS OWN COMMUNITY HE WAS ALWAYS TO THE +FORE IN GOOD WORKS AND HE SERVED THE CIRCUIT THE TOWN AND THE DISTRICT +WITH GREAT ACCEPTANCE AND USEFULNESS. + +Thus had Mr. Critchlow's vanity been duly appeased. + +As the minutes sped in the breathing silence of the chapel the +emotional tension grew tighter; worshippers sighed heavily, or called +upon Jehovah for a sign, or merely coughed an invocation. And then at +last the clock in the middle of the balcony gave forth the single +stroke to which it was limited; the ministers rose, and the +congregation after them; and everybody smiled as though it was the +millennium, and not simply the new year, that had set in. Then, +faintly, through walls and shut windows, came the sound of bells and of +steam syrens and whistles. The superintendent minister opened his +hymn-book, and the hymn was sung which had been sung in Wesleyan +Chapels on New Year's morn since the era of John Wesley himself. The +organ finished with a clanguor of all its pipes; the minister had a few +last words with Jehovah, and nothing was left to do except to persevere +in well-doing. The people leaned towards each other across the high +backs of the pews. + +"A happy New Year!" + +"Eh, thank ye! The same to you!" + +"Another Watch Night service over!" + +"Eh, yes!" And a sigh. + +Then the aisles were suddenly crowded, and there was a good-humoured, +optimistic pushing towards the door. In the Corinthian porch occurred a +great putting-on of cloaks, ulsters, goloshes, and even pattens, and a +great putting-up of umbrellas. And the congregation went out into the +whirling snow, dividing into several black, silent-footed processions, +down Trafalgar Road, up towards the playground, along the market-place, +and across Duck Square in the direction of St. Luke's Square. + +Mr. Povey was between Mrs. Baines and Constance. + +"You must take my arm, my pet," said Mrs. Baines to Sophia. + +Then Mr. Povey and Constance waded on in front through the drifts. +Sophia balanced that enormous swaying mass, her mother. Owing to their +hoops, she had much difficulty in keeping close to her. Mrs. Baines +laughed with the complacent ease of obesity, yet a fall would have been +almost irremediable for her; and so Sophia had to laugh too. But, +though she laughed, God had not helped her. She did not know where she +was going, nor what might happen to her next. + +"Why, bless us!" exclaimed Mrs. Baines, as they turned the corner into +King Street. "There's some one sitting on our door-step!" + +There was: a figure swathed in an ulster, a maud over the ulster, and a +high hat on the top of all. It could not have been there very long, +because it was only speckled with snow. Mr. Povey plunged forward. + +"It's Mr. Scales, of all people!" said Mr. Povey. + +"Mr. Scales!" cried Mrs. Baines. + +And, "Mr. Scales!" murmured Sophia, terribly afraid. + +Perhaps she was afraid of miracles. Mr. Scales sitting on her mother's +doorstep in the middle of the snowy night had assuredly the air of a +miracle, of something dreamed in a dream, of something pathetically and +impossibly appropriate--'pat,' as they say in the Five Towns. But he +was a tangible fact there. And years afterwards, in the light of +further knowledge of Mr. Scales, Sophia came to regard his being on the +doorstep as the most natural and characteristic thing in the world. +Real miracles never seem to be miracles, and that which at the first +blush resembles one usually proves to be an instance of the extremely +prosaic. + +III + +"Is that you, Mrs. Baines?" asked Gerald Scales, in a half-witted +voice, looking up, and then getting to his feet. "Is this your house? +So it is! Well, I'd no idea I was sitting on your doorstep." + +He smiled timidly, nay, sheepishly, while the women and Mr. Povey +surrounded him with their astonished faces under the light of the +gas-lamp. Certainly he was very pale. + +"But whatever is the matter, Mr. Scales?" Mrs. Baines demanded in an +anxious tone. "Are you ill? Have you been suddenly--" + +"Oh no," said the young man lightly. "It's nothing. Only I was set on +just now, down there,"--he pointed to the depths of King Street. + +"Set on!" Mrs. Baines repeated, alarmed. + +"That makes the fourth case in a week, that we KNOW of!" said Mr. +Povey. "It really is becoming a scandal." + +The fact was that, owing to depression of trade, lack of employment, +and rigorous weather, public security in the Five Towns was at that +period not as perfect as it ought to have been. In the stress of hunger +the lower classes were forgetting their manners--and this in spite of +the altruistic and noble efforts of their social superiors to relieve +the destitution due, of course, to short-sighted improvidence. When +(the social superiors were asking in despair) will the lower classes +learn to put by for a rainy day? (They might have said a snowy and a +frosty day.) It was 'really too bad' of the lower classes, when +everything that could be done was being done for them, to kill, or even +attempt to kill, the goose that lays the golden eggs! And especially in +a respectable town! What, indeed, were things coming to? Well, here was +Mr. Gerald Scales, gentleman from Manchester, a witness and victim to +the deplorable moral condition of the Five Towns. What would he think +of the Five Towns? The evil and the danger had been a topic of +discussion in the shop for a week past, and now it was brought home to +them. + +"I hope you weren't--" said Mrs. Baines, apologetically and +sympathetically. + +"Oh no!" Mr. Scales interrupted her quite gaily. "I managed to beat +them off. Only my elbow--" + +Meanwhile it was continuing to snow. + +"Do come in!" said Mrs. Baines. + +"I couldn't think of troubling you," said Mr. Scales. "I'm all right +now, and I can find my way to the Tiger." + +"You must come in, if it's only for a minute," said Mrs. Baines, with +decision. She had to think of the honour of the town. + +"You're very kind," said Mr. Scales. + +The door was suddenly opened from within, and Maggie surveyed them from +the height of the two steps. + +"A happy New Year, mum, to all of you." + +"Thank you, Maggie," said Mrs. Baines, and primly added: + +"The same to you!" And in her own mind she said that Maggie could best +prove her desire for a happy new year by contriving in future not to +'scamp her corners,' and not to break so much crockery. + +Sophia, scarce knowing what she did, mounted the steps. + +"Mr. Scales ought to let our New Year in, my pet," Mrs. Baines stopped +her. + +"Oh, of course, mother!" Sophia concurred with, a gasp, springing back +nervously. + +Mr. Scales raised his hat, and duly let the new year, and much snow, +into the Baines parlour. And there was a vast deal of stamping of feet, +agitating of umbrellas, and shaking of cloaks and ulsters on the +doormat in the corner by the harmonium. And Maggie took away an armful +of everything snowy, including goloshes, and received instructions to +boil milk and to bring 'mince.' Mr. Povey said "B-r-r-r!" and shut the +door (which was bordered with felt to stop ventilation); Mrs. Baines +turned up the gas till it sang, and told Sophia to poke the fire, and +actually told Constance to light the second gas. + +Excitement prevailed. + +The placidity of existence had been agreeably disturbed (yes, +agreeably, in spite of horror at the attack on Mr. Scales's elbow) by +an adventure. Moreover, Mr. Scales proved to be in evening-dress. And +nobody had ever worn evening-dress in that house before. + +Sophia's blood was in her face, and it remained there, enhancing the +vivid richness of her beauty. She was dizzy with a strange and +disconcerting intoxication. She seemed to be in a world of unrealities +and incredibilities. Her ears heard with indistinctness, and the edges +of things and people had a prismatic colouring. She was in a state of +ecstatic, unreasonable, inexplicable happiness. All her misery, doubts, +despair, rancour, churlishness, had disappeared. She was as softly +gentle as Constance. Her eyes were the eyes of a fawn, and her gestures +delicious in their modest and sensitive grace. Constance was sitting on +the sofa, and, after glancing about as if for shelter, she sat down on +the sofa by Constance's side. She tried not to stare at Mr. Scales, but +her gaze would not leave him. She was sure that he was the most perfect +man in the world. A shortish man, perhaps, but a perfect. That such +perfection could be was almost past her belief. He excelled all her +dreams of the ideal man. His smile, his voice, his hand, his +hair--never were such! Why, when he spoke--it was positively music! +When he smiled--it was heaven! His smile, to Sophia, was one of those +natural phenomena which are so lovely that they make you want to shed +tears. There is no hyperbole in this description of Sophia's +sensations, but rather an under-statement of them. She was utterly +obsessed by the unique qualities of Mr. Scales. Nothing would have +persuaded her that the peer of Mr. Scales existed among men, or could +possibly exist. And it was her intense and profound conviction of his +complete pre-eminence that gave him, as he sat there in the +rocking-chair in her mother's parlour, that air of the unreal and the +incredible. + +"I stayed in the town on purpose to go to a New Year's party at Mr. +Lawton's," Mr. Scales was saying. + +"Ah! So you know Lawyer Lawton!" observed Mrs. Baines, impressed, for +Lawyer Lawton did not consort with tradespeople. He was jolly with +them, and he did their legal business for them, but he was not of them. +His friends came from afar. + +"My people are old acquaintances of his," said Mr. Scales, sipping the +milk which Maggie had brought. + +"Now, Mr. Scales, you must taste my mince. A happy month for every tart +you eat, you know," Mrs. Baines reminded him. + +He bowed. "And it was as I was coming away from there that I got into +difficulties." He laughed. + +Then he recounted the struggle, which had, however, been brief, as the +assailants lacked pluck. He had slipped and fallen on his elbow on the +kerb, and his elbow might have been broken, had not the snow been so +thick. No, it did not hurt him now; doubtless a mere bruise. It was +fortunate that the miscreants had not got the better of him, for he had +in his pocket-book a considerable sum of money in notes--accounts paid! +He had often thought what an excellent thing it would be if commercials +could travel with dogs, particularly in winter. There was nothing like +a dog. + +"You are fond of dogs?" asked Mr. Povey, who had always had a secret +but impracticable ambition to keep a dog. + +"Yes," said Mr. Scales, turning now to Mr. Povey. + +"Keep one?" asked Mr. Povey, in a sporting tone. + +"I have a fox-terrier bitch," said Mr. Scales, "that took a first at +Knutsford; but she's getting old now." + +The sexual epithet fell queerly on the room. Mr. Povey, being a man of +the world, behaved as if nothing had happened; but Mrs. Baines's curls +protested against this unnecessary coarseness. Constance pretended not +to hear. Sophia did not understandingly hear. Mr. Scales had no +suspicion that he was transgressing a convention by virtue of which +dogs have no sex. Further, he had no suspicion of the local fame of +Mrs. Baines's mince-tarts. He had already eaten more mince-tarts than +he could enjoy, before beginning upon hers, and Mrs. Baines missed the +enthusiasm to which she was habituated from consumers of her pastry. + +Mr. Povey, fascinated, proceeded in the direction of dogs, and it grew +more and more evident that Mr. Scales, who went out to parties in +evening dress, instead of going in respectable broad-cloth to +watch night-services, who knew the great ones of the land, and who kept +dogs of an inconvenient sex, was neither an ordinary commercial +traveller nor the kind of man to which the Square was accustomed. He +came from a different world. + +"Lawyer Lawton's party broke up early--at least I mean, considering--" +Mrs. Baines hesitated. + +After a pause Mr. Scales replied, "Yes, I left immediately the clock +struck twelve. I've a heavy day to-morrow--I mean to-day." + +It was not an hour for a prolonged visit, and in a few minutes Mr. +Scales was ready again to depart. He admitted a certain feebleness +('wankiness,' he playfully called it, being proud of his skill in the +dialect), and a burning in his elbow; but otherwise he was quite +well--thanks to Mrs. Baines's most kind hospitality ... He really +didn't know how he came to be sitting on her doorstep. Mrs. Baines +urged him, if he met a policeman on his road to the Tiger, to furnish +all particulars about the attempted highway robbery, and he said he +decidedly would. + +He took his leave with distinguished courtliness. + +"If I have a moment I shall run in to-morrow morning just to let you +know I'm all right," said he, in the white street. + +"Oh, do!" said Constance. Constance's perfect innocence made her +strangely forward at times. + +"A happy New Year and many of them!" + +"Thanks! Same to you! Don't get lost." + +"Straight up the Square and first on the right," called the commonsense +of Mr. Povey. + +Nothing else remained to say, and the visitor disappeared silently in +the whirling snow. "Brrr!" murmured Mr. Povey, shutting the door. +Everybody felt: "What a funny ending of the old year!" + +"Sophia, my pet," Mrs. Baines began. + +But Sophia had vanished to bed. + +"Tell her about her new night-dress," said Mrs. Baines to Constance. + +"Yes, mother." + +"I don't know that I'm so set up with that young man, after all," Mrs. +Baines reflected aloud. + +"Oh, mother!" Constance protested. "I think he's just lovely." + +"He never looks you straight in the face," said Mrs. Baines. + +"Don't tell ME!" laughed Constance, kissing her mother good night. +"You're only on your high horse because he didn't praise your mince. +_I_ noticed it." + +IV + +"If anybody thinks I'm going to stand the cold in this showroom any +longer, they're mistaken," said Sophia the next morning loudly, and in +her mother's hearing. And she went down into the shop carrying bonnets. + +She pretended to be angry, but she was not. She felt, on the contrary, +extremely joyous, and charitable to all the world. Usually she would +take pains to keep out of the shop; usually she was preoccupied and +stern. Hence her presence on the ground-floor, and her demeanour, +excited interest among the three young lady assistants who sat sewing +round the stove in the middle of the shop, sheltered by the great pile +of shirtings and linseys that fronted the entrance. + +Sophia shared Constance's corner. They had hot bricks under their feet, +and fine-knitted wraps on their shoulders. They would have been more +comfortable near the stove, but greatness has its penalties. The +weather was exceptionally severe. The windows were thickly frosted +over, so that Mr. Povey's art in dressing them was quite wasted. +And--rare phenomenon!--the doors of the shop were shut. In the ordinary +way they were not merely open, but hidden by a display of 'cheap +lines.' Mr. Povey, after consulting Mrs. Baines, had decided to close +them, foregoing the customary display. Mr. Povey had also, in order to +get a little warmth into his limbs, personally assisted two casual +labourers to scrape the thick frozen snow off the pavement; and he wore +his kid mittens. All these things together proved better than the +evidence of barometers how the weather nipped. + +Mr. Scales came about ten o'clock. Instead of going to Mr. Povey's +counter, he walked boldly to Constance's corner, and looked over the +boxes, smiling and saluting. Both the girls candidly delighted in his +visit. Both blushed; both laughed--without knowing why they laughed. +Mr. Scales said he was just departing and had slipped in for a moment +to thank all of them for their kindness of last night--'or rather this +morning.' The girls laughed again at this witticism. Nothing could have +been more simple than his speech. Yet it appeared to them magically +attractive. A customer entered, a lady; one of the assistants rose from +the neighbourhood of the stove, but the daughters of the house ignored +the customer; it was part of the etiquette of the shop that customers, +at any rate chance customers, should not exist for the daughters of the +house, until an assistant had formally drawn attention to them. +Otherwise every one who wanted a pennyworth of tape would be expecting +to be served by Miss Baines, or Miss Sophia, if Miss Sophia were there. +Which would have been ridiculous. + +Sophia, glancing sidelong, saw the assistant parleying with the +customer; and then the assistant came softly behind the counter and +approached the corner. + +"Miss Constance, can you spare a minute?" the assistant whispered +discreetly. + +Constance extinguished her smile for Mr. Scales, and, turning away, +lighted an entirely different and inferior smile for the customer. + +"Good morning, Miss Baines. Very cold, isn't it?" + +"Good morning, Mrs. Chatterley. Yes, it is. I suppose you're getting +anxious about those--" Constance stopped. + +Sophia was now alone with Mr. Scales, for in order to discuss the +unnameable freely with Mrs. Chatterley her sister was edging up the +counter. Sophia had dreamed of a private conversation as something +delicious and impossible. But chance had favoured her. She was alone +with him. And his neat fair hair and his blue eyes and his delicate +mouth were as wonderful to her as ever. He was gentlemanly to a degree +that impressed her more than anything had impressed her in her life. +And all the proud and aristocratic instinct that was at the base of her +character sprang up and seized on his gentlemanliness like a famished +animal seizing on food. + +"The last time I saw you," said Mr. Scales, in a new tone, "you said +you were never in the shop." + +"What? Yesterday? Did I?" + +"No, I mean the last time I saw you alone," said he. + +"Oh!" she exclaimed. "It's just an accident." + +"That's exactly what you said last time." + +"Is it?" + +Was it his manner, or what he said, that flattered her, that +intensified her beautiful vivacity? + +"I suppose you don't often go out?" he went on. + +"What? In this weather?" + +"Any time." + +"I go to chapel," said she, "and marketing with mother." There was a +little pause. "And to the Free Library." + +"Oh yes. You've got a Free Library here now, haven't you?" + +"Yes. We've had it over a year." + +"And you belong to it? What do you read?" + +"Oh, stories, you know. I get a fresh book out once a week." + +"Saturdays, I suppose?" + +"No," she said. "Wednesdays." And she smiled. "Usually." + +"It's Wednesday to-day," said he. "Not been already?" + +She shook her head. "I don't think I shall go to-day. It's too cold. I +don't think I shall venture out to-day." + +"You must be very fond of reading," said he. + +Then Mr. Povey appeared, rubbing his mittened hands. And Mrs. +Chatterley went. + +"I'll run and fetch mother," said Constance. + +Mrs. Baines was very polite to the young man. He related his interview +with the police, whose opinion was that he had been attacked by stray +members of a gang from Hanbridge. The young lady assistants, with ears +cocked, gathered the nature of Mr. Scales's adventure, and were +thrilled to the point of questioning Mr. Povey about it after Mr. +Scales had gone. His farewell was marked by much handshaking, and +finally Mr. Povey ran after him into the Square to mention something +about dogs. + +At half-past one, while Mrs. Baines was dozing after dinner, Sophia +wrapped herself up, and with a book under her arm went forth into the +world, through the shop. She returned in less than twenty minutes. But +her mother had already awakened, and was hovering about the back of the +shop. Mothers have supernatural gifts. + +Sophia nonchalantly passed her and hurried into the parlour where she +threw down her muff and a book and knelt before the fire to warm +herself. + +Mrs. Baines followed her. "Been to the Library?" questioned Mrs. Baines. + +"Yes, mother. And it's simply perishing." + +"I wonder at your going on a day like to-day. I thought you always went +on Thursdays?" + +"So I do. But I'd finished my book." + +"What is this?" Mrs. Baines picked up the volume, which was covered +with black oil-cloth. + +She picked it up with a hostile air. For her attitude towards the Free +Library was obscurely inimical. She never read anything herself except +The Sunday at Home, and Constance never read anything except The Sunday +at Home. There were scriptural commentaries, Dugdale's Gazetteer, +Culpepper's Herbal, and works by Bunyan and Flavius Josephus in the +drawing-room bookcase; also Uncle Tom's Cabin. And Mrs. Baines, in +considering the welfare of her daughters, looked askance at the whole +remainder of printed literature. If the Free Library had not formed +part of the Famous Wedgwood Institution, which had been opened with +immense eclat by the semi-divine Gladstone; if the first book had not +been ceremoniously 'taken out' of the Free Library by the Chief Bailiff +in person--a grandfather of stainless renown--Mrs. Baines would +probably have risked her authority in forbidding the Free Library. + +"You needn't be afraid," said Sophia, laughing. "It's Miss Sewell's +Experience of Life." + +"A novel, I see," observed Mrs. Baines, dropping the book. + +Gold and jewels would probably not tempt a Sophia of these days to read +Experience of Life; but to Sophia Baines the bland story had the +piquancy of the disapproved. + +The next day Mrs. Baines summoned Sophia into her bedroom. + +"Sophia," said she, trembling, "I shall be glad if you will not walk +about the streets with young men until you have my permission." + +The girl blushed violently. "I--I--" + +"You were seen in Wedgwood Street," said Mrs. Baines. + +"Who's been gossiping--Mr. Critchlow, I suppose?" Sophia exclaimed +scornfully. + +"No one has been 'gossiping,'" said Mrs. Baines. "Well, if I meet some +one by accident in the street I can't help it, can I?" Sophia's voice +shook. + +"You know what I mean, my child," said Mrs. Baines, with careful calm. + +Sophia dashed angrily from the room. + +"I like the idea of him having 'a heavy day'!" Mrs. Baines reflected +ironically, recalling a phrase which had lodged in her mind. And very +vaguely, with an uneasiness scarcely perceptible, she remembered that +'he,' and no other, had been in the shop on the day her husband died. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +ESCAPADE + +I + + +The uneasiness of Mrs. Baines flowed and ebbed, during the next three +months, influenced by Sophia's moods. There were days when Sophia was +the old Sophia--the forbidding, difficult, waspish, and even hedgehog +Sophia. But there were other days on which Sophia seemed to be drawing +joy and gaiety and goodwill from some secret source, from some fount +whose nature and origin none could divine. It was on these days that +the uneasiness of Mrs. Baines waxed. She had the wildest suspicions; +she was almost capable of accusing Sophia of carrying on a clandestine +correspondence; she saw Sophia and Gerald Scales deeply and wickedly in +love; she saw them with their arms round each other's necks.... And +then she called herself a middle-aged fool, to base such a structure of +suspicion on a brief encounter in the street and on an idea, a fancy, a +curious and irrational notion! Sophia had a certain streak of pure +nobility in that exceedingly heterogeneous thing, her character. +Moreover, Mrs. Baines watched the posts, and she also watched +Sophia--she was not the woman to trust to a streak of pure +nobility--and she came to be sure that Sophia's sinfulness, if any, was +not such as could be weighed in a balance, or collected together by +stealth and then suddenly placed before the girl on a charger. + +Still, she would have given much to see inside Sophia's lovely head. +Ah! Could she have done so, what sleep-destroying wonders she would +have witnessed! By what bright lamps burning in what mysterious +grottoes and caverns of the brain would her mature eyes have been +dazzled! Sophia was living for months on the exhaustless ardent +vitality absorbed during a magical two minutes in Wedgwood Street. She +was living chiefly on the flaming fire struck in her soul by the shock +of seeing Gerald Scales in the porch of the Wedgwood Institution as she +came out of the Free Library with Experience Of Life tucked into her +large astrakhan muff. He had stayed to meet her, then: she knew it! +"After all," her heart said, "I must be very beautiful, for I have +attracted the pearl of men!" And she remembered her face in the glass. +The value and the power of beauty were tremendously proved to her. He, +the great man of the world, the handsome and elegant man with a +thousand strange friends and a thousand interests far remote from her, +had remained in Bursley on the mere chance of meeting her! She was +proud, but her pride was drowned in bliss. "I was just looking at this +inscription about Mr. Gladstone." "So you decided to come out as +usual!" "And may I ask what book you have chosen?" These were the +phrases she heard, and to which she responded with similar phrases. And +meanwhile a miracle of ecstasy had opened--opened like a flower. She +was walking along Wedgwood Street by his side, slowly, on the scraped +pavements, where marble bulbs of snow had defied the spade and +remained. She and he were exactly of the same height, and she kept +looking into his face and he into hers. This was all the miracle. +Except that she was not walking on the pavement--she was walking on the +intangible sward of paradise! Except that the houses had receded and +faded, and the passers-by were subtilized into unnoticeable ghosts! +Except that her mother and Constance had become phantasmal beings +existing at an immense distance! + +What had happened? Nothing! The most commonplace occurrence! The +eternal cause had picked up a commercial traveller (it might have been +a clerk or curate, but it in fact was a commercial traveller), and +endowed him with all the glorious, unique, incredible attributes of a +god, and planted him down before Sophia in order to produce the eternal +effect. A miracle performed specially for Sophia's benefit! No one else +in Wedgwood Street saw the god walking along by her side. No one else +saw anything but a simple commercial traveller. Yes, the most +commonplace occurrence! + +Of course at the corner of the street he had to go. "Till next time!" +he murmured. And fire came out of his eyes and lighted in Sophia's +lovely head those lamps which Mrs. Baines was mercifully spared from +seeing. And he had shaken hands and raised his hat. Imagine a god +raising his hat! And he went off on two legs, precisely like a dashing +little commercial traveller. + +And, escorted by the equivocal Angel of Eclipses, she had turned into +King Street, and arranged her face, and courageously met her mother. +Her mother had not at first perceived the unusual; for mothers, despite +their reputation to the contrary, really are the blindest creatures. +Sophia, the naive ninny, had actually supposed that her walking along a +hundred yards of pavement with a god by her side was not going to +excite remark! What a delusion! It is true, certainly, that no one saw +the god by direct vision. But Sophia's cheeks, Sophia's eyes, the curve +of Sophia's neck as her soul yearned towards the soul of the god--these +phenomena were immeasurably more notable than Sophia guessed. An +account of them, in a modified form to respect Mrs. Baines's notorious +dignity, had healed the mother of her blindness and led to that +characteristic protest from her, "I shall be glad if you will not walk +about the streets with young men," etc. + +When the period came for the reappearance of Mr. Scales, Mrs. Baines +outlined a plan, and when the circular announcing the exact time of his +arrival was dropped into the letter-box, she formulated the plan in +detail. In the first place, she was determined to be indisposed and +invisible herself, so that Mr. Scales might be foiled in any possible +design to renew social relations in the parlour. In the second place, +she flattered Constance with a single hint--oh, the vaguest and +briefest!--and Constance understood that she was not to quit the shop +on the appointed morning. In the third place, she invented a way of +explaining to Mr. Povey that the approaching advent of Gerald Scales +must not be mentioned. And in the fourth place, she deliberately made +appointments for Sophia with two millinery customers in the showroom, +so that Sophia might be imprisoned in the showroom. + +Having thus left nothing to chance, she told herself that she was a +foolish woman full of nonsense. But this did not prevent her from +putting her lips together firmly and resolving that Mr. Scales should +have no finger in the pie of HER family. She had acquired information +concerning Mr. Scales, at secondhand, from Lawyer Pratt. More than +this, she posed the question in a broader form--why should a young girl +be permitted any interest in any young man whatsoever? The everlasting +purpose had made use of Mrs. Baines and cast her off, and, like most +persons in a similar situation, she was, unconsciously and quite +honestly, at odds with the everlasting purpose. + +II + +On the day of Mr. Scales's visit to the shop to obtain orders and money +on behalf of Birkinshaws, a singular success seemed to attend the +machinations of Mrs. Baines. With Mr. Scales punctuality was not an +inveterate habit, and he had rarely been known, in the past, to fulfil +exactly the prophecy of the letter of advice concerning his arrival. +But that morning his promptitude was unexampled. He entered the shop, +and by chance Mr. Povey was arranging unshrinkable flannels in the +doorway. The two youngish little men talked amiably about flannels, +dogs, and quarter-day (which was just past), and then Mr. Povey led Mr. +Scales to his desk in the dark corner behind the high pile of twills, +and paid the quarterly bill, in notes and gold--as always; and then Mr. +Scales offered for the august inspection of Mr. Povey all that +Manchester had recently invented for the temptation of drapers, and Mr. +Povey gave him an order which, if not reckless, was nearer 'handsome' +than 'good.' During the process Mr. Scales had to go out of the shop +twice or three times in order to bring in from his barrow at the +kerb-stone certain small black boxes edged with brass. On none of these +excursions did Mr. Scales glance wantonly about him in satisfaction of +the lust of the eye. Even if he had permitted himself this freedom he +would have seen nothing more interesting than three young lady +assistants seated round the stove and sewing with pricked fingers from +which the chilblains were at last deciding to depart. When Mr. Scales +had finished writing down the details of the order with his +ivory-handled stylo, and repacked his boxes, he drew the interview to a +conclusion after the manner of a capable commercial traveller; that is +to say, he implanted in Mr. Povey his opinion that Mr. Povey was a +wise, a shrewd and an upright man, and that the world would be all the +better for a few more like him. He inquired for Mrs. Baines, and was +deeply pained to hear of her indisposition while finding consolation in +the assurance that the Misses Baines were well. Mr. Povey was on the +point of accompanying the pattern of commercial travellers to the door, +when two customers simultaneously came in--ladies. One made straight +for Mr. Povey, whereupon Mr. Scales parted from him at once, it being a +universal maxim in shops that even the most distinguished commercial +shall not hinder the business of even the least distinguished customer. +The other customer had the effect of causing Constance to pop up from +her cloistral corner. Constance had been there all the time, but of +course, though she heard the remembered voice, her maidenliness had not +permitted that she should show herself to Mr. Scales. + +Now, as he was leaving, Mr. Scales saw her, with her agreeable snub +nose and her kind, simple eyes. She was requesting the second customer +to mount to the showroom, where was Miss Sophia. Mr. Scales hesitated a +moment, and in that moment Constance, catching his eye, smiled upon +him, and nodded. What else could she do? Vaguely aware though she was +that her mother was not 'set up' with Mr. Scales, and even feared the +possible influence of the young man on Sophia, she could not exclude +him from her general benevolence towards the universe. Moreover, she +liked him; she liked him very much and thought him a very fine specimen +of a man. + +He left the door and went across to her. They shook hands and opened a +conversation instantly; for Constance, while retaining all her modesty, +had lost all her shyness in the shop, and could chatter with anybody. +She sidled towards her corner, precisely as Sophia had done on another +occasion, and Mr. Scales put his chin over the screening boxes, and +eagerly prosecuted the conversation. + +There was absolutely nothing in the fact of the interview itself to +cause alarm to a mother, nothing to render futile the precautions of +Mrs. Baines on behalf of the flower of Sophia's innocence. And yet it +held danger for Mrs. Baines, all unconscious in her parlour. Mrs. +Baines could rely utterly on Constance not to be led away by the +dandiacal charms of Mr. Scales (she knew in what quarter sat the wind +for Constance); in her plan she had forgotten nothing, except Mr. +Povey; and it must be said that she could not possibly have foreseen +the effect on the situation of Mr. Povey's character. + +Mr. Povey, attending to his customer, had noticed the bright smile of +Constance on the traveller, and his heart did not like it. And when he +saw the lively gestures of a Mr. Scales in apparently intimate talk +with a Constance hidden behind boxes, his uneasiness grew into fury. He +was a man capable of black and terrible furies. Outwardly +insignificant, possessing a mind as little as his body, easily abashed, +he was none the less a very susceptible young man, soon offended, +proud, vain, and obscurely passionate. You might offend Mr. Povey +without guessing it, and only discover your sin when Mr. Povey had done +something too decisive as a result of it. + +The reason of his fury was jealousy. Mr. Povey had made great advances +since the death of John Baines. He had consolidated his position, and +he was in every way a personage of the first importance. His misfortune +was that he could never translate his importance, or his sense of his +importance, into terms of outward demeanour. Most people, had they been +told that Mr. Povey was seriously aspiring to enter the Baines family, +would have laughed. But they would have been wrong. To laugh at Mr. +Povey was invariably wrong. Only Constance knew what inroads he had +effected upon her. + +The customer went, but Mr. Scales did not go. Mr. Povey, free to +reconnoitre, did so. From the shadow of the till he could catch +glimpses of Constance's blushing, vivacious face. She was obviously +absorbed in Mr. Scales. She and he had a tremendous air of intimacy. +And the murmur of their chatter continued. Their chatter was nothing, +and about nothing, but Mr. Povey imagined that they were exchanging +eternal vows. He endured Mr. Scales's odious freedom until it became +insufferable, until it deprived him of all his self-control; and then +he retired into his cutting-out room. He meditated there in a condition +of insanity for perhaps a minute, and excogitated a device. Dashing +back into the shop, he spoke up, half across the shop, in a loud, curt +tone: + +"Miss Baines, your mother wants you at once." + +He was launched on the phrase before he noticed that, during his +absence, Sophia had descended from the showroom and joined her sister +and Mr. Scales. The danger and scandal were now less, he perceived, but +he was glad he had summoned Constance away, and he was in a state to +despise consequences. + +The three chatterers, startled, looked at Mr. Povey, who left the shop +abruptly. Constance could do nothing but obey the call. + +She met him at the door of the cutting-out room in the passage leading +to the parlour. + +"Where is mother? In the parlour?" Constance inquired innocently. + +There was a dark flush on Mr. Povey's face. "If you wish to know," said +he in a hard voice, "she hasn't asked for you and she doesn't want you." + +He turned his back on her, and retreated into his lair. + +"Then what--?" she began, puzzled. + +He fronted her. "Haven't you been gabbling long enough with that +jackanapes?" he spit at her. There were tears in his eyes. + +Constance, though without experience in these matters, comprehended. +She comprehended perfectly and immediately. She ought to have put Mr. +Povey into his place. She ought to have protested with firm, dignified +finality against such a ridiculous and monstrous outrage as that which +Mr. Povey had committed. Mr. Povey ought to have been ruined for ever +in her esteem and in her heart. But she hesitated. + +"And only last Sunday--afternoon," Mr. Povey blubbered. + +(Not that anything overt had occurred, or been articulately said, +between them last Sunday afternoon. But they had been alone together, +and had each witnessed strange and disturbing matters in the eyes of +the other.) + +Tears now fell suddenly from Constance's eyes. "You ought to be +ashamed--" she stammered. + +Still, the tears were in her eyes, and in his too. What he or she +merely said, therefore, was of secondary importance. + +Mrs. Baines, coming from the kitchen, and hearing Constance's voice, +burst upon the scene, which silenced her. Parents are sometimes +silenced. She found Sophia and Mr. Scales in the shop. + +III + +That afternoon Sophia, too busy with her own affairs to notice anything +abnormal in the relations between her mother and Constance, and quite +ignorant that there had been an unsuccessful plot against her, went +forth to call upon Miss Chetwynd, with whom she had remained very +friendly: she considered that she and Miss Chetwynd formed an +aristocracy of intellect, and the family indeed tacitly admitted this. +She practised no secrecy in her departure from the shop; she merely +dressed, in her second-best hoop, and went, having been ready at any +moment to tell her mother, if her mother caught her and inquired, that +she was going to see Miss Chetwynd. And she did go to see Miss +Chetwynd, arriving at the house-school, which lay amid trees on the +road to Turnhill, just beyond the turnpike, at precisely a quarter-past +four. As Miss Chetwynd's pupils left at four o'clock, and as Miss +Chetwynd invariably took a walk immediately afterwards, Sophia was able +to contain her surprise upon being informed that Miss Chetwynd was not +in. She had not intended that Miss Chetwynd should be in. + +She turned off to the right, up the side road which, starting from the +turnpike, led in the direction of Moorthorne and Red Cow, two mining +villages. Her heart beat with fear as she began to follow that road, +for she was upon a terrific adventure. What most frightened her, +perhaps, was her own astounding audacity. She was alarmed by something +within herself which seemed to be no part of herself and which produced +in her curious, disconcerting, fleeting impressions of unreality. + +In the morning she had heard the voice of Mr. Scales from the +showroom--that voice whose even distant murmur caused creepings of the +skin in her back. And she had actually stood on the counter in front of +the window in order to see down perpendicularly into the Square; by so +doing she had had a glimpse of the top of his luggage on a barrow, and +of the crown of his hat occasionally when he went outside to tempt Mr. +Povey. She might have gone down into the shop--there was no slightest +reason why she should not; three months had elapsed since the name of +Mr. Scales had been mentioned, and her mother had evidently forgotten +the trifling incident of New Year's Day--but she was incapable of +descending the stairs! She went to the head of the stairs and peeped +through the balustrade--and she could not get further. For nearly a +hundred days those extraordinary lamps had been brightly burning in her +head; and now the light-giver had come again, and her feet would not +move to the meeting; now the moment had arrived for which alone she had +lived, and she could not seize it as it passed! "Why don't I go +downstairs?" she asked herself. "Am I afraid to meet him?" + +The customer sent up by Constance had occupied the surface of her life +for ten minutes, trying on hats; and during this time she was praying +wildly that Mr. Scales might not go, and asserting that it was +impossible he should go without at least asking for her. Had she not +counted the days to this day? When the customer left Sophia followed +her downstairs, and saw Mr. Scales chatting with Constance. All her +self-possession instantly returned to her, and she joined them with a +rather mocking smile. After Mr. Povey's strange summons had withdrawn +Constance from the corner, Mr. Scales's tone had changed; it had +thrilled her. "You are YOU," it had said, "there is you--and there is +the rest of the universe!" Then he had not forgotten; she had lived in +his heart; she had not for three months been the victim of her own +fancies! ... She saw him put a piece of folded white paper on the top +edge of the screening box and flick it down to her. She blushed +scarlet, staring at it as it lay on the counter. He said nothing, and +she could not speak.... He had prepared that paper, then, beforehand, +on the chance of being able to give it to her! This thought was +exquisite but full of terror. "I must really go," he had said, lamely, +with emotion in his voice, and he had gone--like that! And she put the +piece of paper into the pocket of her apron, and hastened away. She had +not even seen, as she turned up the stairs, her mother standing by the +till--that spot which was the conning-tower of the whole shop. She ran, +ran, breathless to the bedroom. + +"I am a wicked girl!" she said quite frankly, on the road to the +rendezvous. "It is a dream that I am going to meet him. It cannot be +true. There is time to go back. If I go back I am safe. I have simply +called at Miss Chetwynd's and she wasn't in, and no one can say a word. +But if I go on--if I'm seen! What a fool I am to go on!" + +And she went on, impelled by, amongst other things, an immense, naive +curiosity, and the vanity which the bare fact of his note had excited. +The Loop railway was being constructed at that period, and hundreds of +navvies were at work on it between Bursley and Turnhill. When she came +to the new bridge over the cutting, he was there, as he had written +that he would be. + +They were very nervous, they greeted each other stiffly and as though +they had met then for the first time that day. Nothing was said about +his note, nor about her response to it. Her presence was treated by +both of them as a basic fact of the situation which it would be well +not to disturb by comment. Sophia could not hide her shame, but her +shame only aggravated the stinging charm of her beauty. She was wearing +a hard Amazonian hat, with a lifted veil, the final word of fashion +that spring in the Five Towns; her face, beaten by the fresh breeze, +shone rosily; her eyes glittered under the dark hat, and the violent +colours of her Victorian frock--green and crimson--could not spoil +those cheeks. If she looked earthwards, frowning, she was the more +adorable so. He had come down the clayey incline from the unfinished +red bridge to welcome her, and when the salutations were over they +stood still, he gazing apparently at the horizon and she at the yellow +marl round the edges of his boots. The encounter was as far away from +Sophia's ideal conception as Manchester from Venice. + +"So this is the new railway!" said she. + +"Yes," said he. "This is your new railway. You can see it better from +the bridge." + +"But it's very sludgy up there," she objected with a pout. + +"Further on it's quite dry," he reassured her. + +From the bridge they had a sudden view of a raw gash in the earth; and +hundreds of men were crawling about in it, busy with minute operations, +like flies in a great wound. There was a continuous rattle of picks, +resembling a muffled shower of hail, and in the distance a tiny +locomotive was leading a procession of tiny waggons. + +"And those are the navvies!" she murmured. + +The unspeakable doings of the navvies in the Five Towns had reached +even her: how they drank and swore all day on Sundays, how their huts +and houses were dens of the most appalling infamy, how they were the +curse of a God-fearing and respectable district! She and Gerald Scales +glanced down at these dangerous beasts of prey in their yellow +corduroys and their open shirts revealing hairy chests. No doubt they +both thought how inconvenient it was that railways could not be brought +into existence without the aid of such revolting and swinish animals. +They glanced down from the height of their nice decorum and felt the +powerful attraction of similar superior manners. The manners of the +navvies were such that Sophia could not even regard them, nor Gerald +Scales permit her to regard them, without blushing. + +In a united blush they turned away, up the gradual slope. Sophia knew +no longer what she was doing. For some minutes she was as helpless as +though she had been in a balloon with him. + +"I got my work done early," he said; and added complacently, "As a +matter of fact I've had a pretty good day." + +She was reassured to learn that he was not neglecting his duties. To be +philandering with a commercial traveller who has finished a good day's +work seemed less shocking than dalliance with a neglecter of business; +it seemed indeed, by comparison, respectable. + +"It must be very interesting," she said primly. + +"What, my trade?" + +"Yes. Always seeing new places and so on." + +"In a way it is," he admitted judicially. "But I can tell you it was +much more agreeable being in Paris." + +"Oh! Have you been to Paris?" + +"Lived there for nearly two years," he said carelessly. Then, looking +at her, "Didn't you notice I never came for a long time?" + +"I didn't know you were in Paris," she evaded him. + +"I went to start a sort of agency for Birkinshaws," he said. + +"I suppose you talk French like anything." + +"Of course one has to talk French," said he. "I learnt French when I +was a child from a governess--my uncle made me--but I forgot most of it +at school, and at the Varsity you never learn anything--precious +little, anyhow! Certainly not French!" + +She was deeply impressed. He was a much greater personage than she had +guessed. It had never occurred to her that commercial travellers had to +go to a university to finish their complex education. And then, Paris! +Paris meant absolutely nothing to her but pure, impossible, +unattainable romance. And he had been there! The clouds of glory were +around him. He was a hero, dazzling. He had come to her out of another +world. He was her miracle. He was almost too miraculous to be true. + +She, living her humdrum life at the shop! And he, elegant, brilliant, +coming from far cities! They together, side by side, strolling up the +road towards the Moorthorne ridge! There was nothing quite like this in +the stories of Miss Sewell. + +"Your uncle...?" she questioned vaguely. + +"Yes, Mr. Boldero. He's a partner in Birkinshaws." + +"Oh!" + +"You've heard of him? He's a great Wesleyan." + +"Oh yes," she said. "When we had the Wesleyan Conference here, he--" + +"He's always very great at Conferences," said Gerald Scales. + +"I didn't know he had anything to do with Birkinshaws." + +"He isn't a working partner of course," Mr. Scales explained. "But he +means me to be one. I have to learn the business from the bottom. So +now you understand why I'm a traveller." + +"I see," she said, still more deeply impressed. + +"I'm an orphan," said Gerald. "And Uncle Boldero took me in hand when I +was three." + +"I SEE!" she repeated. + +It seemed strange to her that Mr. Scales should be a Wesleyan--just +like herself. She would have been sure that he was 'Church.' Her +notions of Wesleyanism, with her notions of various other things, were +sharply modified. + +"Now tell me about you," Mr. Scales suggested. + +"Oh! I'm nothing!" she burst out. + +The exclamation was perfectly sincere. Mr. Scales's disclosures +concerning himself, while they excited her, discouraged her. + +"You're the finest girl I've ever met, anyhow," said Mr. Scales with +gallant emphasis, and he dug his stick into the soft ground. + +She blushed and made no answer. + +They walked on in silence, each wondering apprehensively what might +happen next. + +Suddenly Mr. Scales stopped at a dilapidated low brick wall, built in a +circle, close to the side of the road. + +"I expect that's an old pit-shaft," said he. + +"Yes, I expect it is." + +He picked up a rather large stone and approached the wall. + +"Be careful!" she enjoined him. + +"Oh! It's all right," he said lightly. "Let's listen. Come near and +listen." + +She reluctantly obeyed, and he threw the stone over the dirty ruined +wall, the top of which was about level with his hat. For two or three +seconds there was no sound. Then a faint reverberation echoed from the +depths of the shaft. And on Sophia's brain arose dreadful images of the +ghosts of miners wandering for ever in subterranean passages, far, far +beneath. The noise of the falling stone had awakened for her the secret +terrors of the earth. She could scarcely even look at the wall without +a spasm of fear. + +"How strange," said Mr. Scales, a little awe in his voice, too, "that +that should be left there like that! I suppose it's very deep." + +"Some of them are," she trembled. + +"I must just have a look," he said, and put his hands on the top of the +wall. + +"Come away!" she cried. + +"Oh! It's all right!" he said again, soothingly. "The wall's as firm as +a rock." And he took a slight spring and looked over. + +She shrieked loudly. She saw him at the distant bottom of the shaft, +mangled, drowning. The ground seemed to quake under her feet. A +horrible sickness seized her. And she shrieked again. Never had she +guessed that existence could be such pain. + +He slid down from the wall, and turned to her. "No bottom to be seen!" +he said. Then, observing her transformed face, he came close to her, +with a superior masculine smile. "Silly little thing!" he said +coaxingly, endearingly, putting forth all his power to charm. + +He perceived at once that he had miscalculated the effects of his +action. Her alarm changed swiftly to angry offence. She drew back with +a haughty gesture, as if he had intended actually to touch her. Did he +suppose, because she chanced to be walking with him, that he had the +right to address her familiarly, to tease her, to call her 'silly +little thing' and to put his face against hers? She resented his +freedom with quick and passionate indignation. + +She showed him her proud back and nodding head and wrathful skirts; and +hurried off without a word, almost running. As for him, he was so +startled by unexpected phenomena that he did nothing for a +moment--merely stood looking and feeling foolish. + +Then she heard him in pursuit. She was too proud to stop or even to +reduce her speed. + +"I didn't mean to--" he muttered behind her. + +No recognition from her. + +"I suppose I ought to apologize," he said. + +"I should just think you ought," she answered, furious. + +"Well, I do!" said he. "Do stop a minute." + +"I'll thank you not to follow me, Mr. Scales." She paused, and scorched +him with her displeasure. Then she went forward. And her heart was in +torture because it could not persuade her to remain with him, and smile +and forgive, and win his smile. + +"I shall write to you," he shouted down the slope. + +She kept on, the ridiculous child. But the agony she had suffered as he +clung to the frail wall was not ridiculous, nor her dark vision of the +mine, nor her tremendous indignation when, after disobeying her, he +forgot that she was a queen. To her the scene was sublimely tragic. +Soon she had recrossed the bridge, but not the same she! So this was +the end of the incredible adventure! + +When she reached the turnpike she thought of her mother and of +Constance. She had completely forgotten them; for a space they had +utterly ceased to exist for her. + +IV + +"You've been out, Sophia?" said Mrs. Baines in the parlour, +questioningly. Sophia had taken off her hat and mantle hurriedly in the +cutting-out room, for she was in danger of being late for tea; but her +hair and face showed traces of the March breeze. Mrs. Baines, whose +stoutness seemed to increase, sat in the rocking-chair with a number of +The Sunday at Home in her hand. Tea was set. + +"Yes, mother. I called to see Miss Chetwynd." + +"I wish you'd tell me when you are going out." + +"I looked all over for you before I started." + +"No, you didn't, for I haven't stirred from this room since four +o'clock.... You should not say things like that," Mrs. Baines added in +a gentler tone. + +Mrs. Baines had suffered much that day. She knew that she was in an +irritable, nervous state, and therefore she said to herself, in her +quality of wise woman, "I must watch myself. I mustn't let myself go." +And she thought how reasonable she was. She did not guess that all her +gestures betrayed her; nor did it occur to her that few things are more +galling than the spectacle of a person, actuated by lofty motives, +obviously trying to be kind and patient under what he considers to be +extreme provocation. + +Maggie blundered up the kitchen stairs with the teapot and hot toast; +and so Sophia had an excuse for silence. Sophia too had suffered much, +suffered excruciatingly; she carried at that moment a whole tragedy in +her young soul, unaccustomed to such burdens. Her attitude towards her +mother was half fearful and half defiant; it might be summed up in the +phrase which she had repeated again and again under her breath on the +way home, "Well, mother can't kill me!" + +Mrs. Baines put down the blue-covered magazine and twisted her +rocking-chair towards the table. + +"You can pour out the tea," said Mrs. Baines. + +"Where's Constance?" + +"She's not very well. She's lying down." + +"Anything the matter with her?" + +"No." + +This was inaccurate. Nearly everything was the matter with Constance, +who had never been less Constance than during that afternoon. But Mrs. +Baines had no intention of discussing Constance's love-affairs with +Sophia. The less said to Sophia about love, the better! Sophia was +excitable enough already! + +They sat opposite to each other, on either side of the fire--the +monumental matron whose black bodice heavily overhung the table, whose +large rounded face was creased and wrinkled by what seemed countless +years of joy and disillusion; and the young, slim girl, so fresh, so +virginal, so ignorant, with all the pathos of an unsuspecting victim +about to be sacrificed to the minotaur of Time! They both ate hot +toast, with careless haste, in silence, preoccupied, worried, and +outwardly nonchalant. + +"And what has Miss Chetwynd got to say?" Mrs. Baines inquired. + +"She wasn't in." + +Here was a blow for Mrs. Baines, whose suspicions about Sophia, driven +off by her certainties regarding Constance, suddenly sprang forward in +her mind, and prowled to and fro like a band of tigers. + +Still, Mrs. Baines was determined to be calm and careful. "Oh! What +time did you call?" + +"I don't know. About half-past four." Sophia finished her tea quickly, +and rose. "Shall I tell Mr. Povey he can come?" + +(Mr. Povey had his tea after the ladies of the house.) + +"Yes, if you will stay in the shop till I come. Light me the gas before +you go." + +Sophia took a wax taper from a vase on the mantelpiece, stuck it in the +fire and lit the gas, which exploded in its crystal cloister with a +mild report. + +"What's all that clay on your boots, child?" asked Mrs. Baines. + +"Clay?" repeated Sophia, staring foolishly at her boots. + +"Yes," said Mrs. Baines. "It looks like marl. Where on earth have you +been?" + +She interrogated her daughter with an upward gaze, frigid and +unconsciously hostile, through her gold-rimmed glasses. + +"I must have picked it up on the roads," said Sophia, and hastened to +the door. + +"Sophia!" + +"Yes, mother." + +"Shut the door." + +Sophia unwillingly shut the door which she had half opened. + +"Come here." + +Sophia obeyed, with falling lip. + +"You are deceiving me, Sophia," said Mrs. Baines, with fierce +solemnity. "Where have you been this afternoon?" + +Sophia's foot was restless on the carpet behind the table. "I haven't +been anywhere," she murmured glumly. + +"Have you seen young Scales?" + +"Yes," said Sophia with grimness, glancing audaciously for an instant +at her mother. ("She can't kill me: She can't kill me," her heart +muttered. And she had youth and beauty in her favour, while her mother +was only a fat middle-aged woman. "She can't kill me," said her heart, +with the trembling, cruel insolence of the mirror-flattered child.) + +"How came you to meet him?" + +No answer. + +"Sophia, you heard what I said!" + +Still no answer. Sophia looked down at the table. ("She can't kill me.") + +"If you are going to be sullen, I shall have to suppose the worst," +said Mrs. Baines. + +Sophia kept her silence. + +"Of course," Mrs. Baines resumed, "if you choose to be wicked, neither +your mother nor any one else can stop you. There are certain things I +CAN do, and these I SHALL do ... Let me warn you that young Scales is a +thoroughly bad lot. I know all about him. He has been living a wild +life abroad, and if it hadn't been that his uncle is a partner in +Birkinshaws, they would never have taken him on again." A pause. "I +hope that one day you will be a happy wife, but you are much too young +yet to be meeting young men, and nothing would ever induce me to let +you have anything to do with this Scales. I won't have it. In future +you are not to go out alone. You understand me?" + +Sophia kept silence. + +"I hope you will be in a better frame of mind to-morrow. I can only +hope so. But if you aren't, I shall take very severe measures. You +think you can defy me. But you never were more mistaken in your life. I +don't want to see any more of you now. Go and tell Mr. Povey; and call +Maggie for the fresh tea. You make me almost glad that your father died +even as he did. He has, at any rate, been spared this." + +Those words 'died even as he did' achieved the intimidation of Sophia. +They seemed to indicate that Mrs. Baines, though she had magnanimously +never mentioned the subject to Sophia, knew exactly how the old man had +died. Sophia escaped from the room in fear, cowed. Nevertheless, her +thought was, "She hasn't killed me. I made up my mind I wouldn't talk, +and I didn't." + +In the evening, as she sat in the shop primly and sternly sewing at +hats--while her mother wept in secret on the first floor, and Constance +remained hidden on the second--Sophia lived over again the scene at the +old shaft; but she lived it differently, admitting that she had been +wrong, guessing by instinct that she had shown a foolish mistrust of +love. As she sat in the shop, she adopted just the right attitude and +said just the right things. Instead of being a silly baby she was an +accomplished and dazzling woman, then. When customers came in, and the +young lady assistants unobtrusively turned higher the central gas, +according to the regime of the shop, it was really extraordinary that +they could not read in the heart of the beautiful Miss Baines the words +which blazed there; "YOU'RE THE FINEST GIRL I EVER MET," and "I SHALL +WRITE TO YOU." The young lady assistants had their notions as to both +Constance and Sophia, but the truth, at least as regarded Sophia, was +beyond the flight of their imaginations. When eight o'clock struck and +she gave the formal order for dust-sheets, the shop being empty, they +never supposed that she was dreaming about posts and plotting how to +get hold of the morning's letters before Mr. Povey. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +A DEFEAT + +I + + +It was during the month of June that Aunt Harriet came over from Axe to +spend a few days with her little sister, Mrs. Baines. The railway +between Axe and the Five Towns had not yet been opened; but even if it +had been opened Aunt Harriet would probably not have used it. She had +always travelled from Axe to Bursley in the same vehicle, a small +waggonette which she hired from Bratt's livery stables at Axe, driven +by a coachman who thoroughly understood the importance, and the +peculiarities, of Aunt Harriet. + +Mrs. Baines had increased in stoutness, so that now Aunt Harriet had +very little advantage over her, physically. But the moral ascendency of +the elder still persisted. The two vast widows shared Mrs. Baines's +bedroom, spending much of their time there in long, hushed +conversations--interviews from which Mrs. Baines emerged with the air +of one who has received enlightenment and Aunt Harriet with the air of +one who has rendered it. The pair went about together, in the shop, the +showroom, the parlour, the kitchen, and also into the town, addressing +each other as 'Sister,' 'Sister.' Everywhere it was 'sister,' 'sister,' +'my sister,' 'your dear mother,' 'your Aunt Harriet.' They referred to +each other as oracular sources of wisdom and good taste. Respectability +stalked abroad when they were afoot. The whole Square wriggled uneasily +as though God's eye were peculiarly upon it. The meals in the parlour +became solemn collations, at which shone the best silver and the finest +diaper, but from which gaiety and naturalness seemed to be banished. (I +say 'seemed' because it cannot be doubted that Aunt Harriet was +natural, and there were moments when she possibly considered herself to +be practising gaiety--a gaiety more desolating than her severity.) The +younger generation was extinguished, pressed flat and lifeless under +the ponderosity of the widows. + +Mr. Povey was not the man to be easily flattened by ponderosity of any +kind, and his suppression was a striking proof of the prowess of the +widows; who, indeed, went over Mr. Povey like traction-engines, with +the sublime unconsciousness of traction-engines, leaving an inanimate +object in the road behind them, and scarce aware even of the jolt. Mr. +Povey hated Aunt Harriet, but, lying crushed there in the road, how +could he rebel? He felt all the time that Aunt Harriet was adding him +up, and reporting the result at frequent intervals to Mrs. Baines in +the bedroom. He felt that she knew everything about him--even to those +tears which had been in his eyes. He felt that he could hope to do +nothing right for Aunt Harriet, that absolute perfection in the +performance of duty would make no more impression on her than a caress +on the fly-wheel of a traction-engine. Constance, the dear Constance, +was also looked at askance. There was nothing in Aunt Harriet's +demeanour to her that you could take hold of, but there was +emphatically something that you could not take hold of--a hint, an +inkling, that insinuated to Constance, "Have a care, lest peradventure +you become the second cousin of the scarlet woman." + +Sophia was petted. Sophia was liable to be playfully tapped by Aunt +Harriet's thimble when Aunt Harriet was hemming dusters (for the +elderly lady could lift a duster to her own dignity). Sophia was called +on two separate occasions, 'My little butterfly.' And Sophia was +entrusted with the trimming of Aunt Harriet's new summer bonnet. Aunt +Harriet deemed that Sophia was looking pale. As the days passed, +Sophia's pallor was emphasized by Aunt Harriet until it developed into +an article of faith, to which you were compelled to subscribe on pain +of excommunication. Then dawned the day when Aunt Harriet said, staring +at Sophia as an affectionate aunt may: "That child would do with a +change." And then there dawned another day when Aunt Harriet, staring +at Sophia compassionately, as a devoted aunt may, said: "It's a pity +that child can't have a change." And Mrs. Baines also stared--and said: +"It is." + +And on another day Aunt Harriet said: "I've been wondering whether my +little Sophia would care to come and keep her old aunt company a while." + +There were few things for which Sophia would have cared less. The girl +swore to herself angrily that she would not go, that no allurement +would induce her to go. But she was in a net; she was in the meshes of +family correctness. Do what she would, she could not invent a reason +for not going. Certainly she could not tell her aunt that she merely +did not want to go. She was capable of enormities, but not of that. And +then began Aunt Harriet's intricate preparations for going. Aunt +Harriet never did anything simply. And she could not be hurried. +Seventy-two hours before leaving she had to commence upon her trunk; +but first the trunk had to be wiped by Maggie with a damp cloth under +the eye and direction of Aunt Harriet. And the liveryman at Axe had to +be written to, and the servants at Axe written to, and the weather +prospects weighed and considered. And somehow, by the time these +matters were accomplished, it was tacitly understood that Sophia should +accompany her kind aunt into the bracing moorland air of Axe. No smoke +at Axe! No stuffiness at Axe! The spacious existence of a wealthy widow +in a residential town with a low death-rate and famous scenery! "Have +you packed your box, Sophia?" No, she had not. "Well, I will come and +help you." + +Impossible to bear up against the momentum of a massive body like Aunt +Harriet's! It was irresistible. + +The day of departure came, throwing the entire household into a +commotion. Dinner was put a quarter of an hour earlier than usual so +that Aunt Harriet might achieve Axe at her accustomed hour of tea. +After dinner Maggie was the recipient of three amazing muslin aprons, +given with a regal gesture. And the trunk and the box were brought +down, and there was a slight odour of black kid gloves in the parlour. +The waggonette was due and the waggonette appeared ("I can always rely +upon Bladen!" said Aunt Harriet), and the door was opened, and Bladen, +stiff on his legs, descended from the box and touched his hat to Aunt +Harriet as she filled up the doorway. + +"Have you baited, Bladen?" asked she. + +"Yes'm," said he, assuringly. + +Bladen and Mr. Povey carried out the trunk and the box, and Constance +charged herself with parcels which she bestowed in the corners of the +vehicle according to her aunt's prescription; it was like stowing the +cargo of a vessel. + +"Now, Sophia, my chuck!" Mrs. Baines called up the stairs. And Sophia +came slowly downstairs. Mrs. Baines offered her mouth. Sophia glanced +at her. + +"You needn't think I don't see why you're sending me away!" exclaimed +Sophia in a hard, furious voice, with glistening eyes. "I'm not so +blind as all that!" She kissed her mother--nothing but a contemptuous +peck. Then, as she turned away she added: "But you let Constance do +just as she likes!" + +This was her sole bitter comment on the episode, but into it she put +all the profound bitterness accumulated during many mutinous nights. + +Mrs. Baines concealed a sigh. The explosion certainly disturbed her. +She had hoped that the smooth surface of things would not be ruffled. + +Sophia bounced out. And the assembly, including several urchins, +watched with held breath while Aunt Harriet, after having bid majestic +good-byes, got on to the step and introduced herself through the +doorway of the waggonette into the interior of the vehicle; it was an +operation like threading a needle with cotton too thick. Once within, +her hoops distended in sudden release, filling the waggonette. Sophia +followed, agilely. + +As, with due formalities, the equipage drove off, Mrs. Baines gave +another sigh, one of relief. The sisters had won. She could now await +the imminent next advent of Mr. Gerald Scales with tranquillity. + +II + +Those singular words of Sophia's, 'But you let Constance do just as she +likes,' had disturbed Mrs. Baines more than was at first apparent. They +worried her like a late fly in autumn. For she had said nothing to any +one about Constance's case, Mrs. Maddack of course excepted. She had +instinctively felt that she could not show the slightest leniency +towards the romantic impulses of her elder daughter without seeming +unjust to the younger, and she had acted accordingly. On the memorable +morn of Mr. Povey's acute jealousy, she had, temporarily at any rate, +slaked the fire, banked it down, and hidden it; and since then no word +had passed as to the state of Constance's heart. In the great peril to +be feared from Mr. Scales, Constance's heart had been put aside as a +thing that could wait; so one puts aside the mending of linen when +earthquake shocks are about. Mrs. Baines was sure that Constance had +not chattered to Sophia concerning Mr. Povey. Constance, who understood +her mother, had too much commonsense and too nice a sense of propriety +to do that--and yet here was Sophia exclaiming, 'But you let Constance +do just as she likes.' Were the relations between Constance and Mr. +Povey, then, common property? Did the young lady assistants discuss +them? + +As a fact, the young lady assistants did discuss them; not in the +shop--for either one of the principal parties, or Mrs. Baines herself, +was always in the shop, but elsewhere. They discussed little else, when +they were free; how she had looked at him to-day, and how he had +blushed, and so forth interminably. Yet Mrs. Baines really thought that +she alone knew. Such is the power of the ineradicable delusion that +one's own affairs, and especially one's own children, are mysteriously +different from those of others. + +After Sophia's departure Mrs. Baines surveyed her daughter and her +manager at supper-time with a curious and a diffident eye. They worked, +talked, and ate just as though Mrs. Baines had never caught them +weeping together in the cutting-out room. They had the most +matter-of-fact air. They might never have heard whispered the name of +love. And there could be no deceit beneath that decorum; for Constance +would not deceive. Still, Mrs. Baines's conscience was unruly. Order +reigned, but nevertheless she knew that she ought to do something, find +out something, decide something; she ought, if she did her duty, to +take Constance aside and say: "Now, Constance, my mind is freer now. +Tell me frankly what has been going on between you and Mr. Povey. I +have never understood the meaning of that scene in the cutting-out +room. Tell me." She ought to have talked in this strain. But she could +not. That energetic woman had not sufficient energy left. She wanted +rest, rest--even though it were a coward's rest, an ostrich's +tranquillity--after the turmoil of apprehensions caused by Sophia. Her +soul cried out for peace. She was not, however, to have peace. + +On the very first Sunday after Sophia's departure, Mr. Povey did not go +to chapel in the morning, and he offered no reason for his unusual +conduct. He ate his breakfast with appetite, but there was something +peculiar in his glance that made Mrs. Baines a little uneasy; this +something she could not seize upon and define. When she and Constance +returned from chapel Mr. Povey was playing "Rock of Ages" on the +harmonium--again unusual! The serious part of the dinner comprised +roast beef and Yorkshire pudding--the pudding being served as a sweet +course before the meat. Mrs. Baines ate freely of these things, for she +loved them, and she was always hungry after a sermon. She also did well +with the Cheshire cheese. Her intention was to sleep in the +drawing-room after the repast. On Sunday afternoons she invariably +tried to sleep in the drawing-room, and she did not often fail. As a +rule the girls accompanied her thither from the table, and either +'settled down' likewise or crept out of the room when they perceived +the gradual sinking of the majestic form into the deep hollows of the +easy-chair. Mrs. Baines was anticipating with pleasure her somnolent +Sunday afternoon. + +Constance said grace after meat, and the formula on this particular +occasion ran thus-- + +"Thank God for our good dinner, Amen.--Mother, I must just run upstairs +to my room." ('MY room'-Sophia being far away.) + +And off she ran, strangely girlish. + +"Well, child, you needn't be in such a hurry," said Mrs. Baines, +ringing the bell and rising. + +She hoped that Constance would remember the conditions precedent to +sleep. + +"I should like to have a word with you, if it's all the same to you, +Mrs. Baines," said Mr. Povey suddenly, with obvious nervousness. And +his tone struck a rude unexpected blow at Mrs. Baines's peace of mind. +It was a portentous tone. + +"What about?" asked she, with an inflection subtly to remind Mr. Povey +what day it was. + +"About Constance," said the astonishing man. + +"Constance!" exclaimed Mrs. Baines with a histrionic air of +bewilderment. + +Maggie entered the room, solely in response to the bell, yet a thought +jumped up in Mrs. Baines's brain, "How prying servants are, to be +sure!" For quite five seconds she had a grievance against Maggie. She +was compelled to sit down again and wait while Maggie cleared the +table. Mr. Povey put both his hands in his pockets, got up, went to the +window, whistled, and generally behaved in a manner which foretold the +worst. + +At last Maggie vanished, shutting the door. + +"What is it, Mr. Povey?" + +"Oh!" said Mr. Povey, facing her with absurd nervous brusqueness, as +though pretending: "Ah, yes! We have something to say--I was +forgetting!" Then he began: "It's about Constance and me." + +Yes, they had evidently plotted this interview. Constance had evidently +taken herself off on purpose to leave Mr. Povey unhampered. They were +in league. The inevitable had come. No sleep! No repose! Nothing but +worry once more! + +"I'm not at all satisfied with the present situation," said Mr. Povey, +in a tone that corresponded to his words. + +"I don't know what you mean, Mr. Povey," said Mrs. Baines stiffly. This +was a simple lie. + +"Well, really, Mrs. Baines!" Mr. Povey protested, "I suppose you won't +deny that you know there is something between me and Constance? I +suppose you won't deny that?" + +"What is there between you and Constance? I can assure you I--" + +"That depends on you," Mr. Povey interrupted her. When he was nervous +his manners deteriorated into a behaviour that resembled rudeness. +"That depends on you!" he repeated grimly. + +"But--" + +"Are we to be engaged or are we not?" pursued Mr. Povey, as though Mrs. +Baines had been guilty of some grave lapse and he was determined not to +spare her. "That's what I think ought to be settled, one way or the +other. I wish to be perfectly open and aboveboard--in the future, as I +have been in the past." + +"But you have said nothing to me at all!" Mrs. Baines remonstrated, +lifting her eyebrows. The way in which the man had sprung this matter +upon her was truly too audacious. + +Mr. Povey approached her as she sat at the table, shaking her ringlets +and looking at her hands. + +"You know there's something between us!" he insisted. + +"How should I know there is something between you? Constance has never +said a word to me. And have you?" + +"Well," said he. "We've hidden nothing." + +"What is there between you and Constance? If I may ask!" + +"That depends on you," said he again. + +"Have you asked her to be your wife?" + +"No. I haven't exactly asked her to be my wife." He hesitated. "You +see--" + +Mrs. Baines collected her forces. "Have you kissed her?" This in a cold +voice. + +Mr. Povey now blushed. "I haven't exactly kissed her," he stammered, +apparently shocked by the inquisition. "No, I should not say that I had +kissed her." + +It might have been that before committing himself he felt a desire for +Mrs. Baines's definition of a kiss. + +"You are very extraordinary," she said loftily. It was no less than the +truth. + +"All I want to know is--have you got anything against me?" he demanded +roughly. "Because if so--" + +"Anything against you, Mr. Povey? Why should I have anything against +you?" + +"Then why can't we be engaged?" + +She considered that he was bullying her. "That's another question," +said she. + +"Why can't we be engaged? Ain't I good enough?" + +The fact was that he was not regarded as good enough. Mrs. Maddack had +certainly deemed that he was not good enough. He was a solid mass of +excellent qualities; but he lacked brilliance, importance, dignity. He +could not impose himself. Such had been the verdict. + +And now, while Mrs. Baines was secretly reproaching Mr. Povey for his +inability to impose himself, he was most patently imposing himself on +her--and the phenomenon escaped her! She felt that he was bullying her, +but somehow she could not perceive his power. Yet the man who could +bully Mrs. Baines was surely no common soul! + +"You know my very high opinion of you," she said. + +Mr. Povey pursued in a mollified tone. "Assuming that Constance is +willing to be engaged, do I understand you consent?" + +"But Constance is too young." + +"Constance is twenty. She is more than twenty." + +"In any case you won't expect me to give you an answer now." + +"Why not? You know my position." + +She did. From a practical point of view the match would be ideal: no +fault could be found with it on that side. But Mrs. Baines could not +extinguish the idea that it would be a 'come-down' for her daughter. +Who, after all, was Mr. Povey? Mr. Povey was nobody. + +"I must think things over," she said firmly, putting her lips together. +"I can't reply like this. It is a serious matter." + +"When can I have your answer? To-morrow?" + +"No--really--" + +"In a week, then?" + +"I cannot bind myself to a date," said Mrs. Baines, haughtily. She felt +that she was gaining ground. + +"Because I can't stay on here indefinitely as things are," Mr. Povey +burst out, and there was a touch of hysteria in his tone. + +"Now, Mr. Povey, please do be reasonable." + +"That's all very well," he went on. "That's all very well. But what I +say is that employers have no right to have male assistants in their +houses unless they are prepared to let their daughters marry! That's +what I say! No RIGHT!" + +Mrs. Baines did not know what to answer. + +The aspirant wound up: "I must leave if that's the case." + +"If what's the case?" she asked herself. "What has come over him?" And +aloud: "You know you would place me in a very awkward position by +leaving, and I hope you don't want to mix up two quite different +things. I hope you aren't trying to threaten me." + +"Threaten you!" he cried. "Do you suppose I should leave here for fun? +If I leave it will be because I can't stand it. That's all. I can't +stand it. I want Constance, and if I can't have her, then I can't stand +it. What do you think I'm made of?" + +"I'm sure--" she began. + +"That's all very well!" he almost shouted. + +"But please let me speak,' she said quietly. + +"All I say is I can't stand it. That's all.... Employers have no +right.... We have our feelings like other men." + +He was deeply moved. He might have appeared somewhat grotesque to the +strictly impartial observer of human nature. Nevertheless he was deeply +and genuinely moved, and possibly human nature could have shown nothing +more human than Mr. Povey at the moment when, unable any longer to +restrain the paroxysm which had so surprisingly overtaken him, he fled +from the parlour, passionately, to the retreat of his bedroom. + +"That's the worst of those quiet calm ones," said Mrs. Baines to +herself. "You never know if they won't give way. And when they do, it's +awful--awful.... What did I do, what did I say, to bring it on? +Nothing! Nothing!" + +And where was her afternoon sleep? What was going to happen to her +daughter? What could she say to Constance? How next could she meet Mr. +Povey? Ah! It needed a brave, indomitable woman not to cry out +brokenly: "I've suffered too much. Do anything you like; only let me +die in peace!" And so saying, to let everything indifferently slide! + +III + +Neither Mr. Povey nor Constance introduced the delicate subject to her +again, and she was determined not to be the first to speak of it. She +considered that Mr. Povey had taken advantage of his position, and that +he had also been infantile and impolite. And somehow she privately +blamed Constance for his behaviour. So the matter hung, as it were, +suspended in the ether between the opposing forces of pride and passion. + +Shortly afterwards events occurred compared to which the vicissitudes +of Mr. Povey's heart were of no more account than a shower of rain in +April. And fate gave no warning of them; it rather indicated a complete +absence of events. When the customary advice circular arrived from +Birkinshaws, the name of 'our Mr. Gerald Scales' was replaced on it by +another and an unfamiliar name. Mrs. Baines, seeing the circular by +accident, experienced a sense of relief, mingled with the professional +disappointment of a diplomatist who has elaborately provided for +contingencies which have failed to happen. She had sent Sophia away for +nothing; and no doubt her maternal affection had exaggerated a molehill +into a mountain. Really, when she reflected on the past, she could not +recall a single fact that would justify her theory of an attachment +secretly budding between Sophia and the young man Scales! Not a single +little fact! All she could bring forward was that Sophia had twice +encountered Scales in the street. + +She felt a curious interest in the fate of Scales, for whom in her own +mind she had long prophesied evil, and when Birkinshaws' representative +came she took care to be in the shop; her intention was to converse +with him, and ascertain as much as was ascertainable, after Mr. Povey +had transacted business. For this purpose, at a suitable moment, she +traversed the shop to Mr. Povey's side, and in so doing she had a +fleeting view of King Street, and in King Street of a familiar vehicle. +She stopped, and seemed to catch the distant sound of knocking. +Abandoning the traveller, she hurried towards the parlour, in the +passage she assuredly did hear knocking, angry and impatient knocking, +the knocking of someone who thinks he has knocked too long. + +"Of course Maggie is at the top of the house!" she muttered +sarcastically. + +She unchained, unbolted, and unlocked the side-door. + +"At last!" It was Aunt Harriet's voice, exacerbated. "What! You, +sister? You're soon up. What a blessing!" + +The two majestic and imposing creatures met on the mat, craning forward +so that their lips might meet above their terrific bosoms. + +"What's the matter?" Mrs. Baines asked, fearfully. + +"Well, I do declare!" said Mrs. Maddack. "And I've driven specially +over to ask you!" + +"Where's Sophia?" demanded Mrs. Baines. + +"You don't mean to say she's not come, sister?" Mrs. Maddack sank down +on to the sofa. + +"Come?" Mrs. Baines repeated. "Of course she's not come! What do you +mean, sister?" + +"The very moment she got Constance's letter yesterday, saying you were +ill in bed and she'd better come over to help in the shop, she started. +I got Bratt's dog-cart for her." + +Mrs. Baines in her turn also sank down on to the sofa. + +"I've not been ill," she said. "And Constance hasn't written for a +week! Only yesterday I was telling her--" + +"Sister--it can't be! Sophia had letters from Constance every morning. +At least she said they were from Constance. I told her to be sure and +write me how you were last night, and she promised faithfully she +would. And it was because I got nothing by this morning's post that I +decided to come over myself, to see if it was anything serious." + +"Serious it is!" murmured Mrs. Baines. + +"What--" + +"Sophia's run off. That's the plain English of it!" said Mrs. Baines +with frigid calm. + +"Nay! That I'll never believe. I've looked after Sophia night and day +as if she was my own, and--" + +"If she hasn't run off, where is she?" + +Mrs. Maddack opened the door with a tragic gesture. + +"Bladen," she called in a loud voice to the driver of the waggonette, +who was standing on the pavement. + +"Yes'm." + +"It was Pember drove Miss Sophia yesterday, wasn't it?" + +"Yes'm." + +She hesitated. A clumsy question might enlighten a member of the class +which ought never to be enlightened about one's private affairs. + +"He didn't come all the way here?" + +"No'm. He happened to say last night when he got back as Miss Sophia +had told him to set her down at Knype Station." + +"I thought so!" said Mrs. Maddack, courageously. + +"Yes'm." + +"Sister!" she moaned, after carefully shutting the door. + +They clung to each other. + +The horror of what had occurred did not instantly take full possession +of them, because the power of credence, of imaginatively realizing a +supreme event, whether of great grief or of great happiness, is +ridiculously finite. But every minute the horror grew more clear, more +intense, more tragically dominant over them. There were many things +that they could not say to each other,--from pride, from shame, from +the inadequacy of words. Neither could utter the name of Gerald Scales. +And Aunt Harriet could not stoop to defend herself from a possible +charge of neglect; nor could Mrs. Baines stoop to assure her sister +that she was incapable of preferring such a charge. And the sheer, +immense criminal folly of Sophia could not even be referred to: it was +unspeakable. So the interview proceeded, lamely, clumsily, +inconsequently, leading to naught. + +Sophia was gone. She was gone with Gerald Scales. + +That beautiful child, that incalculable, untamable, impossible +creature, had committed the final folly; without pretext or excuse, and +with what elaborate deceit! Yes, without excuse! She had not been +treated harshly; she had had a degree of liberty which would have +astounded and shocked her grandmothers; she had been petted, humoured, +spoilt. And her answer was to disgrace the family by an act as +irrevocable as it was utterly vicious. If among her desires was the +desire to humiliate those majesties, her mother and Aunt Harriet, she +would have been content could she have seen them on the sofa there, +humbled, shamed, mortally wounded! Ah, the monstrous Chinese cruelty of +youth! + +What was to be done? Tell dear Constance? No, this was not, at the +moment, an affair for the younger generation. It was too new and raw +for the younger generation. Moreover, capable, proud, and experienced +as they were, they felt the need of a man's voice, and a man's hard, +callous ideas. It was a case for Mr. Critchlow. Maggie was sent to +fetch him, with a particular request that he should come to the +side-door. He came expectant, with the pleasurable anticipation of +disaster, and he was not disappointed. He passed with the sisters the +happiest hour that had fallen to him for years. Quickly he arranged the +alternatives for them. Would they tell the police, or would they take +the risks of waiting? They shied away, but with fierce brutality he +brought them again and again to the immediate point of decision.... +Well, they could not tell the police! They simply could not. Then they +must face another danger.... He had no mercy for them. And while he was +torturing them there arrived a telegram, despatched from Charing Cross, +"I am all right, Sophia." That proved, at any rate, that the child was +not heartless, not merely careless. + +Only yesterday, it seemed to Mrs. Baines, she had borne Sophia; only +yesterday she was a baby, a schoolgirl to be smacked. The years rolled +up in a few hours. And now she was sending telegrams from a place +called Charing Cross! How unlike was the hand of the telegram to +Sophia's hand! How mysteriously curt and inhuman was that official +hand, as Mrs. Baines stared at it through red, wet eyes! + +Mr. Critchlow said some one should go to Manchester, to ascertain about +Scales. He went himself, that afternoon, and returned with the news +that an aunt of Scales had recently died, leaving him twelve thousand +pounds, and that he had, after quarrelling with his uncle Boldero, +abandoned Birkinshaws at an hour's notice and vanished with his +inheritance. + +"It's as plain as a pikestaff," said Mr. Critchlow. "I could ha' warned +ye o' all this years ago, even since she killed her father!" + +Mr. Critchlow left nothing unsaid. + +During the night Mrs. Baines lived through all Sophia's life, lived +through it more intensely than ever Sophia had done. + +The next day people began to know. A whisper almost inaudible went +across the Square, and into the town: and in the stillness every one +heard it. "Sophia Baines run off with a commercial!" + +In another fortnight a note came, also dated from London. + +"Dear Mother, I am married to Gerald Scales. Please don't worry about +me. We are going abroad. Your affectionate Sophia. Love to Constance." +No tear-stains on that pale blue sheet! No sign of agitation! + +And Mrs. Baines said: "My life is over." It was, though she was +scarcely fifty. She felt old, old and beaten. She had fought and been +vanquished. The everlasting purpose had been too much for her. Virtue +had gone out of her--the virtue to hold up her head and look the Square +in the face. She, the wife of John Baines! She, a Syme of Axe! + +Old houses, in the course of their history, see sad sights, and never +forget them! And ever since, in the solemn physiognomy of the triple +house of John Baines at the corner of St. Luke's Square and King +Street, have remained the traces of the sight it saw on the morning of +the afternoon when Mr. and Mrs. Povey returned from their +honeymoon--the sight of Mrs. Baines getting into the waggonette for +Axe; Mrs. Baines, encumbered with trunks and parcels, leaving the scene +of her struggles and her defeat, whither she had once come as slim as a +wand, to return stout and heavy, and heavy-hearted, to her childhood; +content to live with her grandiose sister until such time as she should +be ready for burial! The grimy and impassive old house perhaps heard +her heart saying: "Only yesterday they were little girls, ever so tiny, +and now--" The driving-off of a waggonette can be a dreadful thing. + + + + +BOOK II + +CONSTANCE + + + + +CHAPTER I + +REVOLUTION + +I + + +"Well," said Mr. Povey, rising from the rocking-chair that in a +previous age had been John Baines's, "I've got to make a start some +time, so I may as well begin now!" + +And he went from the parlour into the shop. Constance's eye followed +him as far as the door, where their glances met for an instant in the +transient gaze which expresses the tenderness of people who feel more +than they kiss. + +It was on the morning of this day that Mrs. Baines, relinquishing the +sovereignty of St. Luke's Square, had gone to live as a younger sister +in the house of Harriet Maddack at Axe. Constance guessed little of the +secret anguish of that departure. She only knew that it was just like +her mother, having perfectly arranged the entire house for the arrival +of the honeymoon couple from Buxton, to flit early away so as to spare +the natural blushing diffidence of the said couple. It was like her +mother's commonsense and her mother's sympathetic comprehension. +Further, Constance did not pursue her mother's feelings, being far too +busy with her own. She sat there full of new knowledge and new +importance, brimming with experience and strange, unexpected +aspirations, purposes, yes--and cunnings! And yet, though the very +curves of her cheeks seemed to be mysteriously altering, the old +Constance still lingered in that frame, an innocent soul hesitating to +spread its wings and quit for ever the body which had been its home; +you could see the timid thing peeping wistfully out of the eyes of the +married woman. + +Constance rang the bell for Maggie to clear the table; and as she did +so she had the illusion that she was not really a married woman and a +house-mistress, but only a kind of counterfeit. She did most fervently +hope that all would go right in the house--at any rate until she had +grown more accustomed to her situation. + +The hope was to be disappointed. Maggie's rather silly, obsequious +smile concealed but for a moment the ineffable tragedy that had lain in +wait for unarmed Constance. + +"If you please, Mrs. Povey," said Maggie, as she crushed cups together +on the tin tray with her great, red hands, which always looked like +something out of a butcher's shop; then a pause, "Will you please +accept of this?" + +Now, before the wedding Maggie had already, with tears of affection, +given Constance a pair of blue glass vases (in order to purchase which +she had been obliged to ask for special permission to go out), and +Constance wondered what was coming now from Maggie's pocket. A small +piece of folded paper came from Maggie's pocket. Constance accepted of +it, and read: "I begs to give one month's notice to leave. Signed +Maggie. June 10, 1867." + +"Maggie!" exclaimed the old Constance, terrified by this incredible +occurrence, ere the married woman could strangle her. + +"I never give notice before, Mrs. Povey," said Maggie, "so I don't know +as I know how it ought for be done--not rightly. But I hope as you'll +accept of it, Mrs. Povey." + +"Oh! of course," said Mrs. Povey, primly, just as if Maggie was not the +central supporting pillar of the house, just as if Maggie had not +assisted at her birth, just as if the end of the world had not abruptly +been announced, just as if St. Luke's Square were not inconceivable +without Maggie. "But why--" + +"Well, Mrs. Povey, I've been a-thinking it over in my kitchen, and I +said to myself: 'If there's going to be one change there'd better be +two,' I says. Not but what I wouldn't work my fingers to the bone for +ye, Miss Constance." + +Here Maggie began to cry into the tray. + +Constance looked at her. Despite the special muslin of that day she had +traces of the slatternliness of which Mrs. Baines had never been able +to cure her. She was over forty, big, gawky. She had no figure, no +charms of any kind. She was what was left of a woman after twenty-two +years in the cave of a philanthropic family. And in her cave she had +actually been thinking things over! Constance detected for the first +time, beneath the dehumanized drudge, the stirrings of a separate and +perhaps capricious individuality. Maggie's engagements had never been +real to her employers. Within the house she had never been, in +practice, anything but 'Maggie'--an organism. And now she was +permitting herself ideas about changes! + +"You'll soon be suited with another, Mrs. Povey," said Maggie. "There's +many a--many a--" She burst into sobs. + +"But if you really want to leave, what are you crying for, Maggie?" +asked Mrs. Povey, at her wisest. "Have you told mother?" + +"No, miss," Maggie whimpered, absently wiping her wrinkled cheeks with +ineffectual muslin. "I couldn't seem to fancy telling your mother. And +as you're the mistress now, I thought as I'd save it for you when you +come home. I hope you'll excuse me, Mrs. Povey." + +"Of course I'm very sorry. You've been a very good servant. And in +these days--" + +The child had acquired this turn of speech from her mother. It did not +appear to occur to either of them that they were living in the sixties. + +"Thank ye, miss." + +"And what are you thinking of doing, Maggie? You know you won't get +many places like this." + +"To tell ye the truth, Mrs. Povey, I'm going to get married mysen." + +"Indeed!" murmured Constance, with the perfunctoriness of habit in +replying to these tidings. + +"Oh! but I am, mum," Maggie insisted. "It's all settled. Mr. Hollins, +mum." + +"Not Hollins, the fish-hawker!" + +"Yes, mum. I seem to fancy him. You don't remember as him and me was +engaged in '48. He was my first, like. I broke it off because he was in +that Chartist lot, and I knew as Mr. Baines would never stand that. Now +he's asked me again. He's been a widower this long time." + +"I'm sure I hope you'll be happy, Maggie. But what about his habits?" + +"He won't have no habits with me, Mrs. Povey." + +A woman was definitely emerging from the drudge. + +When Maggie, having entirely ceased sobbing, had put the folded cloth +in the table-drawer and departed with the tray, her mistress became +frankly the girl again. No primness about her as she stood alone there +in the parlour; no pretence that Maggie's notice to leave was an +everyday document, to be casually glanced at--as one glances at an +unpaid bill! She would be compelled to find a new servant, making +solemn inquiries into character, and to train the new servant, and to +talk to her from heights from which she had never addressed Maggie. At +that moment she had an illusion that there were no other available, +suitable servants in the whole world. And the arranged marriage? She +felt that this time--the thirteenth or fourteenth time--the engagement +was serious and would only end at the altar. The vision of Maggie and +Hollins at the altar shocked her. Marriage was a series of phenomena, +and a general state, very holy and wonderful--too sacred, somehow, for +such creatures as Maggie and Hollins. Her vague, instinctive revolt +against such a usage of matrimony centred round the idea of a strong, +eternal smell of fish. However, the projected outrage on a hallowed +institution troubled her much less than the imminent problem of +domestic service. + +She ran into the shop--or she would have run if she had not checked her +girlishness betimes--and on her lips, ready to be whispered importantly +into a husband's astounded ear, were the words, "Maggie has given +notice! Yes! Truly!" But Samuel Povey was engaged. He was leaning over +the counter and staring at an outspread paper upon which a certain Mr. +Yardley was making strokes with a thick pencil. Mr. Yardley, who had a +long red beard, painted houses and rooms. She knew him only by sight. +In her mind she always associated him with the sign over his premises +in Trafalgar Road, "Yardley Bros., Authorised plumbers. Painters. +Decorators. Paper-hangers. Facia writers." For years, in childhood, she +had passed that sign without knowing what sort of things 'Bros,' and +'Facia' were, and what was the mysterious similarity between a plumber +and a version of the Bible. She could not interrupt her husband, he was +wholly absorbed; nor could she stay in the shop (which appeared just a +little smaller than usual), for that would have meant an unsuccessful +endeavour to front the young lady-assistants as though nothing in +particular had happened to her. So she went sedately up the showroom +stairs and thus to the bedroom floors of the house--her house! Mrs. +Povey's house! She even climbed to Constance's old bedroom; her mother +had stripped the bed--that was all, except a slight diminution of this +room, corresponding to that of the shop! Then to the drawing-room. In +the recess outside the drawing-room door the black box of silver plate +still lay. She had expected her mother to take it; but no! Assuredly +her mother was one to do things handsomely--when she did them. In the +drawing-room, not a tassel of an antimacassar touched! Yes, the +fire-screen, the luscious bunch of roses on an expanse of mustard, +which Constance had worked for her mother years ago, was gone! That her +mother should have clung to just that one souvenir, out of all the +heavy opulence of the drawing-room, touched Constance intimately. She +perceived that if she could not talk to her husband she must write to +her mother. And she sat down at the oval table and wrote, "Darling +mother, I am sure you will be very surprised to hear.... She means +it.... I think she is making a serious mistake. Ought I to put an +advertisement in the Signal, or will it do if.... Please write by +return. We are back and have enjoyed ourselves very much. Sam says he +enjoys getting up late...." And so on to the last inch of the fourth +scolloped page. + +She was obliged to revisit the shop for a stamp, stamps being kept in +Mr. Povey's desk in the corner--a high desk, at which you stood. Mr. +Povey was now in earnest converse with Mr. Yardley at the door, and +twilight, which began a full hour earlier in the shop than in the +Square, had cast faint shadows in corners behind counters. + +"Will you just run out with this to the pillar, Miss Dadd?" + +"With pleasure, Mrs. Povey." + +"Where are you going to?" Mr. Povey interrupted his conversation to +stop the flying girl. + +"She's just going to the post for me," Constance called out from the +region of the till. + +"Oh! All right!" + +A trifle! A nothing! Yet somehow, in the quiet customerless shop, the +episode, with the scarce perceptible difference in Samuel's tone at his +second remark, was delicious to Constance. Somehow it was the REAL +beginning of her wifehood. (There had been about nine other real +beginnings in the past fortnight.) + +Mr. Povey came in to supper, laden with ledgers and similar works which +Constance had never even pretended to understand. It was a sign from +him that the honeymoon was over. He was proprietor now, and his ardour +for ledgers most justifiable. Still, there was the question of her +servant. + +"Never!" he exclaimed, when she told him all about the end of the +world. A 'never' which expressed extreme astonishment and the liveliest +concern! + +But Constance had anticipated that he would have been just a little +more knocked down, bowled over, staggered, stunned, flabbergasted. In a +swift gleam of insight she saw that she had been in danger of +forgetting her role of experienced, capable married woman. + +"I shall have to set about getting a fresh one," she said hastily, with +an admirable assumption of light and easy casualness. + +Mr. Povey seemed to think that Hollins would suit Maggie pretty well. +He made no remark to the betrothed when she answered the final bell of +the night. + +He opened his ledgers, whistling. + +"I think I shall go up, dear," said Constance. "I've a lot of things to +put away." + +"Do," said he. "Call out when you've done." + +II + +"Sam!" she cried from the top of the crooked stairs. + +No answer. The door at the foot was closed. + +"Sam!" + +"Hello?" Distantly, faintly. + +"I've done all I'm going to do to-night." + +And she ran back along the corridor, a white figure in the deep gloom, +and hurried into bed, and drew the clothes up to her chin. + +In the life of a bride there are some dramatic moments. If she has +married the industrious apprentice, one of those moments occurs when +she first occupies the sacred bed-chamber of her ancestors, and the bed +on which she was born. Her parents' room had always been to Constance, +if not sacred, at least invested with a certain moral solemnity. She +could not enter it as she would enter another room. The course of +nature, with its succession of deaths, conceptions, and births, slowly +makes such a room august with a mysterious quality which interprets the +grandeur of mere existence and imposes itself on all. Constance had the +strangest sensations in that bed, whose heavy dignity of ornament +symbolized a past age; sensations of sacrilege and trespass, of being a +naughty girl to whom punishment would accrue for this shocking freak. +Not since she was quite tiny had she slept in that bed--one night with +her mother, before her father's seizure, when he had been away. What a +limitless, unfathomable bed it was then! Now it was just a bed--so she +had to tell herself--like any other bed. The tiny child that, safely +touching its mother, had slept in the vast expanse, seemed to her now a +pathetic little thing; its image made her feel melancholy. And her mind +dwelt on sad events: the death of her father, the flight of darling +Sophia; the immense grief, and the exile, of her mother. She esteemed +that she knew what life was, and that it was grim. And she sighed. But +the sigh was an affectation, meant partly to convince herself that she +was grown-up, and partly to keep her in countenance in the intimidating +bed. This melancholy was factitious, was less than transient foam on +the deep sea of her joy. Death and sorrow and sin were dim shapes to +her; the ruthless egoism of happiness blew them away with a puff, and +their wistful faces vanished. To see her there in the bed, framed in +mahogany and tassels, lying on her side, with her young glowing cheeks, +and honest but not artless gaze, and the rich curve of her hip lifting +the counterpane, one would have said that she had never heard of aught +but love. + +Mr. Povey entered, the bridegroom, quickly, firmly, carrying it off +rather well, but still self-conscious. "After all," his shoulders were +trying to say, "what's the difference between this bedroom and the +bedroom of a boarding-house? Indeed, ought we not to feel more at home +here? Besides, confound it, we've been married a fortnight!" + +"Doesn't it give you a funny feeling, sleeping in this room? It does +me," said Constance. Women, even experienced women, are so foolishly +frank. They have no decency, no self-respect. + +"Really?" replied Mr. Povey, with loftiness, as who should say: "What +an extraordinary thing that a reasonable creature can have such +fancies! Now to me this room is exactly like any other room." And he +added aloud, glancing away from the glass, where he was unfastening his +necktie: "It's not a bad room at all." This, with the judicial air of +an auctioneer. + +Not for an instant did he deceive Constance, who read his real +sensations with accuracy. But his futile poses did not in the slightest +degree lessen her respect for him. On the contrary, she admired him the +more for them; they were a sort of embroidery on the solid stuff of his +character. At that period he could not do wrong for her. The basis of +her regard for him was, she often thought, his honesty, his industry, +his genuine kindliness of act, his grasp of the business, his +perseverance, his passion for doing at once that which had to be done. +She had the greatest admiration for his qualities, and he was in her +eyes an indivisible whole; she could not admire one part of him and +frown upon another. Whatever he did was good because he did it. She +knew that some people were apt to smile at certain phases of his +individuality; she knew that far down in her mother's heart was a +suspicion that she had married ever so little beneath her. But this +knowledge did not disturb her. She had no doubt as to the correctness +of her own estimate. + +Mr. Povey was an exceedingly methodical person, and he was also one of +those persons who must always be 'beforehand' with time. Thus at night +he would arrange his raiment so that in the morning it might be +reassumed in the minimum of minutes. He was not a man, for example, to +leave the changing of studs from one shirt to another till the morrow. +Had it been practicable, he would have brushed his hair the night +before. Constance already loved to watch his meticulous preparations. +She saw him now go into his old bedroom and return with a paper collar, +which he put on the dressing-table next to a black necktie. His +shop-suit was laid out on a chair. + +"Oh, Sam!" she exclaimed impulsively, "you surely aren't going to begin +wearing those horrid paper collars again!" During the honeymoon he had +worn linen collars. + +Her tone was perfectly gentle, but the remark, nevertheless, showed a +lack of tact. It implied that all his life Mr. Povey had been +enveloping his neck in something which was horrid. Like all persons +with a tendency to fall into the ridiculous, Mr. Povey was exceedingly +sensitive to personal criticisms. He flushed darkly. + +"I didn't know they were 'horrid,'" he snapped. He was hurt and angry. +Anger had surprised him unawares. + +Both of them suddenly saw that they were standing on the edge of a +chasm, and drew back. They had imagined themselves to be wandering +safely in a flowered meadow, and here was this bottomless chasm! It was +most disconcerting. + +Mr. Povey's hand hovered undecided over the collar. "However--" he +muttered. + +She could feel that he was trying with all his might to be gentle and +pacific. And she was aghast at her own stupid clumsiness, she so +experienced! + +"Just as you like, dear," she said quickly. "Please!" + +"Oh no!" And he did his best to smile, and went off gawkily with the +collar and came back with a linen one. + +Her passion for him burned stronger than ever. She knew then that she +did not love him for his good qualities, but for something boyish and +naive that there was about him, an indescribable something that +occasionally, when his face was close to hers, made her dizzy. + +The chasm had disappeared. In such moments, when each must pretend not +to have seen or even suspected the chasm, small-talk is essential. + +"Wasn't that Mr. Yardley in the shop to-night?" began Constance. + +"Yes." + +"What did he want?" + +"I'd sent for him. He's going to paint us a signboard." + +Useless for Samuel to make-believe that nothing in this world is more +ordinary than a signboard. + +"Oh!" murmured Constance. She said no more, the episode of the paper +collar having weakened her self-confidence. + +But a signboard! + +What with servants, chasms, and signboards, Constance considered that +her life as a married woman would not be deficient in excitement. Long +afterwards, she fell asleep, thinking of Sophia. + +III + +A few days later Constance was arranging the more precious of her +wedding presents in the parlour; some had to be wrapped in tissue and +in brown paper and then tied with string and labelled; others had +special cases of their own, leather without and velvet within. Among +the latter was the resplendent egg-stand holding twelve silver-gilt +egg-cups and twelve chased spoons to match, presented by Aunt Harriet. +In the Five Towns' phrase, 'it must have cost money.' Even if Mr. and +Mrs. Povey had ten guests or ten children, and all the twelve of them +were simultaneously gripped by a desire to eat eggs at breakfast or +tea--even in this remote contingency Aunt Harriet would have been +pained to see the egg-stand in use; such treasures are not designed for +use. The presents, few in number, were mainly of this character, +because, owing to her mother's heroic cession of the entire interior, +Constance already possessed every necessary. The fewness of the +presents was accounted for by the fact that the wedding had been +strictly private and had taken place at Axe. There is nothing like +secrecy in marriage for discouraging the generous impulses of one's +friends. It was Mrs. Baines, abetted by both the chief parties, who had +decided that the wedding should be private and secluded. Sophia's +wedding had been altogether too private and secluded; but the casting +of a veil over Constance's (whose union was irreproachable) somehow +justified, after the event, the circumstances of Sophia's, indicating +as it did that Mrs. Baines believed in secret weddings on principle. In +such matters Mrs. Baines was capable of extraordinary subtlety. + +And while Constance was thus taking her wedding presents with due +seriousness, Maggie was cleaning the steps that led from the pavement +of King Street to the side-door, and the door was ajar. It was a fine +June morning. + +Suddenly, over the sound of scouring, Constance heard a dog's low growl +and then the hoarse voice of a man: + +"Mester in, wench?" + +"Happen he is, happen he isn't," came Maggie's answer. She had no fancy +for being called wench. + +Constance went to the door, not merely from curiosity, but from a +feeling that her authority and her responsibilities as house-mistress +extended to the pavement surrounding the house. + +The famous James Boon, of Buck Row, the greatest dog-fancier in the +Five Towns, stood at the bottom of the steps: a tall, fat man, clad in +stiff, stained brown and smoking a black clay pipe less than three +inches long. Behind him attended two bull-dogs. + +"Morning, missis!" cried Boon, cheerfully. "I've heerd tell as th' +mister is looking out for a dog, as you might say." + +"I don't stay here with them animals a-sniffing at me--no, that I +don't!" observed Maggie, picking herself up. + +"Is he?" Constance hesitated. She knew that Samuel had vaguely referred +to dogs; she had not, however, imagined that he regarded a dog as aught +but a beautiful dream. No dog had ever put paw into that house, and it +seemed impossible that one should ever do so. As for those beasts of +prey on the pavement...! + +"Ay!" said James Boon, calmly. + +"I'll tell him you're here," said Constance. "But I don't know if he's +at liberty. He seldom is at this time of day. Maggie, you'd better come +in." + +She went slowly to the shop, full of fear for the future. + +"Sam," she whispered to her husband, who was writing at his desk, +"here's a man come to see you about a dog." + +Assuredly he was taken aback. Still, he behaved with much presence of +mind. + +"Oh, about a dog! Who is it?" + +"It's that Jim Boon. He says he's heard you want one." + +The renowned name of Jim Boon gave him pause; but he had to go through +with the affair, and he went through with it, though nervously. +Constance followed his agitated footsteps to the side-door. + +"Morning, Boon." + +"Morning, master." + +They began to talk dogs, Mr. Povey, for his part, with due caution. + +"Now, there's a dog!" said Boon, pointing to one of the bull-dogs, a +miracle of splendid ugliness. + +"Yes," responded Mr. Povey, insincerely. "He is a beauty. What's it +worth now, at a venture?" + +"I'll tak' a hundred and twenty sovereigns for her," said Boon. "Th' +other's a bit cheaper--a hundred." + +"Oh, Sam!" gasped Constance. + +And even Mr. Povey nearly lost his nerve. "That's more than I want to +give," said he timidly. + +"But look at her!" Boon persisted, roughly snatching up the more +expensive animal, and displaying her cannibal teeth. + +Mr. Povey shook his head. Constance glanced away. + +"That's not quite the sort of dog I want," said Mr. Povey. + +"Fox-terrier?" + +"Yes, that's more like," Mr. Povey agreed eagerly. + +"What'll ye run to?" + +"Oh," said Mr. Povey, largely, "I don't know." + +"Will ye run to a tenner?" + +"I thought of something cheaper." + +"Well, hoo much? Out wi' it, mester." + +"Not more than two pounds," said Mr. Povey. He would have said one +pound had he dared. The prices of dogs amazed him. + +"I thowt it was a dog as ye wanted!" said Boon. "Look 'ere, mester. +Come up to my yard and see what I've got." + +"I will," said Mr. Povey. + +"And bring missis along too. Now, what about a cat for th' missis? Or a +gold-fish?" + +The end of the episode was that a young lady aged some twelve months +entered the Povey household on trial. Her exiguous legs twinkled all +over the parlour, and she had the oddest appearance in the parlour. But +she was so confiding, so affectionate, so timorous, and her black nose +was so icy in that hot weather, that Constance loved her violently +within an hour. Mr. Povey made rules for her. He explained to her that +she must never, never go into the shop. But she went, and he whipped +her to the squealing point, and Constance cried an instant, while +admiring her husband's firmness. + +The dog was not all. + +On another day Constance, prying into the least details of the parlour, +discovered a box of cigars inside the lid of the harmonium, on the +keyboard. She was so unaccustomed to cigars that at first she did not +realize what the object was. Her father had never smoked, nor drunk +intoxicants; nor had Mr. Critchlow. Nobody had ever smoked in that +house, where tobacco had always been regarded as equally licentious +with cards, 'the devil's playthings.' Certainly Samuel had never smoked +in the house, though the sight of the cigar-box reminded Constance of +an occasion when her mother had announced an incredulous suspicion that +Mr. Povey, fresh from an excursion into the world on a Thursday +evening, 'smelt of smoke.' + +She closed the harmonium and kept silence. + +That very night, coming suddenly into the parlour, she caught Samuel at +the harmonium. The lid went down with a resonant bang that awoke +sympathetic vibrations in every corner of the room. + +"What is it?" Constance inquired, jumping. + +"Oh, nothing!" replied Mr. Povey, carelessly. Each was deceiving the +other: Mr. Povey hid his crime, and Constance hid her knowledge of his +crime. False, false! But this is what marriage is. + +And the next day Constance had a visit in the shop from a possible new +servant, recommended to her by Mr. Holl, the grocer. + +"Will you please step this way?" said Constance, with affable primness, +steeped in the novel sense of what it is to be the sole responsible +mistress of a vast household. She preceded the girl to the parlour, and +as they passed the open door of Mr. Povey's cutting-out room, Constance +had the clear vision and titillating odour of her husband smoking a +cigar. He was in his shirt-sleeves, calmly cutting out, and Fan (the +lady companion), at watch on the bench, yapped at the possible new +servant. + +"I think I shall try that girl," said she to Samuel at tea. She said +nothing as to the cigar; nor did he. + +On the following evening, after supper, Mr. Povey burst out: + +"I think I'll have a weed! You didn't know I smoked, did you?" + +Thus Mr. Povey came out in his true colours as a blood, a blade, and a +gay spark. + +But dogs and cigars, disconcerting enough in their degree, were to the +signboard, when the signboard at last came, as skim milk is to hot +brandy. It was the signboard that, more startlingly than anything else, +marked the dawn of a new era in St. Luke's Square. Four men spent a day +and a half in fixing it; they had ladders, ropes, and pulleys, and two +of them dined on the flat lead roof of the projecting shop-windows. The +signboard was thirty-five feet long and two feet in depth; over its +centre was a semicircle about three feet in radius; this semicircle +bore the legend, judiciously disposed, "S. Povey. Late." All the +sign-board proper was devoted to the words, "John Baines," in gold +letters a foot and a half high, on a green ground. + +The Square watched and wondered; and murmured: "Well, bless us! What +next?" + +It was agreed that in giving paramount importance to the name of his +late father-in-law, Mr. Povey had displayed a very nice feeling. + +Some asked with glee: "What'll the old lady have to say?" + +Constance asked herself this, but not with glee. When Constance walked +down the Square homewards, she could scarcely bear to look at the sign; +the thought of what her mother might say frightened her. Her mother's +first visit of state was imminent, and Aunt Harriet was to accompany +her. Constance felt almost sick as the day approached. When she faintly +hinted her apprehensions to Samuel, he demanded, as if surprised-- + +"Haven't you mentioned it in one of your letters?" + +"Oh NO!" + +"If that's all," said he, with bravado, "I'll write and tell her +myself." + +IV + +So that Mrs. Baines was duly apprised of the signboard before her +arrival. The letter written by her to Constance after receiving +Samuel's letter, which was merely the amiable epistle of a son-in-law +anxious to be a little more than correct, contained no reference to the +signboard. This silence, however, did not in the least allay +Constance's apprehensions as to what might occur when her mother and +Samuel met beneath the signboard itself. It was therefore with a +fearful as well as an eager, loving heart that Constance opened her +side-door and ran down the steps when the waggonette stopped in King +Street on the Thursday morning of the great visit of the sisters. But a +surprise awaited her. Aunt Harriet had not come. Mrs. Baines explained, +as she soundly kissed her daughter, that at the last moment Aunt +Harriet had not felt well enough to undertake the journey. She sent her +fondest love, and cake. Her pains had recurred. It was these mysterious +pains which had prevented the sisters from coming to Bursley earlier. +The word "cancer"--the continual terror of stout women--had been on +their lips, without having been actually uttered; then there was a +surcease, and each was glad that she had refrained from the dread +syllables. In view of the recurrence, it was not unnatural that Mrs. +Baines's vigorous cheerfulness should be somewhat forced. + +"What is it, do you think?" Constance inquired. + +Mrs. Baines pushed her lips out and raised her eyebrows--a gesture +which meant that the pains might mean God knew what. + +"I hope she'll be all right alone," observed Constance. "Of course," +said Mrs. Baines, quickly. "But you don't suppose I was going to +disappoint you, do you?" she added, looking round as if to defy the +fates in general. + +This speech, and its tone, gave intense pleasure to Constance; and, +laden with parcels, they mounted the stairs together, very content with +each other, very happy in the discovery that they were still mother and +daughter, very intimate in an inarticulate way. + +Constance had imagined long, detailed, absorbing, and highly novel +conversations between herself and her mother upon this their first +meeting after her marriage. But alone in the bedroom, and with a clear +half-hour to dinner, they neither of them seemed to have a great deal +to impart. + +Mrs. Baines slowly removed her light mantle and laid it with +precautions on the white damask counterpane. Then, fingering her weeds, +she glanced about the chamber. Nothing was changed. Though Constance +had, previous to her marriage, envisaged certain alterations, she had +determined to postpone them, feeling that one revolutionist in a house +was enough. + +"Well, my chuck, you all right?" said Mrs. Baines, with hearty and +direct energy, gazing straight into her daughter's eyes. + +Constance perceived that the question was universal in its +comprehensiveness, the one unique expression that the mother would give +to her maternal concern and curiosity, and that it condensed into six +words as much interest as would have overflowed into a whole day of the +chatter of some mothers. She met the candid glance, flushing. + +"Oh YES!" she answered with ecstatic fervour. "Perfectly!" + +And Mrs. Baines nodded, as if dismissing THAT. "You're stouter," said +she, curtly. "If you aren't careful you'll be as big as any of us." + +"Oh, mother!" + +The interview fell to a lower plane of emotion. It even fell as far as +Maggie. What chiefly preoccupied Constance was a subtle change in her +mother. She found her mother fussy in trifles. Her manner of laying +down her mantle, of smoothing out her gloves, and her anxiety that her +bonnet should not come to harm, were rather trying, were perhaps, in +the very slightest degree, pitiable. It was nothing; it was barely +perceptible, and yet it was enough to alter Constance's mental attitude +to her mother. "Poor dear!" thought Constance. "I'm afraid she's not +what she was." Incredible that her mother could have aged in less than +six weeks! Constance did not allow for the chemistry that had been +going on in herself. + +The encounter between Mrs. Baines and her son-in-law was of the most +satisfactory nature. He was waiting in the parlour for her to descend. +He made himself exceedingly agreeable, kissing her, and flattering her +by his evidently sincere desire to please. He explained that he had +kept an eye open for the waggonette, but had been called away. His +"Dear me!" on learning about Aunt Harriet lacked nothing in conviction, +though both women knew that his affection for Aunt Harriet would never +get the better of his reason. To Constance, her husband's behaviour was +marvellously perfect. She had not suspected him to be such a man of the +world. And her eyes said to her mother, quite unconsciously: "You see, +after all, you didn't rate Sam as high as you ought to have done. Now +you see your mistake." + +As they sat waiting for dinner, Constance and Mrs. Baines on the sofa, +and Samuel on the edge of the nearest rocking-chair, a small scuffling +noise was heard outside the door which gave on the kitchen steps, the +door yielded to pressure, and Fan rushed importantly in, deranging +mats. Fan's nose had been hinting to her that she was behind the times, +not up-to-date in the affairs of the household, and she had hurried +from the kitchen to make inquiries. It occurred to her en route that +she had been washed that morning. The spectacle of Mrs. Baines stopped +her. She stood, with her legs slightly out-stretched, her nose lifted, +her ears raking forward, her bright eyes blinking, and her tail +undecided. "I was sure I'd never smelt anything like that before," she +was saying to herself, as she stared at Mrs. Baines. + +And Mrs. Baines, staring at Fan, had a similar though not the same +sentiment. The silence was terrible. Constance took on the mien of a +culprit, and Sam had obviously lost his easy bearing of a man of the +world. Mrs. Baines was merely thunderstruck. + +A dog! + +Suddenly Fan's tail began to wag more quickly; and then, having looked +in vain for encouragement to her master and mistress, she gave one +mighty spring and alighted in Mrs. Baines's lap. It was an aim she +could not have missed. Constance emitted an "Oh, FAN!" of shocked +terror, and Samuel betrayed his nervous tension by an involuntary +movement. But Fan had settled down into that titanic lap as into +heaven. It was a greater flattery than Mr. Povey's. + +"So your name's Fan!" murmured Mrs. Baines, stroking the animal. "You +are a dear!" + +"Yes, isn't she?" said Constance, with inconceivable rapidity. + +The danger was past. Thus, without any explanation, Fan became an +accepted fact. + +The next moment Maggie served the Yorkshire pudding. + +"Well, Maggie," said Mrs. Baines. "So you are going to get married this +time? When is it?" + +"Sunday, ma'am." + +"And you leave here on Saturday?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Well, I must have a talk with you before I go." + +During the dinner, not a word as to the signboard! Several times the +conversation curved towards that signboard in the most alarming +fashion, but invariably it curved away again, like a train from another +train when two trains are simultaneously leaving a station. Constance +had frights, so serious as to destroy her anxiety about the cookery. In +the end she comprehended that her mother had adopted a silently +disapproving attitude. Fan was socially very useful throughout the +repast. + +After dinner Constance was on pins lest Samuel should light a cigar. +She had not requested him not to do so, for though she was entirely +sure of his affection, she had already learned that a husband is +possessed by a demon of contrariety which often forces him to violate +his higher feelings. However, Samuel did not light a cigar. He went off +to superintend the shutting-up of the shop, while Mrs. Baines chatted +with Maggie and gave her L5 for a wedding present. Then Mr. Critchlow +called to offer his salutations. + +A little before tea Mrs. Baines announced that she would go out for a +short walk by herself. + +"Where has she gone to?" smiled Samuel, superiorly, as with Constance +at the window he watched her turn down King Street towards the church. + +"I expect she has gone to look at father's grave," said Constance. + +"Oh!" muttered Samuel, apologetically. + +Constance was mistaken. Before reaching the church, Mrs. Baines +deviated to the right, got into Brougham Street and thence, by Acre +Lane, into Oldcastle Street, whose steep she climbed. Now, Oldcastle +Street ends at the top of St. Luke's Square, and from the corner Mrs. +Baines had an excellent view of the signboard. It being Thursday +afternoon, scarce a soul was about. She returned to her daughter's by +the same extraordinary route, and said not a word on entering. But she +was markedly cheerful. + +The waggonette came after tea, and Mrs. Baines made her final +preparations to depart. The visit had proved a wonderful success; it +would have been utterly perfect if Samuel had not marred it at the very +door of the waggonette. Somehow, he contrived to be talking of +Christmas. Only a person of Samuel's native clumsiness would have +mentioned Christmas in July. + +"You know you'll spend Christmas with us!" said he into the waggonette. + +"Indeed I shan't!" replied Mrs. Baines. "Aunt Harriet and I will expect +you at Axe. We've already settled that." + +Mr. Povey bridled. "Oh no!" he protested, hurt by this summariness. + +Having had no relatives, except his cousin the confectioner, for many +years, he had dreamt of at last establishing a family Christmas under +his own roof, and the dream was dear to him. + +Mrs. Baines said nothing. "We couldn't possibly leave the shop," said +Mr. Povey. + +"Nonsense!" Mrs. Baines retorted, putting her lips together. "Christmas +Day is on a Monday." + +The waggonette in starting jerked her head towards the door and set all +her curls shaking. No white in those curls yet, scarcely a touch of +grey! + +"I shall take good care we don't go there anyway," Mr. Povey mumbled, +in his heat, half to himself and half to Constance. + +He had stained the brightness of the day. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +CHRISTMAS AND THE FUTURE + +I + + +Mr. Povey was playing a hymn tune on the harmonium, it having been +decided that no one should go to chapel. Constance, in mourning, with a +white apron over her dress, sat on a hassock in front of the fire; and +near her, in a rocking-chair, Mrs. Baines swayed very gently to and +fro. The weather was extremely cold. Mr. Povey's mittened hands were +blue and red; but, like many shopkeepers, he had apparently grown +almost insensible to vagaries of temperature. Although the fire was +immense and furious, its influence, owing to the fact that the +mediaeval grate was designed to heat the flue rather than the room, +seemed to die away at the borders of the fender. Constance could not +have been much closer to it without being a salamander. The era of good +old-fashioned Christmases, so agreeably picturesque for the poor, was +not yet at an end. + +Yes, Samuel Povey had won the battle concerning the locus of the family +Christmas. But he had received the help of a formidable ally, death. +Mrs. Harriet Maddack had passed away, after an operation, leaving her +house and her money to her sister. The solemn rite of her interment had +deeply affected all the respectability of the town of Axe, where the +late Mr. Maddack had been a figure of consequence; it had even shut up +the shop in St. Luke's Square for a whole day. It was such a funeral as +Aunt Harriet herself would have approved, a tremendous ceremonial which +left on the crushed mind an ineffaceable, intricate impression of shiny +cloth, crape, horses with arching necks and long manes, the drawl of +parsons, cake, port, sighs, and Christian submission to the inscrutable +decrees of Providence. Mrs. Baines had borne herself with unnatural +calmness until the funeral was over: and then Constance perceived that +the remembered mother of her girlhood existed no longer. For the +majority of human souls it would have been easier to love a virtuous +principle, or a mountain, than to love Aunt Harriet, who was assuredly +less a woman than an institution. But Mrs. Baines had loved her, and +she had been the one person to whom Mrs. Baines looked for support and +guidance. When she died, Mrs. Baines paid the tribute of respect with +the last hoarded remains of her proud fortitude, and weepingly +confessed that the unconquerable had been conquered, the inexhaustible +exhausted; and became old with whitening hair. + +She had persisted in her refusal to spend Christmas in Bursley, but +both Constance and Samuel knew that the resistance was only formal. She +soon yielded. When Constance's second new servant took it into her head +to leave a week before Christmas, Mrs. Baines might have pointed out +the finger of Providence at work again, and this time in her favour. +But no! With amazing pliancy she suggested that she should bring one of +her own servants to 'tide Constance over' Christmas. She was met with +all the forms of loving solicitude, and she found that her daughter and +son-in-law had 'turned out of' the state bedroom in her favour. +Intensely flattered by this attention (which was Mr. Povey's +magnanimous idea), she nevertheless protested strongly. Indeed she +'would not hear of it.' + +"Now, mother, don't be silly," Constance had said firmly. "You don't +expect us to be at all the trouble of moving back again, do you?" And +Mrs. Baines had surrendered in tears. + +Thus had come Christmas. Perhaps it was fortunate that, the Axe servant +being not quite the ordinary servant, but a benefactor where a +benefactor was needed, both Constance and her mother thought it well to +occupy themselves in household work, 'sparing' the benefactor as much +as possible. Hence Constance's white apron. + +"There he is!" said Mr. Povey, still playing, but with his eye on the +street. + +Constance sprang up eagerly. Then there was a knock on the door. +Constance opened, and an icy blast swept into the room. The postman +stood on the steps, his instrument for knocking (like a drumstick) in +one hand, a large bundle of letters in the other, and a yawning bag +across the pit of his stomach. + +"Merry Christmas, ma'am!" cried the postman, trying to keep warm by +cheerfulness. + +Constance, taking the letters, responded, while Mr. Povey, playing the +harmonium with his right hand, drew half a crown from his pocket with +the left. + +"Here you are!" he said, giving it to Constance, who gave it to the +postman. + +Fan, who had been keeping her muzzle warm with the extremity of her +tail on the sofa, jumped down to superintend the transaction. + +"Brrr!" vibrated Mr. Povey as Constance shut the door. + +"What lots!" Constance exclaimed, rushing to the fire. "Here, mother! +Here, Sam!" + +The girl had resumed possession of the woman's body. + +Though the Baines family had few friends (sustained hospitality being +little practised in those days) they had, of course, many +acquaintances, and, like other families, they counted their Christmas +cards as an Indian counts scalps. The tale was satisfactory. There were +between thirty and forty envelopes. Constance extracted Christmas cards +rapidly, reading their contents aloud, and then propping them up on the +mantelpiece. Mrs. Baines assisted. Fan dealt with the envelopes on the +floor. Mr. Povey, to prove that his soul was above toys and gewgaws, +continued to play the harmonium. + +"Oh, mother!" Constance murmured in a startled, hesitant voice, holding +an envelope. + +"What is it, my chuck?" + +"It's----" + +The envelope was addressed to "Mrs. and Miss Baines" in large, +perpendicular, dashing characters which Constance instantly recognised +as Sophia's. The stamps were strange, the postmark 'Paris.' Mrs. Baines +leaned forward and looked. + +"Open it, child," she said. + +The envelope contained an English Christmas card of a common type, a +spray of holly with greetings, and on it was written, "I do hope this +will reach you on Christmas morning. Fondest love." No signature, nor +address. + +Mrs. Baines took it with a trembling hand, and adjusted her spectacles. +She gazed at it a long time. + +"And it has done!" she said, and wept. + +She tried to speak again, but not being able to command herself, held +forth the card to Constance and jerked her head in the direction of Mr. +Povey. Constance rose and put the card on the keyboard of the harmonium. + +"Sophia!" she whispered. + +Mr. Povey stopped playing. "Dear, dear!" he muttered. + +Fan, perceiving that nobody was interested in her feats, suddenly stood +still. + +Mrs. Baines tried once more to speak, but could not. Then, her ringlets +shaking beneath the band of her weeds, she found her feet, stepped to +the harmonium, and, with a movement almost convulsive, snatched the +card from Mr. Povey, and returned to her chair. + +Mr. Povey abruptly left the room, followed by Fan. Both the women were +in tears, and he was tremendously surprised to discover a dangerous +lump in his own throat. The beautiful and imperious vision of Sophia, +Sophia as she had left them, innocent, wayward, had swiftly risen up +before him and made even him a woman too! Yet he had never liked +Sophia. The awful secret wound in the family pride revealed itself to +him as never before, and he felt intensely the mother's tragedy, which +she carried in her breast as Aunt Harriet had carried a cancer. + +At dinner he said suddenly to Mrs. Baines, who still wept: "Now, +mother, you must cheer up, you know." + +"Yes, I must," she said quickly. And she did do. + +Neither Samuel nor Constance saw the card again. Little was said. There +was nothing to say. As Sophia had given no address she must be still +ashamed of her situation. But she had thought of her mother and sister. +She ... she did not even know that Constance was married ... What sort +of a place was Paris? To Bursley, Paris was nothing but the site of a +great exhibition which had recently closed. + +Through the influence of Mrs. Baines a new servant was found for +Constance in a village near Axe, a raw, comely girl who had never been +in a 'place.' And through the post it was arranged that this innocent +should come to the cave on the thirty-first of December. In obedience +to the safe rule that servants should never be allowed to meet for the +interchange of opinions, Mrs. Baines decided to leave with her own +servant on the thirtieth. She would not be persuaded to spend the New +Year in the Square. On the twenty-ninth poor Aunt Maria died all of a +sudden in her cottage in Brougham Street. Everybody was duly +distressed, and in particular Mrs. Baines's demeanour under this +affliction showed the perfection of correctness. But she caused it to +be understood that she should not remain for the funeral. Her nerves +would be unequal to the ordeal; and, moreover, her servant must not +stay to corrupt the new girl, nor could Mrs. Baines think of sending +her servant to Axe in advance, to spend several days in idle gossip +with her colleague. + +This decision took the backbone out of Aunt Maria's funeral, which +touched the extreme of modesty: a hearse and a one-horse coach. Mr. +Povey was glad, because he happened to be very busy. An hour before his +mother-in-law's departure he came into the parlour with the proof of a +poster. + +"What is that, Samuel?" asked Mrs. Baines, not dreaming of the blow +that awaited her. + +"It's for my first Annual Sale," replied Mr. Povey with false +tranquillity. + +Mrs. Baines merely tossed her head. Constance, happily for Constance, +was not present at this final defeat of the old order. Had she been +there, she would certainly not have known where to look. + +II + +"Forty next birthday!" Mr. Povey exclaimed one day, with an expression +and in a tone that were at once mock-serious and serious. This was on +his thirty-ninth birthday. + +Constance was startled. She had, of course, been aware that they were +getting older, but she had never realized the phenomenon. Though +customers occasionally remarked that Mr. Povey was stouter, and though +when she helped him to measure himself for a new suit of clothes the +tape proved the fact, he had not changed for her. She knew that she too +had become somewhat stouter; but for herself, she remained exactly the +same Constance. Only by recalling dates and by calculations could she +really grasp that she had been married a little over six years and not +a little over six months. She had to admit that, if Samuel would be +forty next birthday, she would be twenty-seven next birthday. But it +would not be a real twenty-seven; nor would Sam's forty be a real +forty, like other people's twenty-sevens and forties. Not long since +she had been in the habit of regarding a man of forty as senile, as +practically in his grave. + +She reflected, and the more she reflected the more clearly she saw that +after all the almanacs had not lied. Look at Fan! Yes, it must be five +years since the memorable morning when doubt first crossed the minds of +Samuel and Constance as to Fan's moral principles. Samuel's enthusiasm +for dogs was equalled by his ignorance of the dangers to which a young +female of temperament may be exposed, and he was much disturbed as +doubt developed into certainty. Fan, indeed, was the one being who did +not suffer from shock and who had no fears as to the results. The +animal, having a pure mind, was bereft of modesty. Sundry enormities +had she committed, but none to rank with this one! The result was four +quadrupeds recognizable as fox-terriers. Mr. Povey breathed again. Fan +had had more luck than she deserved, for the result might have been +simply anything. Her owners forgave her and disposed of these fruits of +iniquity, and then married her lawfully to a husband who was so high up +in the world that he could demand a dowry. And now Fan was a +grandmother, with fixed ideas and habits, and a son in the house, and +various grandchildren scattered over the town. Fan was a sedate and +disillusioned dog. She knew the world as it was, and in learning it she +had taught her owners above a bit. + +Then there was Maggie Hollins. Constance could still vividly recall the +self-consciousness with which she had one day received Maggie and the +heir of the Hollinses; but it was a long time ago. After staggering +half the town by the production of this infant (of which she nearly +died) Maggie allowed the angels to waft it away to heaven, and +everybody said that she ought to be very thankful--at her age. Old +women dug up out of their minds forgotten histories of the +eccentricities of the goddess Lucina. Mrs. Baines was most curiously +interested; she talked freely to Constance, and Constance began to see +what an incredible town Bursley had always been--and she never +suspected it! Maggie was now mother of other children, and the +draggled, lame mistress of a drunken home, and looked sixty. Despite +her prophecy, her husband had conserved his 'habits.' The Poveys ate +all the fish they could, and sometimes more than they enjoyed, because +on his sober days Hollins invariably started his round at the shop, and +Constance had to buy for Maggie's sake. The worst of the worthless +husband was that he seldom failed to be cheery and polite. He never +missed asking after the health of Mrs. Baines. And when Constance +replied that her mother was 'pretty well considering,' but that she +would not come over to Bursley again until the Axe railway was opened, +as she could not stand the drive, he would shake his grey head and be +sympathetically gloomy for an instant. + +All these changes in six years! The almanacs were in the right of it. + +But nothing had happened to her. Gradually she had obtained a sure +ascendency over her mother, yet without seeking it, merely as the +outcome of time's influences on her and on her mother respectively. +Gradually she had gained skill and use in the management of her +household and of her share of the shop, so that these machines ran +smoothly and effectively and a sudden contretemps no longer frightened +her. Gradually she had constructed a chart of Samuel's individuality, +with the submerged rocks and perilous currents all carefully marked, so +that she could now voyage unalarmed in those seas. But nothing +happened. Unless their visits to Buxton could be called happenings! +Decidedly the visit to Buxton was the one little hill that rose out of +the level plain of the year. They had formed the annual habit of going +to Buxton for ten days. They had a way of saying: "Yes, we always go to +Buxton. We went there for our honeymoon, you know." They had become +confirmed Buxtonites, with views concerning St. Anne's Terrace, the +Broad Walk and Peel's Cavern. They could not dream of deserting their +Buxton. It was the sole possible resort. Was it not the highest town in +England? Well, then! They always stayed at the same lodgings, and grew +to be special favourites of the landlady, who whispered of them to all +her other guests as having come to her house for their honeymoon, and +as never missing a year, and as being most respectable, superior people +in quite a large way of business. Each year they walked out of Buxton +station behind their luggage on a truck, full of joy and pride because +they knew all the landmarks, and the lie of all the streets, and which +were the best shops. + +At the beginning, the notion of leaving the shop to hired custody had +seemed almost fantastic, and the preparations for absence had been very +complicated. Then it was that Miss Insull had detached herself from the +other young lady assistants as a creature who could be absolutely +trusted. Miss Insull was older than Constance; she had a bad +complexion, and she was not clever, but she was one of your reliable +ones. The six years had witnessed the slow, steady rise of Miss Insull. +Her employers said 'Miss Insull' in a tone quite different from that in +which they said 'Miss Hawkins,' or 'Miss Dadd.' 'Miss Insull' meant the +end of a discussion. 'Better tell Miss Insull.' 'Miss Insull will see +to that.' 'I shall ask Miss Insull.' Miss Insull slept in the house ten +nights every year. Miss Insull had been called into consultation when +it was decided to engage a fourth hand in the shape of an apprentice. + +Trade had improved into positive excellence. It was now admitted to +be good--a rare honour for trade! The coal-mining boom was at its +height, and colliers, in addition to getting drunk, were buying +American organs and expensive bull-terriers. Often they would come to +the shop to purchase cloth for coats for their dogs. And they would +have good cloth. Mr. Povey did not like this. One day a butty chose for +his dog the best cloth of Mr. Povey's shop--at 12s. a yard. "Will ye +make it up? I've gotten th' measurements," asked the collier. "No, I +won't!" said Mr. Povey, hotly. "And what's more, I won't sell you the +cloth either! Cloth at 12s. a yard on a dog's back indeed! I'll thank +you to get out of my shop!" The incident became historic, in the +Square. It finally established that Mr. Povey was a worthy son-in-law +and a solid and successful man. It vindicated the old pre-eminence of +"Baines's." Some surprise was expressed that Mr. Povey showed no desire +nor tendency towards entering the public life of the town. But he never +would, though a keen satirical critic of the Local Board in private. +And at the chapel he remained a simple private worshipper, refusing +stewardships and trusteeships. + +III + +Was Constance happy? Of course there was always something on her mind, +something that had to be dealt with, either in the shop or in the +house, something to employ all the skill and experience which she had +acquired. Her life had much in it of laborious tedium--tedium +never-ending and monotonous. And both she and Samuel worked +consistently hard, rising early, 'pushing forward,' as the phrase ran, +and going to bed early from sheer fatigue; week after week and month +after month as season changed imperceptibly into season. In June and +July it would happen to them occasionally to retire before the last +silver of dusk was out of the sky. They would lie in bed and talk +placidly of their daily affairs. There would be a noise in the street +below. "Vaults closing!" Samuel would say, and yawn. "Yes, it's quite +late," Constance would say. And the Swiss clock would rapidly strike +eleven on its coil of resonant wire. And then, just before she went to +sleep, Constance might reflect upon her destiny, as even the busiest +and smoothest women do, and she would decide that it was kind. Her +mother's gradual decline and lonely life at Axe saddened her. The cards +which came now and then at extremely long intervals from Sophia had +been the cause of more sorrow than joy. The naive ecstasies of her +girlhood had long since departed--the price paid for experience and +self-possession and a true vision of things. The vast inherent +melancholy of the universe did not exempt her. But as she went to sleep +she would be conscious of a vague contentment. The basis of this +contentment was the fact that she and Samuel comprehended and esteemed +each other, and made allowances for each other. Their characters had +been tested and had stood the test. Affection, love, was not to them a +salient phenomenon in their relations. Habit had inevitably dulled its +glitter. It was like a flavouring, scarce remarked; but had it been +absent, how they would have turned from that dish! + +Samuel never, or hardly ever, set himself to meditate upon the problem +whether or not life had come up to his expectations. But he had, at +times, strange sensations which he did not analyze, and which +approached nearer to ecstasy than any feeling of Constance's. Thus, +when he was in one of his dark furies, molten within and black without, +the sudden thought of his wife's unalterable benignant calm, which +nothing could overthrow, might strike him into a wondering cold. For +him she was astoundingly feminine. She would put flowers on the +mantelpiece, and then, hours afterwards, in the middle of a meal, ask +him unexpectedly what he thought of her 'garden;' and he gradually +divined that a perfunctory reply left her unsatisfied; she wanted a +genuine opinion; a genuine opinion mattered to her. Fancy calling +flowers on a mantelpiece a 'garden'! How charming, how childlike! Then +she had a way, on Sunday mornings, when she descended to the parlour +all ready for chapel, of shutting the door at the foot of the stairs +with a little bang, shaking herself, and turning round swiftly as if +for his inspection, as if saying: "Well, what about this? Will this +do?" A phenomenon always associated in his mind with the smell of kid +gloves! Invariably she asked him about the colours and cut of her +dresses. Would he prefer this, or that? He could not take such +questions seriously until one day he happened to hint, merely hint, +that he was not a thorough-going admirer of a certain new dress--it was +her first new dress after the definite abandonment of crinolines. She +never wore it again. He thought she was not serious at first, and +remonstrated against a joke being carried too far. She said: "It's not +a bit of use you talking, I shan't wear it again." And then he so far +appreciated her seriousness as to refrain, by discretion, from any +comment. The incident affected him for days. It flattered him; it +thrilled him; but it baffled him. Strange that a woman subject to such +caprices should be so sagacious, capable, and utterly reliable as +Constance was! For the practical and commonsense side of her eternally +compelled his admiration. The very first example of it--her insistence +that the simultaneous absence of both of them from the shop for half an +hour or an hour twice a day would not mean the immediate downfall of +the business--had remained in his mind ever since. Had she not been +obstinate--in her benevolent way--against the old superstition which he +had acquired from his employers, they might have been eating separately +to that day. Then her handling of her mother during the months of the +siege of Paris, when Mrs. Baines was convinced that her sinful daughter +was in hourly danger of death, had been extraordinarily fine, he +considered. And the sequel, a card for Constance's birthday, had +completely justified her attitude. + +Sometimes some blundering fool would jovially exclaim to them: + +"What about that baby?" + +Or a woman would remark quietly: "I often feel sorry you've no +children." + +And they would answer that really they did not know what they would do +if there was a baby. What with the shop and one thing or another...! +And they were quite sincere. + +IV + +It is remarkable what a little thing will draw even the most regular +and serious people from the deep groove of their habits. One morning in +March, a boneshaker, an affair on two equal wooden wheels joined by a +bar of iron, in the middle of which was a wooden saddle, disturbed the +gravity of St. Luke's Square. True, it was probably the first +boneshaker that had ever attacked the gravity of St. Luke's Square. It +came out of the shop of Daniel Povey, the confectioner and baker, and +Samuel Povey's celebrated cousin, in Boulton Terrace. Boulton Terrace +formed nearly a right angle with the Baines premises, and at the corner +of the angle Wedgwood Street and King Street left the Square. The +boneshaker was brought forth by Dick Povey, the only son of Daniel, now +aged eleven years, under the superintendence of his father, and the +Square soon perceived that Dick had a natural talent for breaking-in an +untrained boneshaker. After a few attempts he could remain on the back +of the machine for at least ten yards, and his feats had the effect of +endowing St. Luke's Square with the attractiveness of a circus. Samuel +Povey watched with candid interest from the ambush of his door, while +the unfortunate young lady assistants, though aware of the performance +that was going on, dared not stir from the stove. Samuel was +tremendously tempted to sally out boldly, and chat with his cousin +about the toy; he had surely a better right to do so than any other +tradesman in the Square, since he was of the family; but his diffidence +prevented him from moving. Presently Daniel Povey and Dick went to the +top of the Square with the machine, opposite Holl's, and Dick, being +carefully installed in the saddle, essayed to descend the gentle paven +slopes of the Square. He failed time after time; the machine had an +astonishing way of turning round, running uphill, and then lying calmly +on its side. At this point of Dick's life-history every shop-door in +the Square was occupied by an audience. At last the boneshaker +displayed less unwillingness to obey, and lo! in a moment Dick was +riding down the Square, and the spectators held their breath as if he +had been Blondin crossing Niagara. Every second he ought to have fallen +off, but he contrived to keep upright. Already he had accomplished +twenty yards--thirty yards! It was a miracle that he was performing! +The transit continued, and seemed to occupy hours. And then a faint +hope rose in the breast of the watchers that the prodigy might arrive +at the bottom of the Square. His speed was increasing with his 'nack.' +But the Square was enormous, boundless. Samuel Povey gazed at the +approaching phenomenon, as a bird at a serpent, with bulging, beady +eyes. The child's speed went on increasing and his path grew +straighter. Yes, he would arrive; he would do it! Samuel Povey +involuntarily lifted one leg in his nervous tension. And now the hope +that Dick would arrive became a fear, as his pace grew still more +rapid. Everybody lifted one leg, and gaped. And the intrepid child +surged on, and, finally victorious, crashed into the pavement in front +of Samuel at the rate of quite six miles an hour. + +Samuel picked him up, unscathed. And somehow this picking up of Dick +invested Samuel with importance, gave him a share in the glory of the +feat itself. + +Daniel Povey same running and joyous. "Not so bad for a start, eh?" +exclaimed the great Daniel. Though by no means a simple man, his pride +in his offspring sometimes made him a little naive. + +Father and son explained the machine to Samuel, Dick incessantly +repeating the exceedingly strange truth that if you felt you were +falling to your right you must turn to your right and vice versa. +Samuel found himself suddenly admitted, as it were, to the inner +fellowship of the boneshaker, exalted above the rest of the Square. In +another adventure more thrilling events occurred. The fair-haired Dick +was one of those dangerous, frenzied madcaps who are born without fear. +The secret of the machine had been revealed to him in his recent +transit, and he was silently determining to surpass himself. +Precariously balanced, he descended the Square again, frowning hard, +his teeth set, and actually managed to swerve into King Street. +Constance, in the parlour, saw an incomprehensible winged thing fly +past the window. The cousins Povey sounded an alarm and protest and ran +in pursuit; for the gradient of King Street is, in the strict sense, +steep. Half-way down King Street Dick was travelling at twenty miles an +hour, and heading straight for the church, as though he meant to +disestablish it and perish. The main gate of the churchyard was open, +and that affrighting child, with a lunatic's luck, whizzed safely +through the portals into God's acre. The cousins Povey discovered him +lying on a green grave, clothed in pride. His first words were: "Dad, +did you pick my cap up?" The symbolism of the amazing ride did not +escape the Square; indeed, it was much discussed. + +This incident led to a friendship between the cousins. They formed a +habit of meeting in the Square for a chat. The meetings were the +subject of comment, for Samuel's relations with the greater Daniel had +always been of the most distant. It was understood that Samuel +disapproved of Mrs. Daniel Povey even, more than the majority of people +disapproved of her. Mrs. Daniel Povey, however, was away from home; +probably, had she not been, Samuel would not even have gone to the +length of joining Daniel on the neutral ground of the open Square. But +having once broken the ice, Samuel was glad to be on terms of growing +intimacy with his cousin. The friendship flattered him, for Daniel, +despite his wife, was a figure in a world larger than Samuel's; +moreover, it consecrated his position as the equal of no matter what +tradesman (apprentice though he had been), and also he genuinely liked +and admired Daniel, rather to his own astonishment. + +Every one liked Daniel Povey; he was a favourite among all ranks. The +leading confectioner, a member of the Local Board, and a sidesman at +St. Luke's, he was, and had been for twenty-five years, very prominent +in the town. He was a tall, handsome man, with a trimmed, greying +beard, a jolly smile, and a flashing, dark eye. His good humour seemed +to be permanent. He had dignity without the slightest stiffness; he was +welcomed by his equals and frankly adored by his inferiors. He ought to +have been Chief Bailiff, for he was rich enough; but there intervened a +mysterious obstacle between Daniel Povey and the supreme honour, a +scarcely tangible impediment which could not be definitely stated. He +was capable, honest, industrious, successful, and an excellent speaker; +and if he did not belong to the austerer section of society, if, for +example, he thought nothing of dropping into the Tiger for a glass of +beer, or of using an oath occasionally, or of telling a facetious +story--well, in a busy, broad-minded town of thirty thousand +inhabitants, such proclivities are no bar whatever to perfect esteem. +But--how is one to phrase it without wronging Daniel Povey? He was +entirely moral; his views were unexceptionable. The truth is that, for +the ruling classes of Bursley, Daniel Povey was just a little too +fanatical a worshipper of the god Pan. He was one of the remnant who +had kept alive the great Pan tradition from the days of the Regency +through the vast, arid Victorian expanse of years. The flighty +character of his wife was regarded by many as a judgment upon him for +the robust Rabelaisianism of his more private conversation, for his +frank interest in, his eternal preoccupation with, aspects of life and +human activity which, though essential to the divine purpose, are not +openly recognized as such--even by Daniel Poveys. It was not a question +of his conduct; it was a question of the cast of his mind. If it did +not explain his friendship with the rector of St. Luke's, it explained +his departure from the Primitive Methodist connexion, to which the +Poveys as a family had belonged since Primitive Methodism was created +in Turnhill in 1807. + +Daniel Povey had a way of assuming that every male was boiling over +with interest in the sacred cult of Pan. The assumption, though +sometimes causing inconvenience at first, usually conquered by virtue +of its inherent truthfulness. Thus it fell out with Samuel. Samuel had +not suspected that Pan had silken cords to draw him. He had always +averted his eyes from the god--that is to say, within reason. Yet now +Daniel, on perhaps a couple of fine mornings a week, in full Square, +with Fan sitting behind on the cold stones, and Mr. Critchlow ironic at +his door in a long white apron, would entertain Samuel Povey for half +an hour with Pan's most intimate lore, and Samuel Povey would not +blench. He would, on the contrary, stand up to Daniel like a little +man, and pretend with all his might to be, potentially, a perfect +arch-priest of the god. Daniel taught him a lot; turned over the page +of life for him, as it were, and, showing the reverse side, seemed to +say: "You were missing all that." Samuel gazed upwards at the handsome +long nose and rich lips of his elder cousin, so experienced, so +agreeable, so renowned, so esteemed, so philosophic, and admitted to +himself that he had lived to the age of forty in a state of comparative +boobyism. And then he would gaze downwards at the faint patch of flour +on Daniel's right leg, and conceive that life was, and must be, life. + +Not many weeks after his initiation into the cult he was startled by +Constance's preoccupied face one evening. Now, a husband of six years' +standing, to whom it has not happened to become a father, is not easily +startled by such a face as Constance wore. Years ago he had frequently +been startled, had frequently lived in suspense for a few days. But he +had long since grown impervious to these alarms. And now he was +startled again--but as a man may be startled who is not altogether +surprised at being startled. And seven endless days passed, and Samuel +and Constance glanced at each other like guilty things, whose secret +refuses to be kept. Then three more days passed, and another three. +Then Samuel Povey remarked in a firm, masculine, fact-fronting tone: + +"Oh, there's no doubt about it!" + +And they glanced at each other like conspirators who have lighted a +fuse and cannot take refuge in flight. Their eyes said continually, +with a delicious, an enchanting mixture of ingenuous modesty and +fearful joy: + +"Well, we've gone and done it!" + +There it was, the incredible, incomprehensible future--coming! + +Samuel had never correctly imagined the manner of its heralding. He had +imagined in his early simplicity that one day Constance, blushing, +might put her mouth to his ear and whisper--something positive. It had +not occurred in the least like that. But things are so obstinately, so +incurably unsentimental. + +"I think we ought to drive over and tell mother, on Sunday," said +Constance. + +His impulse was to reply, in his grand, offhand style: "Oh, a letter +will do!" + +But he checked himself and said, with careful deference: "You think +that will be better than writing?" + +All was changed. He braced every fibre to meet destiny, and to help +Constance to meet it. + +The weather threatened on Sunday. He went to Axe without Constance. His +cousin drove him there in a dog-cart, and he announced that he should +walk home, as the exercise would do him good. During the drive Daniel, +in whom he had not confided, chattered as usual, and Samuel pretended +to listen with the same attitude as usual; but secretly he despised +Daniel for a man who has got something not of the first importance on +the brain. His perspective was truer than Daniel's. + +He walked home, as he had decided, over the wavy moorland of the county +dreaming in the heart of England. Night fell on him in mid-career, and +he was tired. But the earth, as it whirled through naked space, whirled +up the moon for him, and he pressed on at a good speed. A wind from +Arabia wandering cooled his face. And at last, over the brow of Toft +End, he saw suddenly the Five Towns a-twinkle on their little hills +down in the vast amphitheatre. And one of those lamps was Constance's +lamp--one, somewhere. He lived, then. He entered into the shadow of +nature. The mysteries made him solemn. What! A boneshaker, his cousin, +and then this! + +"Well, I'm damned! Well, I'm damned!" he kept repeating, he who never +swore. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +CYRIL + +I + + +Constance stood at the large, many-paned window in the parlour. She was +stouter. Although always plump, her figure had been comely, with a +neat, well-marked waist. But now the shapeliness had gone; the +waist-line no longer existed, and there were no more crinolines to +create it artificially. An observer not under the charm of her face +might have been excused for calling her fat and lumpy. The face, grave, +kind, and expectant, with its radiant, fresh cheeks, and the rounded +softness of its curves, atoned for the figure. She was nearly +twenty-nine years of age. + +It was late in October. In Wedgwood Street, next to Boulton Terrace, +all the little brown houses had been pulled down to make room for a +palatial covered market, whose foundations were then being dug. This +destruction exposed a vast area of sky to the north-east. A great dark +cloud with an untidy edge rose massively out of the depths and +curtained off the tender blue of approaching dusk; while in the west, +behind Constance, the sun was setting in calm and gorgeous melancholy +on the Thursday hush of the town. It was one of those afternoons which +gather up all the sadness of the moving earth and transform it into +beauty. + +Samuel Povey turned the corner from Wedgwood Street, and crossed King +Street obliquely to the front-door, which Constance opened. He seemed +tired and anxious. + +"Well?" demanded Constance, as he entered. + +"She's no better. There's no getting away from it, she's worse. I +should have stayed, only I knew you'd be worrying. So I caught the +three-fifty." + +"How is that Mrs. Gilchrist shaping as a nurse?" + +"She's very good," said Samuel, with conviction. "Very good!" + +"What a blessing! I suppose you didn't happen to see the doctor?" + +"Yes, I did." + +"What did he say to you?" + +Samuel gave a deprecating gesture. "Didn't say anything particular. +With dropsy, at that stage, you know ..." + +Constance had returned to the window, her expectancy apparently +unappeased. + +"I don't like the look of that cloud," she murmured. + +"What! Are they out still?" Samuel inquired, taking off his overcoat. + +"Here they are!" cried Constance. Her features suddenly transfigured, +she sprang to the door, pulled it open, and descended the steps. + +A perambulator was being rapidly pushed up the slope by a breathless +girl. + +"Amy," Constance gently protested, "I told you not to venture far." + +"I hurried all I could, mum, soon as I seed that cloud," the girl +puffed, with the air of one who is seriously thankful to have escaped a +great disaster. + +Constance dived into the recesses of the perambulator and extricated +from its cocoon the centre of the universe, and scrutinized him with +quiet passion, and then rushed with him into the house, though not a +drop of rain had yet fallen. + +"Precious!" exclaimed Amy, in ecstasy, her young virginal eyes +following him till he disappeared. Then she wheeled away the +perambulator, which now had no more value nor interest than an +egg-shell. It was necessary to take it right round to the Brougham +Street yard entrance, past the front of the closed shop. + +Constance sat down on the horsehair sofa and hugged and kissed her +prize before removing his bonnet. + +"Here's Daddy!" she said to him, as if imparting strange and rapturous +tidings. "Here's Daddy come back from hanging up his coat in the +passage! Daddy rubbing his hands!" And then, with a swift transition of +voice and features: "Do look at him, Sam!" + +Samuel, preoccupied, stooped forward. "Oh, you little scoundrel! Oh, +you little scoundrel!" he greeted the baby, advancing his finger +towards the baby's nose. + +The baby, who had hitherto maintained a passive indifference to +external phenomena, lifted elbows and toes, blew bubbles from his tiny +mouth, and stared at the finger with the most ravishing, roguish smile, +as though saying: "I know that great sticking-out limb, and there is a +joke about it which no one but me can see, and which is my secret joy +that you shall never share." + +"Tea ready?" Samuel asked, resuming his gravity and his ordinary pose. + +"You must give the girl time to take her things off," said Constance. +"We'll have the table drawn, away from the fire, and baby can lie on +his shawl on the hearthrug while we're having tea." Then to the baby, +in rapture: "And play with his toys; all his nice, nice toys!" + +"You know Miss Insull is staying for tea?" + +Constance, her head bent over the baby, who formed a white patch on her +comfortable brown frock, nodded without speaking. + +Samuel Povey, walking to and fro, began to enter into details of his +hasty journey to Axe. Old Mrs. Baines, having beheld her grandson, was +preparing to quit this world. Never again would she exclaim, in her +brusque tone of genial ruthlessness: 'Fiddlesticks!' The situation was +very difficult and distressing, for Constance could not leave her baby, +and she would not, until the last urgency, run the risks of a journey +with him to Axe. He was being weaned. In any case Constance could not +have undertaken the nursing of her mother. A nurse had to be found. Mr. +Povey had discovered one in the person of Mrs. Gilchrist, the second +wife of a farmer at Malpas in Cheshire, whose first wife had been a +sister of the late John Baines. All the credit of Mrs. Gilchrist was +due to Samuel Povey. Mrs. Baines fretted seriously about Sophia, who +had given no sign of life for a very long time. Mr. Povey went to +Manchester and ascertained definitely from the relatives of Scales that +nothing was known of the pair. He did not go to Manchester especially +on this errand. About once in three weeks, on Tuesdays, he had to visit +the Manchester warehouses; but the tracking of Scales's relative cost +him so much trouble and time that, curiously, he came to believe that +he had gone to Manchester one Tuesday for no other end. Although he was +very busy indeed in the shop, he flew over to Axe and back whenever he +possibly could, to the neglect of his affairs. He was glad to do all +that was in his power; even if he had not done it graciously his +sensitive, tyrannic conscience would have forced him to do it. But +nevertheless he felt rather virtuous, and worry and fatigue and loss of +sleep intensified this sense of virtue. + +"So that if there is any sudden change they will telegraph," he +finished, to Constance. + +She raised her head. The words, clinching what had led up to them, drew +her from her dream and she saw, for a moment, her mother in an agony. + +"But you don't surely mean--?" she began, trying to disperse the +painful vision as unjustified by the facts. + +"My dear girl," said Samuel, with head singing, and hot eyes, and a +consciousness of high tension in every nerve of his body, "I simply +mean that if there's any sudden change they will telegraph." + +While they had tea, Samuel sitting opposite to his wife, and Miss +Insull nearly against the wall (owing to the moving of the table), the +baby rolled about on the hearthrug, which had been covered with a large +soft woollen shawl, originally the property of his great-grandmother. +He had no cares, no responsibilities. The shawl was so vast that he +could not clearly distinguish objects beyond its confines. On it lay an +indiarubber ball, an indiarubber doll, a rattle, and fan. He vaguely +recollected all four items, with their respective properties. The fire +also was an old friend. He had occasionally tried to touch it, but a +high bright fence always came in between. For ten months he had never +spent a day without making experiments on this shifting universe in +which he alone remained firm and stationary. The experiments were +chiefly conducted out of idle amusement, but he was serious on the +subject of food. Lately the behaviour of the universe in regard to his +food had somewhat perplexed him, had indeed annoyed him. However, he +was of a forgetful, happy disposition, and so long as the universe +continued to fulfil its sole end as a machinery for the satisfaction, +somehow, of his imperious desires, he was not inclined to remonstrate. +He gazed at the flames and laughed, and laughed because he had laughed. +He pushed the ball away and wriggled after it, and captured it with the +assurance of practice. He tried to swallow the doll, and it was not +until he had tried several times to swallow it that he remembered the +failure of previous efforts and philosophically desisted. He rolled +with a fearful shock, arms and legs in air, against the mountainous +flank of that mammoth Fan, and clutched at Fan's ear. The whole mass of +Fan upheaved and vanished from his view, and was instantly forgotten by +him. He seized the doll and tried to swallow it, and repeated the +exhibition of his skill with the ball. Then he saw the fire again and +laughed. And so he existed for centuries: no responsibilities, no +appetites; and the shawl was vast. Terrific operations went on over his +head. Giants moved to and fro. Great vessels were carried off and great +books were brought and deep voices rumbled regularly in the spaces +beyond the shawl. But he remained oblivious. At last he became aware +that a face was looking down at his. He recognized it, and immediately +an uncomfortable sensation in his stomach disturbed him; he tolerated +it for fifty years or so, and then he gave a little cry. Life had +resumed its seriousness. + +"Black alpaca. B quality. Width 20, t.a. 22 yards," Miss Insull read +out of a great book. She and Mr. Povey were checking stock. + +And Mr. Povey responded, "Black alpaca B quality. Width 20, t.a. 22 +yards. It wants ten minutes yet." He had glanced at the clock. + +"Does it?" said Constance, well knowing that it wanted ten minutes. + +The baby did not guess that a high invisible god named Samuel Povey, +whom nothing escaped, and who could do everything at once, was +controlling his universe from an inconceivable distance. On the +contrary, the baby was crying to himself, There is no God. + +His weaning had reached the stage at which a baby really does not know +what will happen next. The annoyance had begun exactly three months +after his first tooth, such being the rule of the gods, and it had +grown more and more disconcerting. No sooner did he accustom himself to +a new phenomenon than it mysteriously ceased, and an old one took its +place which he had utterly forgotten. This afternoon his mother nursed +him, but not until she had foolishly attempted to divert him from the +seriousness of life by means of gewgaws of which he was sick. Still; +once at her rich breast, he forgave and forgot all. He preferred her +simple natural breast to more modern inventions. And he had no shame, +no modesty. Nor had his mother. It was an indecent carouse at which his +father and Miss Insull had to assist. But his father had shame. His +father would have preferred that, as Miss Insull had kindly offered to +stop and work on Thursday afternoon, and as the shop was chilly, the +due rotation should have brought the bottle round at half-past five +o'clock, and not the mother's breast. He was a self-conscious parent, +rather apologetic to the world, rather apt to stand off and pretend +that he had nothing to do with the affair; and he genuinely disliked +that anybody should witness the intimate scene of HIS wife feeding HIS +baby. Especially Miss Insull, that prim, dark, moustached spinster! He +would not have called it an outrage on Miss Insull, to force her to +witness the scene, but his idea approached within sight of the word. + +Constance blandly offered herself to the child, with the unconscious +primitive savagery of a young mother, and as the baby fed, thoughts of +her own mother flitted to and fro ceaselessly like vague shapes over +the deep sea of content which filled her mind. This illness of her +mother's was abnormal, and the baby was now, for the first time +perhaps, entirely normal in her consciousness. The baby was something +which could be disturbed, not something which did disturb. What a +change! What a change that had seemed impossible until its full +accomplishment! + +For months before the birth, she had glimpsed at nights and in other +silent hours the tremendous upset. She had not allowed herself to be +silly in advance; by temperament she was too sagacious, too well +balanced for that; but she had had fitful instants of terror, when +solid ground seemed to sink away from her, and imagination shook at +what faced her. Instants only! Usually she could play the comedy of +sensible calmness to almost perfection. Then the appointed time drew +nigh. And still she smiled, and Samuel smiled. But the preparations, +meticulous, intricate, revolutionary, belied their smiles. The intense +resolve to keep Mrs. Baines, by methods scrupulous or unscrupulous, +away from Bursley until all was over, belied their smiles. And then the +first pains, sharp, shocking, cruel, heralds of torture! But when they +had withdrawn, she smiled, again, palely. Then she was in bed, full of +the sensation that the whole house was inverted and disorganized, +hopelessly. And the doctor came into the room. She smiled at the doctor +apologetically, foolishly, as if saying: "We all come to it. Here I +am." She was calm without. Oh, but what a prey of abject fear within! +"I am at the edge of the precipice," her thought ran; "in a moment I +shall be over." And then the pains--not the heralds but the shattering +army, endless, increasing in terror as they thundered across her. Yet +she could think, quite clearly: "Now I'm in the middle of it. This is +it, the horror that I have not dared to look at. My life's in the +balance. I may never get up again. All has at last come to pass. It +seemed as if it would never come, as if this thing could not happen to +me. But at last it has come to pass!" + +Ah! Some one put the twisted end of a towel into her hand again--she +had loosed it; and she pulled, pulled, enough to break cables. And then +she shrieked. It was for pity. It was for some one to help her, at any +rate to take notice of her. She was dying. Her soul was leaving her. +And she was alone, panic-stricken, in the midst of a cataclysm a +thousand times surpassing all that she had imagined of sickening +horror. "I cannot endure this," she thought passionately. "It is +impossible that I should be asked to endure this!" And then she wept; +beaten, terrorized, smashed and riven. No commonsense now! No wise +calmness now! No self-respect now! Why, not even a woman now! Nothing +but a kind of animalized victim! And then the supreme endless spasm, +during which she gave up the ghost and bade good-bye to her very self. + +She was lying quite comfortable in the soft bed; idle, silly: happiness +forming like a thin crust over the lava of her anguish and her fright. +And by her side was the soul that had fought its way out of her, +ruthlessly; the secret disturber revealed to the light of morning. +Curious to look at! Not like any baby that she had ever seen; red, +creased, brutish! But--for some reason that she did not examine--she +folded it in an immense tenderness. + +Sam was by the bed, away from her eyes. She was so comfortable and +silly that she could not move her head nor even ask him to come round +to her eyes. She had to wait till he came. + +In the afternoon the doctor returned, and astounded her by saying that +hers had been an ideal confinement. She was too weary to rebuke him for +a senseless, blind, callous old man. But she knew what she knew. "No +one will ever guess," she thought, "no one ever can guess, what I've +been through! Talk as you like. I KNOW, now." + +Gradually she had resumed cognizance of her household, perceiving that +it was demoralized from top to bottom, and that when the time came to +begin upon it she would not be able to settle where to begin, even +supposing that the baby were not there to monopolize her attention. The +task appalled her. Then she wanted to get up. Then she got up. What a +blow to self-confidence! She went back to bed like a little scared +rabbit to its hole, glad, glad to be on the soft pillows again. She +said: "Yet the time must come when I shall be downstairs, and walking +about and meeting people, and cooking and superintending the +millinery." Well, it did come--except that she had to renounce the +millinery to Miss Insull--but it was not the same. No, different! The +baby pushed everything else on to another plane. He was a terrific +intruder; not one minute of her old daily life was left; he made no +compromise whatever. If she turned away her gaze from him he might pop +off into eternity and leave her. + +And now she was calmly and sensibly giving him suck in presence of Miss +Insull. She was used to his importance, to the fragility of his +organism, to waking twice every night, to being fat. She was strong +again. The convulsive twitching that for six months had worried her +repose, had quite disappeared. The state of being a mother was normal, +and the baby was so normal that she could not conceive the house +without him. + +All in ten months! + +When the baby was installed in his cot for the night, she came +downstairs and found Miss Insull and Samuel still working, and harder +than ever, but at addition sums now. She sat down, leaving the door +open at the foot of the stairs. She had embroidery in hand: a cap. And +while Miss Insull and Samuel combined pounds, shillings, and pence, +whispering at great speed, she bent over the delicate, intimate, +wasteful handiwork, drawing the needle with slow exactitude. Then she +would raise her head and listen. + +"Excuse me," said Miss Insull, "I think I hear baby crying." + +"And two are eight and three are eleven. He must cry," said Mr. Povey, +rapidly, without looking up. + +The baby's parents did not make a practice of discussing their domestic +existence even with Miss Insull; but Constance had to justify herself +as a mother. + +"I've made perfectly sure he's comfortable," said Constance. "He's only +crying because he fancies he's neglected. And we think he can't begin +too early to learn." + +"How right you are!" said Miss Insull. "Two and carry three." + +That distant, feeble, querulous, pitiful cry continued obstinately. It +continued for thirty minutes. Constance could not proceed with her +work. The cry disintegrated her will, dissolved her hard sagacity. + +Without a word she crept upstairs, having carefully deposed the cap on +her rocking-chair. + +Mr. Povey hesitated a moment and then bounded up after her, startling +Fan. He shut the door on Miss Insull, but Fan was too quick for him. He +saw Constance with her hand on the bedroom door. + +"My dear girl," he protested, holding himself in. "Now what ARE you +going to do?" + +"I'm just listening," said Constance. + +"Do be reasonable and come downstairs." + +He spoke in a low voice, scarcely masking his nervous irritation, and +tiptoed along the corridor towards her and up the two steps past the +gas-burner. Fan followed, wagging her tail expectant. + +"Suppose he's not well?" Constance suggested. + +"Pshaw!" Mr. Povey exclaimed contemptuously. "You remember what +happened last night and what you said!" + +They argued, subduing their tones to the false semblance of good-will, +there in the closeness of the corridor. Fan, deceived, ceased to wag +her tail and then trotted away. The baby's cry, behind the door, rose +to a mysterious despairing howl, which had such an effect on +Constance's heart that she could have walked through fire to reach the +baby. But Mr. Povey's will held her. And she rebelled, angry, hurt, +resentful. Commonsense, the ideal of mutual forbearance, had winged +away from that excited pair. It would have assuredly ended in a +quarrel, with Samuel glaring at her in black fury from the other side +of a bottomless chasm, had not Miss Insull most surprisingly burst up +the stairs. + +Mr. Povey turned to face her, swallowing his emotion. + +"A telegram!" said Miss Insull. "The postmaster brought it down +himself--" + +"What? Mr. Derry?" asked Samuel, opening the telegram with an +affectation of majesty. + +"Yes. He said it was too late for delivery by rights. But as it seemed +very important ..." + +Samuel scanned it and nodded gravely; then gave it to his wife. Tears +came into her eyes. + +"I'll get Cousin Daniel to drive me over at once," said Samuel, master +of himself and of the situation. + +"Wouldn't it be better to hire?" Constance suggested. She had a +prejudice against Daniel. + +Mr. Povey shook his head. "He offered," he replied. "I can't refuse his +offer." + +"Put your thick overcoat on, dear," said Constance, in a dream, +descending with him. + +"I hope it isn't--" Miss Insull stopped. + +"Yes it is, Miss Insull," said Samuel, deliberately. + +In less than a minute he was gone. + +Constance ran upstairs. But the cry had ceased. She turned the +door-knob softly, slowly, and crept into the chamber. A night-light +made large shadows among the heavy mahogany and the crimson, tasselled +rep in the close-curtained room. And between the bed and the ottoman +(on which lay Samuel's newly-bought family Bible) the cot loomed in the +shadows. She picked up the night-light and stole round the bed. Yes, he +had decided to fall asleep. The hazard of death afar off had just +defeated his devilish obstinacy. Fate had bested him. How marvellously +soft and delicate that tear-stained cheek! How frail that tiny, tiny +clenched hand! In Constance grief and joy were mystically united. + +II + +The drawing-room was full of visitors, in frocks of ceremony. The old +drawing-room, but newly and massively arranged with the finest +Victorian furniture from dead Aunt Harriet's house at Axe; two +"Canterburys," a large bookcase, a splendid scintillant table solid +beyond lifting, intricately tortured chairs and armchairs! The original +furniture of the drawing-room was now down in the parlour, making it +grand. All the house breathed opulence; it was gorged with quiet, +restrained expensiveness; the least considerable objects, in the most +modest corners, were what Mrs. Baines would have termed 'good.' +Constance and Samuel had half of all Aunt Harriet's money and half of +Mrs. Baines's; the other half was accumulating for a hypothetical +Sophia, Mr. Critchlow being the trustee. The business continued to +flourish. People knew that Samuel Povey was buying houses. Yet Samuel +and Constance had not made friends; they had not, in the Five Towns +phrase, 'branched out socially,' though they had very meetly branched +out on subscription lists. They kept themselves to themselves +(emphasizing the preposition). These guests were not their guests; they +were the guests of Cyril. + +He had been named Samuel because Constance would have him named after +his father, and Cyril because his father secretly despised the name of +Samuel; and he was called Cyril; 'Master Cyril,' by Amy, definite +successor to Maggie. His mother's thoughts were on Cyril as long as she +was awake. His father, when not planning Cyril's welfare, was earning +money whose unique object could be nothing but Cyril's welfare. Cyril +was the pivot of the house; every desire ended somewhere in Cyril. The +shop existed now solely for him. And those houses that Samuel bought by +private treaty, or with a shamefaced air at auctions--somehow they were +aimed at Cyril. Samuel and Constance had ceased to be self-justifying +beings; they never thought of themselves save as the parents of Cyril. + +They realized this by no means fully. Had they been accused of +monomania they would have smiled the smile of people confident in their +commonsense and their mental balance. Nevertheless, they were +monomaniacs. Instinctively they concealed the fact as much as possible; +They never admitted it even to themselves. Samuel, indeed, would often +say: "That child is not everybody. That child must be kept in his +place." Constance was always teaching him consideration for his father +as the most important person in the household. Samuel was always +teaching him consideration for his mother as the most important person +in the household. Nothing was left undone to convince him that he was a +cipher, a nonentity, who ought to be very glad to be alive. But he knew +all about his importance. He knew that the entire town was his. He knew +that his parents were deceiving themselves. Even when he was punished +he well knew that it was because he was so important. He never imparted +any portion of this knowledge to his parents; a primeval wisdom +prompted him to retain it strictly in his own bosom. + +He was four and a half years old, dark, like his father; handsome like +his aunt, and tall for his age; not one of his features resembled a +feature of his mother's, but sometimes he 'had her look.' From the +capricious production of inarticulate sounds, and then a few +monosyllables that described concrete things and obvious desires, he +had gradually acquired an astonishing idiomatic command over the most +difficult of Teutonic languages; there was nothing that he could not +say. He could walk and run, was full of exact knowledge about God, and +entertained no doubt concerning the special partiality of a minor deity +called Jesus towards himself. + +Now, this party was his mother's invention and scheme. His father, +after flouting it, had said that if it was to be done at all, it should +be done well, and had brought to the doing all his organizing skill. +Cyril had accepted it at first--merely accepted it; but, as the day +approached and the preparations increased in magnitude, he had come to +look on it with favour, then with enthusiasm. His father having taken +him to Daniel Povey's opposite, to choose cakes, he had shown, by his +solemn and fastidious waverings, how seriously he regarded the affair. + +Of course it had to occur on a Thursday afternoon. The season was +summer, suitable for pale and fragile toilettes. And the eight children +who sat round Aunt Harriet's great table glittered like the sun. Not +Constance's specially provided napkins could hide that wealth and +profusion of white lace and stitchery. Never in after-life are the +genteel children of the Five Towns so richly clad as at the age of four +or five years. Weeks of labour, thousands of cubic feet of gas, whole +nights stolen from repose, eyesight, and general health, will disappear +into the manufacture of a single frock that accidental jam may ruin in +ten seconds. Thus it was in those old days; and thus it is to-day. +Cyril's guests ranged in years from four to six; they were chiefly +older than their host; this was a pity, it impaired his importance; but +up to four years a child's sense of propriety, even of common decency, +is altogether too unreliable for a respectable party. + +Round about the outskirts of the table were the elders, ladies the +majority; they also in their best, for they had to meet each other. +Constance displayed a new dress, of crimson silk; after having mourned +for her mother she had definitely abandoned the black which, by reason +of her duties in the shop, she had constantly worn from the age of +sixteen to within a few months of Cyril's birth; she never went into +the shop now, except casually, on brief visits of inspection. She was +still fat; the destroyer of her figure sat at the head of the table. +Samuel kept close to her; he was the only male, until Mr. Critchlow +astonishingly arrived; among the company Mr. Critchlow had a +grand-niece. Samuel, if not in his best, was certainly not in his +everyday suit. With his large frilled shirt-front, and small black tie, +and his little black beard and dark face over that, he looked very +nervous and self-conscious. He had not the habit of entertaining. Nor +had Constance; but her benevolence ever bubbling up to the calm surface +of her personality made self-consciousness impossible for her. Miss +Insull was also present, in shop-black, 'to help.' Lastly there was +Amy, now as the years passed slowly assuming the character of a +faithful retainer, though she was only twenty-three. An ugly, abrupt, +downright girl, with convenient notions of pleasure! For she would rise +early and retire late in order to contrive an hour to go out with +Master Cyril; and to be allowed to put Master Cyril to bed was, really, +her highest bliss. + +All these elders were continually inserting arms into the fringe of +fluffy children that surrounded the heaped table; removing dangerous +spoons out of cups into saucers, replacing plates, passing cakes, +spreading jam, whispering consolations, explanations, and sage counsel. +Mr. Critchlow, snow-white now but unbent, remarked that there was 'a +pretty cackle,' and he sniffed. Although the window was slightly open, +the air was heavy with the natural human odour which young children +transpire. More than one mother, pressing her nose into a lacy mass, to +whisper, inhaled that pleasant perfume with a voluptuous thrill. + +Cyril, while attending steadily to the demands of his body, was in a +mood which approached the ideal. Proud and radiant, he combined +urbanity with a certain fine condescension. His bright eyes, and his +manner of scraping up jam with a spoon, said: "I am the king of this +party. This party is solely in my honour. I know that. We all know it. +Still, I will pretend that we are equals, you and I." He talked about +his picture-books to a young woman on his right named Jennie, aged +four, pale, pretty, the belle in fact, and Mr. Critchlow's grand-niece. +The boy's attractiveness was indisputable; he could put on quite an +aristocratic air. It was the most delicious sight to see them, Cyril +and Jennie, so soft and delicate, so infantile on their piles of +cushions and books, with their white socks and black shoes dangling far +distant from the carpet; and yet so old, so self-contained! And they +were merely an epitome of the whole table. The whole table was bathed +in the charm and mystery of young years, of helpless fragility, gentle +forms, timid elegance, unshamed instincts, and waking souls. Constance +and Samuel were very satisfied; full of praise for other people's +children, but with the reserve that of course Cyril was hors concours. +They both really did believe, at that moment, that Cyril was, in some +subtle way which they felt but could not define, superior to all other +infants. + +Some one, some officious relative of a visitor, began to pass a certain +cake which had brown walls, a roof of cocoa-nut icing, and a yellow +body studded with crimson globules. Not a conspicuously gorgeous cake, +not a cake to which a catholic child would be likely to attach +particular importance; a good, average cake! Who could have guessed +that it stood, in Cyril's esteem, as the cake of cakes? He had insisted +on his father buying it at Cousin Daniel's, and perhaps Samuel ought to +have divined that for Cyril that cake was the gleam that an ardent +spirit would follow through the wilderness. Samuel, however, was not a +careful observer, and seriously lacked imagination. Constance knew only +that Cyril had mentioned the cake once or twice. Now by the hazard of +destiny that cake found much favour, helped into popularity as it was +by the blundering officious relative who, not dreaming what volcano she +was treading on, urged its merits with simpering enthusiasm. One boy +took two slices, a slice in each hand; he happened to be the visitor of +whom the cake-distributor was a relative, and she protested; she +expressed the shock she suffered. Whereupon both Constance and Samuel +sprang forward and swore with angelic smiles that nothing could be more +perfect than the propriety of that dear little fellow taking two slices +of that cake. It was this hullaballoo that drew Cyril's attention to +the evanescence of the cake of cakes. His face at once changed from +calm pride to a dreadful anxiety. His eyes bulged out. His tiny mouth +grew and grew, like a mouth in a nightmare. He was no longer human; he +was a cake-eating tiger being balked of his prey. Nobody noticed him. +The officious fool of a woman persuaded Jennie to take the last slice +of the cake, which was quite a thin slice. + +Then every one simultaneously noticed Cyril, for he gave a yell. It was +not the cry of a despairing soul who sees his beautiful iridescent +dream shattered at his feet; it was the cry of the strong, masterful +spirit, furious. He turned upon Jennie, sobbing, and snatched at her +cake. Unaccustomed to such behaviour from hosts, and being besides a +haughty put-you-in-your-place beauty of the future, Jennie defended her +cake. After all, it was not she who had taken two slices at once. Cyril +hit her in the eye, and then crammed most of the slice of cake into his +enormous mouth. He could not swallow it, nor even masticate it, for his +throat was rigid and tight. So the cake projected from his red lips, +and big tears watered it. The most awful mess you can conceive! Jennie +wept loudly, and one or two others joined her in sympathy, but the rest +went on eating tranquilly, unmoved by the horror which transfixed their +elders. + +A host to snatch food from a guest! A host to strike a guest! A +gentleman to strike a lady! + +Constance whipped up Cyril from his chair and flew with him to his own +room (once Samuel's), where she smacked him on the arm and told him he +was a very, very naughty boy and that she didn't know what his father +would say. She took the food out of his disgusting mouth--or as much of +it as she could get at--and then she left him, on the bed. Miss Jennie +was still in tears when, blushing scarlet and trying to smile, +Constance returned to the drawing-room. Jennie would not be appeased. +Happily Jennie's mother (being about to present Jennie with a little +brother--she hoped) was not present. Miss Insull had promised to see +Jennie home, and it was decided that she should go. Mr. Critchlow, in +high sardonic spirits, said that he would go too; the three departed +together, heavily charged with Constance's love and apologies. Then all +pretended, and said loudly, that what had happened was naught, that +such things were always happening at children's parties. And visitors' +relatives asseverated that Cyril was a perfect darling and that really +Mrs. Povey must not ... + +But the attempt to keep up appearance was a failure. + +The Methuselah of visitors, a gaping girl of nearly eight years, walked +across the room to where Constance was standing, and said in a loud, +confidential, fatuous voice: + +"Cyril HAS been a rude boy, hasn't he, Mrs. Povey?" + +The clumsiness of children is sometimes tragic. + +Later, there was a trickling stream of fluffy bundles down the crooked +stairs and through the parlour and so out into King Street. And +Constance received many compliments and sundry appeals that darling +Cyril should be forgiven. + +"I thought you said that boy was in his bedroom," said Samuel to +Constance, coming into the parlour when the last guest had gone. Each +avoided the other's eyes. + +"Yes, isn't he?" + +"No." + +"The little jockey!" ("Jockey," an essay in the playful, towards making +light of the jockey's sin!) "I expect he's been in search of Amy." + +She went to the top of the kitchen stairs and called out: "Amy, is +Master Cyril down there?" + +"Master Cyril? No, mum. But he was in the parlour a bit ago, after the +first and second lot had gone. I told him to go upstairs and be a good +boy." + +Not for a few moments did the suspicion enter the minds of Samuel and +Constance that Cyril might be missing, that the house might not contain +Cyril. But having once entered, the suspicion became a certainty. Amy, +cross-examined, burst into sudden tears, admitting that the side-door +might have been open when, having sped 'the second lot,' she criminally +left Cyril alone in the parlour in order to descend for an instant to +her kitchen. Dusk was gathering. Amy saw the defenceless innocent +wandering about all night in the deserted streets of a great city. A +similar vision with precise details of canals, tramcar-wheels, and +cellar-flaps, disturbed Constance. Samuel said that anyhow he could not +have got far, that some one was bound to remark and recognize him, and +restore him. "Yes, of course," thought sensible Constance. "But +supposing--" + +They all three searched the entire house again. Then, in the +drawing-room (which was in a sad condition of anticlimax) Amy exclaimed: + +"Eh, master! There's town-crier crossing the Square. Hadn't ye better +have him cried?" + +"Run out and stop him," Constance commanded. + +And Amy flew. + +Samuel and the aged town-crier parleyed at the side door, the women in +the background. + +"I canna' cry him without my bell," drawled the crier, stroking his +shabby uniform. "My bell's at wum (home). I mun go and fetch my bell. +Yo' write it down on a bit o' paper for me so as I can read it, and +I'll foot off for my bell. Folk wouldna' listen to me if I hadna' +gotten my bell." + +Thus was Cyril cried. + +"Amy," said Constance, when she and the girl were alone, "there's no +use in you standing blubbering there. Get to work and clear up that +drawing-room, do! The child is sure to be found soon. Your master's +gone out, too." + +Brave words! Constance aided in the drawing-room and kitchen. Theirs +was the woman's lot in a great crisis. Plates have always to be washed. + +Very shortly afterwards, Samuel Povey came into the kitchen by the +underground passage which led past the two cellars to the yard and to +Brougham Street. He was carrying in his arms an obscene black mass. +This mass was Cyril, once white. + +Constance screamed. She was at liberty to give way to her feelings, +because Amy happened to be upstairs. + +"Stand away!" cried Mr. Povey. "He isn't fit to touch." + +And Mr. Povey made as if to pass directly onward, ignoring the mother. + +"Wherever did you find him?" + +"I found him in the far cellar," said Mr. Povey, compelled to stop, +after all. "He was down there with me yesterday, and it just occurred +to me that he might have gone there again." + +"What! All in the dark?" + +"He'd lighted a candle, if you please! I'd left a candle-stick and a +box of matches handy because I hadn't finished that shelving." + +"Well!" Constance murmured. "I can't think how ever he dared go there +all alone!" + +"Can't you?" said Mr. Povey, cynically. "I can. He simply did it to +frighten us." + +"Oh, Cyril!" Constance admonished the child. "Cyril!" + +The child showed no emotion. His face was an enigma. It might have +hidden sullenness or mere callous indifference, or a perfect +unconsciousness of sin. + +"Give him to me," said Constance. + +"I'll look after him this evening," said Samuel, grimly. + +"But you can't wash him," said Constance, her relief yielding to +apprehension. + +"Why not?" demanded Mr. Povey. And he moved off. + +"But Sam--" + +"I'll look after him, I tell you!" Mr. Povey repeated, threateningly. + +"But what are you going to do?" Constance asked with fear. + +"Well," said Mr. Povey, "has this sort of thing got to be dealt with, +or hasn't it?" He departed upstairs. + +Constance overtook him at the door of Cyril's bedroom. + +Mr. Povey did not wait for her to speak. His eyes were blazing. + +"See here!" he admonished her cruelly. "You get away downstairs, +mother!" + +And he disappeared into the bedroom with his vile and helpless victim. + +A moment later he popped his head out of the door. Constance was +disobeying him. He stepped into the passage and shut the door so that +Cyril should not hear. + +"Now please do as I tell you," he hissed at his wife. "Don't let's have +a scene, please." + +She descended, slowly, weeping. And Mr. Povey retired again to the +place of execution. + +Amy nearly fell on the top of Constance with a final tray of things +from the drawing-room. And Constance had to tell the girl that Cyril +was found. Somehow she could not resist the instinct to tell her also +that the master had the affair in hand. Amy then wept. + +After about an hour Mr. Povey at last reappeared. Constance was trying +to count silver teaspoons in the parlour. + +"He's in bed now," said Mr. Povey, with a magnificent attempt to be +nonchalant. "You mustn't go near him." + +"But have you washed him?" Constance whimpered. + +"I've washed him," replied the astonishing Mr. Povey. + +"What have you done to him?" + +"I've punished him, of course," said Mr. Povey, like a god who is above +human weaknesses. "What did you expect me to do? Someone had to do it." + +Constance wiped her eyes with the edge of the white apron which she was +wearing over her new silk dress. She surrendered; she accepted the +situation; she made the best of it. And all the evening was spent in +dismally and horribly pretending that their hearts were beating as one. +Mr. Povey's elaborate, cheery kindliness was extremely painful. + +They went to bed, and in their bedroom Constance, as she stood close to +Samuel, suddenly dropped the pretence, and with eyes and voice of +anguish said: + +"You must let me look at him." + +They faced each other. For a brief instant Cyril did not exist for +Constance. Samuel alone obsessed her, and yet Samuel seemed a strange, +unknown man. It was in Constance's life one of those crises when the +human soul seems to be on the very brink of mysterious and +disconcerting cognitions, and then, the wave recedes as inexplicably as +it surged up. + +"Why, of course!" said Mr. Povey, turning away lightly, as though to +imply that she was making tragedies out of nothing. + +She gave an involuntary gesture of almost childish relief. + +Cyril slept calmly. It was a triumph for Mr. Povey. + +Constance could not sleep. As she lay darkly awake by her husband, her +secret being seemed to be a-quiver with emotion. Not exactly sorrow; +not exactly joy; an emotion more elemental than these! A sensation of +the intensity of her life in that hour; troubling, anxious, yet not +sad! She said that Samuel was quite right, quite right. And then she +said that the poor little thing wasn't yet five years old, and that it +was monstrous. The two had to be reconciled. And they never could be +reconciled. Always she would be between them, to reconcile them, and to +be crushed by their impact. Always she would have to bear the burden of +both of them. There could be no ease for her, no surcease from a +tremendous preoccupation and responsibility. She could not change +Samuel; besides, he was right! And though Cyril was not yet five, she +felt that she could not change Cyril either. He was just as +unchangeable as a growing plant. The thought of her mother and Sophia +did not present itself to her; she felt, however, somewhat as Mrs. +Baines had felt on historic occasions; but, being more softly kind, +younger, and less chafed by destiny, she was conscious of no +bitterness, conscious rather of a solemn blessedness. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +CRIME + +I + + +"Now, Master Cyril," Amy protested, "will you leave that fire alone? +It's not you that can mend my fires." + +A boy of nine, great and heavy for his years, with a full face and very +short hair, bent over the smoking grate. It was about five minutes to +eight on a chilly morning after Easter. Amy, hastily clad in blue, with +a rough brown apron, was setting the breakfast table. The boy turned +his head, still bending. + +"Shut up, Ame," he replied, smiling. Life being short, he usually +called her Ame when they were alone together. "Or I'll catch you one in +the eye with the poker." + +"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Amy. "And you know your +mother told you to wash your feet this morning, and you haven't done. +Fine clothes is all very well, but--" + +"Who says I haven't washed my feet?" asked Cyril, guiltily. + +Amy's mention of fine clothes referred to the fact that he was that +morning wearing his Sunday suit for the first time on a week-day. + +"I say you haven't," said Amy. + +She was more than three times his age still, but they had been treating +each other as intellectual equals for years. + +"And how do you know?" asked Cyril, tired of the fire. + +"I know," said Amy. + +"Well, you just don't, then!" said Cyril. "And what about YOUR feet? I +should be sorry to see your feet, Ame." + +Amy was excusably annoyed. She tossed her head. "My feet are as clean +as yours any day," she said. "And I shall tell your mother." + +But he would not leave her feet alone, and there ensued one of those +endless monotonous altercations on a single theme which occur so often +between intellectual equals when one is a young son of the house and +the other an established servant who adores him. Refined minds would +have found the talk disgusting, but the sentiment of disgust seemed to +be unknown to either of the wranglers. At last, when Amy by superior +tactics had cornered him, Cyril said suddenly: + +"Oh, go to hell!" + +Amy banged down the spoon for the bacon gravy. "Now I shall tell your +mother. Mark my words, this time I SHALL tell your mother." + +Cyril felt that in truth he had gone rather far. He was perfectly sure +that Amy would not tell his mother. And yet, supposing that by some +freak of her nature she did! The consequences would be unutterable; the +consequences would more than extinguish his private glory in the use of +such a dashing word. So he laughed, a rather silly, giggling laugh, to +reassure himself. + +"You daren't," he said. + +"Daren't I?" she said grimly. "You'll see. _I_ don't know where you +learn! It fair beats me. But it isn't Amy Bates as is going to be sworn +at. As soon as ever your mother comes into this room!" + +The door at the foot of the stairs creaked and Constance came into the +room. She was wearing a dress of majenta merino, and a gold chain +descended from her neck over her rich bosom. She had scarcely aged in +five years. It would have been surprising if she had altered much, for +the years had passed over her head at an incredible rate. To her it +appeared only a few months since Cyril's first and last party. + +"Are you all ready, my pet? Let me look at you." Constance greeted the +boy with her usual bright, soft energy. + +Cyril glanced at Amy, who averted her head, putting spoons into three +saucers. + +"Yes, mother," he replied in a new voice. + +"Did you do what I told you?" + +"Yes, mother," he said simply. + +"That's right." + +Amy made a faint noise with her lips, and departed. + +He was saved once more. He said to himself that never again would he +permit his soul to be disturbed by any threat of old Ame's. + +Constance's hand descended into her pocket and drew out a hard paper +packet, which she clapped on to her son's head. + +"Oh, mother!" He pretended that she had hurt him, and then he opened +the packet. It contained Congleton butterscotch, reputed a harmless +sweetmeat. + +"Good!" he cried, "good! Oh! Thanks, mother." + +"Now don't begin eating them at once." + +"Just one, mother." + +"No! And how often have I told you to keep your feet off that fender. +See how it's bent. And it's nobody but you." + +"Sorry." + +"It's no use being sorry if you persist in doing it." + +"Oh, mother, I had such a funny dream!" + +They chatted until Amy came up the stairs with tea and bacon. The fire +had developed from black to clear red. + +"Run and tell father that breakfast is ready." + +After a little delay a spectacled man of fifty, short and stoutish, +with grey hair and a small beard half grey and half black, entered from +the shop. Samuel had certainly very much aged, especially in his +gestures, which, however, were still quick. He sat down at once--his +wife and son were already seated--and served the bacon with the rapid +assurance of one who needs not to inquire about tastes and appetites. +Not a word was said, except a brief grace by Samuel. But there was no +restraint. Samuel had a mild, benignant air. Constance's eyes were a +fountain of cheerfulness. The boy sat between them and ate steadily. + +Mysterious creature, this child, mysteriously growing and growing in +the house! To his mother he was a delicious joy at all times save when +he disobeyed his father. But now for quite a considerable period there +had been no serious collision. The boy seemed to be acquiring virtue as +well as sense. And really he was charming. So big, truly enormous +(every one remarked on it), and yet graceful, lithe, with a smile that +could ravish. And he was distinguished in his bearing. Without +depreciating Samuel in her faithful heart, Constance saw plainly the +singular differences between Samuel and the boy. Save that he was dark, +and that his father's 'dangerous look' came into those childish eyes +occasionally, Cyril had now scarcely any obvious resemblance to his +father. He was a Baines. This naturally deepened Constance's family +pride. Yes, he was mysterious to Constance, though probably not more so +than any other boy to any other parent. He was equally mysterious to +Samuel, but otherwise Mr. Povey had learned to regard him in the light +of a parcel which he was always attempting to wrap up in a piece of +paper imperceptibly too small. When he successfully covered the parcel +at one corner it burst out at another, and this went on for ever, and +he could never get the string on. Nevertheless, Mr. Povey had unabated +confidence in his skill as a parcel-wrapper. The boy was strangely +subtle at times, but then at times he was astoundingly ingenuous, and +then his dodges would not deceive the dullest. Mr. Povey knew himself +more than a match for his son. He was proud of him because he regarded +him as not an ordinary boy; he took it as a matter of course that his +boy should not be an ordinary boy. He never, or very rarely, praised +Cyril. Cyril thought of his father as a man who, in response to any +request, always began by answering with a thoughtful, serious 'No, I'm +afraid not.' + +"So you haven't lost your appetite!" his mother commented. + +Cyril grinned. "Did you expect me to, mother?" + +"Let me see," said Samuel, as if vaguely recalling an unimportant fact. +"It's to-day you begin to go to school, isn't it?" + +"I wish father wouldn't be such a chump!" Cyril reflected. And, +considering that this commencement of school (real school, not a girls' +school, as once) had been the chief topic in the house for days, weeks; +considering that it now occupied and filled all hearts, Cyril's +reflection was excusable. + +"Now, there's one thing you must always remember, my boy," said Mr. +Povey. "Promptness. Never be late either in going to school or in +coming home. And in order that you may have no excuse"--Mr. Povey +pressed on the word 'excuse' as though condemning Cyril in +advance--"here's something for you!" He said the last words quickly, +with a sort of modest shame. + +It was a silver watch and chain. + +Cyril was staggered. So also was Constance, for Mr. Povey could keep +his own counsel. At long intervals he would prove, thus, that he was a +mighty soul, capable of sublime deeds. The watch was the unique +flowering of Mr. Povey's profound but harsh affection. It lay on the +table like a miracle. This day was a great day, a supremely exciting +day in Cyril's history, and not less so in the history of his parents. + +The watch killed its owner's appetite dead. + +Routine was ignored that morning. Father did not go back into the shop. +At length the moment came when father put on his hat and overcoat to +take Cyril, and Cyril's watch and satchel, to the Endowed School, which +had quarters in the Wedgwood Institution close by. A solemn departure, +and Cyril could not pretend by his demeanour that it was not! Constance +desired to kiss him, but refrained. He would not have liked it. She +watched them from the window. Cyril was nearly as tall as his father; +that is to say, not nearly as tall, but creeping up his father's +shoulder. She felt that the eyes of the town must be on the pair. She +was very happy, and nervous. + +At dinner-time a triumph seemed probable, and at tea-time, when Cyril +came home under a mortar-board hat and with a satchel full of new books +and a head full of new ideas, the triumph was actually and definitely +achieved. He had been put into the third form, and he announced that he +should soon be at the top of it. He was enchanted with the life of +school; he liked the other boys, and it appeared that the other boys +liked him. The fact was that, with a new silver watch and a packet of +sweets, he had begun his new career in the most advantageous +circumstances. Moreover, he possessed qualities which ensure success at +school. He was big, and easy, with a captivating smile and a marked +aptitude to learn those things which boys insist on teaching to their +new comrades. He had muscle, a brave demeanour, and no conceit. + +During tea the parlour began, to accustom itself to a new vocabulary, +containing such words as 'fellows,' 'kept in,'m' lines,' 'rot,' +'recess,' 'jolly.' To some of these words the parents, especially Mr. +Povey, had an instinct to object, but they could not object, somehow +they did not seem to get an opportunity to object; they were carried +away on the torrent, and after all, their excitement and pleasure in +the exceeding romantic novelty of existence were just as intense and +nearly as ingenuous as their son's. + +He demonstrated that unless he was allowed to stay up later than +aforetime he would not be able to do his home-work, and hence would not +keep that place in the school to which his talents entitled him. Mr. +Povey suggested, but only with half a heart, that he should get up +earlier in the morning. The proposal fell flat. Everybody knew and +admitted that nothing save the scorpions of absolute necessity, or a +tremendous occasion such as that particular morning's, would drive +Cyril from his bed until the smell of bacon rose to him from the +kitchen. The parlour table was consecrated to his lessons. It became +generally known that 'Cyril was doing his lessons.' His father scanned +the new text-books while Cyril condescendingly explained to him that +all others were superseded and worthless. His father contrived to +maintain an air of preserving his mental equilibrium, but not his +mother; she gave it up, she who till that day had under his father's +direction taught him nearly all that he knew, and Cyril passed above +her into regions of knowledge where she made no pretence of being able +to follow him. + +When the lessons were done, and Cyril had wiped his fingers on bits of +blotting-paper, and his father had expressed qualified approval and had +gone into the shop, Cyril said to his mother, with that delicious +hesitation which overtook him sometimes: + +"Mother." + +"Well, my pet." + +"I want you to do something for me." + +"Well, what is it?" + +"No, you must promise." + +"I'll do it if I can." + +"But you CAN. It isn't doing. It's NOT doing." + +"Come, Cyril, out with it." + +"I don't want you to come in and look at me after I'm asleep any more." + +"But, you silly boy, what difference can it make to you if you're +asleep?" + +"I don't want you to. It's like as if I was a baby. You'll have to stop +doing it some day, and so you may as well stop now." + +It was thus that he meant to turn his back on his youth. + +She smiled. She was incomprehensibly happy. She continued to smile. + +"Now you'll promise, won't you, mother?" + +She rapped him on the head with her thimble, lovingly. He took the +gesture for consent. + +"You are a baby," she murmured. + +"Now I shall trust you," he said, ignoring this. "Say 'honour bright.'" + +"Honour bright." + +With what a long caress her eyes followed him, as he went up to bed on +his great sturdy legs! She was thankful that school had not +contaminated her adorable innocent. If she could have been Ame for +twenty-four hours, she perhaps would not have hesitated to put butter +into his mouth lest it should melt. + +Mr. Povey and Constance talked late and low that night. They could +neither of them sleep; they had little desire to sleep. Constance's +face said to her husband: "I've always stuck up for that boy, in spite +of your severities, and you see how right I was!" And Mr. Povey's face +said: "You see now the brilliant success of my system. You see how my +educational theories have justified themselves. Never been to a school +before, except that wretched little dame's school, and he goes +practically straight to the top of the third form--at nine years of +age!" They discussed his future. There could be no sign of lunacy in +discussing his future up to a certain point, but each felt that to +discuss the ultimate career of a child nine years old would not be the +act of a sensible parent; only foolish parents would be so fond. Yet +each was dying to discuss his ultimate career. Constance yielded first +to the temptation, as became her. Mr. Povey scoffed, and then, to +humour Constance, yielded also. The matter was soon fairly on the +carpet. Constance was relieved to find that Mr. Povey had no thought +whatever of putting Cyril in the shop. No; Mr. Povey did not desire to +chop wood with a razor. Their son must and would ascend. Doctor! +Solicitor! Barrister! Not barrister--barrister was fantastic. When they +had argued for about half an hour Mr. Povey intimated suddenly that the +conversation was unworthy of their practical commonsense, and went to +sleep. + +II + +Nobody really thought that this almost ideal condition of things would +persist: an enterprise commenced in such glory must surely traverse +periods of difficulty and even of temporary disaster. But no! Cyril +seemed to be made specially for school. Before Mr. Povey and Constance +had quite accustomed themselves to being the parents of 'a great lad,' +before Cyril had broken the glass of his miraculous watch more than +once, the summer term had come to an end and there arrived the +excitations of the prize-giving, as it was called; for at that epoch +the smaller schools had not found the effrontery to dub the breaking-up +ceremony a 'speech-day.' This prize-giving furnished a particular joy +to Mr. and Mrs. Povey. Although the prizes were notoriously few in +number--partly to add to their significance, and partly to diminish +their cost (the foundation was poor)--Cyril won a prize, a box of +geometrical instruments of precision; also he reached the top of his +form, and was marked for promotion to the formidable Fourth. Samuel and +Constance were bidden to the large hall of the Wedgwood Institution of +a summer afternoon, and they saw the whole Board of Governors raised on +a rostrum, and in the middle, in front of what he referred to, in his +aristocratic London accent, as 'a beggarly array of rewards,' the aged +and celebrated Sir Thomas Wilbraham Wilbraham, ex-M.P., last +respectable member of his ancient line. And Sir Thomas gave the box of +instruments to Cyril, and shook hands with him. And everybody was very +well dressed. Samuel, who had never attended anything but a National +School, recalled the simple rigours of his own boyhood, and swelled. +For certainly, of all the parents present, he was among the richest. +When, in the informal promiscuities which followed the prize +distribution, Cyril joined his father and mother, sheepishly, they duly +did their best to make light of his achievements, and failed. The walls +of the hall were covered with specimens of the pupils' skill, and the +headmaster was observed to direct the attention of the mighty to a map +done by Cyril. Of course it was a map of Ireland, Ireland being the map +chosen by every map-drawing schoolboy who is free to choose. For a +third-form boy it was considered a masterpiece. In the shading of +mountains Cyril was already a prodigy. Never, it was said, had the +Macgillycuddy Reeks been indicated by a member of that school with a +more amazing subtle refinement than by the young Povey. From a proper +pride in themselves, from a proper fear lest they should be secretly +accused of ostentation by other parents, Samuel and Constance did not +go near that map. For the rest, they had lived with it for weeks, and +Samuel (who, after all, was determined not to be dirt under his son's +feet) had scratched a blot from it with a completeness that defied +inquisitive examination. + +The fame of this map, added to the box of compasses and Cyril's own +desire, pointed to an artistic career. Cyril had always drawn and +daubed, and the drawing-master of the Endowed School, who was also +headmaster of the Art School, had suggested that the youth should +attend the Art School one night a week. Samuel, however, would not +listen to the idea; Cyril was too young. It is true that Cyril was too +young, but Samuel's real objection was to Cyril's going out alone in +the evening. On that he was adamant. + +The Governors had recently made the discovery that a sports department +was necessary to a good school, and had rented a field for cricket, +football, and rounders up at Bleakridge, an innovation which +demonstrated that the town was moving with the rapid times. In June +this field was open after school hours till eight p.m. as well as on +Saturdays. The Squire learnt that Cyril had a talent for cricket, and +Cyril wished to practise in the evenings, and was quite ready to bind +himself with Bible oaths to rise at no matter what hour in the morning +for the purpose of home lessons. He scarcely expected his father to say +'Yes' as his father never did say 'Yes,' but he was obliged to ask. +Samuel nonplussed him by replying that on fine evenings, when he could +spare time from the shop, he would go up to Bleakridge with his son. +Cyril did not like this in the least. Still, it might be tried. One +evening they went, actually, in the new steam-car which had superseded +the old horse-cars, and which travelled all the way to Longshaw, a +place that Cyril had only heard of. Samuel talked of the games played +in the Five Towns in his day, of the Titanic sport of prison-bars, when +the team of one 'bank' went forth to the challenge of another 'bank,' +preceded by a drum-and-fife band, and when, in the heat of the chase, a +man might jump into the canal to escape his pursuer; Samuel had never +played at cricket. + +Samuel, with a very young grandson of Fan (deceased), sat in dignity on +the grass and watched his cricketer for an hour and a half (while +Constance kept an eye on the shop and superintended its closing). +Samuel then conducted Cyril home again. Two days later the father of +his own accord offered to repeat the experience. Cyril refused. +Disagreeable insinuations that he was a baby in arms had been made at +school in the meantime. + +Nevertheless, in other directions Cyril sometimes surprisingly +conquered. For instance, he came home one day with the information that +a dog that was not a bull-terrier was not worth calling a dog. Fan's +grandson had been carried off in earliest prime by a chicken-bone that +had pierced his vitals, and Cyril did indeed persuade his father to buy +a bull-terrier. The animal was a superlative of forbidding ugliness, +but father and son vied with each other in stern critical praise of his +surpassing beauty, and Constance, from good nature, joined in the +pretence. He was called Lion, and the shop, after one or two untoward +episodes, was absolutely closed to him. + +But the most striking of Cyril's successes had to do with the question +of the annual holiday. He spoke of the sea soon after becoming a +schoolboy. It appeared that his complete ignorance of the sea +prejudicially affected him at school. Further, he had always loved the +sea; he had drawn hundreds of three-masted ships with studding-sails +set, and knew the difference between a brig and a brigantine. When he +first said: "I say, mother, why can't we go to Llandudno instead of +Buxton this year?" his mother thought he was out of his senses. For the +idea of going to any place other than Buxton was inconceivable! Had +they not always been to Buxton? What would their landlady say? How +could they ever look her in the face again? Besides ... well...! They +went to Llandudno, rather scared, and hardly knowing how the change had +come about. But they went. And it was the force of Cyril's will, Cyril +the theoretic cypher, that took them. + +III + +The removal of the Endowed School to more commodious premises in the +shape of Shawport Hall, an ancient mansion with fifty rooms and five +acres of land round about it, was not a change that quite pleased +Samuel or Constance. They admitted the hygienic advantages, but +Shawport Hall was three-quarters of a mile distant from St. Luke's +Square--in the hollow that separates Bursley from its suburb of +Hillport; whereas the Wedgwood Institution was scarcely a minute away. +It was as if Cyril, when he set off to Shawport Hall of a morning, +passed out of their sphere of influence. He was leagues off, doing they +knew not what. Further, his dinner-hour was cut short by the extra time +needed for the journey to and fro, and he arrived late for tea; it may +be said that he often arrived very late for tea; the whole machinery of +the meal was disturbed. These matters seemed to Samuel and Constance to +be of tremendous import, seemed to threaten the very foundations of +existence. Then they grew accustomed to the new order, and wondered +sometimes, when they passed the Wedgwood Institution and the +insalubrious Cock Yard--once sole playground of the boys--that the +school could ever have 'managed' in the narrow quarters once allotted +to it. + +Cyril, though constantly successful at school, a rising man, an +infallible bringer-home of excellent reports, and a regular taker of +prizes, became gradually less satisfactory in the house. He was 'kept +in' occasionally, and although his father pretended to hold that to be +kept in was to slur the honour of a spotless family, Cyril continued to +be kept in; a hardened sinner, lost to shame. But this was not the +worst. The worst undoubtedly was that Cyril was 'getting rough.' No +definite accusation could be laid against him; the offence was general, +vague, everlasting; it was in all he did and said, in every gesture and +movement. He shouted, whistled, sang, stamped, stumbled, lunged. He +omitted such empty rites as saying 'Yes' or 'Please,' and wiping his +nose. He replied gruffly and nonchalantly to polite questions, or he +didn't reply until the questions were repeated, and even then with a +'lost' air that was not genuine. His shoelaces were a sad sight, and +his finger-nails no sight at all for a decent woman; his hair was as +rough as his conduct; hardly at the pistol's point could he be forced +to put oil on it. In brief, he was no longer the nice boy that he used +to be. He had unmistakably deteriorated. Grievous! But what can you +expect when YOUR boy is obliged, month after month and year after year, +to associate with other boys? After all, he was a GOOD boy, said +Constance, often to herself and now and then to Samuel. For Constance, +his charm was eternally renewed. His smile, his frequent ingenuousness, +his funny self-conscious gesture when he wanted to 'get round' +her--these characteristics remained; and his pure heart remained; she +could read that in his eyes. Samuel was inimical to his tastes for +sports and his triumphs therein. But Constance had pride in all that. +She liked to feel him and to gaze at him, and to smell that faint, +uncleanly odour of sweat that hung in his clothes. + +In this condition he reached the advanced age of thirteen. And his +parents, who despite their notion of themselves as wide-awake parents +were a simple pair, never suspected that his heart, conceived to be +still pure, had become a crawling, horrible mass of corruption. + +One day the head-master called at the shop. Now, to see a head-master +walking about the town during school-hours is a startling spectacle, +and is apt to give you the same uncanny sensation as when, alone in a +room, you think you see something move which ought not to move. Mr. +Povey was startled. Mr. Povey had a thumping within his breast as he +rubbed his hands and drew the head-master to the private corner where +his desk was. "What can I do for you to-day?" he almost said to the +head-master. But he did not say it. The boot was emphatically not on +that leg. The head-master talked to Mr. Povey, in tones carefully low, +for about a quarter of an hour, and then he closed the interview. Mr. +Povey escorted him across the shop, and the head-master said with +ordinary loudness: "Of course it's nothing. But my experience is that +it's just as well to be on the safe side, and I thought I'd tell you. +Forewarned is forearmed. I have other parents to see." They shook hands +at the door. Then Mr. Povey stepped out on to the pavement and, in +front of the whole Square, detained an unwilling head-master for quite +another minute. + +His face was deeply flushed as he returned into the shop. The +assistants bent closer over their work. He did not instantly rush into +the parlour and communicate with Constance. He had dropped into a way +of conducting many operations by his own unaided brain. His confidence +in his skill had increased with years. Further, at the back of his +mind, there had established itself a vision of Mr. Povey as the seat of +government and of Constance and Cyril as a sort of permanent +opposition. He would not have admitted that he saw such a vision, for +he was utterly loyal to his wife; but it was there. This unconfessed +vision was one of several causes which had contributed to intensify his +inherent tendency towards Machiavellianism and secretiveness. He said +nothing to Constance, nothing to Cyril; but, happening to encounter Amy +in the showroom, he was inspired to interrogate her sharply. The result +was that they descended to the cellar together, Amy weeping. Amy was +commanded to hold her tongue. And as she went in mortal fear of Mr. +Povey she did hold her tongue. + +Nothing occurred for several days. And then one morning--it was +Constance's birthday: children are nearly always horribly unlucky in +their choice of days for sin--Mr. Povey, having executed mysterious +movements in the shop after Cyril's departure to school, jammed his hat +on his head and ran forth in pursuit of Cyril, whom he intercepted with +two other boys, at the corner of Oldcastle Street and Acre Passage. + +Cyril stood as if turned into salt. "Come back home!" said Mr. Povey, +grimly; and for the sake of the other boys: "Please." + +"But I shall be late for school, father," Cyril weakly urged. + +"Never mind." + +They passed through the shop together, causing a terrific concealed +emotion, and then they did violence to Constance by appearing in the +parlour. Constance was engaged in cutting straws and ribbons to make a +straw-frame for a water-colour drawing of a moss-rose which her +pure-hearted son had given her as a birthday present. + +"Why--what--?" she exclaimed. She said no more at the moment because +she was sure, from the faces of her men, that the time was big with +fearful events. + +"Take your satchel off," Mr. Povey ordered coldly. "And your +mortar-board," he added with a peculiar intonation, as if glad thus to +prove that Cyril was one of those rude boys who have to be told to take +their hats off in a room. + +"Whatever's amiss?" Constance murmured under her breath, as Cyril +obeyed the command. "Whatever's amiss?" + +Mr. Povey made no immediate answer. He was in charge of these +proceedings, and was very anxious to conduct them with dignity and with +complete effectiveness. Little fat man over fifty, with a wizened face, +grey-haired and grey-bearded, he was as nervous as a youth. His heart +beat furiously. And Constance, the portly matron who would never see +forty again, was just as nervous as a girl. Cyril had gone very white. +All three felt physically sick. + +"What money have you got in your pockets?" Mr. Povey demanded, as a +commencement. + +Cyril, who had had no opportunity to prepare his case, offered no reply. + +"You heard what I said," Mr. Povey thundered. + +"I've got three-halfpence," Cyril murmured glumly, looking down at the +floor. His lower lip seemed to hang precariously away from his gums. + +"Where did you get that from?" + +"It's part of what mother gave me," said the boy. + +"I did give him a threepenny bit last week," Constance put in guiltily. +"It was a long time since he had had any money." + +"If you gave it him, that's enough," said Mr. Povey, quickly, and to +the boy: "That's all you've got?" + +"Yes, father," said the boy. + +"You're sure?" + +"Yes, father." + +Cyril was playing a hazardous game for the highest stakes, and under +grave disadvantages; and he acted for the best. He guarded his own +interests as well as he could. + +Mr. Povey found himself obliged to take a serious risk. "Empty your +pockets, then." + +Cyril, perceiving that he had lost that particular game, emptied his +pockets. + +"Cyril," said Constance, "how often have I told you to change your +handkerchiefs oftener! Just look at this!" + +Astonishing creature! She was in the seventh hell of sick apprehension, +and yet she said that! + +After the handkerchief emerged the common schoolboy stock of articles +useful and magic, and then, last, a silver florin! + +Mr. Povey felt relief. + +"Oh, Cyril!" whimpered Constance. + +"Give it your mother," said Mr. Povey. + +The boy stepped forward awkwardly, and Constance, weeping, took the +coin. + +"Please look at it, mother," said Mr. Povey. "And tell me if there's a +cross marked on it." + +Constance's tears blurred the coin. She had to wipe her eyes. + +"Yes," she whispered faintly. "There's something on it." + +"I thought so," said Mr. Povey. "Where did you steal it from?" he +demanded. + +"Out of the till," answered Cyril. + +"Have you ever stolen anything out of the till before?" + +"Yes." + +"Yes, what." + +"Yes, father." + +"Take your hands out of your pockets and stand up straight, if you can. +How often?" + +"I--I don't know, father." + +"I blame myself," said Mr. Povey, frankly. "I blame myself. The till +ought always to be locked. All tills ought always to be locked. But we +felt we could trust the assistants. If anybody had told me that I ought +not to trust you, if anybody had told me that my own son would be the +thief, I should have--well, I don't know what I should have said!" + +Mr. Povey was quite justified in blaming himself. The fact was that the +functioning of that till was a patriarchal survival, which he ought to +have revolutionized, but which it had never occurred to him to +revolutionize, so accustomed to it was he. In the time of John Baines, +the till, with its three bowls, two for silver and one for copper (gold +had never been put into it), was invariably unlocked. The person in +charge of the shop took change from it for the assistants, or +temporarily authorized an assistant to do so. Gold was kept in a small +linen bag in a locked drawer of the desk. The contents of the till were +never checked by any system of book-keeping, as there was no system of +book-keeping; when all transactions, whether in payment or receipt, are +in cash--the Baineses never owed a penny save the quarterly wholesale +accounts, which were discharged instantly to the travellers--a system +of book-keeping is not indispensable. The till was situate immediately +at the entrance to the shop from the house; it was in the darkest part +of the shop, and the unfortunate Cyril had to pass it every day on his +way to school. The thing was a perfect device for the manufacture of +young criminals. + +"And how have you been spending this money?" Mr. Povey inquired. + +Cyril's hands slipped into his pockets again. Then, noticing the lapse, +he dragged them out. + +"Sweets," said he. + +"Anything else?" + +"Sweets and things." + +"Oh!" said Mr. Povey. "Well, now you can go down into the cinder-cellar +and bring up here all the things there are in that little box in the +corner. Off you go!" + +And off went Cyril. He had to swagger through the kitchen. + +"What did I tell you, Master Cyril?" Amy unwisely asked of him. "You've +copped it finely this time." + +'Copped' was a word which she had learned from Cyril. + +"Go on, you old bitch!" Cyril growled. + +As he returned from the cellar, Amy said angrily: + +"I told you I should tell your father the next time you called me that, +and I shall. You mark my words." + +"Cant! cant!" he retorted. "Do you think I don't know who's been +canting? Cant! cant!" + +Upstairs in the parlour Samuel was explaining the matter to his wife. +There had been a perfect epidemic of smoking in the school. The +head-master had discovered it and, he hoped, stamped it out. What had +disturbed the head-master far more than the smoking was the fact that a +few boys had been found to possess somewhat costly pipes, +cigar-holders, or cigarette-holders. The head-master, wily, had not +confiscated these articles; he had merely informed the parents +concerned. In his opinion the articles came from one single source, a +generous thief; he left the parents to ascertain which of them had +brought a thief into the world. + +Further information Mr. Povey had culled from Amy, and there could +remain no doubt that Cyril had been providing his chums with the +utensils of smoking, the till supplying the means. He had told Amy that +the things which he secreted in the cellar had been presented to him by +blood-brothers. But Mr. Povey did not believe that. Anyhow, he had +marked every silver coin in the till for three nights, and had watched +the till in the mornings from behind the merino-pile; and the florin on +the parlour-table spoke of his success as a detective. + +Constance felt guilty on behalf of Cyril. As Mr. Povey outlined his +case she could not free herself from an entirely irrational sensation +of sin; at any rate of special responsibility. Cyril seemed to be her +boy and not Samuel's boy at all. She avoided her husband's glance. This +was very odd. + +Then Cyril returned, and his parents composed their faces and he +deposited, next to the florin, a sham meerschaum pipe in a case, a +tobacco-pouch, a cigar of which one end had been charred but the other +not cut, and a half-empty packet of cigarettes without a label. + +Nothing could be hid from Mr. Povey. The details were distressing. + +"So Cyril is a liar and a thief, to say nothing of this smoking!" Mr. +Povey concluded. + +He spoke as if Cyril had invented strange and monstrous sins. But deep +down in his heart a little voice was telling him, as regards the +smoking, that HE had set the example. Mr. Baines had never smoked. Mr. +Critchlow never smoked. Only men like Daniel smoked. + +Thus far Mr. Povey had conducted the proceedings to his own +satisfaction. He had proved the crime. He had made Cyril confess. The +whole affair lay revealed. Well--what next? Cyril ought to have +dissolved in repentance; something dramatic ought to have occurred. But +Cyril simply stood with hanging, sulky head, and gave no sign of proper +feeling. + +Mr. Povey considered that, until something did happen, he must improve +the occasion. + +"Here we have trade getting worse every day," said he (it was true), +"and you are robbing your parents to make a beast of yourself, and +corrupting your companions! I wonder your mother never smelt you!" + +"I never dreamt of such a thing!" said Constance, grievously. + +Besides, a young man clever enough to rob a till is usually clever +enough to find out that the secret of safety in smoking is to use +cachous and not to keep the stuff in your pockets a minute longer than +you can help. + +"There's no knowing how much money you have stolen," said Mr. Povey. "A +thief!" + +If Cyril had stolen cakes, jam, string, cigars, Mr. Povey would never +have said 'thief' as he did say it. But money! Money was different. And +a till was not a cupboard or a larder. A till was a till. Cyril had +struck at the very basis of society. + +"And on your mother's birthday!" Mr. Povey said further. + +"There's one thing I can do!" he said. "I can burn all this. Built on +lies! How dared you?" + +And he pitched into the fire--not the apparatus of crime, but the +water-colour drawing of a moss-rose and the straws and the blue ribbon +for bows at the corners. + +"How dared you?" he repeated. + +"You never gave me any money," Cyril muttered. + +He thought the marking of coins a mean trick, and the dragging-in of +bad trade and his mother's birthday roused a familiar devil that +usually slept quietly in his breast. + +"What's that you say?" Mr. Povey almost shouted. + +"You never gave me any money," the devil repeated in a louder tone than +Cyril had employed. + +(It was true. But Cyril 'had only to ask' and he would have received +all that was good for him.) + +Mr. Povey sprang up. Mr. Povey also had a devil. The two devils gazed +at each other for an instant; and then, noticing that Cyril's head was +above Mr. Povey's, the elder devil controlled itself. Mr. Povey had +suddenly had as much drama as he wanted. + +"Get away to bed!" said he with dignity. + +Cyril went, defiantly. + +"He's to have nothing but bread and water, mother," Mr. Povey finished. +He was, on the whole, pleased with himself. + +Later in the day Constance reported, tearfully, that she had been up to +Cyril and that Cyril had wept. Which was to Cyril's credit. But all +felt that life could never be the same again. During the remainder of +existence this unspeakable horror would lift its obscene form between +them. Constance had never been so unhappy. Occasionally, when by +herself, she would rebel for a brief moment, as one rebels in secret +against a mummery which one is obliged to treat seriously. "After all," +she would whisper, "suppose he HAS taken a few shillings out of the +till! What then? What does it matter?" But these moods of moral +insurrection against society and Mr. Povey were very transitory. They +were come and gone in a flash. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +ANOTHER CRIME + +I + + +One night--it was late in the afternoon of the same year, about six +months after the tragedy of the florin--Samuel Povey was wakened up by +a hand on his shoulder and a voice that whispered: "Father!" + +The thief and the liar was standing in his night-shirt by the bed. +Samuel's sleepy eyes could just descry him in the thick gloom. + +"What--what?" questioned the father, gradually coming to consciousness. +"What are you doing there?" + +"I didn't want to wake mother up," the boy whispered. "There's someone +been throwing dirt or something at our windows, and has been for a long +time." + +"Eh, what?" + +Samuel stared at the dim form of the thief and liar. The boy was tall, +not in the least like a little boy; and yet, then, he seemed to his +father as quite a little boy, a little 'thing' in a night-shirt, with +childish gestures and childish inflections, and a childish, delicious, +quaint anxiety not to disturb his mother, who had lately been deprived +of sleep owing to an illness of Amy's which had demanded nursing. His +father had not so perceived him for years. In that instant the +conviction that Cyril was permanently unfit for human society finally +expired in the father's mind. Time had already weakened it very +considerably. The decision that, be Cyril what he might, the summer +holiday must be taken as usual, had dealt it a fearful blow. And yet, +though Samuel and Constance had grown so accustomed to the +companionship of a criminal that they frequently lost memory of his +guilt for long periods, nevertheless the convention of his leprosy had +more or less persisted with Samuel until that moment: when it vanished +with strange suddenness, to Samuel's conscious relief. + +There was a rain of pellets on the window. + +"Hear that?" demanded Cyril, whispering dramatically. "And it's been +like that on my window too." + +Samuel arose. "Go back to your room!" he ordered in the same dramatic +whisper; but not as father to son--rather as conspirator to conspirator. + +Constance slept. They could hear her regular breathing. + +Barefooted, the elderly gowned figure followed the younger, and one +after the other they creaked down the two steps which separated Cyril's +room from his parents'. + +"Shut the door quietly!" said Samuel. + +Cyril obeyed. + +And then, having lighted Cyril's gas, Samuel drew the blind, unfastened +the catch of the window, and began to open it with many precautions of +silence. All the sashes in that house were difficult to manage. Cyril +stood close to his father, shivering without knowing that he shivered, +astonished only that his father had not told him to get back into bed +at once. It was, beyond doubt, the proudest hour of Cyril's career. In +addition to the mysterious circumstances of the night, there was in the +situation that thrill which always communicates itself to a father and +son when they are afoot together upon an enterprise unsuspected by the +woman from whom their lives have no secrets. + +Samuel put his head out of the window. + +A man was standing there. + +"That you, Samuel?" The voice came low. + +"Yes," replied Samuel, cautiously. "It's not Cousin Daniel, is it?" + +"I want ye," said Daniel Povey, curtly. + +Samuel paused. "I'll be down in a minute," he said. + +Cyril at length received the command to get back into bed at once. + +"Whatever's up, father?" he asked joyously. + +"I don't know. I must put some things on and go and see." + +He shut down the window on all the breezes that were pouring into the +room. + +"Now quick, before I turn the gas out!" he admonished, his hand on the +gas-tap. + +"You'll tell me in the morning, won't you, father?" + +"Yes," said Mr. Povey, conquering his habitual impulse to say 'No.' + +He crept back to the large bedroom to grope for clothes. + +When, having descended to the parlour and lighted the gas there, he +opened the side-door, expecting to let Cousin Daniel in, there was no +sign of Cousin Daniel. Presently he saw a figure standing at the corner +of the Square. He whistled--Samuel had a singular faculty of whistling, +the envy of his son--and Daniel beckoned to him. He nearly extinguished +the gas and then ran out, hatless. He was wearing most of his clothes, +except his linen collar and necktie, and the collar of his coat was +turned up. + +Daniel advanced before him, without waiting, into the confectioner's +shop opposite. Being part of the most modern building in the Square, +Daniel's shop was provided with the new roll-down iron shutter, by +means of which you closed your establishment with a motion similar to +the winding of a large clock, instead of putting up twenty separate +shutters one by one as in the sixteenth century. The little portal in +the vast sheet of armour was ajar, and Daniel had passed into the gloom +beyond. At the same moment a policeman came along on his beat, cutting +off Mr. Povey from Daniel. + +"Good-night, officer! Brrr!" said Mr. Povey, gathering his dignity +about him and holding himself as though it was part of his normal habit +to take exercise bareheaded and collarless in St. Luke's Square on cold +November nights. He behaved so because, if Daniel had desired the +services of a policeman, Daniel would of course have spoken to this one. + +"Goo' night, sir," said the policeman, after recognizing him. + +"What time is it?" asked Samuel, bold. + +"A quarter-past one, sir." + +The policeman, leaving Samuel at the little open door, went forward +across the lamplit Square, and Samuel entered his cousin's shop. + +Daniel Povey was standing behind the door, and as Samuel came in he +shut the door with a startling sudden movement. Save for the twinkle of +gas, the shop was in darkness. It had the empty appearance which a +well-managed confectioner's and baker's always has at night. The large +brass scales near the flour-bins glinted; and the glass cake-stands, +with scarce a tart among them, also caught the faint flare of the gas. + +"What's the matter, Daniel? Anything wrong?" Samuel asked, feeling +boyish as he usually did in the presence of Daniel. + +The well-favoured white-haired man seized him with one hand by the +shoulder in a grip that convicted Samuel of frailty. + +"Look here, Sam'l," said he in his low, pleasant voice, somewhat +altered by excitement. "You know as my wife drinks?" + +He stared defiantly at Samuel. + +"N--no," said Samuel. "That is--no one's ever SAID----" + +This was true. He did not know that Mrs. Daniel Povey, at the age of +fifty, had definitely taken to drink. There had been rumours that she +enjoyed a glass with too much gusto; but 'drinks' meant more than that. + +"She drinks," Daniel Povey continued. "And has done this last two year!" + +"I'm very sorry to hear it," said Samuel, tremendously shocked by this +brutal rending of the cloak of decency. + +Always, everybody had feigned to Daniel, and Daniel had feigned to +everybody, that his wife was as other wives. And now the man himself +had torn to pieces in a moment the veil of thirty years' weaving. + +"And if that was the worst!" Daniel murmured reflectively, loosening +his grip. + +Samuel was excessively disturbed. His cousin was hinting at matters +which he himself, at any rate, had never hinted at even to Constance, +so abhorrent were they; matters unutterable, which hung like clouds in +the social atmosphere of the town, and of which at rare intervals one +conveyed one's cognizance, not by words, but by something scarce +perceptible in a glance, an accent. Not often is a town such as Bursley +starred with such a woman as Mrs. Daniel Povey. + +"But what's wrong?" Samuel asked, trying to be firm. + +And, "What is wrong?" he asked himself. "What does all this mean, at +after one o'clock in the morning?" + +"Look here, Sam'l," Daniel recommenced, seizing his shoulder again. "I +went to Liverpool corn market to-day, and missed the last train, so I +came by mail from Crewe. And what do I find? I find Dick sitting on the +stairs in the dark pretty nigh naked." + +"Sitting on the stairs? Dick?" + +"Ay! This is what I come home to!" + +"But--" + +"Hold on! He's been in bed a couple of days with a feverish cold, +caught through lying in damp sheets as his mother had forgot to air. +She brings him no supper to-night. He calls out. No answer. Then he +gets up to go down-stairs and see what's happened, and he slips on th' +stairs and breaks his knee, or puts it out or summat. Sat there hours, +seemingly! Couldn't walk neither up nor down." + +"And was your--wife--was Mrs.--?" + +"Dead drunk in the parlour, Sam'l." + +"But the servant?" + +"Servant!" Daniel Povey laughed. "We can't keep our servants. They +won't stay. YOU know that." + +He did. Mrs. Daniel Povey's domestic methods and idiosyncrasies could +at any rate be freely discussed, and they were. + +"And what have you done?" + +"Done? Why, I picked him up in my arms and carried him upstairs again. +And a fine job I had too! Here! Come here!" + +Daniel strode impulsively across the shop--the counterflap was up--and +opened a door at the back. Samuel followed. Never before had he +penetrated so far into his cousin's secrets. On the left, within the +doorway, were the stairs, dark; on the right a shut door; and in front +an open door giving on to a yard. At the extremity of the yard he +discerned a building, vaguely lit, and naked figures strangely moving +in it. + +"What's that? Who's there?" he asked sharply. + +"That's the bakehouse," Daniel replied, as if surprised at such a +question. "It's one of their long nights." + +Never, during the brief remainder of his life, did Samuel eat a +mouthful of common bread without recalling that midnight apparition. He +had lived for half a century, and thoughtlessly eaten bread as though +loaves grew ready-made on trees. + +"Listen!" Daniel commanded him. + +He cocked his ear, and caught a feeble, complaining wail from an upper +floor. + +"That's Dick! That is!" said Daniel Povey. + +It sounded more like the distress of a child than of an adventurous +young man of twenty-four or so. + +"But is he in pain? Haven't you fetched the doctor?" + +"Not yet," answered Daniel, with a vacant stare. + +Samuel gazed at him closely for a second. And Daniel seemed to him very +old and helpless and pathetic, a man unequal to the situation in which +he found himself; and yet, despite the dignified snow of his age, +wistfully boyish. Samuel thought swiftly: "This has been too much for +him. He's almost out of his mind. That's the explanation. Some one's +got to take charge, and I must." And all the courageous resolution of +his character braced itself to the crisis. Being without a collar, +being in slippers, and his suspenders imperfectly fastened +anyhow,--these things seemed to be a part of the crisis. + +"I'll just run upstairs and have a look at him," said Samuel, in a +matter-of-fact tone. + +Daniel did not reply. + +There was a glimmer at the top of the stairs. Samuel mounted, found the +gas-jet, and turned it on full. A dingy, dirty, untidy passage was +revealed, the very antechamber of discomfort. Guided by the moans, +Samuel entered a bedroom, which was in a shameful condition of neglect, +and lighted only by a nearly expired candle. Was it possible that a +house-mistress could so lose her self-respect? Samuel thought of his +own abode, meticulously and impeccably 'kept,' and a hard bitterness +against Mrs. Daniel surged up in his soul. + +"Is that you, doctor?" said a voice from the bed; the moans ceased. + +Samuel raised the candle. + +Dick lay there, his face, on which was a beard of several days' growth, +distorted by anguish, sweating; his tousled brown hair was limp with +sweat. + +"Where the hell's the doctor?" the young man demanded brusquely. +Evidently he had no curiosity about Samuel's presence; the one thing +that struck him was that Samuel was not the doctor. + +"He's coming, he's coming," said Samuel, soothingly. + +"Well, if he isn't here soon I shall be damn well dead," said Dick, in +feeble resentful anger. "I can tell you that." + +Samuel deposited the candle and ran downstairs. "I say, Daniel," he +said, roused and hot, "this is really ridiculous. Why on earth didn't +you fetch the doctor while you were waiting for me? Where's the missis?" + +Daniel Povey was slowly emptying grains of Indian corn out of his +jacket-pocket into one of the big receptacles behind the counter on the +baker's side of the shop. He had provisioned himself with Indian corn +as ammunition for Samuel's bedroom window; he was now returning the +surplus. + +"Are ye going for Harrop?" he questioned hesitatingly. + +"Why, of course!" Samuel exclaimed. "Where's the missis?" + +"Happen you'd better go and have a look at her," said Daniel Povey. +"She's in th' parlour." + +He preceded Samuel to the shut door on the right. When he opened it the +parlour appeared in full illumination. + +"Here! Go in!" said Daniel. + +Samuel went in, afraid. In a room as dishevelled and filthy as the +bedroom, Mrs. Daniel Povey lay stretched awkwardly on a worn horse-hair +sofa, her head thrown back, her face discoloured, her eyes bulging, her +mouth wet and yawning: a sight horribly offensive. Samuel was +frightened; he was struck with fear and with disgust. The singing gas +beat down ruthlessly on that dreadful figure. A wife and mother! The +lady of a house! The centre of order! The fount of healing! The balm +for worry, and the refuge of distress! She was vile. Her scanty +yellow-grey hair was dirty, her hollowed neck all grime, her hands +abominable, her black dress in decay. She was the dishonour of her sex, +her situation, and her years. She was a fouler obscenity than the +inexperienced Samuel had ever conceived. And by the door stood her +husband, neat, spotless, almost stately, the man who for thirty years +had marshalled all his immense pride to suffer this woman, the jolly +man who had laughed through thick and thin! Samuel remembered when they +were married. And he remembered when, years after their marriage, she +was still as pretty, artificial, coquettish, and adamantine in her +caprices as a young harlot with a fool at her feet. Time and the slow +wrath of God had changed her. + +He remained master of himself and approached her; then stopped. + +"But--" he stammered. + +"Ay, Sam'l, lad!" said the old man from the door. "I doubt I've killed +her! I doubt I've killed her! I took and shook her. I got her by the +neck. And before I knew where I was, I'd done it. She'll never drink +brandy again. This is what it's come to!" + +He moved away. + +All Samuel's flesh tingled as a heavy wave of emotion rolled through +his being. It was just as if some one had dealt him a blow unimaginably +tremendous. His heart shivered, as a ship shivers at the mountainous +crash of the waters. He was numbed. He wanted to weep, to vomit, to +die, to sink away. But a voice was whispering to him: "You will have to +go through with this. You are in charge of this." He thought of HIS +wife and child, innocently asleep in the cleanly pureness of HIS home. +And he felt the roughness of his coat-collar round his neck and the +insecurity of his trousers. He passed out of the room, shutting the +door. And across the yard he had a momentary glimpse of those nude +nocturnal forms, unconsciously attitudinizing in the bakehouse. And +down the stairs came the protests of Dick, driven by pain into a +monotonous silly blasphemy. + +"I'll fetch Harrop," he said, melancholily, to his cousin. + +The doctor's house was less than fifty yards off, and the doctor had a +night-bell, which, though he was a much older man than his father had +been at his age, he still answered promptly. No need to bombard the +doctor's premises with Indian corn! While Samuel was parleying with the +doctor through a window, the question ran incessantly through his mind: +"What about telling the police?" + +But when, in advance of old Harrop, he returned to Daniel's shop, lo! +the policeman previously encountered had returned upon his beat, and +Daniel was talking to him in the little doorway. No other soul was +about. Down King Street, along Wedgwood Street, up the Square, towards +Brougham Street, nothing but gaslamps burning with their everlasting +patience, and the blind facades of shops. Only in the second storey of +the Bank Building at the top of the Square a light showed mysteriously +through a blind. Somebody ill there! + +The policeman was in a high state of nervous excitement. That had +happened to him which had never happened to him before. Of the sixty +policemen in Bursley, just he had been chosen by fate to fit the socket +of destiny. He was startled. + +"What's this, what's this, Mr. Povey?" he turned hastily to Samuel. +"What's this as Mr. Councillor Povey is a-telling me?" + +"You come in, sergeant," said Daniel. + +"If I come in," said the policeman to Samuel, "you mun' go along +Wedgwood Street, Mr. Povey, and bring my mate. He should be on Duck +Bank, by rights." + +It was astonishing, when once the stone had begun to roll, how quickly +it ran. In half an hour Samuel had actually parted from Daniel at the +police-office behind the Shambles, and was hurrying to rouse his wife +so that she could look after Dick Povey until he might be taken off to +Pirehill Infirmary, as old Harrop had instantly, on seeing him, decreed. + +"Ah!" he reflected in the turmoil of his soul: "God is not mocked!" +That was his basic idea: God is not mocked! Daniel was a good fellow, +honourable, brilliant; a figure in the world. But what of his +licentious tongue? What of his frequenting of bars? (How had he come to +miss that train from Liverpool? How?) For many years he, Samuel, had +seen in Daniel a living refutation of the authenticity of the old +Hebrew menaces. But he had been wrong, after all! God is not mocked! +And Samuel was aware of a revulsion in himself towards that strict +codified godliness from which, in thought, he had perhaps been slipping +away. + +And with it all he felt, too, a certain officious self-importance, as +he woke his wife and essayed to break the news to her in a manner +tactfully calm. He had assisted at the most overwhelming event ever +known in the history of the town. + +II + +"Your muffler--I'll get it," said Constance. "Cyril, run upstairs and +get father's muffler. You know the drawer." + +Cyril ran. It behoved everybody, that morning, to be prompt and +efficient. + +"I don't need any muffler, thank you," said Samuel, coughing and +smothering the cough. + +"Oh! But, Sam--" Constance protested. + +"Now please don't worry me!" said Samuel with frigid finality. "I've +got quite enough--!" He did not finish. + +Constance sighed as her husband stepped, nervous and self-important, +out of the side-door into the street. It was early, not yet eight +o'clock, and the shop still unopened. + +"Your father couldn't wait," Constance said to Cyril when he had +thundered down the stairs in his heavy schoolboy boots. "Give it to +me." She went to restore the muffler to its place. + +The whole house was upset, and Amy still an invalid! Existence was +disturbed; there vaguely seemed to be a thousand novel things to be +done, and yet she could think of nothing whatever that she needed to do +at that moment; so she occupied herself with the muffler. Before she +reappeared Cyril had gone to school, he who was usually a laggard. The +truth was that he could no longer contain within himself a recital of +the night, and in particular of the fact that he had been the first to +hear the summons of the murderer on the window-pane. This imperious +news had to be imparted to somebody, as a preliminary to the thrilling +of the whole school; and Cyril had issued forth in search of an +appreciative and worthy confidant. He was scarcely five minutes after +his father. + +In St. Luke's Square was a crowd of quite two hundred persons, standing +moveless in the November mud. The body of Mrs. Daniel Povey had already +been taken to the Tiger Hotel, and young Dick Povey was on his way in a +covered wagonette to Pirehill Infirmary on the other side of Knype. The +shop of the crime was closed, and the blinds drawn at the upper windows +of the house. There was absolutely nothing to be seen, not even a +policeman. Nevertheless the crowd stared with an extraordinary +obstinate attentiveness at the fatal building in Boulton Terrace. +Hypnotized by this face of bricks and mortar, it had apparently +forgotten all earthly ties, and, regardless of breakfast and a +livelihood, was determined to stare at it till the house fell down or +otherwise rendered up its secret. Most of its component individuals +wore neither overcoats nor collars, but were kept warm by a scarf round +the neck and by dint of forcing their fingers into the furthest inch of +their pockets. Then they would slowly lift one leg after the other. +Starers of infirm purpose would occasionally detach themselves from the +throng and sidle away, ashamed of their fickleness. But reinforcements +were continually arriving. And to these new-comers all that had been +said in gossip had to be repeated and repeated: the same questions, the +same answers, the same exclamations, the same proverbial philosophy, +the same prophecies recurred in all parts of the Square with an uncanny +iterance. Well-dressed men spoke to mere professional loiterers; for +this unparalleled and glorious sensation, whose uniqueness grew every +instant more impressive, brought out the essential brotherhood of +mankind. All had a peculiar feeling that the day was neither Sunday nor +week-day, but some eighth day of the week. Yet in the St. Luke's +Covered Market close by, the stall-keepers were preparing their stalls +just as though it were Saturday, just as though a Town Councillor had +not murdered his wife--at last! It was stated, and restated infinitely, +that the Povey baking had been taken over by Brindley, the second-best +baker and confectioner, who had a stall in the market. And it was +asserted, as a philosophical truth, and reasserted infinitely, that +there would have been no sense in wasting good food. + +Samuel's emergence stirred the multitude. But Samuel passed up the +Square with a rapt expression; he might have been under an illusion, +caused by the extreme gravity of his preoccupations, that he was +crossing a deserted Square. He hurried past the Bank and down the +Turnhill Road, to the private residence of 'Young Lawton,' son of the +deceased 'Lawyer Lawton.' Young Lawton followed his father's +profession; he was, as his father had been, the most successful +solicitor in the town (though reputed by his learned rivals to be a +fool), but the custom of calling men by their occupations had died out +with horse-cars. Samuel caught young Lawton at his breakfast, and +presently drove with him, in the Lawton buggy, to the police-station, +where their arrival electrified a crowd as large as that in St. Luke's +Square. Later, they drove together to Hanbridge, informally to brief a +barrister; and Samuel, not permitted to be present at the first part of +the interview between the solicitor and the barrister, was humbled +before the pomposity of legal etiquette. + +It seemed to Samuel a game. The whole rigmarole of police and +police-cells and formalities seemed insincere. His cousin's case was +not like any other case, and, though formalities might be necessary, it +was rather absurd to pretend that it was like any other case. In what +manner it differed from other cases Samuel did not analytically +inquire. He thought young Lawton was self-important, and Daniel too +humble, in the colloquy of these two, and he endeavoured to indicate, +by the dignity of his own demeanour, that in his opinion the proper +relative tones had not been set. He could not understand Daniel's +attitude, for he lacked imagination to realize what Daniel had been +through. After all, Daniel was not a murderer; his wife's death was due +to accident, was simply a mishap. + +But in the crowded and stinking court-room of the Town Hall, Samuel +began to feel qualms. It occurred that the Stipendiary Magistrate was +sitting that morning at Bursley. He sat alone, as not one of the +Borough Justices cared to occupy the Bench while a Town Councillor was +in the dock. The Stipendiary, recently appointed, was a young man, from +the southern part of the county; and a Town Councillor of Bursley was +no more to him than a petty tradesman to a man of fashion. He was +youthfully enthusiastic for the majesty and the impartiality of English +justice, and behaved as though the entire responsibility for the safety +of that vast fabric rested on his shoulders. He and the barrister from +Hanbridge had had a historic quarrel at Cambridge, and their behaviour +to each other was a lesson to the vulgar in the art of chill and +consummate politeness. Young Lawton, having been to Oxford, secretly +scorned the pair of them, but, as he had engaged counsel, he of course +was precluded from adding to the eloquence, which chagrined him. These +three were the aristocracy of the court-room; they knew it; Samuel +Povey knew it; everybody knew it, and felt it. The barrister brought an +unexceptionable zeal to the performance of his duties; he referred in +suitable terms to Daniel's character and high position in the town, but +nothing could hide the fact that for him too his client was a petty +tradesman accused of simple murder. Naturally the Stipendiary was bound +to show that before the law all men are equal--the Town Councillor and +the common tippler; he succeeded. The policeman gave his evidence, and +the Inspector swore to what Daniel Povey had said when charged. The +hearing proceeded so smoothly and quickly that it seemed naught but an +empty rite, with Daniel as a lay figure in it. The Stipendiary achieved +marvellously the illusion that to him a murder by a Town Councillor in +St. Luke's Square was quite an everyday matter. Bail was inconceivable, +and the barrister, being unable to suggest any reason why the +Stipendiary should grant a remand--indeed, there was no reason--Daniel +Povey was committed to the Stafford Assizes for trial. The Stipendiary +instantly turned to the consideration of an alleged offence against the +Factory Acts by a large local firm of potters. The young magistrate had +mistaken his vocation. With his steely calm, with his imperturbable +detachment from weak humanity, he ought to have been a General of the +Order of Jesuits. + +Daniel was removed--he did not go: he was removed, by two bare-headed +constables. Samuel wanted to have speech with him, and could not. And +later, Samuel stood in the porch of the Town Hall, and Daniel appeared +out of a corridor, still in the keeping of two policemen, helmeted now. +And down below at the bottom of the broad flight of steps, up which +passed dancers on the nights of subscription balls, was a dense crowd, +held at bay by other policemen; and beyond the crowd a black van. And +Daniel--to his cousin a sort of Christ between thieves--was hurried +past the privileged loafers in the corridor, and down the broad steps. +A murmuring wave agitated the crowd. Unkempt idlers and ne'er-do-wells +in corduroy leaped up like tigers in the air, and the policemen fought +them back furiously. And Daniel and his guardians shot through the +little living lane. Quick! Quick! For the captive is more sacred even +than a messiah. The law has him in charge! And like a feat of +prestidigitation Daniel disappeared into the blackness of the van. A +door slammed loudly, triumphantly, and a whip cracked. The crowd had +been balked. It was as though the crowd had yelled for Daniel's blood +and bones, and the faithful constables had saved him from their lust. + +Yes, Samuel had qualms. He had a sickness in the stomach. + +The aged Superintendent of Police walked by, with the aged Rector. The +Rector was Daniel's friend. Never before had the Rector spoken to the +Nonconformist Samuel, but now he spoke to him; he squeezed his hand. + +"Ah, Mr. Povey!" he ejaculated grievously. + +"I--I'm afraid it's serious!" Samuel stammered. He hated to admit that +it was serious, but the words came out of his mouth. + +He looked at the Superintendent of Police, expecting the Superintendent +to assure him that it was not serious; but the Superintendent only +raised his small white-bearded chin, saying nothing. The Rector shook +his head, and shook a senile tear out of his eye. + +After another chat with young Lawton, Samuel, on behalf of Daniel, +dropped his pose of the righteous man to whom a mere mishap has +occurred, and who is determined, with the lofty pride of innocence, to +indulge all the whims of the law, to be more royalist than the king. He +perceived that the law must be fought with its own weapons, that no +advantage must be surrendered, and every possible advantage seized. He +was truly astonished at himself that such a pose had ever been adopted. +His eyes were opened; he saw things as they were. + +He returned home through a Square that was more interested than ever in +the facade of his cousin's house. People were beginning to come from +Hanbridge, Knype, Longshaw, Turnhill, and villages such as Moorthorne, +to gaze at that facade. And the fourth edition of the Signal, +containing a full report of what the Stipendiary and the barrister had +said to each other, was being cried. + +In his shop he found customers, as absorbed in the trivialities of +purchase as though nothing whatever had happened. He was shocked; he +resented their callousness. + +"I'm too busy now," he said curtly to one who accosted him. + +"Sam!" his wife called him in a low voice. She was standing behind the +till. + +"What is it?" He was ready to crush, and especially to crush indiscreet +babble in the shop. He thought she was going to vent her womanly +curiosity at once. + +"Mr. Huntbach is waiting for you in the parlour," said Constance. + +"Mr. Huntbach?" + +"Yes, from Longshaw." She whispered, "It's Mrs. Povey's cousin. He's +come to see about the funeral and so on, the--the inquest, I suppose." + +Samuel paused. "Oh, has he!" said he defiantly. "Well, I'll see him. If +he WANTS to see me, I'll see him." + +That evening Constance learned all that was in his mind of bitterness +against the memory of the dead woman whose failings had brought Daniel +Povey to Stafford gaol and Dick to the Pirehill Infirmary. Again and +again, in the ensuing days, he referred to the state of foul discomfort +which he had discovered in Daniel's house. He nursed a feud against all +her relatives, and when, after the inquest, at which he gave evidence +full of resentment, she was buried, he vented an angry sigh of relief, +and said: "Well, SHE'S out of the way!" Thenceforward he had a mission, +religious in its solemn intensity, to defend and save Daniel. He took +the enterprise upon himself, spending the whole of himself upon it, to +the neglect of his business and the scorn of his health. He lived +solely for Daniel's trial, pouring out money in preparation for it. He +thought and spoke of nothing else. The affair was his one +preoccupation. And as the weeks passed, he became more and more sure of +success, more and more sure that he would return with Daniel to Bursley +in triumph after the assize. He was convinced of the impossibility that +'anything should happen' to Daniel; the circumstances were too clear, +too overwhelmingly in Daniel's favour. + +When Brindley, the second-best baker and confectioner, made an offer +for Daniel's business as a going concern, he was indignant at first. +Then Constance, and the lawyer, and Daniel (whom he saw on every +permitted occasion) between them persuaded him that if some arrangement +was not made, and made quickly, the business would lose all its value, +and he consented, on Daniel's behalf, to a temporary agreement under +which Brindley should reopen the shop and manage it on certain terms +until Daniel regained his freedom towards the end of January. He would +not listen to Daniel's plaintive insistence that he would never care to +be seen in Bursley again. He pooh-poohed it. He protested furiously +that the whole town was seething with sympathy for Daniel; and this was +true. He became Daniel's defending angel, rescuing Daniel from Daniel's +own weakness and apathy. He became, indeed, Daniel. + +One morning the shop-shutter was wound up, and Brindley, inflated with +the importance of controlling two establishments, strutted in and out +under the sign of Daniel Povey. And traffic in bread and cakes and +flour was resumed. Apparently the sea of time had risen and covered +Daniel and all that was his; for his wife was under earth, and Dick +lingered at Pirehill, unable to stand, and Daniel was locked away. +Apparently, in the regular flow of the life of the Square, Daniel was +forgotten. But not in Samuel Povey's heart was he forgotten! There, +before an altar erected to the martyr, the sacred flame of a new faith +burned with fierce consistency. Samuel, in his greying middle-age, had +inherited the eternal youth of the apostle. + +III + +On the dark winter morning when Samuel set off to the grand assize, +Constance did not ask his views as to what protection he would adopt +against the weather. She silently ranged special underclothing, and by +the warmth of the fire, which for days she had kept ablaze in the +bedroom, Samuel silently donned the special underclothing. Over that, +with particular fastidious care, he put his best suit. Not a word was +spoken. Constance and he were not estranged, but the relations between +them were in a state of feverish excitation. Samuel had had a cold on +his flat chest for weeks, and nothing that Constance could invent would +move it. A few days in bed or even in one room at a uniform temperature +would have surely worked the cure. Samuel, however, would not stay in +one room: he would not stay in the house, nor yet in Bursley. He would +take his lacerating cough on chilly trains to Stafford. He had no ears +for reason; he simply could not listen; he was in a dream. After +Christmas a crisis came. Constance grew desperate. It was a battle +between her will and his that occurred one night when Constance, +marshalling all her forces, suddenly insisted that he must go out no +more until he was cured. In the fight Constance was scarcely +recognizable. She deliberately gave way to hysteria; she was no longer +soft and gentle; she flung bitterness at him like vitriol; she shrieked +like a common shrew. It seems almost incredible that Constance should +have gone so far; but she did. She accused him, amid sobs, of putting +his cousin before his wife and son, of not caring whether or not she +was left a widow as the result of this obstinacy. And she ended by +crying passionately that she might as well talk to a post. She might +just as well have talked to a post. Samuel answered quietly and coldly. +He told her that it was useless for her to put herself about, as he +should act as he thought fit. It was a most extraordinary scene, and +quite unique in their annals. Constance was beaten. She accepted the +defeat, gradually controlling her sobs and changing her tone to the +tone of the vanquished. She kissed him in bed, kissing the rod. And he +gravely kissed her. + +Henceforward she knew, in practice, what the inevitable, when you have +to live with it, may contain of anguish wretched and humiliating. Her +husband was risking his life, so she was absolutely convinced, and she +could do nothing; she had come to the bed-rock of Samuel's character. +She felt that, for the time being, she had a madman in the house, who +could not be treated according to ordinary principles. The continual +strain aged her. Her one source of relief was to talk with Cyril. She +talked to him without reserve, and the words 'your father,' 'your +father,' were everlastingly on her complaining tongue. Yes, she was +utterly changed. Often she would weep when alone. + +Nevertheless she frequently forgot that she had been beaten. She had no +notion of honourable warfare. She was always beginning again, always +firing under a flag of truce; and thus she constituted a very +inconvenient opponent. Samuel was obliged, while hardening on the main +point, to compromise on lesser questions. She too could be formidable, +and when her lips took a certain pose, and her eyes glowed, he would +have put on forty mufflers had she commanded. Thus it was she who +arranged all the details of the supreme journey to Stafford. Samuel was +to drive to Knype, so as to avoid the rigours of the Loop Line train +from Bursley and the waiting on cold platforms. At Knype he was to take +the express, and to travel first-class. + +After he was dressed on that gas-lit morning, he learnt bit by bit the +extent of her elaborate preparations. The breakfast was a special +breakfast, and he had to eat it all. Then the cab came, and he saw Amy +put hot bricks into it. Constance herself put goloshes over his boots, +not because it was damp, but because indiarubber keeps the feet warm. +Constance herself bandaged his neck, and unbuttoned his waistcoat and +stuck an extra flannel under his dickey. Constance herself warmed his +woollen gloves, and enveloped him in his largest overcoat. + +Samuel then saw Cyril getting ready to go out. "Where are you off?" he +demanded. + +"He's going with you as far as Knype," said Constance grimly. "He'll +see you into the train and then come back here in the cab." + +She had sprung this indignity upon him. She glared. Cyril glanced with +timid bravado from one to the other. Samuel had to yield. + +Thus in the winter darkness--for it was not yet dawn--Samuel set forth +to the trial, escorted by his son. The reverberation of his appalling +cough from the cab was the last thing that Constance heard. + +During most of the day Constance sat in 'Miss Insull's corner' in the +shop. Twenty years ago this very corner had been hers. But now, instead +of large millinery-boxes enwrapped in brown paper, it was shut off from +the rest of the counter by a rich screen of mahogany and ground-glass, +and within the enclosed space all the apparatus necessary to the +activity of Miss Insull had been provided for. However, it remained the +coldest part of the whole shop, as Miss Insull's fingers testified. +Constance established herself there more from a desire to do something, +to interfere in something, than from a necessity of supervising the +shop, though she had said to Samuel that she would keep an eye on the +shop. Miss Insull, whose throne was usurped, had to sit by the stove +with less important creatures; she did not like it, and her underlings +suffered accordingly. + +It was a long day. Towards tea-time, just before Cyril was due from +school, Mr. Critchlow came surprisingly in. That is to say, his arrival +was less of a surprise to Miss Insull and the rest of the staff than to +Constance. For he had lately formed an irregular habit of popping in at +tea-time, to chat with Miss Insull. Mr. Critchlow was still defying +time. He kept his long, thin figure perfectly erect. His features had +not altered. His hair and beard could not have been whiter than they +had been for years past. He wore his long white apron, and over that a +thick reefer jacket. In his long, knotty fingers he carried a copy of +the Signal. + +Evidently he had not expected to find the corner occupied by Constance. +She was sewing. + +"So it's you!" he said, in his unpleasant, grating voice, not even +glancing at Miss Insull. He had gained the reputation of being the +rudest old man in Bursley. But his general demeanour expressed +indifference rather than rudeness. It was a manner that said: "You've +got to take me as I am. I may be an egotist, hard, mean, and convinced; +but those who don't like it can lump it. I'm indifferent." + +He put one elbow on the top of the screen, showing the Signal. + +"Mr. Critchlow!" said Constance, primly; she had acquired Samuel's +dislike of him. + +"It's begun!" he observed with mysterious glee. + +"Has it?" Constance said eagerly. "Is it in the paper already?" + +She had been far more disturbed about her husband's health than about +the trial of Daniel Povey for murder, but her interest in the trial was +of course tremendous. And this news, that it had actually begun, +thrilled her. + +"Ay!" said Mr. Critchlow. "Didn't ye hear the Signal boy hollering just +now all over the Square?" + +"No," said Constance. For her, newspapers did not exist. She never had +the idea of opening one, never felt any curiosity which she could not +satisfy, if she could satisfy it at all, without the powerful aid of +the press. And even on this day it had not occurred to her that the +Signal might be worth opening. + +"Ay!" repeated Mr. Critchlow. "Seemingly it began at two o'clock--or +thereabouts." He gave a moment of his attention to a noisy gas-jet, +which he carefully lowered. + +"What does it say?" + +"Nothing yet!" said Mr. Critchlow; and they read the few brief +sentences, under their big heading, which described the formal +commencement of the trial of Daniel Povey for the murder of his wife. +"There was some as said," he remarked, pushing up his spectacles, "that +grand jury would alter the charge, or summat!" He laughed, grimly +tolerant of the extreme absurdity. "Ah!" he added contemplatively, +turning his head to see if the assistants were listening. They were. It +would have been too much, on such a day, to expect a strict adherence +to the etiquette of the shop. + +Constance had been hearing a good deal lately of grand juries, but she +had understood nothing, nor had she sought to understand. + +"I'm very glad it's come on so soon," she said. "In a sense, that is! I +was afraid Sam might be kept at Stafford for days. Do you think it will +last long?" + +"Not it!" said Mr. Critchlow, positively. "There's naught in it to spin +out." + +Then a silence, punctuated by the sound of stitching. + +Constance would really have preferred not to converse with the old man; +but the desire for reassurance, for the calming of her own fears, +forced her to speak, though she knew well that Mr. Critchlow was +precisely the last man in the town to give moral assistance if he +thought it was wanted. + +"I do hope everything will be all right!" she murmured. + +"Everything'll be all right!" he said gaily. "Everything'll be all +right. Only it'll be all wrong for Dan." + +"Whatever do you mean, Mr. Critchlow?" she protested. + +Nothing, she reflected, could rouse pity in that heart, not even a +tragedy like Daniel's. She bit her lip for having spoken. + +"Well," he said in loud tones, frankly addressing the girls round the +stove as much as Constance. "I've met with some rare good arguments +this new year, no mistake! There's been some as say that Dan never +meant to do it. That's as may be. But if it's a good reason for not +hanging, there's an end to capital punishment in this country. 'Never +meant'! There's a lot of 'em as 'never meant'! Then I'm told as she was +a gallivanting woman and no housekeeper, and as often drunk as sober. +I'd no call to be told that. If strangling is a right punishment for a +wife as spends her time in drinking brandy instead of sweeping floors +and airing sheets, then Dan's safe. But I don't seem to see Judge +Lindley telling the jury as it is. I've been a juryman under Judge +Lindley myself--and more than once--and I don't seem to see him, like!" +He paused with his mouth open. "As for all them nobs," he continued, +"including th' rector, as have gone to Stafford to kiss the book and +swear that Dan's reputation is second to none--if they could ha' sworn +as Dan wasn't in th' house at all that night, if they could ha' sworn +he was in Jericho, there'd ha' been some sense in their going. But as +it is, they'd ha' done better to stop at home and mind their business. +Bless us! Sam wanted ME to go!" + +He laughed again, in the faces of the horrified and angry women. + +"I'm surprised at you, Mr. Critchlow! I really am!" Constance exclaimed. + +And the assistants inarticulately supported her with vague sounds. Miss +Insull got up and poked the stove. Every soul in the establishment was +loyally convinced that Daniel Povey would be acquitted, and to breathe +a doubt on the brightness of this certainty was a hideous crime. The +conviction was not within the domain of reason; it was an act of faith; +and arguments merely fretted, without in the slightest degree +disturbing it. + +"Ye may be!" Mr. Critchlow gaily concurred. He was very content. + +Just as he shuffled round to leave the shop, Cyril entered. + +"Good afternoon, Mr. Critchlow," said Cyril, sheepishly polite. + +Mr. Critchlow gazed hard at the boy, then nodded his head several times +rapidly, as though to say: "Here's another fool in the making! So the +generations follow one another!" He made no answer to the salutation, +and departed. + +Cyril ran round to his mother's corner, pitching his bag on to the +showroom stairs as he passed them. Taking off his hat, he kissed her, +and she unbuttoned his overcoat with her cold hands. + +"What's old Methuselah after?" he demanded. + +"Hush!" Constance softly corrected him. "He came in to tell me the +trial had started." + +"Oh, I knew that! A boy bought a paper and I saw it. I say, mother, +will father be in the paper?" And then in a different tone: "I say, +mother, what is there for tea?" + +When his stomach had learnt exactly what there was for tea, the boy +began to show an immense and talkative curiosity in the trial. He would +not set himself to his home-lessons. "It's no use, mother," he said, "I +can't." They returned to the shop together, and Cyril would go every +moment to the door to listen for the cry of a newsboy. Presently he hit +upon the idea that perhaps newsboys might be crying the special edition +of the Signal in the market-place, in front of the Town Hall, to the +neglect of St. Luke's Square. And nothing would satisfy him but he must +go forth and see. He went, without his overcoat, promising to run. The +shop waited with a strange anxiety. Cyril had created, by his restless +movements to and fro, an atmosphere of strained expectancy. It seemed +now as if the whole town stood with beating heart, fearful of tidings +and yet burning to get them. Constance pictured Stafford, which she had +never seen, and a court of justice, which she had never seen, and her +husband and Daniel in it. And she waited. + +Cyril ran in. "No!" he announced breathlessly. "Nothing yet." + +"Don't take cold, now you're hot," Constance advised. + +But he would keep near the door. Soon he ran off again. + +And perhaps fifteen seconds after he had gone, the strident cry of a +Signal boy was heard in the distance, faint and indistinct at first, +then clearer and louder. + +"There's a paper!" said the apprentice. + +"Sh!" said Constance, listening. + +"Sh!" echoed Miss Insull. + +"Yes, it is!" said Constance. "Miss Insull, just step out and get a +paper. Here's a halfpenny." + +The halfpenny passed quickly from one thimbled hand to another. Miss +Insull scurried. + +She came in triumphantly with the sheet, which Constance tremblingly +took. Constance could not find the report at first. Miss Insull pointed +to it, and read-- + +"'Summing up!' Lower down, lower down! 'After an absence of thirty-five +minutes the jury found the prisoner guilty of murder, with a +recommendation to mercy. The judge assumed the black cap and pronounced +sentence of death, saying that he would forward the recommendation to +the proper quarter.'" + +Cyril returned. "Not yet!" he was saying--when he saw the paper lying +on the counter. His crest fell. + +Long after the shop was shut, Constance and Cyril waited in the parlour +for the arrival of the master of the house. Constance was in the +blackest despair. She saw nothing but death around her. She thought: +misfortunes never come singly. Why did not Samuel come? All was ready +for him, everything that her imagination could suggest, in the way of +food, remedies, and the means of warmth. Amy was not allowed to go to +bed, lest she might be needed. Constance did not even hint that Cyril +should go to bed. The dark, dreadful minutes ticked themselves off on +the mantelpiece until only five minutes separated Constance from the +moment when she would not know what to do next. It was twenty-five +minutes past eleven. If at half-past Samuel did not appear, then he +could not come that night, unless the last train from Stafford was +inconceivably late. + +The sound of a carriage! It ceased at the door. Mother and son sprang +up. + +Yes, it was Samuel! She beheld him once more. And the sight of his +condition, moral and physical, terrified her. His great strapping son +and Amy helped him upstairs. "Will he ever come down those stairs +again?" This thought lanced Constance's heart. The pain was come and +gone in a moment, but it had surprised her tranquil commonsense, which +was naturally opposed to, and gently scornful of, hysterical fears. As +she puffed, with her stoutness, up the stairs, that bland cheerfulness +of hers cost her an immense effort of will. She was profoundly +troubled; great disasters seemed to be slowly approaching her from all +quarters. + +Should she send for the doctor? No. To do so would only be a concession +to the panic instinct. She knew exactly what was the matter with +Samuel: a severe cough persistently neglected, no more. As she had +expressed herself many times to inquirers, "He's never been what you +may call ill." Nevertheless, as she laid him in bed and possetted him, +how frail and fragile he looked! And he was so exhausted that he would +not even talk about the trial. + +"If he's not better to-morrow I shall send for the doctor!" she said to +herself. As for his getting up, she swore she would keep him in bed by +force if necessary. + +IV + +The next morning she was glad and proud that she had not yielded to a +scare. For he was most strangely and obviously better. He had slept +heavily, and she had slept a little. True that Daniel was condemned to +death! Leaving Daniel to his fate, she was conscious of joy springing +in her heart. How absurd to have asked herself: "Will he ever come down +those stairs again?"! + +A message reached her from the forgotten shop during the morning, that +Mr. Lawton had called to see Mr. Povey. Already Samuel had wanted to +arise, but she had forbidden it in the tone of a woman who is +dangerous, and Samuel had been very reasonable. He now said that Mr. +Lawton must be asked up. She glanced round the bedroom. It was 'done'; +it was faultlessly correct as a sick chamber. She agreed to the +introduction into it of the man from another sphere, and after a +preliminary minute she left the two to talk together. This visit of +young Lawton's was a dramatic proof of Samuel's importance, and of the +importance of the matter in hand. The august occasion demanded +etiquette, and etiquette said that a wife should depart from her +husband when he had to transact affairs beyond the grasp of a wife. + +The idea of a petition to the Home Secretary took shape at this +interview, and before the day was out it had spread over the town and +over the Five Towns, and it was in the Signal. The Signal spoke of +Daniel Povey as 'the condemned man.' And the phrase startled the whole +district into an indignant agitation for his reprieve. The district +woke up to the fact that a Town Councillor, a figure in the world, an +honest tradesman of unspotted character, was cooped solitary in a +little cell at Stafford, waiting to be hanged by the neck till he was +dead. The district determined that this must not and should not be. +Why! Dan Povey had actually once been Chairman of the Bursley Society +for the Prosecution of Felons, that association for annual eating and +drinking, whose members humorously called each other 'felons'! +Impossible, monstrous, that an ex-chairman of the 'Felons' should be a +sentenced criminal! + +However, there was nothing to fear. No Home Secretary would dare to run +counter to the jury's recommendation and the expressed wish of the +whole district. Besides, the Home Secretary's nephew was M.P. for the +Knype division. Of course a verdict of guilty had been inevitable. +Everybody recognized that now. Even Samuel and all the hottest +partisans of Daniel Povey recognized it. They talked as if they had +always foreseen it, directly contradicting all that they had said on +only the previous day. Without any sense of any inconsistency or of +shame, they took up an absolutely new position. The structure of blind +faith had once again crumbled at the assault of realities, and +unhealthy, un-English truths, the statement of which would have meant +ostracism twenty-four hours earlier, became suddenly the platitudes of +the Square and the market-place. + +Despatch was necessary in the affair of the petition, for the condemned +man had but three Sundays. But there was delay at the beginning, +because neither young Lawton nor any of his colleagues was acquainted +with the proper formula of a petition to the Home Secretary for the +reprieve of a criminal condemned to death. No such petition had been +made in the district within living memory. And at first, young Lawton +could not get sight or copy of any such petition anywhere, in the Five +Towns or out of them. Of course there must exist a proper formula, and +of course that formula and no other could be employed. Nobody was bold +enough to suggest that young Lawton should commence the petition, "To +the Most Noble the Marquis of Welwyn, K.C.B., May it please your +Lordship," and end it, "And your petitioners will ever pray!" and +insert between those phrases a simple appeal for the reprieve, with a +statement of reasons. No! the formula consecrated by tradition must be +found. And, after Daniel had arrived a day and a half nearer death, it +was found. A lawyer at Alnwick had the draft of a petition which had +secured for a murderer in Northumberland twenty years' penal servitude +instead of sudden death, and on request he lent it to young Lawton. The +prime movers in the petition felt that Daniel Povey was now as good as +saved. Hundreds of forms were printed to receive signatures, and these +forms, together with copies of the petition, were laid on the counters +of all the principal shops, not merely in Bursley, but in the other +towns. They were also to be found at the offices of the Signal, in +railway waiting-rooms, and in the various reading-rooms; and on the +second of Daniel's three Sundays they were exposed in the porches of +churches and chapels. Chapel-keepers and vergers would come to Samuel +and ask with the heavy inertia of their stupidity: "About pens and ink, +sir?" These officials had the air of audaciously disturbing the +sacrosanct routine of centuries in order to confer a favour. + +Samuel continued to improve. His cough shook him less, and his appetite +increased. Constance allowed him to establish himself in the +drawing-room, which was next to the bedroom, and of which the grate was +particularly efficient. Here, in an old winter overcoat, he directed +the vast affair of the petition, which grew daily to vaster +proportions. Samuel dreamed of twenty thousand signatures. Each sheet +held twenty signatures, and several times a day he counted the sheets; +the supply of forms actually failed once, and Constance herself had to +hurry to the printers to order more. Samuel was put into a passion by +this carelessness of the printers. He offered Cyril sixpence for every +sheet of signatures which the boy would obtain. At first Cyril was too +shy to canvass, but his father made him blush, and in a few hours Cyril +had developed into an eager canvasser. One whole day he stayed away +from school to canvas. Altogether he earned over fifteen shillings, +quite honestly except that he got a companion to forge a couple of +signatures with addresses lacking at the end of a last sheet, +generously rewarding him with sixpence, the value of the entire sheet. + +When Samuel had received a thousand sheets with twenty thousand +signatures, he set his heart on twenty-five thousand signatures. And he +also announced his firm intention of accompanying young Lawton to +London with the petition. The petition had, in fact, become one of the +most remarkable petitions of modern times. So the Signal said. The +Signal gave a daily account of its progress, and its progress was +astonishing. In certain streets every householder had signed it. The +first sheets had been reserved for the signatures of members of +Parliament, ministers of religion, civic dignitaries, justices of the +peace, etc. These sheets were nobly filled. The aged Rector of Bursley +signed first of all; after him the Mayor of Bursley, as was right; then +sundry M.P.'s. + +Samuel emerged from the drawing-room. He went into the parlour, and, +later, into the shop; and no evil consequence followed. His cough was +nearly, but not quite, cured. The weather was extraordinarily mild for +the season. He repeated that he should go with the petition to London; +and he went; Constance could not validly oppose the journey. She, too, +was a little intoxicated by the petition. It weighed considerably over +a hundredweight. The crowning signature, that of the M.P. for Knype, +was duly obtained in London, and Samuel's one disappointment was that +his hope of twenty-five thousand signatures had fallen short of +realization--by only a few score. The few score could have been got had +not time urgently pressed. He returned from London a man of mark, full +of confidence; but his cough was worse again. + +His confidence in the power of public opinion and the inherent virtue +of justice might have proved to be well placed, had not the Home +Secretary happened to be one of your humane officials. The Marquis of +Welwyn was celebrated through every stratum of the governing classes +for his humane instincts, which were continually fighting against his +sense of duty. Unfortunately his sense of duty, which he had inherited +from several centuries of ancestors, made havoc among his humane +instincts on nearly every occasion of conflict. It was reported that he +suffered horribly in consequence. Others also suffered, for he was +never known to advise a remission of a sentence of flogging. Certain +capital sentences he had commuted, but he did not commute Daniel +Povey's. He could not permit himself to be influenced by a wave of +popular sentiment, and assuredly not by his own nephew's signature. He +gave to the case the patient, remorseless examination which he gave to +every case. He spent a sleepless night in trying to discover a reason +for yielding to his humane instincts, but without success. As Judge +Lindley remarked in his confidential report, the sole arguments in +favour of Daniel were provocation and his previous high character; and +these were no sort of an argument. The provocation was utterly +inadequate, and the previous high character was quite too ludicrously +beside the point. So once more the Marquis's humane instincts were +routed and he suffered horribly. + +On the Sunday morning after the day on which the Signal had printed the +menu of Daniel Povey's supreme breakfast, and the exact length of the +'drop' which the executioner had administered to him, Constance and +Cyril stood together at the window of the large bedroom. The boy was in +his best clothes; but Constance's garments gave no sign of the Sabbath. +She wore a large apron over an old dress that was rather tight for her. +She was pale and looked ill. + +"Oh, mother!" Cyril exclaimed suddenly. "Listen! I'm sure I can hear +the band." + +She checked him with a soundless movement of her lips; and they both +glanced anxiously at the silent bed, Cyril with a gesture of apology +for having forgotten that he must make no noise. + +The strains of the band came from down King Street, in the direction of +St. Luke's Church. The music appeared to linger a long time in the +distance, and then it approached, growing louder, and the Bursley Town +Silver Prize Band passed under the window at the solemn pace of +Handel's "Dead March." The effect of that requiem, heavy with its own +inherent beauty and with the vast weight of harrowing tradition, was to +wring the tears from Constance's eyes; they fell on her aproned bosom, +and she sank into a chair. And though, the cheeks of the trumpeters +were puffed out, and though the drummer had to protrude his stomach and +arch his spine backwards lest he should tumble over his drum, there was +majesty in the passage of the band. The boom of the drum, desolating +the interruptions of the melody, made sick the heart, but with a lofty +grief; and the dirge seemed to be weaving a purple pall that covered +every meanness. + +The bandsmen were not all in black, but they all wore crape on their +sleeves and their instruments were knotted with crape. They carried in +their hats a black-edged card. Cyril held one of these cards in his +hands. It ran thus: + +SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF DANIEL POVEY A TOWN COUNCILLOR OF THIS TOWN +JUDICIALLY MURDERED AT 8 O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING 8TH FEBRUARY 1888 "HE +WAS MORE SINNED AGAINST THAN SINNING." + +In the wake of the band came the aged Rector, bare-headed, and wearing +a surplice over his overcoat; his thin white hair was disarranged by +the breeze that played in the chilly sunshine; his hands were folded on +a gilt-edged book. A curate, churchwardens, and sidesmen followed. And +after these, tramping through the dark mud in a procession that had +apparently no end, wound the unofficial male multitude, nearly all in +mourning, and all, save the more aristocratic, carrying the memorial +card in their hats. Loafers, women, and children had collected on the +drying pavements, and a window just opposite Constance was ornamented +with the entire family of the landlord of the Sun Vaults. In the great +bar of the Vaults a barman was craning over the pitchpine screen that +secured privacy to drinkers. The procession continued without break, +eternally rising over the verge of King Street 'bank,' and eternally +vanishing round the corner into St. Luke's Square; at intervals it was +punctuated by a clergyman, a Nonconformist minister, a town crier, a +group of foremen, or a few Rifle Volunteers. The watching crowd grew as +the procession lengthened. Then another band was heard, also playing +the march from Saul. The first band had now reached the top of the +Square, and was scarcely audible from King Street. The reiterated +glitter in the sun of memorial cards in hats gave the fanciful illusion +of an impossible whitish snake that was straggling across the town. +Three-quarters of an hour elapsed before the tail of the snake came +into view, and a rabble of unkempt boys closed in upon it, filling the +street. + +"I shall go to the drawing-room window, mother," said Cyril. + +She nodded. He crept out of the bedroom. + +St. Luke's Square was a sea of hats and memorial cards. Most of the +occupiers of the Square had hung out flags at half-mast, and a flag at +half-mast was flying over the Town Hall in the distance. Sightseers +were at every window. The two bands had united at the top of the +Square; and behind them, on a North Staffordshire Railway lorry, stood +the white-clad Rector and several black figures. The Rector was +speaking; but only those close to the lorry could hear his feeble +treble voice. + +Such was the massive protest of Bursley against what Bursley regarded +as a callous injustice. The execution of Daniel Povey had most +genuinely excited the indignation of the town. That execution was not +only an injustice; it was an insult, a humiliating snub. And the worst +was that the rest of the country had really discovered no sympathetic +interest in the affair. Certain London papers, indeed, in commenting +casually on the execution, had slurred the morals and manners of the +Five Towns, professing to regard the district as notoriously beyond the +realm of the Ten Commandments. This had helped to render furious the +townsmen. This, as much as anything, had encouraged the spontaneous +outburst of feeling which had culminated in a St. Luke's Square full of +people with memorial cards in their hats. The demonstration had +scarcely been organized; it had somehow organized itself, employing the +places of worship and a few clubs as centres of gathering. And it +proved an immense success. There were seven or eight thousand people in +the Square, and the pity was that England as a whole could not have had +a glimpse of the spectacle. Since the execution of the elephant, +nothing had so profoundly agitated Bursley. Constance, who left the +bedroom momentarily for the drawing-room, reflected that the death and +burial of Cyril's honoured grandfather, though a resounding event, had +not caused one-tenth of the stir which she beheld. But then John Baines +had killed nobody. + +The Rector spoke too long; every one felt that. But at length he +finished. The bands performed the Doxology, and the immense multitudes +began to disperse by the eight streets that radiate from the Square. At +the same time one o'clock struck, and the public-houses opened with +their customary admirable promptitude. Respectable persons, of course, +ignored the public-houses and hastened homewards to a delayed dinner. +But in a town of over thirty thousand souls there are sufficient dregs +to fill all the public-houses on an occasion of ceremonial excitement. +Constance saw the bar of the Vaults crammed with individuals whose +sense of decent fitness was imperfect. The barman and the landlord and +the principal members of the landlord's family were hard put to it to +quench that funereal thirst. Constance, as she ate a little meal in the +bedroom, could not but witness the orgy. A bandsman with his silver +instrument was prominent at the counter. At five minutes to three the +Vaults spewed forth a squirt of roysterers who walked on the pavement +as on a tight-rope; among them was the bandsman, his silver instrument +only half enveloped in its bag of green serge. He established an +equilibrium in the gutter. It would not have mattered so seriously if +he had not been a bandsman. The barman and the landlord pushed the +ultimate sot by force into the street and bolted the door (till six +o'clock) just as a policeman strolled along, the first policeman of the +day. It became known that similar scenes were enacting at the +thresholds of other inns. And the judicious were sad. + +VI + +When the altercation between the policeman and the musician in the +gutter was at its height, Samuel Povey became restless; but since he +had scarcely stirred through the performances of the bands, it was +probably not the cries of the drunkard that had aroused him. + +He had shown very little interest in the preliminaries of the great +demonstration. The flame of his passion for the case of Daniel Povey +seemed to have shot up on the day before the execution, and then to +have expired. On that day he went to Stafford in order, by permit of +the prison governor, to see his cousin for the last time. His condition +then was undoubtedly not far removed from monomania. 'Unhinged' was the +conventional expression which frequently rose in Constance's mind as a +description of the mind of her husband; but she fought it down; she +would not have it; it was too crude--with its associations. She would +only admit that the case had 'got on' his mind. A startling proof of +this was that he actually suggested taking Cyril with him to see the +condemned man. He wished Cyril to see Daniel; he said gravely that he +thought Cyril ought to see him. The proposal was monstrous, +inexplicable--or explicable only by the assumption that his mind, while +not unhinged, had temporarily lost its balance. Constance opposed an +absolute negative, and Samuel being in every way enfeebled, she +overcame. As for Cyril, he was divided between fear and curiosity. On +the whole, perhaps Cyril regretted that he would not be able to say at +school that he had had speech with the most celebrated killer of the +age on the day before his execution. + +Samuel returned hysterical from Stafford. His account of the scene, +which he gave in a very loud voice, was a most absurd and yet pathetic +recital, obviously distorted by memory. When he came to the point of +the entrance of Dick Povey, who was still at the hospital, and who had +been specially driven to Stafford and carried into the prison, he wept +without restraint. His hysteria was painful in a very high degree. + +He went to bed--of his own accord, for his cough had improved again. +And on the following day, the day of the execution, he remained in bed +till the afternoon. In the evening the Rector sent for him to the +Rectory to discuss the proposed demonstration. On the next day, +Saturday, he said he should not get up. Icy showers were sweeping the +town, and his cough was worse after the evening visit to the Rector. +Constance had no apprehensions about him. The most dangerous part of +the winter was over, and there was nothing now to force him into +indiscretions. She said to herself calmly that he should stay in bed as +long as he liked, that he could not have too much repose after the +cruel fatigues, physical and spiritual, which he had suffered. His +cough was short, but not as troublesome as in the past; his face +flushed, dusky, and settled in gloom; and he was slightly feverish, +with quick pulse and quick breathing--the symptoms of a renewed cold. +He passed a wakeful night, broken by brief dreams in which he talked. +At dawn he had some hot food, asked what day it was, frowned, and +seemed to doze off at once. At eleven o'clock he had refused food. And +he had intermittently dozed during the progress of the demonstration +and its orgiastic sequel. + +Constance had food ready for his waking, and she approached the bed and +leaned over him. The fever had increased somewhat, the breathing was +more rapid, and his lips were covered with tiny purple pimples. He +feebly shook his head, with a disgusted air, at her mention of food. It +was this obstinate refusal of food which first alarmed her. A little +uncomfortable suspicion shot up in her: Surely there's nothing the +MATTER with him? + +Something--impossible to say what--caused her to bend still lower, and +put her ear to his chest. She heard within that mysterious box a rapid +succession of thin, dry, crackling sounds: sounds such as she would +have produced by rubbing her hair between her fingers close to her ear. +The crepitation ceased, then recommenced, and she perceived that it +coincided with the intake of his breath. He coughed; the sounds were +intensified; a spasm of pain ran over his face; and he put his damp +hand to his side. + +"Pain in my side!" he whispered with difficulty. + +Constance stepped into the drawing-room, where Cyril was sketching by +the fire. + +"Cyril," she said, "go across and ask Dr. Harrop to come round at once. +And if he isn't in, then his new partner." + +"Is it for father?" + +"Yes." + +"What's the matter?" + +"Now do as I say, please," said Constance, sharply, adding: "I don't +know what's the matter. Perhaps nothing. But I'm not satisfied." + +The venerable Harrop pronounced the word 'pneumonia.' It was acute +double pneumonia that Samuel had got. During the three worst months of +the year, he had escaped the fatal perils which await a man with a flat +chest and a chronic cough, who ignores his condition and defies the +weather. But a journey of five hundred yards to the Rectory had been +one journey too many. The Rectory was so close to the shop that he had +not troubled to wrap himself up as for an excursion to Stafford. He +survived the crisis of the disease and then died of toxsemia, caused by +a heart that would not do its duty by the blood. A casual death, scarce +noticed in the reaction after the great febrile demonstration! Besides, +Samuel Povey never could impose himself on the burgesses. He lacked +individuality. He was little. I have often laughed at Samuel Povey. But +I liked and respected him. He was a very honest man. I have always been +glad to think that, at the end of his life, destiny took hold of him +and displayed, to the observant, the vein of greatness which runs +through every soul without exception. He embraced a cause, lost it, and +died of it. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE WIDOW + +I + + +Constance, alone in the parlour, stood expectant by the set tea-table. +She was not wearing weeds; her mother and she, on the death of her +father, had talked of the various disadvantages of weeds; her mother +had worn them unwillingly, and only because a public opinion not +sufficiently advanced had intimidated her. Constance had said: "If ever +I'm a widow I won't wear them," positively, in the tone of youth; and +Mrs. Baines had replied: "I hope you won't, my dear." That was over +twenty years ago, but Constance perfectly remembered. And now, she was +a widow! How strange and how impressive was life! And she had kept her +word; not positively, not without hesitations; for though times were +changed, Bursley was still Bursley; but she had kept it. + +This was the first Monday after Samuel's funeral. Existence in the +house had been resumed on the plane which would henceforth be the +normal plane. Constance had put on for tea a dress of black silk with a +jet brooch of her mother's. Her hands, just meticulously washed, had +that feeling of being dirty which comes from roughening of the +epidermis caused by a day spent in fingering stuffs. She had been +'going through' Samuel's things, and her own, and ranging all anew. It +was astonishing how little the man had collected, of 'things,' in the +course of over half a century. All his clothes were contained in two +long drawers and a short one. He had the least possible quantity of +haberdashery and linen, for he invariably took from the shop such +articles as he required, when he required them, and he would never +preserve what was done with. He possessed no jewellery save a set of +gold studs, a scarf-ring, and a wedding-ring; the wedding-ring was +buried with him. Once, when Constance had offered him her father's gold +watch and chain, he had politely refused it, saying that he preferred +his own--a silver watch (with a black cord) which kept excellent time; +he had said later that she might save the gold watch and chain for +Cyril when he was twenty-one. Beyond these trifles and a half-empty box +of cigars and a pair of spectacles, he left nothing personal to +himself. Some men leave behind them a litter which takes months to sift +and distribute. But Samuel had not the mania for owning. Constance put +his clothes in a box to be given away gradually (all except an overcoat +and handkerchiefs which might do for Cyril); she locked up the watch +and its black cord, the spectacles and the scarf-ring; she gave the +gold studs to Cyril; she climbed on a chair and hid the cigar-box on +the top of her wardrobe; and scarce a trace of Samuel remained! + +By his own wish the funeral had been as simple and private as possible. +One or two distant relations, whom Constance scarcely knew and who +would probably not visit her again until she too was dead, came--and +went. And lo! the affair was over. The simple celerity of the funeral +would have satisfied even Samuel, whose tremendous self-esteem hid +itself so effectually behind such externals that nobody had ever fully +perceived it. Not even Constance quite knew Samuel's secret opinion of +Samuel. Constance was aware that he had a ridiculous side, that his +greatest lack had been a lack of spectacular dignity. Even in the +coffin, where nevertheless most people are finally effective, he had +not been imposing--with his finicky little grey beard persistently +sticking up. + +The vision of him in his coffin--there in the churchyard, just at the +end of King Street!--with the lid screwed down on that unimportant +beard, recurred frequently in the mind of the widow, as something +untrue and misleading. She had to say to herself: "Yes, he is really +there! And that is why I have this particular feeling in my heart." She +saw him as an object pathetic and wistful, not majestic. And yet she +genuinely thought that there could not exist another husband quite so +honest, quite so just, quite so reliable, quite so good, as Samuel had +been. What a conscience he had! How he would try, and try, to be fair +with her! Twenty years she could remember, of ceaseless, constant +endeavour on his part to behave rightly to her! She could recall many +an occasion when he had obviously checked himself, striving against his +tendency to cold abruptness and to sullenness, in order to give her the +respect due to a wife. What loyalty was his! How she could depend on +him! How much better he was than herself (she thought with modesty)! + +His death was an amputation for her. But she faced it with calmness. +She was not bowed with sorrow. She did not nurse the idea that her life +was at an end; on the contrary, she obstinately put it away from her, +dwelling on Cyril. She did not indulge in the enervating voluptuousness +of grief. She had begun in the first hours of bereavement by picturing +herself as one marked out for the blows of fate. She had lost her +father and her mother, and now her husband. Her career seemed to be +punctuated by interments. But after a while her gentle commonsense came +to insist that most human beings lose their parents, and that every +marriage must end in either a widower or a widow, and that all careers +are punctuated by interments. Had she not had nearly twenty-one years +of happy married life? (Twenty-one years--rolled up! The sudden thought +of their naive ignorance of life, hers and his, when they were first +married, brought tears into her eyes. How wise and experienced she was +now!) And had she not Cyril? Compared to many women, she was indeed +very fortunate. + +The one visitation which had been specially hers was the disappearance +of Sophia. And yet even that was not worse than the death outright of +Sophia, was perhaps not so bad. For Sophia might return out of the +darkness. The blow of Sophia's flight had seemed unique when it was +fresh, and long afterwards; had seemed to separate the Baines family +from all other families in a particular shame. But at the age of +forty-three Constance had learnt that such events are not uncommon in +families, and strange sequels to them not unknown. Thinking often of +Sophia, she hoped wildly and frequently. + +She looked at the clock; she had a little spasm of nervousness lest +Cyril might fail to keep his word on that first day of their new +regular life together. And at the instant he burst into the room, +invading it like an armed force, having previously laid waste the shop +in his passage. + +"I'm not late, mother! I'm not late!" he cried proudly. + +She smiled warmly, happy in him, drawing out of him balm and solace. He +did not know that in that stout familiar body before him was a +sensitive, trembling soul that clutched at him ecstatically as the one +reality in the universe. He did not know that that evening meal, +partaken of without hurry after school had released him to her, was to +be the ceremonial sign of their intimate unity and their +interdependence, a tender and delicious proof that they were 'all in +all to each other': he saw only his tea, for which he was hungry--just +as hungry as though his father were not scarcely yet cold in the grave. + +But he saw obscurely that the occasion demanded something not quite +ordinary, and so exerted himself to be boyishly charming to his mother. +She said to herself 'how good he was.' He felt at ease and confident in +the future, because he detected beneath her customary judicial, +impartial mask a clear desire to spoil him. + +After tea, she regretfully left him, at his home-lessons, in order to +go into the shop. The shop was the great unsolved question. What was +she to do with the shop? Was she to continue the business or to sell +it? With the fortunes of her father and her aunt, and the economies of +twenty years, she had more than sufficient means. She was indeed rich, +according to the standards of the Square; nay, wealthy! Therefore she +was under no material compulsion to keep the shop. Moreover, to keep it +would mean personal superintendence and the burden of responsibility, +from which her calm lethargy shrank. On the other hand, to dispose of +the business would mean the breaking of ties and leaving the premises: +and from this also she shrank. Young Lawton, without being asked, had +advised her to sell. But she did not want to sell. She wanted the +impossible: that matters should proceed in the future as in the past, +that Samuel's death should change nothing save in her heart. + +In the meantime Miss Insull was priceless. Constance thoroughly +understood one side of the shop; but Miss Insull understood both, and +the finance of it also. Miss Insull could have directed the +establishment with credit, if not with brilliance. She was indeed +directing it at that moment. Constance, however, felt jealous of Miss +Insull; she was conscious of a slight antipathy towards the faithful +one. She did not care to be in the hands of Miss Insull. + +There were one or two customers at the millinery counter. They greeted +her with a deplorable copiousness of tact. Most tactfully they avoided +any reference to Constance's loss; but by their tone, their glances, at +Constance and at each other, and their heroically restrained sighs, +they spread desolation as though they had been spreading ashes instead +of butter on bread. The assistants, too, had a special demeanour for +the poor lone widow which was excessively trying to her. She wished to +be natural, and she would have succeeded, had they not all of them +apparently conspired together to make her task impossible. + +She moved away to the other side of the shop, to Samuel's desk, at +which he used to stand, staring absently out of the little window into +King Street while murmurously casting figures. She lighted the gas-jet +there, arranged the light exactly to suit her, and then lifted the +large flap of the desk and drew forth some account books. + +"Miss Insull!" she called, in a low, clear voice, with a touch of +haughtiness and a touch of command in it. The pose, a comical +contradiction of Constance's benevolent character, was deliberately +adopted; it illustrated the effects of jealousy on even the softest +disposition. + +Miss Insull responded. She had no alternative but to respond. And she +gave no sign of resenting her employer's attitude. But then Miss Insull +seldom did give any sign of being human. + +The customers departed, one after another, obsequiously sped by the +assistants, who thereupon lowered the gases somewhat, according to +secular rule; and in the dim eclipse, as they restored boxes to +shelves, they could hear the tranquil, regular, half-whispered +conversation of the two women at the desk, discussing accounts; and +then the chink of gold. + +Suddenly there was an irruption. One of the assistants sprang +instinctively to the gas; but on perceiving that the disturber of peace +was only a slatternly girl, hatless and imperfectly clean, she decided +to leave the gas as it was, and put on a condescending, suspicious +demeanour. + +"If you please, can I speak to the missis?" said the girl, breathlessly. + +She seemed to be about eighteen years of age, fat and plain. Her blue +frock was torn, and over it she wore a rough brown apron, caught up at +one corner to the waist. Her bare forearms were of brick-red colour. + +"What is it?" demanded the assistant. + +Miss Insull looked over her shoulder across the shop. "It must be +Maggie's--Mrs. Hollins's daughter!" said Miss Insull under her breath. + +"What can she want?" said Constance, leaving the desk instantly; and to +the girl, who stood sturdily holding her own against the group of +assistants: "You are Mrs. Hollins's daughter, aren't you?" + +"Yes, mum." + +"What's your name?" + +"Maggie, mum. And, if you please, mother's sent me to ask if you'll +kindly give her a funeral card." + +"A funeral card?" + +"Yes. Of Mr. Povey. She's been expecting of one, and she thought as how +perhaps you'd forgotten it, especially as she wasn't asked to the +funeral." + +The girl stopped. + +Constance perceived that by mere negligence she had seriously wounded +the feelings of Maggie, senior. The truth was, she had never thought of +Maggie. She ought to have remembered that funeral cards were almost the +sole ornamentation of Maggie's abominable cottage. + +"Certainly," she replied after a pause. "Miss Insull, there are a few +cards left in the desk, aren't there? Please put me one in an envelope +for Mrs. Hollins." + +She gave the heavily bordered envelope to the ruddy wench, who enfolded +it in her apron, and with hurried, shy thanks ran off. + +"Tell your mother I send her a card with pleasure," Constance called +after the girl. + +The strangeness of the hazards of life made her thoughtful. She, to +whom Maggie had always seemed an old woman, was a widow, but Maggie's +husband survived as a lusty invalid. And she guessed that Maggie, +vilely struggling in squalor and poverty, was somehow happy in her +frowsy, careless way. + +She went back to the accounts, dreaming. + +II + +When the shop had been closed, under her own critical and precise +superintendence, she extinguished the last gas in it and returned to +the parlour, wondering where she might discover some entirely reliable +man or boy to deal with the shutters night and morning. Samuel had +ordinarily dealt with the shutters himself, and on extraordinary +occasions and during holidays Miss Insull and one of her subordinates +had struggled with their unwieldiness. But the extraordinary occasion +had now become ordinary, and Miss Insull could not be expected to +continue indefinitely in the functions of a male. Constance had a mind +to engage an errand-boy, a luxury against which Samuel had always set +his face. She did not dream of asking the herculean Cyril to open and +shut shop. + +He had apparently finished his home-lessons. The books were pushed +aside, and he was sketching in lead-pencil on a drawing-block. To the +right of the fireplace, over the sofa, there hung an engraving after +Landseer, showing a lonely stag paddling into a lake. The stag at eve +had drunk or was about to drink his fill, and Cyril was copying him. He +had already indicated a flight of birds in the middle distance; vague +birds on the wing being easier than detailed stags, he had begun with +the birds. + +Constance put a hand on his shoulder. "Finished your lessons?" she +murmured caressingly. + +Before speaking, Cyril gazed up at the picture with a frowning, busy +expression, and then replied in an absent-minded voice: + +"Yes." And after a pause: "Except my arithmetic. I shall do that in the +morning before breakfast." + +"Oh, Cyril!" she protested. + +It had been a positive ordinance, for a long time past, that there +should be no sketching until lessons were done. In his father's +lifetime Cyril had never dared to break it. + +He bent over his block, feigning an intense absorption. Constance's +hand slipped from his shoulder. She wanted to command him formally to +resume his lessons. But she could not. She feared an argument; she +mistrusted herself. And, moreover, it was so soon after his father's +death! + +"You know you won't have time to-morrow morning!" she said weakly. + +"Oh, mother!" he retorted superiorly. "Don't worry." And then, in a +cajoling tone: "I've wanted to do that stag for ages." + +She sighed and sat down in her rocking-chair. He went on sketching, +rubbing out, and making queer expostulatory noises against his pencil, +or against the difficulties needlessly invented by Sir Edwin Landseer. +Once he rose and changed the position of the gas-bracket, staring +fiercely at the engraving as though it had committed a sin. + +Amy came to lay the supper. He did not acknowledge that she existed. + +"Now, Master Cyril, after you with that table, if you please!" She +announced herself brusquely, with the privilege of an old servant and a +woman who would never see thirty again. + +"What a nuisance you are, Amy!" he gruffly answered. "Look here, +mother, can't Amy lay the cloth on that half of the table? I'm right in +the middle of my drawing. There's plenty of room there for two." + +He seemed not to be aware that, in the phrase 'plenty of room for two,' +he had made a callous reference to their loss. The fact was, there WAS +plenty of room for two. + +Constance said quickly: "Very well, Amy. For this once." + +Amy grunted, but obeyed. + +Constance had to summon him twice from art to nourishment. He ate with +rapidity, frequently regarding the picture with half-shut, searching +eyes. When he had finished, he refilled his glass with water, and put +it next to his sketching-block. + +"You surely aren't thinking of beginning to paint at this time of +night!" Constance exclaimed, astonished. + +"Oh YES, mother!" he fretfully appealed. "It's not late." + +Another positive ordinance of his father's had been that there should +be nothing after supper except bed. Nine o'clock was the latest +permissible moment for going to bed. It was now less than a quarter to. + +"It only wants twelve minutes to nine," Constance pointed out. + +"Well, what if it does?" + +"Now, Cyril," she said, "I do hope you are going to be a good boy, and +not cause your mother anxiety." + +But she said it too kindly. + +He said sullenly: "I do think you might let me finish it. I've begun +it. It won't take me long." + +She made the mistake of leaving the main point. "How can you possibly +choose your colours properly by gas-light?" she said. + +"I'm going to do it in sepia," he replied in triumph. + +"It mustn't occur again," she said. + +He thanked God for a good supper, and sprang to the harmonium, where +his paint-box was. Amy cleared away. Constance did crochet-work. There +was silence. The clock struck nine, and it also struck half-past nine. +She warned him repeatedly. At ten minutes to ten she said persuasively: + +"Now, Cyril, when the clock strikes ten I shall really put the gas out." + +The clock struck ten. + +"Half a mo, half a mo!" he cried. "I've done! I've done!" + +Her hand was arrested. + +Another four minutes elapsed, and then he jumped up. "There you are!" +he said proudly, showing her the block. And all his gestures were full +of grace and cajolery. + +"Yes, it's very good," Constance said, rather indifferently. + +"I don't believe you care for it!" he accused her, but with a bright +smile. + +"I care for your health," she said. "Just look at that clock!" + +He sat down in the other rocking-chair, deliberately. + +"Now, Cyril!" + +"Well, mother, I suppose you'll let me take my boots off!" He said it +with teasing good-humour. + +When he kissed her good night, she wanted to cling to him, so +affectionate was his kiss; but she could not throw off the habits of +restraint which she had been originally taught and had all her life +practised. She keenly regretted the inability. + +In her bedroom, alone, she listened to his movements as he undressed. +The door between the two rooms was unlatched. She had to control a +desire to open it ever so little and peep at him. He would not have +liked that. He could have enriched her heart beyond all hope, and at no +cost to himself; but he did not know his power. As she could not cling +to him with her hands, she clung to him with that heart of hers, while +moving sedately up and down the room, alone. And her eyes saw him +through the solid wood of the door. At last she got heavily into bed. +She thought with placid anxiety, in the dark: "I shall have to be firm +with Cyril." And she thought also, simultaneously: "He really must be a +good boy. He MUST." And clung to him passionately, without shame! Lying +alone there in the dark, she could be as unrestrained and girlish as +her heart chose. When she loosed her hold she instantly saw the boy's +father arranged in his coffin, or flitting about the room. Then she +would hug that vision too, for the pleasure of the pain it gave her. + +III + +She was reassured as to Cyril during the next few days. He did not +attempt to repeat his ingenious naughtiness of the Monday evening, and +he came directly home for tea; moreover he had, as a kind of miracle +performed to dazzle her, actually arisen early on the Tuesday morning +and done his arithmetic. To express her satisfaction she had +manufactured a specially elaborate straw-frame for the sketch after Sir +Edwin Landseer, and had hung it in her bedroom: an honour which Cyril +appreciated. She was as happy as a woman suffering from a recent +amputation can be; and compared with the long nightmare created by +Samuel's monomania and illness, her existence seemed to be now a +beneficent calm. + +Cyril, she thought, had realized the importance in her eyes of tea, of +that evening hour and that companionship which were for her the +flowering of the day. And she had such confidence in his goodness that +she would pour the boiling water on the Horniman tea-leaves even before +he arrived: certainty could not be more sure. And then, on the Friday +of the first week, he was late! He bounded in, after dark, and the +state of his clothes indicated too clearly that he had been playing +football in the mud that was a grassy field in summer. + +"Have you been kept in, my boy?" she asked, for the sake of form. + +"No, mother," he said casually. "We were just kicking the ball about a +bit. Am I late?" + +"Better go and tidy yourself," she said, not replying to his question. +"You can't sit down in that state. And I'll have some fresh tea made. +This is spoilt." + +"Oh, very well!" + +Her sacred tea--the institution which she wanted to hallow by long +habit, and which was to count before everything with both of them--had +been carelessly sacrificed to the kicking of a football in mud! And his +father buried not ten days! She was wounded: a deep, clean, dangerous +wound that would not bleed. She tried to be glad that he had not lied; +he might easily have lied, saying that he had been detained for a fault +and could not help being late. No! He was not given to lying; he would +lie, like any human being, when a great occasion demanded such +prudence, but he was not a liar; he might fairly be called a truthful +boy. She tried to be glad, and did not succeed. She would have +preferred him to have lied. + +Amy, grumbling, had to boil more water. + +When he returned to the parlour, superficially cleaned, Constance +expected him to apologize in his roundabout boyish way; at any rate to +woo and wheedle her, to show by some gesture that he was conscious of +having put an affront on her. But his attitude was quite otherwise. His +attitude was rather brusque and overbearing and noisy. He ate a very +considerable amount of jam, far too quickly, and then asked for more, +in a tone of a monarch who calls for his own. And ere tea was finished +he said boldly, apropos of nothing: + +"I say, mother, you'll just have to let me go to the School of Art +after Easter." + +And stared at her with a fixed challenge in his eyes. + +He meant, by the School of Art, the evening classes at the School of +Art. His father had decided absolutely against the project. His father +had said that it would interfere with his lessons, would keep him up +too late at night, and involve absence from home in the evening. The +last had always been the real objection. His father had not been able +to believe that Cyril's desire to study art sprang purely from his love +of art; he could not avoid suspecting that it was a plan to obtain +freedom in the evenings--that freedom which Samuel had invariably +forbidden. In all Cyril's suggestions Samuel had been ready to detect +the same scheme lurking. He had finally said that when Cyril left +school and took to a vocation, then he could study art at night if he +chose, but not before. + +"You know what your father said!" Constance replied. + +"But, mother! That's all very well! I'm sure father would have agreed. +If I'm going to take up drawing I ought to do it at once. That's what +the drawing-master says, and I suppose he ought to know." He finished +on a tone of insolence. + +"I can't allow you to do it yet," said Constance, quietly. "It's quite +out of the question. Quite!" + +He pouted and then he sulked. It was war between them. At times he was +the image of his Aunt Sophia. He would not leave the subject alone; but +he would not listen to Constance's reasoning. He openly accused her of +harshness. He asked her how she could expect him to get on if she +thwarted him in his most earnest desires. He pointed to other boys +whose parents were wiser. + +"It's all very fine of you to put it on father!" he observed +sarcastically. + +He gave up his drawing entirely. + +When she hinted that if he attended the School of Art she would be +condemned to solitary evenings, he looked at her as though saying: +"Well, and if you are--?" He seemed to have no heart. + +After several weeks of intense unhappiness she said: "How many evenings +do you want to go?" + +The war was over. + +He was charming again. When she was alone she could cling to him again. +And she said to herself: "If we can be happy together only when I give +way to him, I must give way to him." And there was ecstasy in her +yielding. "After all," she said to herself, "perhaps it's very +important that he should go to the School of Art." She solaced herself +with such thoughts on three solitary evenings a week, waiting for him +to come home. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +BRICKS AND MORTAR + +I + + +In the summer of that year the occurrence of a white rash of posters on +hoardings and on certain houses and shops, was symptomatic of organic +change in the town. The posters were iterations of a mysterious +announcement and summons, which began with the august words: "By Order +of the Trustees of the late William Clews Mericarp, Esq." Mericarp had +been a considerable owner of property in Bursley. After a prolonged +residence at Southport, he had died, at the age of eighty-two, leaving +his property behind. For sixty years he had been a name, not a figure; +and the news of his death, which was assuredly an event, incited the +burgesses to gossip, for they had come to regard him as one of the +invisible immortals. Constance was shocked, though she had never seen +Mericarp. ("Everybody dies nowadays!" she thought.) He owned the +Baines-Povey shop, and also Mr. Critchlow's shop. Constance knew not +how often her father and, later, her husband, had renewed the lease of +those premises that were now hers; but from her earliest recollections +rose a vague memory of her father talking to her mother about +'Mericarp's rent,' which was and always had been a hundred a year. +Mericarp had earned the reputation of being 'a good landlord.' +Constance said sadly: "We shall never have another as good!" When a +lawyer's clerk called and asked her to permit the exhibition of a +poster in each of her shop-windows, she had misgivings for the future; +she was worried; she decided that she would determine the lease next +year, so as to be on the safe side; but immediately afterwards she +decided that she could decide nothing. + +The posters continued: "To be sold by auction, at the Tiger Hotel at +six-thirty for seven o'clock precisely." What six-thirty had to do with +seven o'clock precisely no one knew. Then, after stating the name and +credentials of the auctioneer, the posters at length arrived at the +objects to be sold: "All those freehold messuages and shops and +copyhold tenements namely." Houses were never sold by auction in +Bursley. At moments of auction burgesses were reminded that the +erections they lived in were not houses, as they had falsely supposed, +but messuages. Having got as far as 'namely' the posters ruled a line +and began afresh: "Lot I. All that extensive and commodious shop and +messuage with the offices and appurtenances thereto belonging situate +and being No. 4 St. Luke's Square in the parish of Bursley in the +County of Stafford and at present in the occupation of Mrs. Constance +Povey widow under a lease expiring in September 1889." Thus clearly +asserting that all Constance's shop was for sale, its whole entirety, +and not a fraction or slice of it merely, the posters proceeded: "Lot +2. All that extensive and commodious shop and messuage with the offices +and appurtenances thereto belonging situate and being No. 3 St. Luke's +Square in the parish of Bursley in the County of Stafford and at +present in the occupation of Charles Critchlow chemist under an +agreement for a yearly tenancy." The catalogue ran to fourteen lots. +The posters, lest any one should foolishly imagine that a non-legal +intellect could have achieved such explicit and comprehensive clarity +of statement, were signed by a powerful firm of solicitors in +Hanbridge. Happily in the Five Towns there were no metaphysicians; +otherwise the firm might have been expected to explain, in the 'further +particulars and conditions' which the posters promised, how even a +messuage could 'be' the thing at which it was 'situate.' + +Within a few hours of the outbreak of the rash, Mr. Critchlow abruptly +presented himself before Constance at the millinery counter; he was +waving a poster. + +"Well!" he exclaimed grimly. "What next, eh?" + +"Yes, indeed!" Constance responded. + +"Are ye thinking o' buying?" he asked. All the assistants, including +Miss Insull, were in hearing, but he ignored their presence. + +"Buying!" repeated Constance. "Not me! I've got quite enough house +property as it is." + +Like all owners of real property, she usually adopted towards her +possessions an attitude implying that she would be willing to pay +somebody to take them from her. + +"Shall you?" she added, with Mr. Critchlow's own brusqueness. + +"Me! Buy property in St. Luke's Square!" Mr. Critchlow sneered. And +then left the shop as suddenly as he had entered it. + +The sneer at St. Luke's Square was his characteristic expression of an +opinion which had been slowly forming for some years. The Square was no +longer what it had been, though individual businesses might be as good +as ever. For nearly twelve months two shops had been to let in it. And +once, bankruptcy had stained its annals. The tradesmen had naturally +searched for a cause in every direction save the right one, the obvious +one; and naturally they had found a cause. According to the tradesmen, +the cause was 'this football.' The Bursley Football Club had recently +swollen into a genuine rival of the ancient supremacy of the celebrated +Knype Club. It had transformed itself into a limited company, and +rented a ground up the Moorthorne Road, and built a grand stand. The +Bursley F.C. had 'tied' with the Knype F.C. on the Knype ground--a +prodigious achievement, an achievement which occupied a column of the +Athletic News one Monday morning! But were the tradesmen civically +proud of this glory? No! They said that 'this football' drew people out +of the town on Saturday afternoons, to the complete abolition of +shopping. They said also that people thought of nothing but 'this +football;' and, nearly in the same breath, that only roughs and +good-for-nothings could possibly be interested in such a barbarous +game. And they spoke of gate-money, gambling, and professionalism, and +the end of all true sport in England. In brief, something new had come +to the front and was submitting to the ordeal of the curse. + +The sale of the Mericarp estate had a particular interest for +respectable stake-in-the-town persons. It would indicate to what +extent, if at all, 'this football' was ruining Bursley. Constance +mentioned to Cyril that she fancied she might like to go to the sale, +and as it was dated for one of Cyril's off-nights Cyril said that he +fancied he might like to go too. So they went together; Samuel used to +attend property sales, but he had never taken his wife to one. +Constance and Cyril arrived at the Tiger shortly after seven o'clock, +and were directed to a room furnished and arranged as for a small +public meeting of philanthropists. A few gentlemen were already +present, but not the instigating trustees, solicitors, and auctioneers. +It appeared that 'six-thirty for seven o'clock precisely' meant +seven-fifteen. Constance took a Windsor chair in the corner nearest the +door, and motioned Cyril to the next chair; they dared not speak; they +moved on tiptoe; Cyril inadvertently dragged his chair along the floor, +and produced a scrunching sound; he blushed, as though he had +desecrated a church, and his mother made a gesture of horror. The +remainder of the company glanced at the corner, apparently pained by +this negligence. Some of them greeted Constance, but self-consciously, +with a sort of shamed air; it might have been that they had all +nefariously gathered together there for the committing of a crime. +Fortunately Constance's widowhood had already lost its touching +novelty, so that the greetings, if self-conscious, were at any rate +given without unendurable commiseration and did not cause awkwardness. + +When the official world arrived, fussy, bustling, bearing documents and +a hammer, the general feeling of guilty shame was intensified. Useless +for the auctioneer to try to dissipate the gloom by means of bright +gestures and quick, cheerful remarks to his supporters! Cyril had an +idea that the meeting would open with a hymn, until the apparition of a +tapster with wine showed him his error. The auctioneer very +particularly enjoined the tapster to see to it that no one lacked for +his thirst, and the tapster became self-consciously energetic. He began +by choosing Constance for service. In refusing wine, she blushed; then +the fellow offered a glass to Cyril, who went scarlet, and mumbled 'No' +with a lump in his throat; when the tapster's back was turned, he +smiled sheepishly at his mother. The majority of the company accepted +and sipped. The auctioneer sipped and loudly smacked, and said: "Ah!" + +Mr. Critchlow came in. + +And the auctioneer said again: "Ah! I'm always glad when the tenants +come. That's always a good sign." + +He glanced round for approval of this sentiment. But everybody seemed +too stiff to move. Even the auctioneer was self-conscious. + +"Waiter! Offer wine to Mr. Critchlow!" he exclaimed bullyingly, as if +saying: "Man! what on earth are you thinking of, to neglect Mr. +Critchlow?" + +"Yes, sir; yes, sir," said the waiter, who was dispensing wine as fast +as a waiter can. + +The auction commenced. + +Seizing the hammer, the auctioneer gave a short biography of William +Clews Mericarp, and, this pious duty accomplished, called upon a +solicitor to read the conditions of sale. The solicitor complied and +made a distressing exhibition of self-consciousness. The conditions of +sale were very lengthy, and apparently composed in a foreign tongue; +and the audience listened to this elocution with a stoical pretence of +breathless interest. + +Then the auctioneer put up all that extensive and commodious messuage +and shop situate and being No. 4, St. Luke's Square. Constance and +Cyril moved their limbs surreptitiously, as though being at last found +out. The auctioneer referred to John Baines and to Samuel Povey, with a +sense of personal loss, and then expressed his pleasure in the presence +of 'the ladies;' he meant Constance, who once more had to blush. + +"Now, gentlemen," said the auctioneer, "what do you say for these +famous premises? I think I do not exaggerate when I use the word +'famous.'" + +Some one said a thousand pounds, in the terrorized voice of a +delinquent. + +"A thousand pounds," repeated the auctioneer, paused, sipped, and +smacked. + +"Guineas," said another voice self-accused of iniquity. + +"A thousand and fifty," said the auctioneer. + +Then there was a long interval, an interval that tightened the nerves +of the assembly. + +"Now, ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer adjured. + +The first voice said sulkily: "Eleven hundred." + +And thus the bids rose to fifteen hundred, lifted bit by bit, as it +were, by the magnetic force of the auctioneer's personality. The man +was now standing up, in domination. He bent down to the solicitor's +head; they whispered together. + +"Gentlemen," said the auctioneer, "I am happy to inform you that the +sale is now open." His tone translated better than words his calm +professional beatitude. Suddenly in a voice of wrath he hissed at the +waiter: "Waiter, why don't you serve these gentlemen?" + +"Yes, sir; yes, sir." + +The auctioneer sat down and sipped at leisure, chatting with his clerk +and the solicitor and the solicitor's clerk. + +When he rose it was as a conqueror. "Gentlemen, fifteen hundred is bid. +Now, Mr. Critchlow." + +Mr. Critchlow shook his head. The auctioneer threw a courteous glance +at Constance, who avoided it. + +After many adjurations, he reluctantly raised his hammer, pretended to +let it fall, and saved it several times. + +And then Mr. Critchlow said: "And fifty." + +"Fifteen hundred and fifty is bid," the auctioneer informed the +company, electrifying the waiter once more. And when he had sipped he +said, with feigned sadness: "Come, gentlemen, you surely don't mean to +let this magnificent lot go for fifteen hundred and fifty pounds?" + +But they did mean that. + +The hammer fell, and the auctioneer's clerk and the solicitor's clerk +took Mr. Critchlow aside and wrote with him. + +Nobody was surprised when Mr. Critchlow bought Lot No. 2, his own shop. + +Constance whispered then to Cyril that she wished to leave. They left, +with unnatural precautions, but instantly regained their natural +demeanour in the dark street. + +"Well, I never! Well, I never!" she murmured outside, astonished and +disturbed. + +She hated the prospect of Mr. Critchlow as a landlord. And yet she +could not persuade herself to leave the place, in spite of decisions. + +The sale demonstrated that football had not entirely undermined the +commercial basis of society in Bursley; only two Lots had to be +withdrawn. + +II + +On Thursday afternoon of the same week the youth whom Constance had +ended by hiring for the manipulation of shutters and other jobs +unsuitable for fragile women, was closing the shop. The clock had +struck two. All the shutters were up except the last one, in the midst +of the doorway. Miss Insull and her mistress were walking about the +darkened interior, putting dust-sheets well over the edges of exposed +goods; the other assistants had just left. The bull-terrier had +wandered into the shop as he almost invariably did at closing time--for +he slept there, an efficient guard--and had lain down by the dying +stove; though not venerable, he was stiffening into age. + +"You can shut," said Miss Insull to the youth. + +But as the final shutter was ascending to its position, Mr. Critchlow +appeared on the pavement. + +"Hold on, young fellow!" Mr. Critchlow commanded, and stepped slowly, +lifting up his long apron, over the horizontal shutter on which the +perpendicular shutters rested in the doorway. + +"Shall you be long, Mr. Critchlow?" the youth asked, posing the +shutter. "Or am I to shut?" + +"Shut, lad," said Mr. Critchlow, briefly. "I'll go out by th' side +door." + +"Here's Mr. Critchlow!" Miss Insull called out to Constance, in a +peculiar tone. And a flush, scarcely perceptible, crept very slowly +over her dark features. In the twilight of the shop, lit only by a few +starry holes in the shutters, and by the small side-window, not the +keenest eye could have detected that flush. + +"Mr. Critchlow!" Constance murmured the exclamation. She resented his +future ownership of her shop. She thought he was come to play the +landlord, and she determined to let him see that her mood was +independent and free, that she would as lief give up the business as +keep it. In particular she meant to accuse him of having deliberately +deceived her as to his intentions on his previous visit. + +"Well, missis!" the aged man greeted her. "We've made it up between us. +Happen some folk'll think we've taken our time, but I don't know as +that's their affair." + +His little blinking eyes had a red border. The skin of his pale small +face was wrinkled in millions of minute creases. His arms and legs were +marvellously thin and sharply angular. The corners of his heliotrope +lips were turned down, as usual, in a mysterious comment on the world; +and his smile, as he fronted Constance with his excessive height, +crowned the mystery. + +Constance stared, at a loss. It surely could not after all be true, the +substance of the rumours that had floated like vapours in the Square +for eight years and more! + +"What...?" she began. + +"Me, and her!" He jerked his head in the direction of Miss Insull. + +The dog had leisurely strolled forward to inspect the edges of the +fiance's trousers. Miss Insull summoned the animal with a noise of +fingers, and then bent down and caressed it. A strange gesture proving +the validity of Charles Critchlow's discovery that in Maria Insull a +human being was buried! + +Miss Insull was, as near as any one could guess, forty years of age. +For twenty-five years she had served in the shop, passing about twelve +hours a day in the shop; attending regularly at least three religious +services at the Wesleyan Chapel or School on Sundays, and sleeping with +her mother, whom she kept. She had never earned more than thirty +shillings a week, and yet her situation was considered to be +exceptionally good. In the eternal fusty dusk of the shop she had +gradually lost such sexual characteristics and charms as she had once +possessed. She was as thin and flat as Charles Critchlow himself. It +was as though her bosom had suffered from a prolonged drought at a +susceptible period of development, and had never recovered. The one +proof that blood ran in her veins was the pimply quality of her ruined +complexion, and the pimples of that brickish expanse proved that the +blood was thin and bad. Her hands and feet were large and ungainly; the +skin of the fingers was roughened by coarse contacts to the texture of +emery-paper. On six days a week she wore black; on the seventh a kind +of discreet half-mourning. She was honest, capable, and industrious; +and beyond the confines of her occupation she had no curiosity, no +intelligence, no ideas. Superstitions and prejudices, deep and violent, +served her for ideas; but she could incomparably sell silks and +bonnets, braces and oilcloth; in widths, lengths, and prices she never +erred; she never annoyed a customer, nor foolishly promised what could +not be performed, nor was late nor negligent, nor disrespectful. No one +knew anything about her, because there was nothing to know. Subtract +the shop-assistant from her, and naught remained. Benighted and +spiritually dead, she existed by habit. + +But for Charles Critchlow she happened to be an illusion. He had cast +eyes on her and had seen youth, innocence, virginity. During eight +years the moth Charles had flitted round the lamp of her brilliance, +and was now singed past escape. He might treat her with what casualness +he chose; he might ignore her in public; he might talk brutally about +women; he might leave her to wonder dully what he meant, for months at +a stretch: but there emerged indisputable from the sum of his conduct +the fact that he wanted her. He desired her; she charmed him; she was +something ornamental and luxurious for which he was ready to pay--and +to commit follies. He had been a widower since before she was born; to +him she was a slip of a girl. All is relative in this world. As for +her, she was too indifferent to refuse him. Why refuse him? Oysters do +not refuse. + +"I'm sure I congratulate you both," Constance breathed, realizing the +import of Mr. Critchlow's laconic words. "I'm sure I hope you'll be +happy." + +"That'll be all right," said Mr. Critchlow. + +"Thank you, Mrs. Povey," said Maria Insull. + +Nobody seemed to know what to say next. "It's rather sudden," was on +Constance's tongue, but did not achieve utterance, being patently +absurd. + +"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Critchlow, as though himself contemplating anew the +situation. + +Miss Insull gave the dog a final pat. + +"So that's settled," said Mr. Critchlow. "Now, missis, ye want to give +up this shop, don't ye?" + +"I'm not so sure about that," Constance answered uneasily. + +"Don't tell me!" he protested. "Of course ye want to give up the shop." + +"I've lived here all my life," said Constance. + +"Ye've not lived in th' shop all ye're life. I said th' shop. Listen +here!" he continued. "I've got a proposal to make to you. You can keep +on the house, and I'll take the shop off ye're hands. Now?" He looked +at her inquiringly. + +Constance was taken aback by the brusqueness of the suggestion, which, +moreover, she did not understand. + +"But how--" she faltered. + +"Come here," said Mr. Critchlow, impatiently, and he moved towards the +house-door of the shop, behind the till. + +"Come where? What do you want?" Constance demanded in a maze. + +"Here!" said Mr. Critchlow, with increasing impatience. "Follow me, +will ye?" + +Constance obeyed. Miss Insull sidled after Constance, and the dog after +Miss Insull. Mr. Critchlow went through the doorway and down the +corridor, past the cutting-out room to his right. The corridor then +turned at a right-angle to the left and ended at the parlour door, the +kitchen steps being to the left. + +Mr. Critchlow stopped short of the kitchen steps, and extended his +arms, touching the walls on either side. + +"Here!" he said, tapping the walls with his bony knuckles. "Here! +Suppose I brick ye this up, and th' same upstairs between th' showroom +and th' bedroom passage, ye've got your house to yourself. Ye say ye've +lived here all your life. Well, what's to prevent ye finishing up here? +The fact is," he added, "it would only be making into two houses again +what was two houses to start with, afore your time, missis." + +"And what about the shop?" cried Constance. + +"Ye can sell us th' stock at a valuation." + +Constance suddenly comprehended the scheme. Mr. Critchlow would remain +the chemist, while Mrs. Critchlow became the head of the chief drapery +business in the town. Doubtless they would knock a hole through the +separating wall on the other side, to balance the bricking-up on this +side. They must have thought it all out in detail. Constance revolted. + +"Yes!" she said, a little disdainfully. "And my goodwill? Shall you +take that at a valuation too?" + +Mr. Critchlow glanced at the creature for whom he was ready to scatter +thousands of pounds. She might have been a Phryne and he the infatuated +fool. He glanced at her as if to say: "We expected this, and this is +where we agreed it was to stop." + +"Ay!" he said to Constance. "Show me your goodwill. Lap it up in a bit +of paper and hand it over, and I'll take it at a valuation. But not +afore, missis! Not afore! I'm making ye a very good offer. Twenty pound +a year, I'll let ye th' house for. And take th' stock at a valuation. +Think it over, my lass." + +Having said what he had to say, Charles Critchlow departed, according +to his custom. He unceremoniously let himself out by the side door, and +passed with wavy apron round the corner of King Street into the Square +and so to his own shop, which ignored the Thursday half-holiday. Miss +Insull left soon afterwards. + +III + +Constance's pride urged her to refuse the offer. But in truth her sole +objection to it was that she had not thought of the scheme herself. For +the scheme really reconciled her wish to remain where she was with her +wish to be free of the shop. + +"I shall make him put me in a new window in the parlour--one that will +open!" she said positively to Cyril, who accepted Mr. Critchlow's idea +with fatalistic indifference. + +After stipulating for the new window, she closed with the offer. Then +there was the stock-taking, which endured for weeks. And then a +carpenter came and measured for the window. And a builder and a mason +came and inspected doorways, and Constance felt that the end was upon +her. She took up the carpet in the parlour and protected the furniture +by dustsheets. She and Cyril lived between bare boards and dustsheets +for twenty days, and neither carpenter nor mason reappeared. Then one +surprising day the old window was removed by the carpenter's two +journeymen, and late in the afternoon the carpenter brought the new +window, and the three men worked till ten o'clock at night, fixing it. +Cyril wore his cap and went to bed in his cap, and Constance wore a +Paisley shawl. A painter had bound himself beyond all possibility of +failure to paint the window on the morrow. He was to begin at six a.m.; +and Amy's alarm-clock was altered so that she might be up and dressed +to admit him. He came a week later, administered one coat, and vanished +for another ten days. Then two masons suddenly came with heavy tools, +and were shocked to find that all was not prepared for them. (After +three carpetless weeks Constance had relaid her floors.) They tore off +wall-paper, sent cascades of plaster down the kitchen steps, withdrew +alternate courses of bricks from the walls, and, sated with +destruction, hastened away. After four days new red bricks began to +arrive, carried by a quite guiltless hodman who had not visited the +house before. The hodman met the full storm of Constance's wrath. It +was not a vicious wrath, rather a good-humoured wrath; but it impressed +the hodman. "My house hasn't been fit to live in for a month," she said +in fine. "If these walls aren't built to-morrow, upstairs AND +down--to-morrow, mind!--don't let any of you dare to show your noses +here again, for I won't have you. Now you've brought your bricks. Off +with you, and tell your master what I say!" + +It was effective. The next day subdued and plausible workmen of all +sorts awoke the house with knocking at six-thirty precisely, and the +two doorways were slowly bricked up. The curious thing was that, when +the barrier was already a foot high on the ground-floor Constance +remembered small possessions of her own which she had omitted to remove +from the cutting-out room. Picking up her skirts, she stepped over into +the region that was no more hers, and stepped back with the goods. She +had a bandanna round her head to keep the thick dust out of her hair. +She was very busy, very preoccupied with nothings. She had no time for +sentimentalities. Yet when the men arrived at the topmost course and +were at last hidden behind their own erection, and she could see only +rough bricks and mortar, she was disconcertingly overtaken by a misty +blindness and could not even see bricks and mortar. Cyril found her, +with her absurd bandanna, weeping in a sheet-covered rocking-chair in +the sacked parlour. He whistled uneasily, remarked: "I say, mother, +what about tea?" and then, hearing the heavy voices of workmen above, +ran with relief upstairs. Tea had been set in the drawing-room, he was +glad to learn that from Amy, who informed him also that she should +'never get used to them there new walls,' not as long as she lived. + +He went to the School of Art that night. Constance, alone, could find +nothing to do. She had willed that the walls should be built, and they +had been built; but days must elapse before they could be plastered, +and after the plaster still more days before the papering. Not for +another month, perhaps, would her house be free of workmen and ripe for +her own labours. She could only sit in the dust-drifts and contemplate +the havoc of change, and keep her eyes as dry as she could. The legal +transactions were all but complete; little bills announcing the +transfer of the business lay on the counters in the shop at the +disposal of customers. In two days Charles Critchlow would pay the +price of a desire realized. The sign was painted out and new letters +sketched thereon in chalk. In future she would be compelled, if she +wished to enter the shop, to enter it as a customer and from the front. +Yes, she saw that, though the house remained hers, the root of her life +had been wrenched up. + +And the mess! It seemed inconceivable that the material mess could ever +be straightened away! + +Yet, ere the fields of the county were first covered with snow that +season, only one sign survived of the devastating revolution, and that +was a loose sheet of wall-paper that had been too soon pasted on to new +plaster and would not stick. Maria Insull was Maria Critchlow. +Constance had been out into the Square and seen the altered sign, and +seen Mrs. Critchlow's taste in window-curtains, and seen--most +impressive sight of all--that the grimy window of the abandoned room at +the top of the abandoned staircase next to the bedroom of her girlhood, +had been cleaned and a table put in front of it. She knew that the +chamber, which she herself had never entered, was to be employed as a +storeroom, but the visible proof of its conversion so strangely +affected her that she had not felt able to go boldly into the shop, as +she had meant to do, and make a few purchases in the way of +friendliness. "I'm a silly woman!" she muttered. Later, she did +venture, timidly abrupt, into the shop, and was received with fitting +state by Mrs. Critchlow (as desiccated as ever), who insisted on +allowing her the special trade discount. And she carried her little +friendly purchases round to her own door in King Street. Trivial, +trivial event! Constance, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, did +both. She accused herself of developing a hysterical faculty in tears, +and strove sagely against it. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE PROUDEST MOTHER + +I + + +In the year 1893 there was a new and strange man living at No. 4, St. +Luke's Square. Many people remarked on the phenomenon. Very few of his +like had ever been seen in Bursley before. One of the striking things +about him was the complex way in which he secured himself by means of +glittering chains. A chain stretched across his waistcoat, passing +through a special button-hole, without a button, in the middle. To this +cable were firmly linked a watch at one end and a pencil-case at the +other; the chain also served as a protection against a thief who might +attempt to snatch the fancy waistcoat entire. Then there were longer +chains, beneath the waistcoat, partly designed, no doubt, to deflect +bullets, but serving mainly to enable the owner to haul up penknives, +cigarette-cases, match-boxes, and key-rings from the profundities of +hip-pockets. An essential portion of the man's braces, visible +sometimes when he played at tennis, consisted of chain, and the upper +and nether halves of his cuff-links were connected by chains. +Occasionally he was to be seen chained to a dog. + +A reversion, conceivably, to a mediaeval type! Yes, but also the +exemplar of the excessively modern! Externally he was a consequence of +the fact that, years previously, the leading tailor in Bursley had +permitted his son to be apprenticed in London. The father died; the son +had the wit to return and make a fortune while creating a new type in +the town, a type of which multiple chains were but one feature, and +that the least expensive if the most salient. For instance, up to the +historic year in which the young tailor created the type, any cap was a +cap in Bursley, and any collar was a collar. But thenceforward no cap +was a cap, and no collar was a collar, which did not exactly conform in +shape and material to certain sacred caps and collars guarded by the +young tailor in his back shop. None knew why these sacred caps and +collars were sacred, but they were; their sacredness endured for about +six months, and then suddenly--again none knew why--they fell from +their estate and became lower than offal for dogs, and were supplanted +on the altar. The type brought into existence by the young tailor was +to be recognized by its caps and collars, and in a similar manner by +every other article of attire, except its boots. Unfortunately the +tailor did not sell boots, and so imposed on his creatures no mystical +creed as to boots. This was a pity, for the boot-makers of the town +happened not to be inflamed by the type-creating passion as the tailor +was, and thus the new type finished abruptly at the edges of the +tailor's trousers. + +The man at No. 4, St. Luke's Square had comparatively small and narrow +feet, which gave him an advantage; and as he was endowed with a certain +vague general physical distinction he managed, despite the eternal +untidiness of his hair, to be eminent among the type. Assuredly the +frequent sight of him in her house flattered the pride of Constance's +eye, which rested on him almost always with pleasure. He had come into +the house with startling abruptness soon after Cyril left school and +was indentured to the head-designer at "Peel's," that classic +earthenware manufactory. The presence of a man in her abode +disconcerted Constance at the beginning; but she soon grew accustomed +to it, perceiving that a man would behave as a man, and must be +expected to do so. This man, in truth, did what he liked in all things. +Cyril having always been regarded by both his parents as enormous, one +would have anticipated a giant in the new man; but, queerly, he was +slim, and little above the average height. Neither in enormity nor in +many other particulars did he resemble the Cyril whom he had +supplanted. His gestures were lighter and quicker; he had nothing of +Cyril's ungainliness; he had not Cyril's limitless taste for sweets, +nor Cyril's terrific hatred of gloves, barbers, and soap. He was much +more dreamy than Cyril, and much busier. In fact, Constance only saw +him at meal-times. He was at Peel's in the day and at the School of Art +every night. He would dream during a meal, even; and, without actually +saying so, he gave the impression that he was the busiest man in +Bursley, wrapped in occupations and preoccupations as in a blanket--a +blanket which Constance had difficulty in penetrating. + +Constance wanted to please him; she lived for nothing but to please +him; he was, however, exceedingly difficult to please, not in the least +because he was hypercritical and exacting, but because he was +indifferent. Constance, in order to satisfy her desire of pleasing, had +to make fifty efforts, in the hope that he might chance to notice one. +He was a good man, amazingly industrious--when once Constance had got +him out of bed in the morning; with no vices; kind, save when Constance +mistakenly tried to thwart him; charming, with a curious strain of +humour that Constance only half understood. Constance was +unquestionably vain about him, and she could honestly find in him +little to blame. But whereas he was the whole of her universe, she was +merely a dim figure in the background of his. Every now and then, with +his gentle, elegant raillery, he would apparently rediscover her, as +though saying: "Ah! You're still there, are you?" Constance could not +meet him on the plane where his interests lay, and he never knew the +passionate intensity of her absorption in that minor part of his life +which moved on her plane. He never worried about her solitude, or +guessed that in throwing her a smile and a word at supper he was paying +her meagrely for three hours of lone rocking in a rocking-chair. + +The worst of it was that she was quite incurable. No experience would +suffice to cure her trick of continually expecting him to notice things +which he never did notice. One day he said, in the midst of a silence: +"By the way, didn't father leave any boxes of cigars?" She had the +steps up into her bedroom and reached down from the dusty top of the +wardrobe the box which she had put there after Samuel's funeral. In +handing him the box she was doing a great deed. His age was nineteen +and she was ratifying his precocious habit of smoking by this solemn +gift. He entirely ignored the box for several days. She said timidly: +"Have you tried those cigars?" "Not yet," he replied. "I'll try 'em one +of these days." Ten days later, on a Sunday when he chanced not to have +gone out with his aristocratic friend Matthew Peel-Swynnerton, he did +at length open the box and take out a cigar. "Now," he observed +roguishly, cutting the cigar, "we shall see, Mrs. Plover!" He often +called her Mrs. Plover, for fun. Though she liked him to be +sufficiently interested in her to tease her, she did not like being +called Mrs. Plover, and she never failed to say: "I'm not Mrs. Plover." +He smoked the cigar slowly, in the rocking-chair, throwing his head +back and sending clouds to the ceiling. And afterwards he remarked: +"The old man's cigars weren't so bad." "Indeed!" she answered tartly, +as if maternally resenting this easy patronage. But in secret she was +delighted. There was something in her son's favourable verdict on her +husband's cigars that thrilled her. + +And she looked at him. Impossible to see in him any resemblance to his +father! Oh! He was a far more brilliant, more advanced, more +complicated, more seductive being than his homely father! She wondered +where he had come from. And yet...! If his father had lived, what would +have occurred between them? Would the boy have been openly smoking +cigars in the house at nineteen? + +She laboriously interested herself, so far as he would allow, in his +artistic studies and productions. A back attic on the second floor was +now transformed into a studio--a naked apartment which smelt of oil and +of damp clay. Often there were traces of clay on the stairs. For +working in clay he demanded of his mother a smock, and she made a +smock, on the model of a genuine smock which she obtained from a +country-woman who sold eggs and butter in the Covered Market. Into the +shoulders of the smock she put a week's fancy-stitching, taking the +pattern from an old book of embroidery. One day when he had seen her +stitching morn, noon, and afternoon, at the smock, he said, as she +rocked idly after supper: "I suppose you haven't forgotten all about +the smock I asked you for, have you, mater?" She knew that he was +teasing her; but, while perfectly realizing how foolish she was, she +nearly always acted as though his teasing was serious; she picked up +the smock again from the sofa. When the smock was finished he examined +it intently; then exclaimed with an air of surprise: "By Jove! That's +beautiful! Where did you get this pattern?" He continued to stare at +it, smiling in pleasure. He turned over the tattered leaves of the +embroidery-book with the same naive, charmed astonishment, and carried +the book away to the studio. "I must show that to Swynnerton," he said. +As for her, the epithet 'beautiful' seemed a strange epithet to apply +to a mere piece of honest stitchery done in a pattern, and a stitch +with which she had been familiar all her life. The fact was she +understood his 'art' less and less. The sole wall decoration of his +studio was a Japanese print, which struck her as being entirely +preposterous, considered as a picture. She much preferred his own early +drawings of moss-roses and picturesque castles--things that he now +mercilessly contemned. Later, he discovered her cutting out another +smock. "What's that for?" he inquired. "Well," she said, "you can't +manage with one smock. What shall you do when that one has to go to the +wash?" "Wash!" he repeated vaguely. "There's no need for it to go to +the wash." "Cyril," she replied, "don't try my patience! I was thinking +of making you half-a-dozen." He whistled. "With all that stitching?" he +questioned, amazed at the undertaking. "Why not?" she said. In her +young days, no seamstress ever made fewer than half-a-dozen of +anything, and it was usually a dozen; it was sometimes half-a-dozen +dozen. "Well," he murmured, "you have got a nerve! I'll say that." +Similar things happened whenever he showed that he was pleased. If he +said of a dish, in the local tongue: "I could do a bit of that!" or if +he simply smacked his lips over it, she would surfeit him with that +dish. + +II + +On a hot day in August, just before they were to leave Bursley for a +month in the Isle of Man, Cyril came home, pale and perspiring, and +dropped on to the sofa. He wore a grey alpaca suit, and, except his +hair, which in addition to being very untidy was damp with sweat, he +was a masterpiece of slim elegance, despite the heat. He blew out great +sighs, and rested his head on the antimacassared arm of the sofa. + +"Well, mater," he said, in a voice of factitious calm, "I've got it." +He was looking up at the ceiling. + +"Got what?" + +"The National Scholarship. Swynnerton says it's a sheer fluke. But I've +got it. Great glory for the Bursley School of Art!" + +"National Scholarship?" she said. "What's that? What is it?" + +"Now, mother!" he admonished her, not without testiness. "Don't go and +say I've never breathed a word about it!" + +He lit a cigarette, to cover his self-consciousness, for he perceived +that she was moved far beyond the ordinary. + +Never, in fact, not even by the death of her husband, had she received +such a frightful blow as that which the dreamy Cyril had just dealt her. + +It was not a complete surprise, but it was nearly a complete surprise. +A few months previously he certainly had mentioned, in his incidental +way, the subject of a National Scholarship. Apropos of a drinking-cup +which he had designed, he had said that the director of the School of +Art had suggested that it was good enough to compete for the National, +and that as he was otherwise qualified for the competition he might as +well send the cup to South Kensington. He had added that +Peel-Swynnerton had laughed at the notion as absurd. On that occasion +she had comprehended that a National Scholarship involved residence in +London. She ought to have begun to live in fear, for Cyril had a most +disturbing habit of making a mere momentary reference to matters which +he deemed very important and which occupied a large share of his +attention. He was secretive by nature, and the rigidity of his father's +rule had developed this trait in his character. But really he had +spoken of the competition with such an extreme casualness that with +little effort she had dismissed it from her anxieties as involving a +contingency so remote as to be negligible. She had, genuinely, almost +forgotten it. Only at rare intervals had it wakened in her a dull +transitory pain--like the herald of a fatal malady. And, as a woman in +the opening stage of disease, she had hastily reassured herself: "How +silly of me! This can't possibly be anything serious!" + +And now she was condemned. She knew it. She knew there could be no +appeal. She knew that she might as usefully have besought mercy from a +tiger as from her good, industrious, dreamy son. + +"It means a pound a week," said Cyril, his self-consciousness +intensified by her silence and by the dreadful look on her face. "And +of course free tuition." + +"For how long?" she managed to say. + +"Well," said he, "that depends. Nominally for a year. But if you behave +yourself it's always continued for three years." If he stayed for three +years he would never come back: that was a certainty. + +How she rebelled, furious and despairing, against the fortuitous +cruelty of things! She was sure that he had not, till then, thought +seriously of going to London. But the fact that the Government would +admit him free to its classrooms and give him a pound a week besides, +somehow forced him to go to London. It was not the lack of means that +would have prevented him from going. Why, then, should the presence of +means induce him to go? There was no logical reason. The whole affair +was disastrously absurd. The art-master at the Wedgwood Institution had +chanced, merely chanced, to suggest that the drinking-cup should be +sent to South Kensington. And the result of this caprice was that she +was sentenced to solitude for life! It was too monstrously, too +incredibly wicked! + +With what futile and bitter execration she murmured in her heart the +word 'If.' If Cyril's childish predilections had not been encouraged! +If he had only been content to follow his father's trade! If she had +flatly refused to sign his indenture at Peel's and pay the premium! If +he had not turned from, colour to clay! If the art-master had not had +that fatal 'idea'! If the judges for the competition had decided +otherwise! If only she had brought Cyril up in habits of obedience, +sacrificing temporary peace to permanent security! + +For after all he could not abandon her without her consent. He was not +of age. And he would want a lot more money, which he could obtain from +none but her. She could refuse.... + +No! She could not refuse. He was the master, the tyrant. For the sake +of daily pleasantness she had weakly yielded to him at the start! She +had behaved badly to herself and to him. He was spoiled. She had +spoiled him. And he was about to repay her with lifelong misery, and +nothing would deflect him from his course. The usual conduct of the +spoilt child! Had she not witnessed it, and moralized upon it, in other +families? + +"You don't seem very chirpy over it, mater!" he said. + +She went out of the room. His joy in the prospect of departure from the +Five Towns, from her, though he masked it, was more manifest than she +could bear. + +The Signal, the next day, made a special item of the news. It appeared +that no National Scholarship had been won in the Five Towns for eleven +years. The citizens were exhorted to remember that Mr. Povey had gained +his success in open competition with the cleverest young students of +the entire kingdom--and in a branch of art which he had but recently +taken up; and further, that the Government offered only eight +scholarships each year. The name of Cyril Povey passed from lip to lip. +And nobody who met Constance, in street or shop, could refrain from +informing her that she ought to be a proud mother, to have such a son, +but that truly they were not surprised ... and how proud his poor +father would have been! A few sympathetically hinted that maternal +pride was one of those luxuries that may cost too dear. + +III + +The holiday in the Isle of Man was of course ruined for her. She could +scarcely walk because of the weight of a lump of lead that she carried +in her bosom. On the brightest days the lump of lead was always there. +Besides, she was so obese. In ordinary circumstances they might have +stayed beyond the month. An indentured pupil is not strapped to the +wheel like a common apprentice. Moreover, the indentures were to be +cancelled. But Constance did not care to stay. She had to prepare for +his departure to London. She had to lay the faggots for her own +martyrdom. + +In this business of preparation she showed as much silliness, she +betrayed as perfect a lack of perspective, as the most superior son +could desire for a topic of affectionate irony. Her preoccupation with +petty things of no importance whatever was worthy of the finest +traditions of fond motherhood. However, Cyril's careless satire had no +effect on her, save that once she got angry, thereby startling him; he +quite correctly and sagely laid this unprecedented outburst to the +account of her wrought nerves, and forgave it. Happily for the +smoothness of Cyril's translation to London, young Peel-Swynnerton was +acquainted with the capital, had a brother in Chelsea, knew of +reputable lodgings, was, indeed, an encyclopaedia of the town, and +would himself spend a portion of the autumn there. Otherwise, the +preliminaries which his mother would have insisted on by means of tears +and hysteria might have proved fatiguing to Cyril. + +The day came when on that day week Cyril would be gone. Constance +steadily fabricated cheerfulness against the prospect. She said: + +"Suppose I come with you?" + +He smiled in toleration of this joke as being a passable quality of +joke. And then she smiled in the same sense, hastening to agree with +him that as a joke it was not a bad joke. + +In the last week he was very loyal to his tailor. Many a young man +would have commanded new clothes after, not before, his arrival in +London. But Cyril had faith in his creator. + +On the day of departure the household, the very house itself, was in a +state of excitation. He was to leave early. He would not listen to the +project of her accompanying him as far as Knype, where the Loop Line +joined the main. She might go to Bursley Station and no further. When +she rebelled he disclosed the merest hint of his sullen-churlish side, +and she at once yielded. During breakfast she did not cry, but the +aspect of her face made him protest. + +"Now, look here, mater! Just try to remember that I shall be back for +Christmas. It's barely three months." And he lit a cigarette. + +She made no reply. + +Amy lugged a Gladstone bag down the crooked stairs. A trunk was already +close to the door; it had wrinkled the carpet and deranged the mat. + +"You didn't forget to put the hair-brush in, did you, Amy?" he asked. + +"N--no, Mr. Cyril," she blubbered. + +"Amy!" Constance sharply corrected her, as Cyril ran upstairs, "I +wonder you can't control yourself better than that." + +Amy weakly apologized. Although treated almost as one of the family, +she ought not to have forgotten that she was a servant. What right had +she to weep over Cyril's luggage? This question was put to her in +Constance's tone. + +The cab came. Cyril tumbled downstairs with exaggerated carelessness, +and with exaggerated carelessness he joked at the cabman. + +"Now, mother!" he cried, when the luggage was stowed. "Do you want me +to miss this train?" But he knew that the margin of time was ample. It +was his fun! + +"Nay, I can't be hurried!" she said, fixing her bonnet. "Amy, as soon +as we are gone you can clear this table." + +She climbed heavily into the cab. + +"That's it! Smash the springs!" Cyril teased her. + +The horse got a stinging cut to recall him to the seriousness of life. +It was a fine, bracing autumn morning, and the driver felt the need of +communicating his abundant energy to some one or something. They drove +off, Amy staring after them from the door. Matters had been so +marvellously well arranged that they arrived at the station twenty +minutes before the train was due. + +"Never mind!" Cyril mockingly comforted his mother. "You'd rather be +twenty minutes too soon than one minute too late, wouldn't you?" + +His high spirits had to come out somehow. + +Gradually the minutes passed, and the empty slate-tinted platform +became dotted with people to whom that train was nothing but a Loop +Line train, people who took that train every week-day of their lives +and knew all its eccentricities. + +And they heard the train whistle as it started from Turnhill. And Cyril +had a final word with the porter who was in charge of the luggage. He +made a handsome figure, and he had twenty pounds in his pocket. When he +returned to Constance she was sniffing, and through her veil he could +see that her eyes were circled with red. But through her veil she could +see nothing. The train rolled in, rattling to a standstill. Constance +lifted her veil and kissed him; and kissed her life out. He smelt the +odour of her crape. He was, for an instant, close to her, close; and he +seemed to have an overwhelmingly intimate glimpse into her secrets; he +seemed to be choked in the sudden strong emotion of that crape. He felt +queer. + +"Here you are, sir! Second smoker!" called the porter. + +The daily frequenters of the train boarded it with their customary +disgust. + +"I'll write as soon as ever I get there!" said Cyril, of his own +accord. It was the best he could muster. + +With what grace he raised his hat! + +A sliding-away; clouds of steam; and she shared the dead platform with +milk-cans, two porters, and Smith's noisy boy! + +She walked home, very slowly and painfully. The lump of lead was +heavier than ever before. And the townspeople saw the proudest mother +in Bursley walking home. + +"After all," she argued with her soul angrily, petulantly, "could you +expect the boy to do anything else? He is a serious student, he has had +a brilliant success, and is he to be tied to your apron-strings? The +idea is preposterous. It isn't as if he was an idler, or a bad son. No +mother could have a better son. A nice thing, that he should stay all +his life in Bursley simply because you don't like being left alone!" + +Unfortunately one might as well argue with a mule as with one's soul. +Her soul only kept on saying monotonously: "I'm a lonely old woman now. +I've nothing to live for any more, and I'm no use to anybody. Once I +was young and proud. And this is what my life has come to! This is the +end!" + +When she reached home, Amy had not touched the breakfast things; the +carpet was still wrinkled, and the mat still out of place. And, through +the desolating atmosphere of reaction after a terrific crisis, she +marched directly upstairs, entered his plundered room, and beheld the +disorder of the bed in which he had slept. + + + + +BOOK III + +SOPHIA + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE ELOPEMENT + +I + + +Her soberly rich dress had a countrified air, as she waited, ready for +the streets, in the bedroom of the London hotel on the afternoon of the +first of July, 1866; but there was nothing of the provincial in that +beautiful face, nor in that bearing at once shy and haughty; and her +eager heart soared beyond geographical boundaries. + +It was the Hatfield Hotel, in Salisbury Street, between the Strand and +the river. Both street and hotel are now gone, lost in the vast +foundations of the Savoy and the Cecil; but the type of the Hatfield +lingers with ever-increasing shabbiness in Jermyn Street. In 1866, with +its dark passages and crooked stairs, its candles, its carpets and +stuffs which had outlived their patterns, its narrow dining-room where +a thousand busy flies ate together at one long table, its acrid +stagnant atmosphere, and its disturbing sensation of dirt everywhere +concealing itself, it stood forth in rectitude as a good average modern +hotel. The patched and senile drabness of the bedroom made an +environment that emphasized Sophia's flashing youth. She alone in it +was unsullied. + +There was a knock at the door, apparently gay and jaunty. But she +thought, truly: "He's nearly as nervous as I am!" And in her sick +nervousness she coughed, and then tried to take full possession of +herself. The moment had at last come which would divide her life as a +battle divides the history of a nation. Her mind in an instant swept +backwards through an incredible three months. + +The schemings to obtain and to hide Gerald's letters at the shop, and +to reply to them! The far more complex and dangerous duplicity +practised upon her majestic aunt at Axe! The visits to the Axe +post-office! The three divine meetings with Gerald at early morning by +the canal-feeder, when he had told her of his inheritance and of the +harshness of his uncle Boldero, and with a rush of words had spread +before her the prospect of eternal bliss! The nights of fear! The +sudden, dizzy acquiescence in his plan, and the feeling of universal +unreality which obsessed her! The audacious departure from her aunt's, +showering a cascade of appalling lies! Her dismay at Knype Station! Her +blush as she asked for a ticket to London! The ironic, sympathetic +glance of the porter, who took charge of her trunk! And then the +thunder of the incoming train! Her renewed dismay when she found that +it was very full, and her distracted plunge into a compartment with six +people already in it! And the abrupt reopening of the carriage-door and +that curt inquisition from an inspector: "Where for, please? Where for? +Where for?" Until her turn was reached: "Where for, miss?" and her weak +little reply: "Euston"! And more violent blushes! And then the long, +steady beating of the train over the rails, keeping time to the rhythm +of the unanswerable voice within her breast: "Why are you here? Why are +you here?" And then Rugby; and the awful ordeal of meeting Gerald, his +entry into the compartment, the rearrangement of seats, and their +excruciatingly painful attempts at commonplace conversation in the +publicity of the carriage! (She had felt that that part of the +enterprise had not been very well devised by Gerald.) And at last +London; the thousands of cabs, the fabulous streets, the general roar, +all dream-surpassing, intensifying to an extraordinary degree the +obsession of unreality, the illusion that she could not really have +done what she had done, that she was not really doing what she was +doing! + +Supremely and finally, the delicious torture of the clutch of terror at +her heart as she moved by Gerald's side through the impossible +adventure! Who was this rash, mad Sophia? Surely not herself! + +The knock at the door was impatiently repeated. + +"Come in," she said timidly. + +Gerald Scales came in. Yes, beneath that mien of a commercial traveller +who has been everywhere and through everything, he was very nervous. It +was her privacy that, with her consent, he had invaded. He had engaged +the bedroom only with the intention of using it as a retreat for Sophia +until the evening, when they were to resume their travels. It ought not +to have had any disturbing significance. But the mere disorder on the +washstand, a towel lying on one of the cane chairs, made him feel that +he was affronting decency, and so increased his jaunty nervousness. The +moment was painful; the moment was difficult beyond his skill to handle +it naturally. + +Approaching her with factitious ease, he kissed her through her veil, +which she then lifted with an impulsive movement, and he kissed her +again, more ardently, perceiving that her ardour was exceeding his. +This was the first time they had been alone together since her flight +from Axe. And yet, with his worldly experience, he was naive enough to +be surprised that he could not put all the heat of passion into his +embrace, and he wondered why he was not thrilled at the contact with +her! However, the powerful clinging of her lips somewhat startled his +senses, and also delighted him by its silent promise. He could smell +the stuff of her veil, the sarsenet of her bodice, and, as it were +wrapped in these odours as her body was wrapped in its clothes, the +faint fleshly perfume of her body itself. Her face, viewed so close +that he could see the almost imperceptible down on those fruit-like +cheeks, was astonishingly beautiful; the dark eyes were exquisitely +misted; and he could feel the secret loyalty of her soul ascending to +him. She was very slightly taller than her lover; but somehow she hung +from him, her body curved backwards, and her bosom pressed against his, +so that instead of looking up at her gaze he looked down at it. He +preferred that; perfectly proportioned though he was, his stature was a +delicate point with him. His spirits rose by the uplift of his senses. +His fears slipped away; he began to be very satisfied with himself. He +was the inheritor of twelve thousand pounds, and he had won this unique +creature. She was his capture; he held her close, permittedly scanning +the minutiae of her skin, permittedly crushing her flimsy silks. +Something in him had forced her to lay her modesty on the altar of his +desire. And the sun brightly shone. So he kissed her yet more ardently, +and with the slightest touch of a victor's condescension; and her +burning response more than restored the self-confidence which he had +been losing. + +"I've got no one but you now," she murmured in a melting voice. + +She fancied in her ignorance that the expression of this sentiment +would please him. She was not aware that a man is usually rather +chilled by it, because it proves to him that the other is thinking +about his responsibilities and not about his privileges. Certainly it +calmed Gerald, though without imparting to him her sense of his +responsibilities. He smiled vaguely. To Sophia his smile was a miracle +continually renewed; it mingled dashing gaiety with a hint of wistful +appeal in a manner that never failed to bewitch her. A less innocent +girl than Sophia might have divined from that adorable half-feminine +smile that she could do anything with Gerald except rely on him. But +Sophia had to learn. + +"Are you ready?" he asked, placing his hands on her shoulders and +holding her away from him. + +"Yes," she said, nerving herself. Their faces were still very near +together. + +"Well, would you like to go and see the Dore pictures?" + +A simple enough question! A proposal felicitous enough! Dore was +becoming known even in the Five Towns, not, assuredly, by his +illustrations to the Contes Drolatiques of Balzac--but by his +shuddering Biblical conceits. In pious circles Dore was saving art from +the reproach of futility and frivolity. It was indubitably a tasteful +idea on Gerald's part to take his love of a summer's afternoon to gaze +at the originals of those prints which had so deeply impressed the Five +Towns. It was an idea that sanctified the profane adventure. + +Yet Sophia showed signs of affliction. Her colour went and came; her +throat made the motion of swallowing; there was a muscular contraction +over her whole body. And she drew herself from him. Her glance, +however, did not leave him, and his eyes fell before hers. + +"But what about the--wedding?" she breathed. + +That sentence seemed to cost all her pride; but she was obliged to +utter it, and to pay for it. + +"Oh," he said lightly and quickly, just as though she had reminded him +of a detail that might have been forgotten, "I was just going to tell +you. It can't be done here. There's been some change in the rules. I +only found out for certain late last night. But I've ascertained that +it'll be as simple as ABC before the English Consul at Paris; and as +I've got the tickets for us to go over to-night, as we arranged ..." He +stopped. + +She sat down on the towel-covered chair, staggered. She believed what +he said. She did not suspect that he was using the classic device of +the seducer. It was his casualness that staggered her. Had it really +been his intention to set off on an excursion and remark as an +afterthought: "BY THE WAY, we can't be married as I told you at +half-past two to-day"? Despite her extreme ignorance and innocence, +Sophia held a high opinion of her own commonsense and capacity for +looking after herself, and she could scarcely believe that he was +expecting her to go to Paris, and at night, without being married. She +looked pitiably young, virgin, raw, unsophisticated; helpless in the +midst of dreadful dangers. Yet her head was full of a blank +astonishment at being mistaken for a simpleton! The sole explanation +could be that Gerald, in some matters, must himself be a confiding +simpleton. He had not reflected. He had not sufficiently realized the +immensity of her sacrifice in flying with him even to London. She felt +sorry for him. She had the woman's first glimpse of the necessity for +some adjustment of outlook as an essential preliminary to uninterrupted +happiness. + +"It'll be all right!" Gerald persuasively continued. + +He looked at her, as she was not looking at him. She was nineteen. But +she seemed to him utterly mature and mysterious. Her face baffled him; +her mind was a foreign land. Helpless in one sense she might be; yet +she, and not he, stood for destiny; the future lay in the secret and +capricious workings of that mind. + +"Oh no!" she exclaimed curtly. "Oh no!" + +"Oh no what?" + +"We can't possibly go like that," she said. + +"But don't I tell you it'll be all right?" he protested. "If we stay +here and they come after you...! Besides, I've got the tickets and all." + +"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" she demanded. + +"But how could I?" he grumbled. "Have we had a single minute alone?" + +This was nearly true. They could not have discussed the formalities of +marriage in the crowded train, nor during the hurried lunch with a +dozen cocked ears at the same table. He saw himself on sure ground here. + +"Now, could we?" he pressed. + +"And you talk about going to see pictures!" was her reply. + +Undoubtedly this had been a grave error of tact. He recognized that it +was a stupidity. And so he resented it, as though she had committed it +and not he. + +"My dear girl," he said, hurt, "I acted for the best. It isn't my fault +if rules are altered and officials silly." + +"You ought to have told me before," she persisted sullenly. + +"But how could I?" + +He almost believed in that moment that he had really intended to marry +her, and that the ineptitudes of red-tape had prevented him from +achieving his honourable purpose. Whereas he had done nothing whatever +towards the marriage. + +"Oh no! Oh no!" she repeated, with heavy lip and liquid eye. "Oh no!" + +He gathered that she was flouting his suggestion of Paris. + +Slowly and nervously he approached her. She did not stir nor look up. +Her glance was fixed on the washstand. He bent down and murmured: + +"Come, now. It'll be all right. You'll travel in the ladies' saloon on +the steam-packet." + +She did not stir. He bent lower and touched the back of her neck with +his lips. And she sprang up, sobbing and angry. Because she was mad for +him she hated him furiously. All tenderness had vanished. + +"I'll thank you not to touch me!" she said fiercely. She had given him +her lips a moment ago, but now to graze her neck was an insult. + +He smiled sheepishly. "But really you must be reasonable," he argued. +"What have I done?" + +"It's what you haven't done, I think!" she cried. "Why didn't you tell +me while we were in the cab?" + +"I didn't care to begin worrying you just then," he replied: which was +exactly true. + +The fact was, he had of course shirked telling her that no marriage +would occur that day. Not being a professional seducer of young girls, +he lacked skill to do a difficult thing simply. + +"Now come along, little girl," he went on, with just a trifle of +impatience. "Let's go out and enjoy ourselves. I assure you that +everything will be all right in Paris." + +"That's what you said about coming to London," she retorted +sarcastically through her sobs. "And look at you!" + +Did he imagine for a single instant that she would have come to London +with him save on the understanding that she was to be married +immediately upon arrival? This attitude of an indignant question was +not to be reconciled with her belief that his excuses for himself were +truthful. But she did not remark the discrepancy. + +Her sarcasm wounded his vanity. + +"Oh, very well!" he muttered. "If you don't choose to believe what I +say!" He shrugged his shoulders. + +She said nothing; but the sobs swept at intervals through her frame, +shaking it. + +Reading hesitation in her face, he tried again. "Come along, little +girl. And wipe your eyes." And he approached her. She stepped back. + +"No, no!" she denied him, passionately. He had esteemed her too +cheaply. And she did not care to be called 'little girl.' + +"Then what shall you do?" he inquired, in a tone which blended mockery +and bullying. She was making a fool of him. + +"I can tell you what I shan't do," she said. "I shan't go to Paris." +Her sobs were less frequent. + +"That's not my question," he said icily. "I want to know what you will +do." + +There was now no pretence of affectionateness either on her part or on +his. They might, to judge from their attitudes, have been nourished +from infancy on mutual hatred. + +"What's that got to do with you?" she demanded. + +"It's got everything to do with me," he said. + +"Well, you can go and find out!" she said. + +It was girlish; it was childish; it was scarcely according to the +canons for conducting a final rupture; but it was not the less +tragically serious. Indeed, the spectacle of this young girl absurdly +behaving like one, in a serious crisis, increased the tragicalness of +the situation even if it did not heighten it. The idea that ran through +Gerald's brain was the ridiculous folly of having anything to do with +young girls. He was quite blind to her beauty. + +"'Go'?" he repeated her word. "You mean that?" + +"Of course I mean it," she answered promptly. + +The coward in him urged him to take advantage of her ignorant, helpless +pride, and leave her at her word. He remembered the scene she had made +at the pit shaft, and he said to himself that her charm was not worth +her temper, and that he was a fool ever to have dreamed that it was, +and that he would be doubly a fool now not to seize the opportunity of +withdrawing from an insane enterprise. + +"I am to go?" he asked, with a sneer. + +She nodded. + +"Of course if you order me to leave you, I must. Can I do anything for +you?" + +She signified that he could not, + +"Nothing? You're sure?" + +She frowned. + +"Well, then, good-bye." He turned towards the door. + +"I suppose you'd leave me here without money or anything?" she said in +a cold, cutting voice. And her sneer was far more destructive than his. +It destroyed in him the last trace of compassion for her. + +"Oh, I beg pardon!" he said, and swaggeringly counted out five +sovereigns on to a chest of drawers. + +She rushed at them. "Do you think I'll take your odious money?" she +snarled, gathering the coins in her gloved hand. + +Her first impulse was to throw them in his face; but she paused and +then flung them into a corner of the room. + +"Pick them up!" she commanded him. + +"No, thanks," he said briefly; and left, shutting the door. + +Only a very little while, and they had been lovers, exuding tenderness +with every gesture, like a perfume! Only a very little while, and she +had been deciding to telegraph condescendingly to her mother that she +was 'all right'! And now the dream was utterly dissolved. And the voice +of that hard commonsense which spake to her in her wildest moods grew +loud in asserting that the enterprise could never have come to any +good, that it was from its inception an impossible enterprise, +unredeemed by the slightest justification. An enormous folly! Yes, an +elopement; but not like a real elopement; always unreal! She had always +known that it was only an imitation of an elopement, and must end in +some awful disappointment. She had never truly wanted to run away; but +something within her had pricked her forward in spite of her protests. +The strict notions of her elderly relatives were right after all. It +was she who had been wrong. And it was she who would have to pay. + +"I've been a wicked girl," she said to herself grimly, in the midst of +her ruin. + +She faced the fact. But she would not repent; at any rate she would +never sit on that stool. She would not exchange the remains of her +pride for the means of escape from the worst misery that life could +offer. On that point she knew herself. And she set to work to repair +and renew her pride. + +Whatever happened she would not return to the Five Towns. She could +not, because she had stolen money from her Aunt Harriet. As much as she +had thrown back at Gerald, she had filched from her aunt, but in the +form of a note. A prudent, mysterious instinct had moved her to take +this precaution. And she was glad. She would never have been able to +dart that sneer at Gerald about money if she had really needed money. +So she rejoiced in her crime; though, since Aunt Harriet would +assuredly discover the loss at once, the crime eternally prevented her +from going back to her family. Never, never would she look at her +mother with the eyes of a thief! + +(In truth Aunt Harriet did discover the loss, and very creditably said +naught about it to anybody. The knowledge of it would have twisted the +knife in the maternal heart.) + +Sophia was also glad that she had refused to proceed to Paris. The +recollection of her firmness in refusing flattered her vanity as a girl +convinced that she could take care of herself. To go to Paris unmarried +would have been an inconceivable madness. The mere thought of the +enormity did outrage to her moral susceptibilities. No, Gerald had most +perfectly mistaken her for another sort of girl; as, for instance, a +shop-assistant or a barmaid! + +With this the catalogue of her satisfactions ended. She had no idea at +all as to what she ought to do, or could do. The mere prospect of +venturing out of the room intimidated her. Had Gerald left her trunk in +the hall? Of course he had. What a question! But what would happen to +her? London ... London had merely dazed her. She could do nothing for +herself. She was as helpless as a rabbit in London. She drew aside the +window-curtain and had a glimpse of the river. It was inevitable that +she should think of suicide; for she could not suppose that any girl +had ever got herself into a plight more desperate than hers. "I could +slip out at night and drown myself," she thought seriously. "A nice +thing that would be for Gerald!" + +Then loneliness, like a black midnight, overwhelmed her, swiftly +wasting her strength, disintegrating her pride in its horrid flood. She +glanced about for support, as a woman in the open street who feels she +is going to faint, and went blindly to the bed, falling on it with the +upper part of her body, in an attitude of abandonment. She wept, but +without sobbing. + +II + +Gerald Scales walked about the Strand, staring up at its high narrow +houses, crushed one against another as though they had been packed, +unsorted, by a packer who thought of nothing but economy of space. +Except by Somerset House, King's College, and one or two theatres and +banks, the monotony of mean shops, with several storeys unevenly +perched over them, was unbroken, Then Gerald encountered Exeter Hall, +and examined its prominent facade with a provincial's eye; for despite +his travels he was not very familiar with London. Exeter Hall naturally +took his mind back to his Uncle Boldero, that great and ardent +Nonconformist, and his own godly youth. It was laughable to muse upon +what his uncle would say and think, did the old man know that his +nephew had run away with a girl, meaning to seduce her in Paris. It was +enormously funny! + +However, he had done with all that. He was well out of it. She had told +him to go, and he had gone. She had money to get home; she had nothing +to do but use the tongue in her head. The rest was her affair. He would +go to Paris alone, and find another amusement. It was absurd to have +supposed that Sophia would ever have suited him. Not in such a family +as the Baineses could one reasonably expect to discover an ideal +mistress. No! there had been a mistake. The whole business was wrong. +She had nearly made a fool of him. But he was not the man to be made a +fool of. He had kept his dignity intact. + +So he said to himself. Yet all the time his dignity, and his pride +also, were bleeding, dropping invisible blood along the length of the +Strand pavements. + +He was at Salisbury Street again. He pictured her in the bedroom. Damn +her! He wanted her. He wanted her with an excessive desire. He hated to +think that he had been baulked. He hated to think that she would remain +immaculate. And he continued to picture her in the exciting privacy of +that cursed bedroom. + +Now he was walking down Salisbury Street. He did not wish to be walking +down Salisbury Street; but there he was! + +"Oh, hell!" he murmured. "I suppose I must go through with it." + +He felt desperate. He was ready to pay any price in order to be able to +say to himself that he had accomplished what he had set his heart on. + +"My wife hasn't gone out, has she?" he asked of the hall-porter. + +"I'm not sure, sir; I think not," said the hall-porter. + +The fear that Sophia had already departed made him sick. When he +noticed her trunk still there, he took hope and ran upstairs. + +He saw her, a dark crumpled, sinuous piece of humanity, half on and +half off the bed, silhouetted against the bluish-white counterpane; her +hat was on the floor, with the spotted veil trailing away from it. This +sight seemed to him to be the most touching that he had ever seen, +though her face was hidden. He forgot everything except the deep and +strange emotion which affected him. He approached the bed. She did not +stir. + +Having heard the entry and knowing that it must be Gerald who had +entered, Sophia forced herself to remain still. A wild, splendid hope +shot up in her. Constrained by all the power of her will not to move, +she could not stifle a sob that had lain in ambush in her throat. + +The sound of the sob fetched tears to the eyes of Gerald. + +"Sophia!" he appealed to her. + +But she did not stir. Another sob shook her. + +"Very well, then," said Gerald. "We'll stay in London till we can be +married. I'll arrange it. I'll find a nice boarding-house for you, and +I'll tell the people you're my cousin. I shall stay on at this hotel, +and I'll come and see you every day." + +A silence. + +"Thank you!" she blubbered. "Thank you!" + +He saw that her little gloved hand was stretching out towards him, like +a feeler; and he seized it, and knelt down and took her clumsily by the +waist. Somehow he dared not kiss her yet. + +An immense relief surged very slowly through them both. + +"I--I--really--" She began to say something, but the articulation was +lost in her sobs. + +"What? What do you say, dearest?" he questioned eagerly. + +And she made another effort. "I really couldn't have gone to Paris with +you without being married," she succeeded at last. "I really couldn't." + +"No, no!" he soothed her. "Of course you couldn't. It was I who was +wrong. But you didn't know how I felt.... Sophia, it's all right now, +isn't it?" + +She sat up and kissed him fairly. + +It was so wonderful and startling that he burst openly into tears. She +saw in the facile intensity of his emotion a guarantee of their future +happiness. And as he had soothed her, so now she soothed him. They +clung together, equally surprised at the sweet, exquisite, blissful +melancholy which drenched them through and through. It was remorse for +having quarrelled, for having lacked faith in the supreme rightness of +the high adventure. Everything was right, and would be right; and they +had been criminally absurd. It was remorse; but it was pure bliss, and +worth the quarrel! Gerald resumed his perfection again in her eyes! He +was the soul of goodness and honour! And for him she was again the +ideal mistress, who would, however, be also a wife. As in his mind he +rapidly ran over the steps necessary to their marriage, he kept saying +to himself, far off in some remote cavern of the brain: "I shall have +her! I shall have her!" He did not reflect that this fragile slip of +the Baines stock, unconsciously drawing upon the accumulated strength +of generations of honest living, had put a defeat upon him. + +After tea, Gerald, utterly content with the universe, redeemed his word +and found an irreproachable boarding-house for Sophia in Westminster, +near the Abbey. She was astonished at the glibness of his lies to the +landlady about her, and about their circumstances generally. He also +found a church and a parson, close by, and in half an hour the +formalities preliminary to a marriage were begun. He explained to her +that as she was now resident in London, it would be simpler to +recommence the business entirely. She sagaciously agreed. As she by no +means wished to wound him again, she made no inquiry about those other +formalities which, owing to red-tape, had so unexpectedly proved +abortive! She knew she was going to be married, and that sufficed. The +next day she carried out her filial idea of telegraphing to her mother. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +SUPPER + +I + + +They had been to Versailles and had dined there. A tram had sufficed to +take them out; but for the return, Gerald, who had been drinking +champagne, would not be content with less than a carriage. Further, he +insisted on entering Paris by way of the Bois and the Arc de Triomphe. +Thoroughly to appease his conceit, it would have been necessary to +swing open the gates of honour in the Arc and allow his fiacre to pass +through; to be forced to drive round the monument instead of under it +hurt the sense of fitness which champagne engenders. Gerald was in all +his pride that day. He had been displaying the wonders to Sophia, and +he could not escape the cicerone's secret feeling: that he himself was +somehow responsible for the wonders. Moreover, he was exceedingly +satisfied with the effect produced by Sophia. + +Sophia, on arriving in Paris with the ring on her triumphant finger, +had timidly mentioned the subject of frocks. None would have guessed +from her tone that she was possessed by the desire for French clothes +as by a devil. She had been surprised and delighted by the eagerness of +Gerald's response. Gerald, too, was possessed by a devil. He thirsted +to see her in French clothes. He knew some of the shops and ateliers in +the Rue de la Paix, the Rue de la Chaussee d'Antin, and the Palais +Royal. He was much more skilled in the lore of frocks than she, for his +previous business in Paris had brought him into relations with the +great firms; and Sophia suffered a brief humiliation in the discovery +that his private opinion of her dresses was that they were not dresses +at all. She had been aware that they were not Parisian, nor even of +London; but she had thought them pretty good. It healed her wound, +however, to reflect that Gerald had so marvellously kept his own +counsel in order to spare her self-love. Gerald had taken her to an +establishment in the Chaussee d'Antin. It was not one of what Gerald +called les grandes maisons, but it was on the very fringe of them, and +the real haute couture was practised therein; and Gerald was remembered +there by name. + +Sophia had gone in trembling and ashamed, yet in her heart courageously +determined to emerge uncompromisingly French. But the models frightened +her. They surpassed even the most fantastic things that she had seen in +the streets. She recoiled before them and seemed to hide for refuge in +Gerald, as it were appealing to him for moral protection, and answering +to him instead of to the saleswoman when the saleswoman offered remarks +in stiff English. The prices also frightened her. The simplest trifle +here cost sixteen pounds; and her mother's historic 'silk,' whose +elaborateness had cost twelve pounds, was supposed to have approached +the inexpressible! Gerald said that she was not to think about prices. +She was, however, forced by some instinct to think about prices--she +who at home had scorned the narrowness of life in the Square. In the +Square she was understood to be quite without commonsense, hopelessly +imprudent; yet here, a spring of sagacity seemed to be welling up in +her all the time, a continual antidote against the general madness in +which she found herself. With extraordinary rapidity she had formed a +habit of preaching moderation to Gerald. She hated to 'see money thrown +away,' and her notion of the boundary line between throwing money away +and judiciously spending it was still the notion of the Square. + +Gerald would laugh. But she would say, piqued and blushing, but +self-sure: "You can laugh!" It was all deliciously agreeable. + +On this evening she wore the first of the new costumes. She had worn it +all day. Characteristically she had chosen something which was not too +special for either afternoon or evening, for either warm or cold +weather. It was of pale blue taffetas striped in a darker blue, with +the corsage cut in basques, and the underskirt of a similar taffetas, +but unstriped. The effect of the ornate overskirt falling on the plain +underskirt with its small double volant was, she thought, and Gerald +too, adorable. The waist was higher than any she had had before, and +the crinoline expansive. Tied round her head with a large bow and +flying blue ribbons under the chin, was a fragile flat capote like a +baby's bonnet, which allowed her hair to escape in front and her great +chignon behind. A large spotted veil flew out from the capote over the +chignon. Her double skirts waved amply over Gerald's knees in the +carriage, and she leaned back against the hard cushions and put an +arrogant look into her face, and thought of nothing but the intense +throbbing joy of life, longing with painful ardour for more and more +pleasure, then and for ever. + +As the carriage slipped downwards through the wide, empty gloom of the +Champs Elysees into the brilliant Paris that was waiting for them, +another carriage drawn by two white horses flashed upwards and was gone +in dust. Its only occupant, except the coachman and footman, was a +woman. Gerald stared after it. + +"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "That's Hortense!" + +It might have been Hortense, or it might not. But he instantly +convinced himself that it was. Not every evening did one meet Hortense +driving alone in the Champs Elysees, and in August too! + +"Hortense?" Sophia asked simply. + +"Yes. Hortense Schneider." + +"Who is she?" + +"You've never heard of Hortense Schneider?" + +"No!" + +"Well! Have you ever heard of Offenbach?" + +"I--I don't know. I don't think so." + +He had the mien of utter incredulity. "You don't mean to say you've +never heard of Bluebeard?" + +"I've heard of Bluebeard, of course," said she. "Who hasn't?" + +"I mean the opera--Offenbach's." + +She shook her head, scarce knowing even what an opera was. + +"Well, well! What next?" + +He implied that such ignorance stood alone in his experience. Really he +was delighted at the cleanness of the slate on which he had to write. +And Sophia was not a bit alarmed. She relished instruction from his +lips. It was a pleasure to her to learn from that exhaustless store of +worldly knowledge. To the world she would do her best to assume +omniscience in its ways, but to him, in her present mood, she liked to +play the ignorant, uninitiated little thing. + +"Why," he said, "the Schneider has been the rage since last year but +one. Absolutely the rage." + +"I do wish I'd noticed her!" said Sophia. + +"As soon as the Varietes reopens we'll go and see her," he replied, and +then gave his detailed version of the career of Hortense Schneider. + +More joys for her in the near future! She had yet scarcely penetrated +the crust of her bliss. She exulted in the dazzling destiny which +comprised freedom, fortune, eternal gaiety, and the exquisite Gerald. + +As they crossed the Place de la Concorde, she inquired, "Are we going +back to the hotel?" + +"No," he said. "I thought we'd go and have supper somewhere, if it +isn't too early." + +"After all that dinner?" + +"All what dinner? You ate about five times as much as me, anyhow!" + +"Oh, I'm ready!" she said. + +She was. This day, because it was the first day of her French frock, +she regarded as her debut in the dizzy life of capitals. She existed in +a rapture of bliss, an ecstasy which could feel no fatigue, either of +body or spirit. + +II + +It was after midnight when they went into the Restaurant Sylvain; +Gerald, having decided not to go to the hotel, had changed his mind and +called there, and having called there, had remained a long time: this +of course! Sophia was already accustoming herself to the idea that, +with Gerald, it was impossible to predict accurately more than five +minutes of the future. + +As the chasseur held open the door for them to enter, and Sophia passed +modestly into the glowing yellow interior of the restaurant, followed +by Gerald in his character of man-of-the-world, they drew the attention +of Sylvain's numerous and glittering guests. No face could have made a +more provocative contrast to the women's faces in those screened rooms +than the face of Sophia, so childlike between the baby's bonnet and the +huge bow of ribbon, so candid, so charmingly conscious of its own pure +beauty and of the fact that she was no longer a virgin, but the equal +in knowledge of any woman alive. She saw around her, clustered about +the white tables, multitudes of violently red lips, powdered cheeks, +cold, hard eyes, self-possessed arrogant faces, and insolent bosoms. +What had impressed her more than anything else in Paris, more even than +the three-horsed omnibuses, was the extraordinary self-assurance of all +the women, their unashamed posing, their calm acceptance of the public +gaze. They seemed to say: "We are the renowned Parisiennes." They +frightened her: they appeared to her so corrupt and so proud in their +corruption. She had already seen a dozen women in various situations of +conspicuousness apply powder to their complexions with no more ado than +if they had been giving a pat to their hair. She could not understand +such boldness. As for them, they marvelled at the phenomena presented +in Sophia's person; they admired; they admitted the style of the gown; +but they envied neither her innocence nor her beauty; they envied +nothing but her youth and the fresh tint of her cheeks. + +"Encore des Anglais!" said some of them, as if that explained all. + +Gerald had a very curt way with waiters; and the more obsequious they +were, the haughtier he became; and a head-waiter was no more to him +than a scullion. He gave loud-voiced orders in French of which both he +and Sophia were proud, and a table was laid for them in a corner near +one of the large windows. Sophia settled herself on the bench of green +velvet, and began to ply the ivory fan which Gerald had given her. It +was very hot; all the windows were wide open, and the sounds of the +street mingled clearly with the tinkle of the supper-room. Outside, +against a sky of deepest purple, Sophia could discern the black +skeleton of a gigantic building; it was the new opera house. + +"All sorts here!" said Gerald, contentedly, after he had ordered iced +soup and sparkling Moselle. Sophia did not know what Moselle was, but +she imagined that anything would be better than champagne. + +Sylvain's was then typical of the Second Empire, and particularly +famous as a supper-room. Expensive and gay, it provided, with its +discreet decorations, a sumptuous scene where lorettes, actresses, +respectable women, and an occasional grisette in luck, could satisfy +their curiosity as to each other. In its catholicity it was highly +correct as a resort; not many other restaurants in the centre could +have successfully fought against the rival attractions of the Bois and +the dim groves of the Champs Elysees on a night in August. The +complicated richness of the dresses, the yards and yards of fine +stitchery, the endless ruching, the hints, more or less incautious, of +nether treasures of embroidered linen; and, leaping over all this to +the eye, the vivid colourings of silks and muslins, veils, plumes and +flowers, piled as it were pell-mell in heaps on the universal green +cushions to the furthest vista of the restaurant, and all multiplied in +gilt mirrors--the spectacle intoxicated Sophia. Her eyes gleamed. She +drank the soup with eagerness, and tasted the wine, though no desire on +her part to like wine could make her like it; and then, seeing +pineapples on a large table covered with fruits, she told Gerald that +she should like some pineapple, and Gerald ordered one. + +She gathered her self-esteem and her wits together, and began to give +Gerald her views on the costumes. She could do so with impunity, +because her own was indubitably beyond criticism. Some she wholly +condemned, and there was not one which earned her unreserved approval. +All the absurd fastidiousness of her schoolgirlish provinciality +emerged in that eager, affected torrent of remarks. However, she was +clever enough to read, after a time, in Gerald's tone and features, +that she was making a tedious fool of herself. And she adroitly shifted +her criticism from the taste to the WORK--she put a strong accent on +the word--and pronounced that to be miraculous beyond description. She +reckoned that she knew what dressmaking and millinery were, and her +little fund of expert knowledge caused her to picture a whole necessary +cityful of girls stitching, stitching, and stitching day and night. She +had wondered, during the few odd days that they had spent in Paris, +between visits to Chantilly and other places, at the massed luxury of +the shops; she had wondered, starting with St. Luke's Square as a +standard, how they could all thrive. But now in her first real glimpse +of the banal and licentious profusion of one among a hundred +restaurants, she wondered that the shops were so few. She thought how +splendid was all this expensiveness for trade. Indeed, the notions +chasing each other within that lovely and foolish head were a +surprising medley. + +"Well, what do you think of Sylvain's?" Gerald asked, impatient to be +assured that his Sylvain's had duly overwhelmed her. + +"Oh, Gerald!" she murmured, indicating that speech was inadequate. And +she just furtively touched his hand with hers. + +The ennui due to her critical disquisition on the shortcomings of +Parisian costume cleared away from Gerald's face. + +"What do you suppose those people there are talking about?" he said +with a jerk of the head towards a chattering group of three gorgeous +lorettes and two middle-aged men at the next table but one. + +"What are they talking about?" + +"They're talking about the execution of the murderer Rivain that takes +place at Auxerre the day after to-morrow. They're arranging to make up +a party and go and see it." + +"Oh, what a horrid idea!" said Sophia. + +"Guillotine, you know!" said Gerald. + +"But can people see it?" + +"Yes, of course." + +"Well, I think it's horrible." + +"Yes, that's why people like to go and see it. Besides, the man isn't +an ordinary sort of criminal at all. He's very young and good-looking, +and well connected. And he killed the celebrated Claudine...." + +"Claudine?" + +"Claudine Jacquinot. Of course you wouldn't know. She was a +tremendous--er--wrong 'un here in the forties. Made a lot of money, and +retired to her native town." + +Sophia, in spite of her efforts to maintain the role of a woman who has +nothing to learn, blushed. + +"Then she was older than he is." + +"Thirty-five years older, if a day." + +"What did he kill her for?" + +"She wouldn't give him enough money. She was his mistress--or rather +one of 'em. He wanted money for a young lady friend, you see. He killed +her and took all the jewels she was wearing. Whenever he went to see +her she always wore all her best jewels--and you may bet a woman like +that had a few. It seems she had been afraid for a long time that he +meant to do for her." + +"Then why did she see him? And why did she wear her jewels?" + +"Because she liked being afraid, goose! Some women only enjoy +themselves when they're terrified. Queer, isn't it?" + +Gerald insisted on meeting his wife's gaze as he finished these +revelations. He pretended that such stories were the commonest things +on earth, and that to be scandalized by them was infantile. Sophia, +thrust suddenly into a strange civilization perfectly frank in its +sensuality and its sensuousness, under the guidance of a young man to +whom her half-formed intelligence was a most diverting toy--Sophia felt +mysteriously uncomfortable, disturbed by sinister, flitting phantoms of +ideas which she only dimly apprehended. Her eyes fell. Gerald laughed +self-consciously. She would not eat any more pineapple. + +Immediately afterwards there came into the restaurant an apparition +which momentarily stopped every conversation in the room. It was a tall +and mature woman who wore over a dress of purplish-black silk a vast +flowing sortie de bal of vermilion velvet, looped and tasselled with +gold. No other costume could live by the side of that garment, Arab in +shape, Russian in colour, and Parisian in style. It blazed. The woman's +heavy coiffure was bound with fillets of gold braid and crimson +rosettes. She was followed by a young Englishman in evening dress and +whiskers of the most exact correctness. The woman sailed, a little +breathlessly, to a table next to Gerald's, and took possession of it +with an air of use, almost of tedium. She sat down, threw the cloak +from her majestic bosom, and expanded her chest. Seeming to ignore the +Englishman, who superciliously assumed the seat opposite to her, she +let her large scornful eyes travel round the restaurant, slowly and +imperiously meeting the curiosity which she had evoked. Her beauty had +undoubtedly been dazzling, it was still effulgent; but the blossom was +about to fall. She was admirably rouged and powdered; her arms were +glorious; her lashes were long. There was little fault, save the +excessive ripeness of a blonde who fights in vain against obesity. And +her clothes combined audacity with the propriety of fashion. She +carelessly deposed costly trinkets on the table, and then, having +intimidated the whole company, she accepted the menu from the +head-waiter and began to study it. + +"That's one of 'em!" Gerald whispered to Sophia. + +"One of what?" Sophia whispered. + +Gerald raised his eyebrows warningly, and winked. The Englishman had +overheard; and a look of frigid displeasure passed across his proud +face. Evidently he belonged to a rank much higher than Gerald's; and +Gerald, though he could always comfort himself by the thought that he +had been to a university with the best, felt his own inferiority and +could not hide that he felt it. Gerald was wealthy; he came of a +wealthy family; but he had not the habit of wealth. When he spent money +furiously, he did it with bravado, too conscious of grandeur and too +conscious of the difficulties of acquiring that which he threw away. +For Gerald had earned money. This whiskered Englishman had never earned +money, never known the value of it, never imagined himself without as +much of it as he might happen to want. He had the face of one +accustomed to give orders and to look down upon inferiors. He was +absolutely sure of himself. That his companion chiefly ignored him did +not appear to incommode him in the least. She spoke to him in French. +He replied in English, very briefly; and then, in English, he commanded +the supper. As soon as the champagne was served he began to drink; in +the intervals of drinking he gently stroked his whiskers. The woman +spoke no more. + +Gerald talked more loudly. With that aristocratic Englishman observing +him, he could not remain at ease. And not only did he talk more loudly; +he brought into his conversation references to money, travels, and +worldly experiences. While seeking to impress the Englishman, he was +merely becoming ridiculous to the Englishman; and obscurely he was +aware of this. Sophia noticed and regretted it. Still, feeling very +unimportant herself, she was reconciled to the superiority of the +whiskered Englishman as to a natural fact. Gerald's behaviour slightly +lowered him in her esteem. Then she looked at him--at his well-shaped +neatness, his vivacious face, his excellent clothes, and decided that +he was much to be preferred to any heavy-jawed, long-nosed aristocrat +alive. + +The woman whose vermilion cloak lay around her like a fortification +spoke to her escort. He did not understand. He tried to express himself +in French, and failed. Then the woman recommenced, talking at length. +When she had done he shook his head. His acquaintance with French was +limited to the vocabulary of food. + +"Guillotine!" he murmured, the sole word of her discourse that he had +understood. + +"Oui, oui! Guillotine. Enfin...!" cried the woman excitedly. Encouraged +by her success in conveying even one word of her remarks, she began a +third time. + +"Excuse me," said Gerald. "Madame is talking about the execution at +Auxerre the day after to-morrow. N'est-ce-pas, madame, que vous parliez +de Rivain?" + +The Englishman glared angrily at Gerald's officious interruption. But +the woman smiled benevolently on Gerald, and insisted on talking to her +friend through him. And the Englishman had to make the best of the +situation. + +"There isn't a restaurant in Paris to-night where they aren't talking +about that execution," said Gerald on his own account. + +"Indeed!" observed the Englishman. + +Wine affected them in different ways. + +Now a fragile, short young Frenchman, with an extremely pale face +ending in a thin black imperial, appeared at the entrance. He looked +about, and, recognizing the woman of the scarlet cloak, very discreetly +saluted her. Then he saw Gerald, and his worn, fatigued features showed +a sudden, startled smile. He came rapidly forward, hat in hand, seized +Gerald's palm and greeted him effusively. + +"My wife," said Gerald, with the solemn care of a man who is determined +to prove that he is entirely sober. + +The young man became grave and excessively ceremonious. He bowed low +over Sophia's hand and kissed it. Her impulse was to laugh, but the +gravity of the young man's deference stopped her. She glanced at +Gerald, blushing, as if to say: "This comedy is not my fault." Gerald +said something, the young man turned to him and his face resumed its +welcoming smile. + +"This is Monsieur Chirac," Gerald at length completed the introduction, +"a friend of mine when I lived in Paris." + +He was proud to have met by accident an acquaintance in a restaurant. +It demonstrated that he was a Parisian, and improved his standing with +the whiskered Englishman and the vermilion cloak. + +"It is the first time you come Paris, madame?" Chirac addressed himself +to Sophia, in limping, timorous English. + +"Yes," she giggled. He bowed again. + +Chirac, with his best compliments, felicitated Gerald upon his marriage. + +"Don't mention it!" said the humorous Gerald in English, amused at his +own wit; and then: "What about this execution?" + +"Ah!" replied Chirac, breathing out a long breath, and smiling at +Sophia. "Rivain! Rivain!" He made a large, important gesture with his +hand. + +It was at once to be seen that Gerald had touched the topic which +secretly ravaged the supper-world as a subterranean fire ravages a mine. + +"I go!" said Chirac, with pride, glancing at Sophia, who smiled +self-consciously. + +Chirac entered upon a conversation with Gerald in French. Sophia +comprehended that Gerald was surprised and impressed by what Chirac +told him and that Chirac in turn was surprised. Then Gerald laboriously +found his pocket-book, and after some fumbling with it handed it to +Chirac so that the latter might write in it. + +"Madame!" murmured Chirac, resuming his ceremonious stiffness in order +to take leave. "Alors, c'est entendu, mon cher ami!" he said to Gerald, +who nodded phlegmatically. And Chirac went away to the next table but +one, where were the three lorettes and the two middle-aged men. He was +received there with enthusiasm. + +Sophia began to be teased by a little fear that Gerald was not quite +his usual self. She did not think of him as tipsy. The idea of his +being tipsy would have shocked her. She did not think clearly at all. +She was lost and dazed in the labyrinth of new and vivid impressions +into which Gerald had led her. But her prudence was awake. + +"I think I'm tired," she said in a low voice. + +"You don't want to go, do you?" he asked, hurt. + +"Well--" + +"Oh, wait a bit!" + +The owner of the vermilion cloak spoke again to Gerald, who showed that +he was flattered. While talking to her he ordered a brandy-and-soda. +And then he could not refrain from displaying to her his familiarity +with Parisian life, and he related how he had met Hortense Schneider +behind a pair of white horses. The vermilion cloak grew even more +sociable at the mention of this resounding name, and chattered with the +most agreeable vivacity. Her friend stared inimically. + +"Do you hear that?" Gerald explained to Sophia, who was sitting silent. +"About Hortense Schneider--you know, we met her to-night. It seems she +made a bet of a louis with some fellow, and when he lost he sent her +the louis set in diamonds worth a hundred thousand francs. That's how +they go on here." + +"Oh!" cried Sophia, further than ever in the labyrinth. + +"'Scuse me," the Englishman put in heavily. He had heard the words +'Hortense Schneider,' 'Hortense Schneider,' repeating themselves in the +conversation, and at last it had occurred to him that the conversation +was about Hortense Schneider. "'Scuse me," he began again. "Are you--do +you mean Hortense Schneider?" + +"Yes," said Gerald. "We met her to-night." + +"She's in Trouville," said the Englishman, flatly. + +Gerald shook his head positively. + +"I gave a supper to her in Trouville last night," said the Englishman. +"And she plays at the Casino Theatre to-night." + +Gerald was repulsed but not defeated. "What is she playing in to-night? +Tell me that!" he sneered. + +"I don't see why I sh'd tell you." + +"Hm!" Gerald retorted. "If what you say is true, it's a very strange +thing I should have seen her in the Champs Elysees to-night, isn't it?" + +The Englishman drank more wine. "If you want to insult me, sir--" he +began coldly. + +"Gerald!" Sophia urged in a whisper. + +"Be quiet!" Gerald snapped. + +A fiddler in fancy costume plunged into the restaurant at that moment +and began to play wildly. The shock of his strange advent momentarily +silenced the quarrel; but soon it leaped up again, under the shelter of +the noisy music,--the common, tedious, tippler's quarrel. It rose +higher and higher. The fiddler looked askance at it over his fiddle. +Chirac cautiously observed it. Instead of attending to the music, the +festal company attended to the quarrel. Three waiters in a group +watched it with an impartial sporting interest. The English voices grew +more menacing. + +Then suddenly the whiskered Englishman, jerking his head towards the +door, said more quietly: + +"Hadn't we better settle thish outside?" + +"At your service!" said Gerald, rising. + +The owner of the vermilion cloak lifted her eyebrows to Chirac in +fatigued disgust, but she said nothing. Nor did Sophia say anything. +Sophia was overcome by terror. + +The swain of the cloak, dragging his coat after him across the floor, +left the restaurant without offering any apology or explanation to his +lady. + +"Wait here for me," said Gerald defiantly to Sophia. "I shall be back +in a minute." + +"But, Gerald!" She put her hand on his sleeve. + +He snatched his arm away. "Wait here for me, I tell you," he repeated. + +The doorkeeper obsequiously opened the door to the two unsteady +carousers, for whom the fiddler drew back, still playing. + +Thus Sophia was left side by side with the vermilion cloak. She was +quite helpless. All the pride of a married woman had abandoned her. She +stood transfixed by intense shame, staring painfully at a pillar, to +avoid the universal assault of eyes. She felt like an indiscreet little +girl, and she looked like one. No youthful radiant beauty of features, +no grace and style of a Parisian dress, no certificate of a ring, no +premature initiation into the mysteries, could save her from the +appearance of a raw fool whose foolishness had been her undoing. Her +face changed to its reddest, and remained at that, and all the +fundamental innocence of her nature, which had been overlaid by the +violent experiences of her brief companionship with Gerald, rose again +to the surface with that blush. Her situation drew pity from a few +hearts and a careless contempt from the rest. But since once more it +was a question of ces Anglais, nobody could be astonished. + +Without moving her head, she twisted her eyes to the clock: half-past +two. The fiddler ceased his dance and made a collection in his +tasselled cap. The vermilion cloak threw a coin into the cap. Sophia +stared at it moveless, until the fiddler, tired of waiting, passed to +the next table and relieved her agony. She had no money at all. She set +herself to watch the clock; but its fingers would not stir. + +With an exclamation the lady of the cloak got up and peered out of the +window, chatted with waiters, and then removed herself and her cloak to +the next table, where she was received with amiable sympathy by the +three lorettes, Chirac, and the other two men. The party +surreptitiously examined Sophia from time to time. Then Chirac went +outside with the head-waiter, returned, consulted with his friends, and +finally approached Sophia. It was twenty minutes past three. + +He renewed his magnificent bow. "Madame," he said carefully, "will you +allow me to bring you to your hotel?" + +He made no reference to Gerald, partly, doubtless, because his English +was treacherous on difficult ground. + +Sophia had not sufficient presence of mind to thank her saviour. + +"But the bill?" she stammered. "The bill isn't paid." + +He did not instantly understand her. But one of the waiters had caught +the sound of a familiar word, and sprang forward with a slip of paper +on a plate. + +"I have no money," said Sophia, with a feeble smile. + +"Je vous arrangerai ca," he said. "What name of the hotel? Meurice, is +it not?" + +"Hotel Meurice," said Sophia. "Yes." + +He spoke to the head-waiter about the bill, which was carried away like +something obscene; and on his arm, which he punctiliously offered and +she could not refuse, Sophia left the scene of her ignominy. She was so +distraught that she could not manage her crinoline in the doorway. No +sign anywhere outside of Gerald or his foe! + +He put her into an open carriage, and in five minutes they had +clattered down the brilliant silence of the Rue de la Paix, through the +Place Vendome into the Rue de Rivoli; and the night-porter of the hotel +was at the carriage-step. + +"I tell them at the restaurant where you gone," said Chirac, +bare-headed under the long colonnade of the street. "If your husband is +there, I tell him. Till to-morrow...!" + +His manners were more wonderful than any that Sophia had ever imagined. +He might have been in the dark Tuileries on the opposite side of the +street, saluting an empress, instead of taking leave of a raw little +girl, who was still too disturbed even to thank him. + +She fled candle in hand up the wide, many-cornered stairs; Gerald might +be already in the bedroom, ... drunk! There was a chance. But the +gilt-fringed bedroom was empty. She sat down at the velvet-covered +table amid the shadows cast by the candle that wavered in the draught +from the open window. And she set her teeth and a cold fury possessed +her in the hot and languorous night. Gerald was an imbecile. That he +should have allowed himself to get tipsy was bad enough, but that he +should have exposed her to the horrible situation from which Chirac had +extricated her, was unspeakably disgraceful. He was an imbecile. He had +no common sense. With all his captivating charm, he could not be relied +upon not to make himself and her ridiculous, tragically ridiculous. +Compare him with Mr. Chirac! She leaned despairingly on the table. She +would not undress. She would not move. She had to realize her position; +she had to see it. + +Folly! Folly! Fancy a commercial traveller throwing a compromising +piece of paper to the daughter of his customer in the shop itself: that +was the incredible folly with which their relations had begun! And his +mad gesture at the pit-shaft! And his scheme for bringing her to Paris +unmarried! And then to-night! Monstrous folly! Alone in the bedroom she +was a wise and a disillusioned woman, wiser than any of those dolls in +the restaurant. + +And had she not gone to Gerald, as it were, over the dead body of her +father, through lies and lies and again lies? That was how she phrased +it to herself.... Over the dead body of her father! How could such a +venture succeed? How could she ever have hoped that it would succeed? +In that moment she saw her acts with the terrible vision of a Hebrew +prophet. + +She thought of the Square and of her life there with her mother and +Constance. Never would her pride allow her to return to that life, not +even if the worst happened to her that could happen. She was one of +those who are prepared to pay without grumbling for what they have had. + +There was a sound outside. She noticed that the dawn had begun. The +door opened and disclosed Gerald. + +They exchanged a searching glance, and Gerald shut the door. Gerald +infected the air, but she perceived at once that he was sobered. His +lip was bleeding. + +"Mr. Chirac brought me home," she said. + +"So it seems," said Gerald, curtly. "I asked you to wait for me. Didn't +I say I should come back?" + +He was adopting the injured magisterial tone of the man who is +ridiculously trying to conceal from himself and others that he has +recently behaved like an ass. + +She resented the injustice. "I don't think you need talk like that," +she said. + +"Like what?" he bullied her, determined that she should be in the wrong. + +And what a hard look on his pretty face! + +Her prudence bade her accept the injustice. She was his. Rapt away from +her own world, she was utterly dependent on his good nature. + +"I knocked my chin against the damned balustrade, coming upstairs," +said Gerald, gloomily. + +She knew that was a lie. "Did you?" she replied kindly. "Let me bathe +it." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +AN AMBITION SATISFIED + +I + + +She went to sleep in misery. All the glory of her new life had been +eclipsed. But when she woke up, a few hours later, in the large, +velvety stateliness of the bedroom for which Gerald was paying so +fantastic a price per day, she was in a brighter mood, and very willing +to reconsider her verdicts. Her pride induced her to put Gerald in the +right and herself in the wrong, for she was too proud to admit that she +had married a charming and irresponsible fool. And, indeed, ought she +not to put herself in the wrong? Gerald had told her to wait, and she +had not waited. He had said that he should return to the restaurant, +and he had returned. Why had she not waited? She had not waited because +she had behaved like a simpleton. She had been terrified about nothing. +Had she not been frequenting restaurants now for a month past? Ought +not a married woman to be capable of waiting an hour in a restaurant +for her lawful husband without looking a ninny? And as for Gerald's +behaviour, how could he have acted differently? The other Englishman +was obviously a brute and had sought a quarrel. His contradiction of +Gerald's statements was extremely offensive. On being invited by the +brute to go outside, what could Gerald do but comply? Not to have +complied might have meant a fight in the restaurant, as the brute was +certainly drunk. Compared to the brute, Gerald was not at all drunk, +merely a little gay and talkative. Then Gerald's fib about his chin was +natural; he simply wished to minimize the fuss and to spare her +feelings. It was, in fact, just like Gerald to keep perfect silence as +to what had passed between himself and the brute. However, she was +convinced that Gerald, so lithe and quick, had given that great brute +with his supercilious ways as good as he received, if not better. + +And if she were a man and had asked her wife to wait in a restaurant, +and the wife had gone home under the escort of another man, she would +most assuredly be much more angry than Gerald had been. She was very +glad that she had controlled herself and exercised a meek diplomacy. A +quarrel had thus been avoided. Yes, the finish of the evening could not +be called a quarrel; after her nursing of his chin, nothing but a +slight coolness on his part had persisted. + +She arose silently and began to dress, full of a determination to treat +Gerald as a good wife ought to treat a husband. Gerald did not stir; he +was an excellent sleeper: one of those organisms that never want to go +to bed and never want to get up. When her toilet was complete save for +her bodice, there was a knock at the door. She started. + +"Gerald!" She approached the bed, and leaned her nude bosom over her +husband, and put her arms round his neck. This method of being brought +back to consciousness did not displease him. + +The knock was repeated. He gave a grunt. + +"Some one's knocking at the door," she whispered. + +"Then why don't you open it?" he asked dreamily. + +"I'm not dressed, darling." + +He looked at her. "Stick something on your shoulders, girl!" said he. +"What does it matter?" + +There she was, being a simpleton again, despite her resolution! + +She obeyed, and cautiously opened the door, standing behind it. + +A middle-aged whiskered servant, in a long white apron, announced +matters in French which passed her understanding. But Gerald had heard +from the bed, and he replied. + +"Bien, monsieur!" The servant departed, with a bow, down the obscure +corridor. + +"It's Chirac," Gerald explained when she had shut the door. "I was +forgetting I asked him to come and have lunch with us, early. He's +waiting in the drawing-room. Just put your bodice on, and go and talk +to him till I come." + +He jumped out of bed, and then, standing in his night-garb, stretched +himself and terrifically yawned. + +"Me?" Sophia questioned. + +"Who else?" said Gerald, with that curious satiric dryness which he +would sometimes import into his tone. + +"But I can't speak French!" she protested. + +"I didn't suppose you could," said Gerald, with an increase of dryness; +"but you know as well as I do that he can speak English." + +"Oh, very well, then!" she murmured with agreeable alacrity. + +Evidently Gerald had not yet quite recovered from his legitimate +displeasure of the night. He minutely examined his mouth in the glass +of the Louis Philippe wardrobe. It showed scarcely a trace of battle. + +"I say!" he stopped her, as, nervous at the prospect before her, she +was leaving the room. "I was thinking of going to Auxerre to-day." + +"Auxerre?" she repeated, wondering under what circumstances she had +recently heard that name. Then she remembered: it was the place of +execution of the murderer Rivain. + +"Yes," he said. "Chirac has to go. He's on a newspaper now. He was an +architect when I knew him. He's got to go and he thinks himself jolly +lucky. So I thought I'd go with him." + +The truth was that he had definitely arranged to go. + +"Not to see the execution?" she stammered. + +"Why not? I've always wanted to see an execution, especially with the +guillotine. And executions are public in France. It's quite the proper +thing to go to them." + +"But why do you want to see an execution?" + +"It just happens that I do want to see an execution. It's a fancy of +mine, that's all. I don't know that any reason is necessary," he said, +pouring out water into the diminutive ewer. + +She was aghast. "And shall you leave me here alone?" + +"Well," said he, "I don't see why my being married should prevent me +from doing something that I've always wanted to do. Do you?" + +"Oh NO!" she eagerly concurred. + +"That's all right," he said. "You can do exactly as you like. Either +stay here, or come with me. If you go to Auxerre there's no need at all +for you to see the execution. It's an interesting old town--cathedral +and so on. But of course if you can't bear to be in the same town as a +guillotine, I'll go alone. I shall come back to-morrow." + +It was plain where his wish lay. She stopped the phrases that came to +her lips, and did her best to dismiss the thoughts which prompted them. + +"Of course I'll go," she said quietly. She hesitated, and then went up +to the washstand and kissed a part of his cheek that was not soapy. +That kiss, which comforted and somehow reassured her, was the +expression of a surrender whose monstrousness she would not admit to +herself. + +In the rich and dusty drawing-room, Chirac and Chirac's exquisite +formalities awaited her. Nobody else was there. + +"My husband ..." she began, smiling and blushing. She liked Chirac. + +It was the first time she had had the opportunity of using that word to +other than a servant. It soothed her and gave her confidence. She +perceived after a few moments that Chirac did genuinely admire her; +more, that she inspired him with something that resembled awe. Speaking +very slowly and distinctly she said that she should travel with her +husband to Auxerre; as he saw no objection to that course; implying +that if he saw no objection she was perfectly satisfied. Chirac was +concurrence itself. In five minutes it seemed to be the most natural +and proper thing in the world that, on her honeymoon, she should be +going with her husband to a particular town because a notorious +murderer was about to be decapitated there in public. + +"My husband has always wanted to see an execution," she said, later. +"It would be a pity to ..." + +"As psychological experience," replied Chirac, pronouncing the p of the +adjective, "it will be very interessant.... To observe one's self, in +such circumstances ..." He smiled enthusiastically. + +She thought how strange even nice Frenchmen were. Imagine going to an +execution in order to observe yourself! + +II + +What continually impressed Sophia as strange, in the behaviour not only +of Gerald but of Chirac and other people with whom she came into +contact, was its quality of casualness. She had all her life been +accustomed to see enterprises, even minor ones, well pondered and then +carefully schemed beforehand. In St. Luke's Square there was always, in +every head, a sort of time-table of existence prepared at least one +week in advance. But in Gerald's world nothing was prearranged. +Elaborate affairs were decided in a moment and undertaken with +extraordinary lightness. Thus the excursion to Auxerre! During lunch +scarcely a word was said as to it; the conversation, in English for +Sophia's advantage, turning, as usual under such circumstances, upon +the difficulty of languages and the differences between countries. +Nobody would have guessed that any member of the party had any +preoccupation whatever for the rest of the day. The meal was delightful +to Sophia; not merely did she find Chirac comfortingly kind and +sincere, but Gerald was restored to the perfection of his charm and his +good humour. Then suddenly, in the midst of coffee, the question of +trains loomed up like a swift crisis. In five minutes Chirac had +departed--whether to his office or his home Sophia did not understand, +and within a quarter of an hour she and Gerald were driving rapidly to +the Gare de Lyon, Gerald stuffing into his pocket a large envelope full +of papers which he had received by registered post. They caught the +train by about a minute, and Chirac by a few seconds. Yet neither he +nor Gerald seemed to envisage the risk of inconvenience and annoyance +which they had incurred and escaped. Chirac chattered through the +window with another journalist in the next compartment. When she had +leisure to examine him, Sophia saw that he must have called at his home +to put on old clothes. Everybody except herself and Gerald seemed to +travel in his oldest clothes. + +The train was hot, noisy, and dusty. But, one after another, all three +of them fell asleep and slept heavily, calmly, like healthy and +exhausted young animals. Nothing could disturb them for more than a +moment. To Sophia it appeared to be by simple chance that Chirac +aroused himself and them at Laroche and sleepily seized her valise and +got them all out on the platform, where they yawned and smiled, full of +the deep, half-realized satisfaction of repose. They drank nectar from +a wheeled buffet, drank it eagerly, in thirsty gulps, and sighed with +pleasure and relief, and Gerald threw down a coin, refusing change with +a lord's gesture. The local train to Auxerre was full, and with a +varied and sinister cargo. At length they were in the zone of the +waiting guillotine. The rumour ran that the executioner was on the +train. No one had seen him; no one was sure of recognizing him, but +everyone hugged the belief that he was on the train. Although the sun +was sinking the heat seemed not to abate. Attitudes grew more limp, +more abandoned. Soot and prickly dust flew in unceasingly at the open +windows. The train stopped at Bonnard, Chemilly, and Moneteau, each +time before a waiting crowd that invaded it. And at last, in the great +station at Auxerre, it poured out an incredible mass of befouled +humanity that spread over everything like an inundation. Sophia was +frightened. Gerald left the initiative to Chirac, and Chirac took her +arm and led her forward, looking behind him to see that Gerald followed +with the valise. Frenzy seemed to reign in Auxerre. + +The driver of a cab demanded ten francs for transporting them to the +Hotel de l'Epee. + +"Bah!" scornfully exclaimed Chirac, in his quality of experienced +Parisian who is not to be exploited by heavy-witted provincials. + +But the driver of the next cab demanded twelve francs. + +"Jump in," said Gerald to Sophia. Chirac lifted his eyebrows. + +At the same moment a tall, stout man with the hard face of a +flourishing scoundrel, and a young, pallid girl on his arm, pushed +aside both Gerald and Chirac and got into the cab with his companion. + +Chirac protested, telling him that the cab was already engaged. + +The usurper scowled and swore, and the young girl laughed boldly. + +Sophia, shrinking, expected her escort to execute justice heroic and +final; but she was disappointed. + +"Brute!" murmured Chirac, and shrugged his shoulders, as the carriage +drove off, leaving them foolish on the kerb. + +By this time all the other cabs had been seized. They walked to the +Hotel de l'Epee, jostled by the crowd, Sophia and Chirac in front, and +Gerald following with the valise, whose weight caused him to lean over +to the right and his left arm to rise. The avenue was long, straight, +and misty with a floating dust. Sophia had a vivid sense of the +romantic. They saw towers and spires, and Chirac talked to her slowly +and carefully of the cathedral and the famous churches. He said that +the stained glass was marvellous, and with much care he catalogued for +her all the things she must visit. They crossed a river. She felt as +though she was stepping into the middle age. At intervals Gerald +changed the valise from hand to hand; obstinately, he would not let +Chirac touch it. They struggled upwards, through narrow curving streets. + +"Voila!" said Chirac. + +They were in front of the Hotel de l'Epee. Across the street was a cafe +crammed with people. Several carriages stood in front. The Hotel de +l'Epee had a reassuring air of mellow respectability, such as Chirac +had claimed for it. He had suggested this hotel for Madame Scales +because it was not near the place of execution. Gerald had said, "Of +course! Of course!" Chirac, who did not mean to go to bed, required no +room for himself. + +The Hotel de l'Epee had one room to offer, at the price of twenty-five +francs. + +Gerald revolted at the attempted imposition. "A nice thing!" he +grumbled, "that ordinary travellers can't get a decent room at a decent +price just because some one's going to be guillotined to-morrow! We'll +try elsewhere!" + +His features expressed disgust, but Sophia fancied that he was secretly +pleased. + +They swaggered out of the busy stir of the hotel, as those must who, +having declined to be swindled, wish to preserve their importance in +the face of the world. In the street a cabman solicited them, and +filled them with hope by saying that he knew of a hotel that might suit +them and would drive them there for five francs. He furiously lashed +his horse. The mere fact of being in a swiftly moving carriage which +wayfarers had to avoid nimbly, maintained their spirits. They had a +near glimpse of the cathedral. The cab halted with a bump, in a small +square, in front of a repellent building which bore the sign, 'Hotel de +Vezelay.' The horse was bleeding. Gerald instructed Sophia to remain +where she was, and he and Chirac went up four stone steps into the +hotel. Sophia, stared at by loose crowds that were promenading, gazed +about her, and saw that all the windows of the square were open and +most of them occupied by people who laughed and chattered. Then there +was a shout: Gerald's voice. He had appeared at a window on the second +floor of the hotel with Chirac and a very fat woman. Chirac saluted, +and Gerald laughed carelessly, and nodded. + +"It's all right," said Gerald, having descended. + +"How much do they ask?" Sophia inquired indiscreetly. + +Gerald hesitated, and looked self-conscious. "Thirty-five francs," he +said. "But I've had enough of driving about. It seems we're lucky to +get it even at that." + +And Chirac shrugged his shoulders as if to indicate that the situation +and the price ought to be accepted philosophically. Gerald gave the +driver five francs. He examined the piece and demanded a pourboire. + +"Oh! Damn!" said Gerald, and, because he had no smaller change, parted +with another two francs. + +"Is any one coming out for this damned valise?" Gerald demanded, like a +tyrant whose wrath would presently fall if the populace did not +instantly set about minding their p's and q's. + +But nobody emerged, and he was compelled to carry the bag himself. + +The hotel was dark and malodorous, and every room seemed to be crowded +with giggling groups of drinkers. + +"We can't both sleep in this bed, surely," said Sophia when, Chirac +having remained downstairs, she faced Gerald in a small, mean bedroom. + +"You don't suppose I shall go to bed, do you?" said Gerald, rather +brusquely. "It's for you. We're going to eat now. Look sharp." + +III + +It was night. She lay in the narrow, crimson-draped bed. The heavy +crimson curtains had been drawn across the dirty lace curtains of the +window, but the lights of the little square faintly penetrated through +chinks into the room. The sounds of the square also penetrated, +extraordinarily loud and clear, for the unabated heat had compelled her +to leave the window open. She could not sleep. Exhausted though she +was, there was no hope of her being able to sleep. + +Once again she was profoundly depressed. She remembered the dinner with +horror. The long, crowded table, with semi-circular ends, in the +oppressive and reeking dining-room lighted by oil-lamps! There must +have been at least forty people at that table. Most of them ate +disgustingly, as noisily as pigs, with the ends of the large coarse +napkins tucked in at their necks. All the service was done by the fat +woman whom she had seen at the window with Gerald, and a young girl +whose demeanour was candidly brazen. Both these creatures were +slatterns. Everything was dirty. But the food was good. Chirac and +Gerald were agreed that the food was good, as well as the wine. +"Remarquable!" Chirac had said, of the wine. Sophia, however, could +neither eat nor drink with relish. She was afraid. The company shocked +her by its gestures alone. It was very heterogeneous in appearance, +some of the diners being well dressed, approaching elegance, and others +shabby. But all the faces, to the youngest, were brutalized, corrupt, +and shameless. The juxtaposition of old men and young women was odious +to her, especially when those pairs kissed, as they did frequently +towards the end of the meal. Happily she was placed between Chirac and +Gerald. That situation seemed to shelter her even from the +conversation. She would have comprehended nothing of the conversation, +had it not been for the presence of a middle-aged Englishman who sat at +the opposite end of the table with a youngish, stylish Frenchwoman whom +she had seen at Sylvain's on the previous night. The Englishman was +evidently under a promise to teach English to the Frenchwoman. He kept +translating for her into English, slowly and distinctly, and she would +repeat the phrases after him, with strange contortions of the mouth. + +Thus Sophia gathered that the talk was exclusively about +assassinations, executions, criminals, and executioners. Some of the +people there made a practice of attending every execution. They were +fountains of interesting gossip, and the lions of the meal. There was a +woman who could recall the dying words of all the victims of justice +for twenty years past. The table roared with hysteric laughter at one +of this woman's anecdotes. Sophia learned that she had related how a +criminal had said to the priest who was good-naturedly trying to screen +the sight of the guillotine from him with his body: "Stand away now, +parson. Haven't I paid to see it?" Such was the Englishman's rendering. +The wages of the executioners and their assistants were discussed, and +differences of opinions led to ferocious arguments. A young and +dandiacal fellow told, as a fact which he was ready to vouch for with a +pistol, how Cora Pearl, the renowned English courtesan, had through her +influence over a prefect of police succeeded in visiting a criminal +alone in his cell during the night preceding his execution, and had +only quitted him an hour before the final summons. The tale won the +honours of the dinner. It was regarded as truly impressive, and +inevitably it led to the general inquiry: what could the highest +personages in the empire see to admire in that red-haired Englishwoman? +And of course Rivain himself, the handsome homicide, the centre and +hero of the fete, was never long out of the conversation. Several of +the diners had seen him; one or two knew him and could give amazing +details of his prowess as a man of pleasure. Despite his crime, he +seemed to be the object of sincere idolatry. It was said positively +that a niece of his victim had been promised a front place at the +execution. + +Apropos of this, Sophia gathered, to her intense astonishment and +alarm, that the prison was close by and that the execution would take +place at the corner of the square itself in which the hotel was +situated. Gerald must have known; he had hidden it from her. She +regarded him sideways, with distrust. As the dinner finished, Gerald's +pose of a calm, disinterested, scientific observer of humanity +gradually broke down. He could not maintain it in front of the +increasing license of the scene round the table. He was at length +somewhat ashamed of having exposed his wife to the view of such an +orgy; his restless glance carefully avoided both Sophia and Chirac. The +latter, whose unaffected simplicity of interest in the affair had more +than anything helped to keep Sophia in countenance, observed the change +in Gerald and Sophia's excessive discomfort, and suggested that they +should leave the table without waiting for the coffee. Gerald agreed +quickly. Thus had Sophia been released from the horror of the dinner. +She did not understand how a man so thoughtful and kindly as Chirac--he +had bidden her good night with the most distinguished courtesy--could +tolerate, much less pleasurably savour, the gluttonous, drunken, and +salacious debauchery of the Hotel de Vezelay; but his theory was, so +far as she could judge from his imperfect English, that whatever +existed might be admitted and examined by serious persons interested in +the study of human nature. His face seemed to say: "Why not?" His face +seemed to say to Gerald and to herself: "If this incommodes you, what +did you come for?" + +Gerald had left her at the bedroom door with a self-conscious nod. She +had partly undressed and lain down, and instantly the hotel had +transformed itself into a kind of sounding-box. It was as if, beneath +and within all the noises of the square, every movement in the hotel +reached her ears through cardboard walls: distant shoutings and +laughter below; rattlings of crockery below; stampings up and down +stairs; stealthy creepings up and down stairs; brusque calls; fragments +of song, whisperings; long sighs suddenly stifled; mysterious groans as +of torture, broken by a giggle; quarrels and bickering,--she was spared +nothing in the strangely resonant darkness. + +Then there came out of the little square a great uproar and commotion, +with shrieks, and under the shrieks a confused din. In vain she pressed +her face into the pillow and listened to the irregular, prodigious +noise of her eyelashes as they scraped the rough linen. The thought had +somehow introduced itself into her head that she must arise and go to +the window and see all that was to be seen. She resisted. She said to +herself that the idea was absurd, that she did not wish to go to the +window. Nevertheless, while arguing with herself, she well knew that +resistance to the thought was useless and that ultimately her legs +would obey its command. + +When ultimately she yielded to the fascination and went to the window +and pulled aside one of the curtains, she had a feeling of relief. The +cool, grey beginnings of dawn were in the sky, and every detail of the +square was visible. Without exception all the windows were wide open +and filled with sightseers. In the background of many windows were +burning candles or lamps that the far distant approach of the sun was +already killing. In front of these, on the frontier of two mingling +lights, the attentive figures of the watchers were curiously +silhouetted. On the red-tiled roofs, too, was a squatted population. +Below, a troop of gendarmes, mounted on caracoling horses stretched in +line across the square, was gradually sweeping the entire square of a +packed, gesticulating, cursing crowd. The operation of this immense +besom was very slow. As the spaces of the square were cleared they +began to be dotted by privileged persons, journalists or law officers +or their friends, who walked to and fro in conscious pride; among them +Sophia descried Gerald and Chirac, strolling arm-in-arm and talking to +two elaborately clad girls, who were also arm-in-arm. + +Then she saw a red reflection coming from one of the side streets of +which she had a vista; it was the swinging lantern of a waggon drawn by +a gaunt grey horse. The vehicle stopped at the end of the square from +which the besom had started, and it was immediately surrounded by the +privileged, who, however, were soon persuaded to stand away. The crowd +amassed now at the principal inlets of the square, gave a formidable +cry and burst into the refrain-- + +"Le voila! Nicolas! Ah! Ah! Ah!" + +The clamour became furious as a group of workmen in blue blouses drew +piece by piece all the components of the guillotine from the waggon and +laid them carefully on the ground, under the superintendence of a man +in a black frock-coat and a silk hat with broad flat brims; a little +fussy man of nervous gestures. And presently the red columns had risen +upright from the ground and were joined at the top by an acrobatic +climber. As each part was bolted and screwed to the growing machine the +man in the high hat carefully tested it. In a short time that seemed +very long, the guillotine was finished save for the triangular steel +blade which lay shining on the ground, a cynosure. The executioner +pointed to it, and two men picked it up and slipped it into its groove, +and hoisted it to the summit of the machine. The executioner peered at +it interminably amid a universal silence. Then he actuated the +mechanism, and the mass of metal fell with a muffled, reverberating +thud. There were a few faint shrieks, blended together, and then an +overpowering racket of cheers, shouts, hootings, and fragments of song. +The blade was again lifted, instantly reproducing silence, and again it +fell, liberating a new bedlam. The executioner made a movement of +satisfaction. Many women at the windows clapped enthusiastically, and +the gendarmes had to fight brutally against the fierce pressure of the +crowd. The workmen doffed their blouses and put on coats, and Sophia +was disturbed to see them coming in single file towards the hotel, +followed by the executioner in the silk hat. + +IV + +There was a tremendous opening of doors in the Hotel de Vezelay, and +much whispering on thresholds, as the executioner and his band entered +solemnly. Sophia heard them tramp upstairs; they seemed to hesitate, +and then apparently went into a room on the same landing as hers. A +door banged. But Sophia could hear the regular sound of new voices +talking, and then the rattling of glasses on a tray. The conversation +which came to her from the windows of the hotel now showed a great +increase of excitement. She could not see the people at these +neighbouring windows without showing her own head, and this she would +not do. The boom of a heavy bell striking the hour vibrated over the +roofs of the square; she supposed that it might be the cathedral clock. +In a corner of the square she saw Gerald talking vivaciously alone with +one of the two girls who had been together. She wondered vaguely how +such a girl had been brought up, and what her parents thought--or knew! +And she was conscious of an intense pride in herself, of a measureless +haughty feeling of superiority. + +Her eye caught the guillotine again, and was held by it. Guarded by +gendarmes, that tall and simple object did most menacingly dominate the +square with its crude red columns. Tools and a large open box lay on +the ground beside it. The enfeebled horse in the waggon had an air of +dozing on his twisted legs. Then the first rays of the sun shot +lengthwise across the square at the level of the chimneys; and Sophia +noticed that nearly all the lamps and candles had been extinguished. +Many people at the windows were yawning; they laughed foolishly after +they had yawned. Some were eating and drinking. Some were shouting +conversations from one house to another. The mounted gendarmes were +still pressing back the feverish crowds that growled at all the inlets +to the square. She saw Chirac walking to and fro alone. But she could +not find Gerald. He could not have left the square. Perhaps he had +returned to the hotel and would come up to see if she was comfortable +or if she needed anything. Guiltily she sprang back into bed. When last +she had surveyed the room it had been dark; now it was bright and every +detail stood clear. Yet she had the sensation of having been at the +window only a few minutes. + +She waited. But Gerald did not come. She could hear chiefly the steady +hum of the voices of the executioner and his aids. She reflected that +the room in which they were must be at the back. The other sounds in +the hotel grew less noticeable. Then, after an age, she heard a door +open, and a low voice say something commandingly in French, and then a +'Oui, monsieur,' and a general descent of the stairs. The executioner +and his aids were leaving. "You," cried a drunken English voice from an +upper floor--it was the middle-aged Englishman translating what the +executioner had said--"you, you will take the head." Then a rough +laugh, and the repeating voice of the Englishman's girl, still pursuing +her studies in English: "You will take ze 'ead. Yess, sair." And +another laugh. At length quiet reigned in the hotel. Sophia said to +herself: "I won't stir from this bed till it's all over and Gerald +comes back!" + +She dozed, under the sheet, and was awakened by a tremendous shrieking, +growling, and yelling: a phenomenon of human bestiality that far +surpassed Sophia's narrow experiences. Shut up though she was in a +room, perfectly secure, the mad fury of that crowd, balked at the +inlets to the square, thrilled and intimidated her. It sounded as if +they would be capable of tearing the very horses to pieces. "I must +stay where I am," she murmured. And even while saying it she rose and +went to the window again and peeped out. The torture involved was +extreme, but she had not sufficient force within her to resist the +fascination. She stared greedily into the bright square. The first +thing she saw was Gerald coming out of a house opposite, followed after +a few seconds by the girl with whom he had previously been talking. +Gerald glanced hastily up at the facade of the hotel, and then +approached as near as he could to the red columns, in front of which +were now drawn a line of gendarmes with naked swords. A second and +larger waggon, with two horses, waited by the side of the other one. +The racket beyond the square continued and even grew louder. But the +couple of hundred persons within the cordons, and all the inhabitants +of the windows, drunk and sober, gazed in a fixed and sinister +enchantment at the region of the guillotine, as Sophia gazed. "I cannot +stand this!" she told herself in horror, but she could not move; she +could not move even her eyes. + +At intervals the crowd would burst out in a violent staccato-- + +"Le voila! Nicholas! Ah! Ah! Ah!" + +And the final 'Ah' was devilish. + +Then a gigantic passionate roar, the culmination of the mob's fierce +savagery, crashed against the skies. The line of maddened horses +swerved and reared, and seemed to fall on the furious multitude while +the statue-like gendarmes rocked over them. It was a last effort to +break the cordon, and it failed. + +From the little street at the rear of the guillotine appeared a priest, +walking backwards, and holding a crucifix high in his right hand, and +behind him came the handsome hero, his body all crossed with cords, +between two warders, who pressed against him and supported him on +either side. He was certainly very young. He lifted his chin gallantly, +but his face was incredibly white. Sophia discerned that the priest was +trying to hide the sight of the guillotine from the prisoner with his +body, just as in the story which she had heard at dinner. + +Except the voice of the priest, indistinctly rising and falling in the +prayer for the dying, there was no sound in the square or its environs. +The windows were now occupied by groups turned to stone with distended +eyes fixed on the little procession. Sophia had a tightening of the +throat, and the hand trembled by which she held the curtain. The +central figure did not seem to her to be alive; but rather a doll, a +marionette wound up to imitate the action of a tragedy. She saw the +priest offer the crucifix to the mouth of the marionette, which with a +clumsy unhuman shoving of its corded shoulders butted the thing away. +And as the procession turned and stopped she could plainly see that the +marionette's nape and shoulders were bare, his shirt having been slit. +It was horrible. "Why do I stay here?" she asked herself hysterically. +But she did not stir. The victim had disappeared now in the midst of a +group of men. Then she perceived him prone under the red column, +between the grooves. The silence was now broken only by the tinkling of +the horses' bits in the corners of the square. The line of gendarmes in +front of the scaffold held their swords tightly and looked over their +noses, ignoring the privileged groups that peered almost between their +shoulders. + +And Sophia waited, horror-struck. She saw nothing but the gleaming +triangle of metal that was suspended high above the prone, attendant +victim. She felt like a lost soul, torn too soon from shelter, and +exposed for ever to the worst hazards of destiny. Why was she in this +strange, incomprehensible town, foreign and inimical to her, watching +with agonized glance this cruel, obscene spectacle? Her sensibilities +were all a bleeding mass of wounds. Why? Only yesterday, and she had +been, an innocent, timid creature in Bursley, in Axe, a foolish +creature who deemed the concealment of letters a supreme excitement. +Either that day or this day was not real. Why was she imprisoned alone +in that odious, indescribably odious hotel, with no one to soothe and +comfort her, and carry her away? + +The distant bell boomed once. Then a monosyllabic voice sounded, sharp, +low, nervous; she recognized the voice of the executioner, whose name +she had heard but could not remember. There was a clicking noise. + +She shrank down to the floor in terror and loathing, and hid her face, +and shuddered. Shriek after shriek, from various windows, rang on her +ears in a fusillade; and then the mad yell of the penned crowd, which, +like herself, had not seen but had heard, extinguished all other noise. +Justice was done. The great ambition of Gerald's life was at last +satisfied. + +Later, amid the stir of the hotel, there came a knock at her door, +impatient and nervous. Forgetting, in her tribulation, that she was +without her bodice, she got up from the floor in a kind of miserable +dream, and opened. Chirac stood on the landing, and he had Gerald by +the arm. Chirac looked worn out, curiously fragile and pathetic; but +Gerald was the very image of death. The attainment of ambition had +utterly destroyed his equilibrium; his curiosity had proved itself +stronger than his stomach. Sophia would have pitied him had she in that +moment been capable of pity. Gerald staggered past her into the room, +and sank with a groan on to the bed. Not long since he had been proudly +conversing with impudent women. Now, in swift collapse, he was as +flaccid as a sick hound and as disgusting as an aged drunkard. + +"He is some little souffrant," said Chirac, weakly. + +Sophia perceived in Chirac's tone the assumption that of course her +present duty was to devote herself to the task of restoring her shamed +husband to his manly pride. + +"And what about me?" she thought bitterly. + +The fat woman ascended the stairs like a tottering blancmange, and +began to gabble to Sophia, who understood nothing whatever. + +"She wants sixty francs," Chirac said, and in answer to Sophia's +startled question, he explained that Gerald had agreed to pay a hundred +francs for the room, which was the landlady's own--fifty francs in +advance and the fifty after the execution. The other ten was for the +dinner. The landlady, distrusting the whole of her clientele, was +collecting her accounts instantly on the completion of the spectacle. + +Sophia made no remark as to Gerald's lie to her. Indeed, Chirac had +heard it. She knew Gerald for a glib liar to others, but she was +naively surprised when he practised upon herself. + +"Gerald! Do you hear?" she said coldly. + +The amateur of severed heads only groaned. + +With a movement of irritation she went to him and felt in his pockets +for his purse; he acquiesced, still groaning. Chirac helped her to +choose and count the coins. + +The fat woman, appeased, pursued her way. + +"Good-bye, madame!" said Chirac, with his customary courtliness, +transforming the landing of the hideous hotel into some imperial +antechamber. + +"Are you going away?" she asked, in surprise. Her distress was so +obvious that it tremendously flattered him. He would have stayed if he +could. But he had to return to Paris to write and deliver his article. + +"To-morrow, I hope!" he murmured sympathetically, kissing her hand. The +gesture atoned somewhat for the sordidness of her situation, and even +corrected the faults of her attire. Always afterwards it seemed to her +that Chirac was an old and intimate friend; he had successfully passed +through the ordeal of seeing 'the wrong side' of the stuff of her life. + +She shut the door on him with a lingering glance, and reconciled +herself to her predicament. + +Gerald slept. Just as he was, he slept heavily. + +This was what he had brought her to, then! The horrors of the night, of +the dawn, and of the morning! Ineffable suffering and humiliation; +anguish and torture that could never be forgotten! And after a fatuous +vigil of unguessed license, he had tottered back, an offensive beast, +to sleep the day away in that filthy chamber! He did not possess even +enough spirit to play the role of roysterer to the end. And she was +bound to him; far, far from any other human aid; cut off irrevocably by +her pride from those who perhaps would have protected her from his +dangerous folly. The deep conviction henceforward formed a permanent +part of her general consciousness that he was simply an irresponsible +and thoughtless fool! He was without sense. Such was her brilliant and +godlike husband, the man who had given her the right to call herself a +married woman! He was a fool. With all her ignorance of the world she +could see that nobody but an arrant imbecile could have brought her to +the present pass. Her native sagacity revolted. Gusts of feeling came +over her in which she could have thrashed him into the realization of +his responsibilities. + +Sticking out of the breast-pocket of his soiled coat was the packet +which he had received on the previous day. If he had not already lost +it, he could only thank his luck. She took it. There were English +bank-notes in it for two hundred pounds, a letter from a banker, and +other papers. With precautions against noise she tore the envelope and +the letter and papers into small pieces, and then looked about for a +place to hide them. A cupboard suggested itself. She got on a chair, +and pushed the fragments out of sight on the topmost shelf, where they +may well be to this day. She finished dressing, and then sewed the +notes into the lining of her skirt. She had no silly, delicate notions +about stealing. She obscurely felt that, in the care of a man like +Gerald, she might find herself in the most monstrous, the most +impossible dilemmas. Those notes, safe and secret in her skirt, gave +her confidence, reassured her against the perils of the future, and +endowed her with independence. The act was characteristic of her +enterprise and of her fundamental prudence. It approached the heroic. +And her conscience hotly defended its righteousness. + +She decided that when he discovered his loss, she would merely deny all +knowledge of the envelope, for he had not spoken a word to her about +it. He never mentioned the details of money; he had a fortune. However, +the necessity for this untruth did not occur. He made no reference +whatever to his loss. The fact was, he thought he had been careless +enough to let the envelope be filched from him during the excesses of +the night. + +All day till evening Sophia sat on a dirty chair, without food, while +Gerald slept. She kept repeating to herself, in amazed resentment: "A +hundred francs for this room! A hundred francs! And he hadn't the pluck +to tell me!" She could not have expressed her contempt. + +Long before sheer ennui forced her to look out of the window again, +every sign of justice had been removed from the square. Nothing +whatever remained in the heavy August sunshine save gathered heaps of +filth where the horses had reared and caracoled. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +A CRISIS FOR GERALD + +I + + +For a time there existed in the minds of both Gerald and Sophia the +remarkable notion that twelve thousand pounds represented the infinity +of wealth, that this sum possessed special magical properties which +rendered it insensible to the process of subtraction. It seemed +impossible that twelve thousand pounds, while continually getting less, +could ultimately quite disappear. The notion lived longer in the mind +of Gerald than in that of Sophia; for Gerald would never look at a +disturbing fact, whereas Sophia's gaze was morbidly fascinated by such +phenomena. In a life devoted to travel and pleasure Gerald meant not to +spend more than six hundred a year, the interest on his fortune. Six +hundred a year is less than two pounds a day, yet Gerald never paid +less than two pounds a day in hotel bills alone. He hoped that he was +living on a thousand a year, had a secret fear that he might be +spending fifteen hundred, and was really spending about two thousand +five hundred. Still, the remarkable notion of the inexhaustibility of +twelve thousand pounds always reassured him. The faster the money went, +the more vigorously this notion flourished in Gerald's mind. When +twelve had unaccountably dwindled to three, Gerald suddenly decided +that he must act, and in a few months he lost two thousand on the Paris +Bourse. The adventure frightened him, and in his panic he scattered a +couple of hundred in a frenzy of high living. + +But even with only twenty thousand francs left out of three hundred +thousand, he held closely to the belief that natural laws would in his +case somehow be suspended. He had heard of men who were once rich +begging bread and sweeping crossings, but he felt quite secure against +such risks, by simple virtue of the axiom that he was he. However, he +meant to assist the axiom by efforts to earn money. When these +continued to fail, he tried to assist the axiom by borrowing money; but +he found that his uncle had definitely done with him. He would have +assisted the axiom by stealing money, but he had neither the nerve nor +the knowledge to be a swindler; he was not even sufficiently expert to +cheat at cards. + +He had thought in thousands. Now he began to think in hundreds, in +tens, daily and hourly. He paid two hundred francs in railway fares in +order to live economically in a village, and shortly afterwards another +two hundred francs in railway fares in order to live economically in +Paris. And to celebrate the arrival in Paris and the definite +commencement of an era of strict economy and serious search for a +livelihood, he spent a hundred francs on a dinner at the Maison Doree +and two balcony stalls at the Gymnase. In brief, he omitted nothing--no +act, no resolve, no self-deception--of the typical fool in his +situation; always convinced that his difficulties and his wisdom were +quite exceptional. + +In May, 1870, on an afternoon, he was ranging nervously to and fro in a +three-cornered bedroom of a little hotel at the angle of the Rue +Fontaine and the Rue Laval (now the Rue Victor Masse), within half a +minute of the Boulevard de Clichy. It had come to that--an exchange of +the 'grand boulevard' for the 'boulevard exterieur'! Sophia sat on a +chair at the grimy window, glancing down in idle disgust of life at the +Clichy-Odeon omnibus which was casting off its tip-horse at the corner +of the Rue Chaptal. The noise of petty, hurried traffic over the bossy +paving stones was deafening. The locality was not one to correspond +with an ideal. There was too much humanity crowded into those narrow +hilly streets; humanity seemed to be bulging out at the windows of the +high houses. Gerald healed his pride by saying that this was, after +all, the real Paris, and that the cookery was as good as could be got +anywhere, pay what you would. He seldom ate a meal in the little salons +on the first floor without becoming ecstatic upon the cookery. To hear +him, he might have chosen the hotel on its superlative merits, without +regard to expense. And with his air of use and custom, he did indeed +look like a connoisseur of Paris who knew better than to herd with +vulgar tourists in the pens of the Madeleine quarter. He was dressed +with some distinction; good clothes, when put to the test, survive a +change of fortune, as a Roman arch survives the luxury of departed +empire. Only his collar, large V-shaped front, and wristbands, which +bore the ineffaceable signs of cheap laundering, reflected the shadow +of impending disaster. + +He glanced sideways, stealthily, at Sophia. She, too, was still dressed +with distinction; in the robe of black faille, the cashmere shawl, and +the little black hat with its falling veil, there was no apparent +symptom of beggary. She would have been judged as one of those women +who content themselves with few clothes but good, and, greatly aided by +nature, make a little go a long way. Good black will last for eternity; +it discloses no secrets of modification and mending, and it is not +transparent. + +At last Gerald, resuming a suspended conversation, said as it were +doggedly: + +"I tell you I haven't got five francs altogether! and you can feel my +pockets if you like," added the habitual liar in him, fearing +incredulity. + +"Well, and what do you expect me to do?" Sophia inquired. + +The accent, at once ironic and listless, in which she put this +question, showed that strange and vital things had happened to Sophia +in the four years which had elapsed since her marriage. It did really +seem to her, indeed, that the Sophia whom Gerald had espoused was dead +and gone, and that another Sophia had come into her body: so intensely +conscious was she of a fundamental change in herself under the stress +of continuous experience. And though this was but a seeming, though she +was still the same Sophia more fully disclosed, it was a true seeming. +Indisputably more beautiful than when Gerald had unwillingly made her +his legal wife, she was now nearly twenty-four, and looked perhaps +somewhat older than her age. Her frame was firmly set, her waist +thicker, neither slim nor stout. The lips were rather hard, and she had +a habit of tightening her mouth, on the same provocation as sends a +snail into its shell. No trace was left of immature gawkiness in her +gestures or of simplicity in her intonations. She was a woman of +commanding and slightly arrogant charm, not in the least degree the +charm of innocence and ingenuousness. Her eyes were the eyes of one who +has lost her illusions too violently and too completely. Her gaze, +coldly comprehending, implied familiarity with the abjectness of human +nature. Gerald had begun and had finished her education. He had not +ruined her, as a bad professor may ruin a fine voice, because her moral +force immeasurably exceeded his; he had unwittingly produced a +masterpiece, but it was a tragic masterpiece. Sophia was such a woman +as, by a mere glance as she utters an opinion, will make a man say to +himself, half in desire and half in alarm lest she reads him too: "By +Jove! she must have been through a thing or two. She knows what people +are!" + +The marriage was, of course, a calamitous folly. From the very first, +from the moment when the commercial traveller had with incomparable +rash fatuity thrown the paper pellet over the counter, Sophia's +awakening commonsense had told her that in yielding to her instinct she +was sowing misery and shame for herself; but she had gone on, as if +under a spell. It had needed the irretrievableness of flight from home +to begin the breaking of the trance. Once fully awakened out of the +trance, she had recognized her marriage for what it was. She had made +neither the best nor the worst of it. She had accepted Gerald as one +accepts a climate. She saw again and again that he was irreclaimably a +fool and a prodigy of irresponsibleness. She tolerated him, now with +sweetness, now bitterly; accepting always his caprices, and not +permitting herself to have wishes of her own. She was ready to pay the +price of pride and of a moment's imbecility with a lifetime of +self-repression. It was high, but it was the price. She had acquired +nothing but an exceptionally good knowledge of the French language (she +soon learnt to scorn Gerald's glib maltreatment of the tongue), and she +had conserved nothing but her dignity. She knew that Gerald was sick of +her, that he would have danced for joy to be rid of her; that he was +constantly unfaithful; that he had long since ceased to be excited by +her beauty. She knew also that at bottom he was a little afraid of her; +here was her sole moral consolation. The thing that sometimes struck +her as surprising was that he had not abandoned her, simply and crudely +walked off one day and forgotten to take her with him. + +They hated each other, but in different ways. She loathed him, and he +resented her. + +"What do I expect you to do?" he repeated after her. "Why don't you +write home to your people and get some money out of them?" + +Now that he had said what was in his mind, he faced her with a bullying +swagger. Had he been a bigger man he might have tried the effect of +physical bullying on her. One of his numerous reasons for resenting her +was that she was the taller of the two. + +She made no reply. + +"Now you needn't turn pale and begin all that fuss over again. What I'm +suggesting is a perfectly reasonable thing. If I haven't got money I +haven't got it. I can't invent it." + +She perceived that he was ready for one of their periodical tempestuous +quarrels. But that day she felt too tired and unwell to quarrel. His +warning against a repetition of 'fuss' had reference to the gastric +dizziness from which she had been suffering for two years. It would +take her usually after a meal. She did not swoon, but her head swam and +she could not stand. She would sink down wherever she happened to be, +and, her face alarmingly white, murmur faintly: "My salts." Within five +minutes the attack had gone and left no trace. She had been through one +just after lunch. He resented this affection. He detested being +compelled to hand the smelling-bottle to her, and he would have avoided +doing so if her pallor did not always alarm him. Nothing but this +pallor convinced him that the attacks were not a deep ruse to impress +him. His attitude invariably implied that she could cure the malady if +she chose, but that through obstinacy she did not choose. + +"Are you going to have the decency to answer my question, or aren't +you?" + +"What question?" Her vibrating voice was low and restrained. + +"Will you write to your people?" + +"For money?" + +The sarcasm of her tone was diabolic. She could not have kept the +sarcasm out of her tone; she did not attempt to keep it out. She cared +little if it whipped him to fury. Did he imagine, seriously, that she +would be capable of going on her knees to her family? She? Was he +unaware that his wife was the proudest and the most obstinate woman on +earth; that all her behaviour to him was the expression of her pride +and her obstinacy? Ill and weak though she felt, she marshalled +together all the forces of her character to defend her resolve never, +never to eat the bread of humiliation. She was absolutely determined to +be dead to her family. Certainly, one December, several years +previously, she had seen English Christmas cards in an English shop in +the Rue de Rivoli, and in a sudden gush of tenderness towards +Constance, she had despatched a coloured greeting to Constance and her +mother. And having initiated the custom, she had continued it. That was +not like asking a kindness; it was bestowing a kindness. But except for +the annual card, she was dead to St. Luke's Square. She was one of +those daughters who disappear and are not discussed in the family +circle. The thought of her immense foolishness, the little tender +thoughts of Constance, some flitting souvenir, full of unwilling +admiration, of a regal gesture of her mother,--these things only +steeled her against any sort of resurrection after death. + +And he was urging her to write home for money! Why, she would not even +have paid a visit in splendour to St. Luke's Square. Never should they +know what she had suffered! And especially her Aunt Harriet, from whom +she had stolen! + +"Will you write to your people?" he demanded yet again, emphasizing and +separating each word. + +"No," she said shortly, with terrible disdain. + +"Why not?" + +"Because I won't." The curling line of her lips, as they closed on each +other, said all the rest; all the cruel truths about his unspeakable, +inane, coarse follies, his laziness, his excesses, his lies, his +deceptions, his bad faith, his truculence, his improvidence, his +shameful waste and ruin of his life and hers. She doubted whether he +realized his baseness and her wrongs, but if he could not read them in +her silent contumely, she was too proud to recite them to him. She had +never complained, save in uncontrolled moments of anger. + +"If that's the way you're going to talk--all right!" he snapped, +furious. Evidently he was baffled. + +She kept silence. She was determined to see what he would do in the +face of her inaction. + +"You know, I'm not joking," he pursued. "We shall starve." + +"Very well," she agreed. "We shall starve." + +She watched him surreptitiously, and she was almost sure that he really +had come to the end of his tether. His voice, which never alone +convinced, carried a sort of conviction now. He was penniless. In four +years he had squandered twelve thousand pounds, and had nothing to show +for it except an enfeebled digestion and a tragic figure of a wife. One +small point of satisfaction there was--and all the Baines in her +clutched at it and tried to suck satisfaction from it--their manner of +travelling about from hotel to hotel had made it impossible for Gerald +to run up debts. A few debts he might have, unknown to her, but they +could not be serious. + +So they looked at one another, in hatred and despair. The inevitable +had arrived. For months she had fronted it in bravado, not concealing +from herself that it lay in waiting. For years he had been sure that +though the inevitable might happen to others it could not happen to +him. There it was! He was conscious of a heavy weight in his stomach, +and she of a general numbness, enwrapping her fatigue. Even then he +could not believe that it was true, this disaster. As for Sophia she +was reconciling herself with bitter philosophy to the eccentricities of +fate. Who would have dreamed that she, a young girl brought up, etc? +Her mother could not have improved the occasion more uncompromisingly +than Sophia did--behind that disdainful mask. + +"Well--if that's it...!" Gerald exploded at length, puffing. And he +puffed out of the room and was gone in a second. + +II + +She languidly picked up a book, the moment Gerald had departed, and +tried to prove to herself that she was sufficiently in command of her +nerves to read. For a long time reading had been her chief solace. But +she could not read. She glanced round the inhospitable chamber, and +thought of the hundreds of rooms--some splendid and some vile, but all +arid in their unwelcoming aspect--through which she had passed in her +progress from mad exultation to calm and cold disgust. The ceaseless +din of the street annoyed her jaded ears. And a great wave of desire +for peace, peace of no matter what kind, swept through her. And then +her deep distrust of Gerald reawakened; in spite of his seriously +desperate air, which had a quality of sincerity quite new in her +experience of him, she could not be entirely sure that, in asserting +utter penury, he was not after all merely using a trick to get rid of +her. + +She sprang up, threw the book on the bed, and seized her gloves. She +would follow him, if she could. She would do what she had never done +before--she would spy on him. Fighting against her lassitude, she +descended the long winding stairs, and peeped forth from the doorway +into the street. The ground floor of the hotel was a wine-shop; the +stout landlord was lightly flicking one of the three little yellow +tables that stood on the pavement. He smiled with his customary +benevolence, and silently pointed in the direction of the Rue Notre +Dame de Lorette. She saw Gerald down there in the distance. He was +smoking a cigar. + +He seemed to be a little man without a care. The smoke of the cigar +came first round his left cheek and then round his right, sailing away +into nothing. He walked with a gay spring, but not quickly, flourishing +his cane as freely as the traffic of the pavement would permit, +glancing into all the shop windows and into the eyes of all the women +under forty. This was not at all the same man as had a moment ago been +spitting angry menaces at her in the bedroom of the hotel. It was a +fellow of blithe charm, ripe for any adventurous joys that destiny had +to offer. + +Supposing he turned round and saw her? + +If he turned round and saw her and asked her what she was doing there +in the street, she would tell him plainly: "I'm following you, to find +out what you do." + +But he did not turn. He went straight forward, deviating at the church, +where the crowd became thicker, into the Rue du Faubourg Montmartre, +and so to the boulevard, which he crossed. The whole city seemed +excited and vivacious. Cannons boomed in slow succession, and flags +were flying. Sophia had no conception of the significance of those +guns, for, though she read a great deal, she never read a newspaper; +the idea of opening a newspaper never occurred to her. But she was +accustomed to the feverish atmosphere of Paris. She had lately seen +regiments of cavalry flashing and prancing in the Luxembourg Gardens, +and had much admired the fine picture. She accepted the booming as +another expression of the high spirits that had to find vent somehow in +this feverish empire. She so accepted it and forgot it, using all the +panorama of the capital as a dim background for her exacerbated egoism. + +She was obliged to walk slowly, because Gerald walked slowly. A +beautiful woman, or any woman not positively hag-like or venerable, who +walks slowly in the streets of Paris becomes at once the cause of +inconvenient desires, as representing the main objective on earth, +always transcending in importance politics and affairs. Just as a true +patriotic Englishman cannot be too busy to run after a fox, so a +Frenchman is always ready to forsake all in order to follow a woman +whom he has never before set eyes on. Many men thought twice about her, +with her romantic Saxon mystery of temperament, and her Parisian +clothes; but all refrained from affronting her, not in the least out of +respect for the gloom in her face, but from an expert conviction that +those rapt eyes were fixed immovably on another male. She walked +unscathed amid the frothing hounds as though protected by a spell. + +On the south side of the boulevard, Gerald proceeded down the Rue +Montmartre, and then turned suddenly into the Rue Croissant. Sophia +stopped and asked the price of some combs which were exposed outside a +little shop. Then she went on, boldly passing the end of the Rue +Croissant. No shadow of Gerald! She saw the signs of newspapers all +along the street, Le Bien Public, La Presse Libre, La Patrie. There was +a creamery at the corner. She entered it, asked for a cup of chocolate +and sat down. She wanted to drink coffee, but every doctor had +forbidden coffee to her, on account of her attacks of dizziness. Then, +having ordered chocolate, she felt that, on this occasion, when she had +need of strength in her great fatigue, only coffee could suffice her, +and she changed the order. She was close to the door, and Gerald could +not escape her vigilance if he emerged at that end of the street. She +drank the coffee with greedy satisfaction, and waited in the creamery +till she began to feel conspicuous there. And then Gerald went by the +door, within six feet of her. He turned the corner and continued his +descent of the Rue Montmartre. She paid for her coffee and followed the +chase. Her blood seemed to be up. Her lips were tightened, and her +thought was: "Wherever he goes, I'll go, and I don't care what +happens." She despised him. She felt herself above him. She felt that +somehow, since quitting the hotel, he had been gradually growing more +and more vile and meet to be exterminated. She imagined infamies as to +the Rue Croissant. There was no obvious ground for this intensifying of +her attitude towards him; it was merely the result of the chase. All +that could be definitely charged against him was the smoking of a cigar. + +He stepped into a tobacco-shop, and came out with a longer cigar than +the first one, a more expensive article, stripped off its collar and +lighted it as a millionaire might have lighted it. This was the man who +swore that he did not possess five francs. + +She tracked him as far as the Rue de Rivoli, and then lost him. There +were vast surging crowds in the Rue de Rivoli, and much bunting, and +soldiers and gesticulatory policemen. The general effect of the street +was that all things were brightly waving in the breeze. She was caught +in the crowd as in the current of a stream, and when she tried to sidle +out of it into a square, a row of smiling policemen barred her passage; +she was a part of the traffic that they had to regulate. She drifted +till the Louvre came into view. After all, Gerald had only strolled +forth to see the sight of the day, whatever it might be! She knew not +what it was. She had no curiosity about it. In the middle of all that +thickening mass of humanity, staring with one accord at the vast +monument of royal and imperial vanities, she thought, with her +characteristic grimness, of the sacrifice of her whole career as a +school-teacher for the chance of seeing Gerald once a quarter in the +shop. She gloated over that, as a sick appetite will gloat over tainted +food. And she saw the shop, and the curve of the stairs up to the +showroom, and the pier-glass in the showroom. + +Then the guns began to boom again, and splendid carriages swept one +after another from under a majestic archway and glittered westward down +a lane of spotless splendid uniforms. The carriages were laden with +still more splendid uniforms, and with enchanting toilets. Sophia, in +her modestly stylish black, mechanically noticed how much easier it was +for attired women to sit in a carriage now that crinolines had gone. +That was the sole impression made upon her by this glimpse of the last +fete of the Napoleonic Empire. She knew not that the supreme pillars of +imperialism were exhibiting themselves before her; and that the eyes of +those uniforms and those toilettes were full of the legendary beauty of +Eugenie, and their ears echoing to the long phrases of Napoleon the +Third about his gratitude to his people for their confidence in him as +shown by the plebiscite, and about the ratification of constitutional +reforms guaranteeing order, and about the empire having been +strengthened at its base, and about showing force by moderation and +envisaging the future without fear, and about the bosom of peace and +liberty, and the eternal continuance of his dynasty. + +She just wondered vaguely what was afoot. + +When the last carriage had rolled away, and the guns and acclamations +had ceased, the crowd at length began to scatter. She was carried by it +into the Place du Palais Royal, and in a few moments she managed to +withdraw into the Rue des Bons Enfants and was free. + +The coins in her purse amounted to three sous, and therefore, though +she felt exhausted to the point of illness, she had to return to the +hotel on foot. Very slowly she crawled upwards in the direction of the +Boulevard, through the expiring gaiety of the city. Near the Bourse a +fiacre overtook her, and in the fiacre were Gerald and a woman. Gerald +had not seen her; he was talking eagerly to his ornate companion. All +his body was alive. The fiacre was out of sight in a moment, but Sophia +judged instantly the grade of the woman, who was evidently of the +discreet class that frequented the big shops of an afternoon with +something of their own to sell. + +Sophia's grimness increased. The pace of the fiacre, her fatigued body, +Gerald's delightful, careless vivacity, the attractive streaming veil +of the nice, modest courtesan--everything conspired to increase it. + +III + +Gerald returned to the bedroom which contained his wife and all else +that he owned in the world at about nine o'clock that evening. Sophia +was in bed. She had been driven to bed by weariness. She would have +preferred to sit up to receive her husband, even if it had meant +sitting up all night, but her body was too heavy for her spirit. She +lay in the dark. She had eaten nothing. Gerald came straight into the +room. He struck a match, which burned blue, with a stench, for several +seconds, and then gave a clear, yellow flame. He lit a candle; and saw +his wife. + +"Oh!" he said; "you're there, are you?" + +She offered no reply. + +"Won't speak, eh?" he said. "Agreeable sort of wife! Well, have you +made up your mind to do what I told you? I've come back especially to +know." + +She still did not speak. + +He sat down, with his hat on, and stuck out his feet, wagging them to +and fro on the heels. + +"I'm quite without money," he went on. "And I'm sure your people will +be glad to lend us a bit till I get some. Especially as it's a question +of you starving as well as me. If I had enough to pay your fares to +Bursley I'd pack you off. But I haven't." + +She could only hear his exasperating voice. The end of the bed was +between her eyes and his. + +"Liar!" she said, with uncompromising distinctness. The word reached +him barbed with all the poison of her contempt and disgust. + +There was a pause. + +"Oh! I'm a liar, am I? Thanks. I lied enough to get you, I'll admit. +But you never complained of that. I remember be-ginning the New Year +well with a thumping lie just to have a sight of you, my vixen. But you +didn't complain then. I took you with only the clothes on your back. +And I've spent every cent I had on you. And now I'm spun, you call me a +liar." + +She said nothing. + +"However," he went on, "this is going to come to an end, this is!" + +He rose, changed the position of the candle, putting it on a chest of +drawers, and then drew his trunk from the wall, and knelt in front of +it. + +She gathered that he was packing his clothes. At first she did not +comprehend his reference to beginning the New Year. Then his meaning +revealed itself. That story to her mother about having been attacked by +ruffians at the bottom of King Street had been an invention, a ruse to +account plausibly for his presence on her mother's doorstep! And she +had never suspected that the story was not true. In spite of her +experience of his lying, she had never suspected that that particular +statement was a lie. What a simpleton she was! + +There was a continual movement in the room for about a quarter of an +hour. Then a key turned in the lock of the trunk. + +His head popped up over the foot of the bed. "This isn't a joke, you +know," he said. + +She kept silence. + +"I give you one more chance. Will you write to your mother--or +Constance if you like--or won't you?" + +She scorned to reply in any way. + +"I'm your husband," he said. "And it's your duty to obey me, +particularly in an affair like this. I order you to write to your +mother." + +The corners of her lips turned downwards. + +Angered by her mute obstinacy, he broke away from the bed with a sudden +gesture. + +"You do as you like," he cried, putting on his overcoat, "and I shall +do as I like. You can't say I haven't warned you. It's your own +deliberate choice, mind you! Whatever happens to you you've brought on +yourself." He lifted and shrugged his shoulders to get the overcoat +exactly into place on his shoulders. + +She would not speak a word, not even to insist that she was indisposed. + +He pushed his trunk outside the door, and returned to the bed. + +"You understand," he said menacingly; "I'm off." + +She looked up at the foul ceiling. + +"Hm!" he sniffed, bringing his reserves of pride to combat the +persistent silence that was damaging his dignity. And he went off, +sticking his head forward like a pugilist. + +"Here!" she muttered. "You're forgetting this." + +He turned. + +She stretched her hand to the night-table and held up a red circlet. + +"What is it?" + +"It's the bit of paper off the cigar you bought in the Rue Montmartre +this afternoon," she answered, in a significant tone. + +He hesitated, then swore violently, and bounced out of the room. He had +made her suffer, but she was almost repaid for everything by that +moment of cruel triumph. She exulted in it, and never forgot it. + +Five minutes later, the gloomy menial in felt slippers and alpaca +jacket, who seemed to pass the whole of his life flitting in and out of +bedrooms like a rabbit in a warren, carried Gerald's trunk downstairs. +She recognized the peculiar tread of his slippers. + +Then there was a knock at the door. The landlady entered, actuated by a +legitimate curiosity. + +"Madame is suffering?" the landlady began. + +Sophia refused offers of food and nursing. + +"Madame knows without doubt that monsieur has gone away?" + +"Has he paid the bill?" Sophia asked bluntly. + +"But yes, madame, till to-morrow. Then madame has want of nothing?" + +"If you will extinguish the candle," said Sophia. + +He had deserted her, then! + +"All this," she reflected, listening in the dark to the ceaseless +rattle of the street, "because mother and Constance wanted to see the +elephant, and I had to go into father's room! I should never have +caught sight of him from the drawing-room window!" + +IV + +She passed a night of physical misery, exasperated by the tireless +rattling vitality of the street. She kept saying to herself: "I'm all +alone now, and I'm going to be ill. I am ill." She saw herself dying in +Paris, and heard the expressions of facile sympathy and idle curiosity +drawn forth by the sight of the dead body of this foreign woman in a +little Paris hotel. She reached the stage, in the gradual excruciation +of her nerves, when she was obliged to concentrate her agonized mind on +an intense and painful expectancy of the next new noise, which when it +came increased her torture and decreased her strength to support it. +She went through all the interminable dilatoriness of the dawn, from +the moment when she could scarcely discern the window to the moment +when she could read the word 'Bock' on the red circlet of paper which +had tossed all night on the sea of the counterpane. She knew she would +never sleep again. She could not imagine herself asleep; and then she +was startled by a sound that seemed to clash with the rest of her +impressions. It was a knocking at the door. With a start she perceived +that she must have been asleep. + +"Enter," she murmured. + +There entered the menial in alpaca. His waxen face showed a morose +commiseration. He noiselessly approached the bed--he seemed to have +none of the characteristics of a man, but to be a creature infinitely +mysterious and aloof from humanity--and held out to Sophia a visiting +card in his grey hand. + +It was Chirac's card. + +"Monsieur asked for monsieur," said the waiter. "And then, as monsieur +had gone away he demanded to see madame. He says it is very important." + +Her heart jumped, partly in vague alarm, and partly with a sense of +relief at this chance of speaking to some one whom she knew. She tried +to reflect rationally. + +"What time is it?" she inquired. + +"Eleven o'clock, madame." + +This was surprising. The fact that it was eleven o'clock destroyed the +remains of her self-confidence. How could it be eleven o'clock, with +the dawn scarcely finished? + +"He says it is very important," repeated the waiter, imperturbably and +solemnly. "Will madame see him an instant?" + +Between resignation and anticipation she said: "Yes." + +"It is well, madame," said the waiter, disappearing without a sound. + +She sat up and managed to drag her matinee from a chair and put it +around her shoulders. Then she sank back from weakness, physical and +spiritual. She hated to receive Chirac in a bedroom, and particularly +in that bedroom. But the hotel had no public room except the +dining-room, which began to be occupied after eleven o'clock. Moreover, +she could not possibly get up. Yes, on the whole she was pleased to see +Chirac. He was almost her only acquaintance, assuredly the only being +whom she could by any stretch of meaning call a friend, in the whole of +Europe. Gerald and she had wandered to and fro, skimming always over +the real life of nations, and never penetrating into it. There was no +place for them, because they had made none. With the exception of +Chirac, whom an accident of business had thrown, into Gerald's company +years before, they had no social relations. Gerald was not a man to +make friends; he did not seem to need friends, or at any rate to feel +the want of them. But, as chance had given him Chirac, he maintained +the connection whenever they came to Paris. Sophia, of course, had not +been able to escape from the solitude imposed by existence in hotels. +Since her marriage she had never spoken to a woman in the way of +intimacy. But once or twice she had approached intimacy with Chirac, +whose wistful admiration for her always aroused into activity her +desire to charm. + +Preceded by the menial, he came into the room hurriedly, +apologetically, with an air of acute anxiety. And as he saw her lying +on her back, with flushed features, her hair disarranged, and only the +grace of the silk ribbons of her matinee to mitigate the melancholy +repulsiveness of her surroundings, that anxiety seemed to deepen. + +"Dear madame," he stammered, "all my excuses!" He hastened to the +bedside and kissed her hand--a little peek according to his custom. +"You are ill?" + +"I have my migraine," she said. "You want Gerald?" + +"Yes," he said diffidently. "He had promised----" + +"He has left me," Sophia interrupted him in her weak and fatigued +voice. She closed her eyes as she uttered the words. + +"Left you?" He glanced round to be sure that the waiter had retired. + +"Quitted me! Abandoned me! Last night!" + +"Not possible!" he breathed. + +She nodded. She felt intimate with him. Like all secretive persons, she +could be suddenly expansive at times. + +"It is serious?" he questioned. + +"All that is most serious," she replied. + +"And you ill! Ah, the wretch! Ah, the wretch! That, for example!" He +waved his hat about. + +"What is it you want, Chirac?" she demanded, in a confidential tone. + +"Eh, well," said Chirac. "You do not know where he has gone?" + +"No. What do you want?" she insisted. + +He was nervous. He fidgetted. She guessed that, though warm with +sympathy for her plight, he was preoccupied by interests and +apprehensions of his own. He did not refuse her request temporarily to +leave the astonishing matter of her situation in order to discuss the +matter of his visit. + +"Eh, well! He came to me yesterday afternoon in the Rue Croissant to +borrow some money." + +She understood then the object of Gerald's stroll on the previous +afternoon. + +"I hope you didn't lend him any," she said. + +"Eh, well! It was like this. He said he ought to have received five +thousand francs yesterday morning, but that he had had a telegram that +it would not arrive till to-day. And he had need of five hundred francs +at once. I had not five hundred francs"--he smiled sadly, as if to +insinuate that he did not handle such sums--"but I borrowed it from +the cashbox of the journal. It is necessary, absolutely, that I should +return it this morning." He spoke with increased seriousness. "Your +husband said he would take a cab and bring me the money immediately on +the arrival of the post this morning--about nine o'clock. Pardon me for +deranging you with such a----" + +He stopped. She could see that he really was grieved to 'derange' her, +but that circumstances pressed. + +"At my paper," he murmured, "it is not so easy as that to--in fine----!" + +Gerald had genuinely been at his last francs. He had not lied when she +thought he had lied. The nakedness of his character showed now. +Instantly upon the final and definite cessation of the lawful supply of +money, he had set his wits to obtain money unlawfully. He had, in fact, +simply stolen it from Chirac, with the ornamental addition of +endangering Chirac's reputation and situation--as a sort of reward to +Chirac for the kindness! And, further, no sooner had he got hold of the +money than it had intoxicated him, and he had yielded to the first +fatuous temptation. He had no sense of responsibility, no scruple. And +as for common prudence--had he not risked permanent disgrace and even +prison for a paltry sum which he would certainly squander in two or +three days? Yes, it was indubitable that he would stop at nothing, at +nothing whatever. + +"You did not know that he was coming to me?" asked Chirac, pulling his +short, silky brown beard. + +"No," Sophia answered. + +"But he said that you had charged him with your friendlinesses to me!" +He nodded his head once or twice, sadly but candidly accepting, in his +quality of a Latin, the plain facts of human nature--reconciling +himself to them at once. + +Sophia revolted at this crowning detail of the structure of Gerald's +rascality. + +"It is fortunate that I can pay you," she said. + +"But----" he tried to protest. + +"I have quite enough money." + +She did not say this to screen Gerald, but merely from amour-propre. +She would not let Chirac think that she was the wife of a man bereft of +all honour. And so she clothed Gerald with the rag of having, at any +rate, not left her in destitution as well as in sickness. Her assertion +seemed a strange one, in view of the fact that he had abandoned her on +the previous evening--that is to say, immediately after the borrowing +from Chirac. But Chirac did not examine the statement. + +"Perhaps he has the intention to send me the money. Perhaps, after all, +he is now at the offices----" + +"No," said Sophia. "He is gone. Will you go downstairs and wait for me. +We will go together to Cook's office. It is English money I have." + +"Cook's?" he repeated. The word now so potent had then little +significance. "But you are ill. You cannot----" + +"I feel better." + +She did. Or rather, she felt nothing except the power of her resolve to +remove the painful anxiety from that wistful brow. The shame of the +trick played on Chirac awakened new forces in her. She dressed in a +physical torment which, however, had no more reality than a nightmare. +She searched in a place where even an inquisitive husband would not +think of looking, and then, painfully, she descended the long stairs, +holding to the rail, which swam round and round her, carrying the whole +staircase with it. "After all," she thought, "I can't be seriously ill, +or I shouldn't have been able to get up and go out like this. I never +guessed early this morning that I could do it! I can't possibly be as +ill as I thought I was!" + +And in the vestibule she encountered Chirac's face, lightening at the +sight of her, which proved to him that his deliverance was really to be +accomplished. + +"Permit me----" + +"I'm all right," she smiled, tottering. "Get a cab." It suddenly +occurred to her that she might quite as easily have given him the money +in English notes; he could have changed them. But she had not thought. +Her brain would not operate. She was dreaming and waking together. + +He helped her into the cab. + +V + +In the bureau de change there was a little knot of English, people, +with naive, romantic, and honest faces, quite different from the faces +outside in the street. No corruption in those faces, but a sort of +wondering and infantile sincerity, rather out of its element and lost +in a land too unsophisticated, seeming to belong to an earlier age! +Sophia liked their tourist stare, and their plain and ugly clothes. She +longed to be back in England, longed for a moment with violence, +drowning in that desire. + +The English clerk behind his brass bars took her notes, and carefully +examined them one by one. She watched him, not entirely convinced of +his reality, and thought vaguely of the detestable morning when she had +abstracted the notes from Gerald's pocket. She was filled with pity for +the simple, ignorant Sophia of those days, the Sophia who still had a +few ridiculous illusions concerning Gerald's character. Often, since, +she had been tempted to break into the money, but she had always +withstood the temptation, saying to herself that an hour of more urgent +need would come. It had come. She was proud of her firmness, of the +force of will which had enabled her to reserve the fund intact. The +clerk gave her a keen look, and then asked her how she would take the +French money. And she saw the notes falling down one after another on +to the counter as the clerk separated them with a snapping sound of the +paper. + +Chirac was beside her. + +"Does that make the count?" she said, having pushed towards him five +hundred-franc notes. + +"I should not know how to thank you," he said, accepting the notes. +"Truly--" + +His joy was unmistakably eager. He had had a shock and a fright, and he +now saw the danger past. He could return to the cashier of his +newspaper, and fling down the money with a lordly and careless air, as +if to say: "When it is a question of these English, one can always be +sure!" But first he would escort her to the hotel. She declined--she +did not know why, for he was her sole point of moral support in all +France. He insisted. She yielded. So she turned her back, with regret, +on that little English oasis in the Sahara of Paris, and staggered to +the fiacre. + +And now that she had done what she had to do, she lost control of her +body, and reclined flaccid and inert. Chirac was evidently alarmed. He +did not speak, but glanced at her from time to time with eyes full of +fear. The carriage appeared to her to be swimming amid waves over great +depths. Then she was aware of a heavy weight against her shoulder; she +had slipped down upon Chirac, unconscious. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +FEVER + +I + + +Then she was lying in bed in a small room, obscure because it was +heavily curtained; the light came through the inner pair of curtains of +ecru lace, with a beautiful soft silvery quality. A man was standing by +the side of the bed--not Chirac. + +"Now, madame," he said to her, with kind firmness, and speaking with a +charming exaggerated purity of the vowels. "You have the mucous fever. +I have had it myself. You will be forced to take baths, very +frequently. I must ask you to reconcile yourself to that, to be good." + +She did not reply. It did not occur to her to reply. But she certainly +thought that this doctor--he was probably a doctor--was overestimating +her case. She felt better than she had felt for two days. Still, she +did not desire to move, nor was she in the least anxious as to her +surroundings. She lay quiet. + +A woman in a rather coquettish deshabille watched over her with expert +skill. + +Later, Sophia seemed to be revisiting the sea on whose waves the cab +had swum; but now she was under the sea, in a watery gulf, terribly +deep; and the sounds of the world came to her through the water, sudden +and strange. Hands seized her and forced her from the subaqueous grotto +where she had hidden into new alarms. And she briefly perceived that +there was a large bath by the side of the bed, and that she was being +pushed into it. The water was icy cold. After that her outlook upon +things was for a time clearer and more precise. She knew from fragments +of talk which she heard that she was put into the cold bath by her bed +every three hours, night and day, and that she remained in it for ten +minutes. Always, before the bath, she had to drink a glass of wine, and +sometimes another glass while she was in the bath. Beyond this wine, +and occasionally a cup of soup, she took nothing, had no wish to take +anything. She grew perfectly accustomed to these extraordinary habits +of life, to this merging of night and day into one monotonous and +endless repetition of the same rite amid the same circumstances on +exactly the same spot. Then followed a period during which she objected +to being constantly wakened up for this annoying immersion. And she +fought against it even in her dreams. Long days seemed to pass when she +could not be sure whether she had been put into the bath or not, when +all external phenomena were disconcertingly interwoven with matters +which she knew to be merely fanciful. And then she was overwhelmed by +the hopeless gravity of her state. She felt that her state was +desperate. She felt that she was dying. Her unhappiness was extreme, +not because she was dying, but because the veils of sense were so +puzzling, so exasperating, and because her exhausted body was so +vitiated, in every fibre, by disease. She was perfectly aware that she +was going to die. She cried aloud for a pair of scissors. She wanted to +cut off her hair, and to send part of it to Constance and part of it to +her mother, in separate packages. She insisted upon separate packages. +Nobody would give her a pair of scissors. She implored, meekly, +haughtily, furiously, but nobody would satisfy her. It seemed to her +shocking that all her hair should go with her into her coffin while +Constance and her mother had nothing by which to remember her, no +tangible souvenir of her beauty. Then she fought for the scissors. She +clutched at some one--always through those baffling veils--who was +putting her into the bath by the bedside, and fought frantically. It +appeared to her that this some one was the rather stout woman who had +supped at Sylvain's with the quarrelsome Englishman, four years ago. +She could not rid herself of this singular conceit, though she knew it +to be absurd.... + +A long time afterwards--it seemed like a century--she did actually and +unmistakably see the woman sitting by her bed, and the woman was crying. + +"Why are you crying?" Sophia asked wonderingly. + +And the other, younger, woman, who was standing at the foot of the bed, +replied: + +"You do well to ask! It is you who have hurt her, in your delirium, +when you so madly demanded the scissors." + +The stout woman smiled with the tears on her cheeks; but Sophia wept, +from remorse. The stout woman looked old, worn, and untidy. The other +one was much younger. Sophia did not trouble to inquire from them who +they were. + +That little conversation formed a brief interlude in the delirium, +which overtook her again and distorted everything. She forgot, however, +that she was destined to die. + +One day her brain cleared. She could be sure that she had gone to sleep +in the morning and not wakened till the evening. Hence she had not been +put into the bath. + +"Have I had my baths?" she questioned. + +It was the doctor who faced her. + +"No," he said, "the baths are finished." + +She knew from his face that she was out of danger. Moreover, she was +conscious of a new feeling in her body, as though the fount of physical +energy within her, long interrupted, had recommenced to flow--but very +slowly, a trickling. It was a rebirth. She was not glad, but her body +itself was glad; her body had an existence of its own. + +She was now often left by herself in the bedroom. To the right of the +foot of the bed was a piano in walnut, and to the left a chimney-piece +with a large mirror. She wanted to look at herself in the mirror. But +it was a very long way off. She tried to sit up, and could not. She +hoped that one day she would be able to get as far as the mirror. She +said not a word about this to either of the two women. + +Often they would sit in the bedroom and talk without ceasing. Sophia +learnt that the stout woman was named Foucault, and the other Laurence. +Sometimes Laurence would address Madame Foucault as Aimee, but usually +she was more formal. Madame Foucault always called the other Laurence. + +Sophia's curiosity stirred and awoke. But she could not obtain any very +exact information as to where she was, except that the house was in the +Rue Breda, off the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette. She recollected vaguely +that the reputation of the street was sinister. It appeared that, on +the day when she had gone out with Chirac, the upper part of the Rue +Notre Dame de Lorette was closed for repairs--(this she +remembered)--and that the cabman had turned up the Rue Breda in order +to make a detour, and that it was just opposite to the house of Madame +Foucault that she had lost consciousness. Madame Foucault happened to +be getting into a cab at the moment; but she had told Chirac +nevertheless to carry Sophia into the house, and a policeman had +helped. Then, when the doctor came, it was discovered that she could +not be moved, save to a hospital, and both Madame Foucault and Laurence +were determined that no friend of Chirac's should be committed to the +horrors of a Paris hospital. Madame Foucault had suffered in one as a +patient, and Laurence had been a nurse in another.... + +Chirac was now away. The women talked loosely of a war. + +"How kind you have been!" murmured Sophia, with humid eyes. + +But they silenced her with gestures. She was not to talk. They seemed +to have nothing further to tell her. They said Chirac would be +returning perhaps soon, and that she could talk to him. Evidently they +both held Chirac in affection. They said often that he was a charming +boy. + +Bit by bit Sophia comprehended the length and the seriousness of her +illness, and the immense devotion of the two women, and the terrific +disturbance of their lives, and her own debility. She saw that the +women were strongly attached to her, and she could not understand why, +as she had never done anything for them, whereas they had done +everything for her. She had not learnt that benefits rendered, not +benefits received, are the cause of such attachments. + +All the time she was plotting, and gathering her strength to disobey +orders and get as far as the mirror. Her preliminary studies and her +preparations were as elaborate as those of a prisoner arranging to +escape from a fortress. The first attempt was a failure. The second +succeeded. Though she could not stand without support, she managed by +clinging to the bed to reach a chair, and to push the chair in front of +her until it approached the mirror. The enterprise was exciting and +terrific. Then she saw a face in the glass: white, incredibly +emaciated, with great, wild, staring eyes; and the shoulders were bent +as though with age. It was a painful, almost a horrible sight. It +frightened her, so that in her alarm she recoiled from it. Not +attending sufficiently to the chair, she sank to the ground. She could +not pick herself up, and she was caught there, miserably, by her +angered jailers. The vision of her face taught her more efficiently +than anything else the gravity of her adventure. As the women lifted +her inert, repentant mass into the bed, she reflected, "How queer my +life is!" It seemed to her that she ought to have been trimming hats in +the showroom instead of being in that curtained, mysterious, Parisian +interior. + +II + +One day Madame Foucault knocked at the door of Sophia's little room +(this ceremony of knocking was one of the indications that Sophia, +convalescent, had been reinstated in her rights as an individual), and +cried: + +"Madame, one is going to leave you all alone for some time." + +"Come in," said Sophia, who was sitting up in an armchair, and reading. + +Madame Foucault opened the door. "One is going to leave you all alone +for some time," she repeated in a low, confidential voice, sharply +contrasting with her shriek behind the door. + +Sophia nodded and smiled, and Madame Foucault also nodded and smiled. +But Madame Foucault's face quickly resumed its anxious expression. + +"The servant's brother marries himself to-day, and she implored me to +accord her two days--what would you? Madame Laurence is out. And I must +go out. It is four o'clock. I shall re-enter at six o'clock striking. +Therefore ..." + +"Perfectly," Sophia concurred. + +She looked curiously at Madame Foucault, who was carefully made up and +arranged for the street, in a dress of yellow tussore with blue +ornaments, bright lemon-coloured gloves, a little blue bonnet, and a +little white parasol not wider when opened than her shoulders. Cheeks, +lips, and eyes were heavily charged with rouge, powder, or black. And +that too abundant waist had been most cunningly confined in a belt that +descended beneath, instead of rising above, the lower masses of the +vast torso. The general effect was worthy of the effort that must have +gone to it. Madame Foucault was not rejuvenated by her toilette, but it +almost procured her pardon for the crime of being over forty, fat, +creased, and worn out. It was one of those defeats that are a triumph. + +"You are very chic," said Sophia, uttering her admiration. + +"Ah!" said Madame Foucault, shrugging the shoulders of disillusion. +"Chic! What does that do?" + +But she was pleased. + +The front-door banged. Sophia, by herself for the first time in the +flat into which she had been carried unconscious and which she had +never since left, had the disturbing sensation of being surrounded by +mysterious rooms and mysterious things. She tried to continue reading, +but the sentences conveyed nothing to her. She rose--she could walk now +a little--and looked out of the window, through the interstices of the +pattern of the lace curtains. The window gave on the courtyard, which +was about sixteen feet below her. A low wall divided the courtyard from +that of the next house. And the windows of the two houses, only to be +distinguished by the different tints of their yellow paint, rose tier +above tier in level floors, continuing beyond Sophia's field of vision. +She pressed her face against the glass, and remembered the St. Luke's +Square of her childhood; and just as there from the showroom window she +could not even by pressing her face against the glass see the pavement, +so here she could not see the roof; the courtyard was like the bottom +of a well. There was no end to the windows; six storeys she could +count, and the sills of a seventh were the limit of her view. Every +window was heavily curtained, like her own. Some of the upper ones had +green sunblinds. Scarcely any sound! Mysteries brooded without as well +as within the flat of Madame Foucault. Sophia saw a bodiless hand +twitch at a curtain and vanish. She noticed a green bird in a tiny cage +on a sill in the next house. A woman whom she took to be the concierge +appeared in the courtyard, deposited a small plant in the track of a +ray of sunshine that lighted a corner for a couple of hours in the +afternoon, and disappeared again. Then she heard a piano--somewhere. +That was all. The feeling that secret and strange lives were being +lived behind those baffling windows, that humanity was everywhere +intimately pulsing around her, oppressed her spirit yet not quite +unpleasantly. The environment softened her glance upon the spectacle of +existence, insomuch that sadness became a voluptuous pleasure. And the +environment threw her back on herself, into a sensuous contemplation of +the fundamental fact of Sophia Scales, formerly Sophia Baines. + +She turned to the room, with the marks of the bath on the floor by the +bed, and the draped piano that was never opened, and her two trunks +filling up the corner opposite the door. She had the idea of thoroughly +examining those trunks, which Chirac or somebody else must have fetched +from the hotel. At the top of one of them was her purse, tied up with +old ribbon and ostentatiously sealed! How comical these French people +were when they deemed it necessary to be serious! She emptied both +trunks, scrutinizing minutely all her goods, and thinking of the varied +occasions upon which she had obtained them. Then she carefully restored +them, her mind full of souvenirs newly awakened. + +She sighed as she straightened her back. A clock struck in another +room. It seemed to invite her towards discoveries. She had been in no +other room of the flat. She knew nothing of the rest of the flat save +by sound. For neither of the other women had ever described it, nor had +it occurred to them that Sophia might care to leave her room though she +could not leave the house. + +She opened her door, and glanced along the dim corridor, with which she +was familiar. She knew that the kitchen lay next to her little room, +and that next to the kitchen came the front-door. On the opposite side +of the corridor were four double-doors. She crossed to the pair of +doors facing her own little door, and quietly turned the handle, but +the doors were locked; the same with the next pair. The third pair +yielded, and she was in a large bedroom, with three windows on the +street. She saw that the second pair of doors, which she had failed to +unfasten, also opened into this room. Between the two pairs of doors +was a wide bed. In front of the central window was a large +dressing-table. To the left of the bed, half hiding the locked doors, +was a large screen. On the marble mantelpiece, reflected in a huge +mirror, that ascended to the ornate cornice, was a gilt-and-basalt +clock, with pendants to match. On the opposite side of the room from +this was a long wide couch. The floor was of polished oak, with a skin +on either side of the bed. At the foot of the bed was a small +writing-table, with a penny bottle of ink on it. A few coloured prints +and engravings--representing, for example, Louis Philippe and his +family, and people perishing on a raft--broke the tedium of the walls. +The first impression on Sophia's eye was one of sombre splendour. +Everything had the air of being richly ornamented, draped, looped, +carved, twisted, brocaded into gorgeousness. The dark crimson +bed-hangings fell from massive rosettes in majestic folds. The +counterpane was covered with lace. The window-curtains had amplitude +beyond the necessary, and they were suspended from behind fringed and +pleated valances. The green sofa and its sateen cushions were stiff +with applied embroidery. The chandelier hanging from the middle of the +ceiling, modelled to represent cupids holding festoons, was a +glittering confusion of gilt and lustres; the lustres tinkled when +Sophia stood on a certain part of the floor. The cane-seated chairs +were completely gilded. There was an effect of spaciousness. And the +situation of the bed between the two double-doors, with the three +windows in front and other pairs of doors communicating with other +rooms on either hand, produced in addition an admirable symmetry. + +But Sophia, with the sharp gaze of a woman brought up in the traditions +of a modesty so proud that it scorns ostentation, quickly tested and +condemned the details of this chamber that imitated every luxury. +Nothing in it, she found, was 'good.' And in St. Luke's Square +'goodness' meant honest workmanship, permanence, the absence of +pretence. All the stuffs were cheap and showy and shabby; all the +furniture was cracked, warped, or broken. The clock showed five minutes +past twelve at five o'clock. And further, dust was everywhere, except +in those places where even the most perfunctory cleaning could not have +left it. In the obscurer pleatings of draperies it lay thick. Sophia's +lip curled, and instinctively she lifted her peignoir. One of her +mother's phrases came into her head: 'a lick and a promise.' And then +another: "If you want to leave dirt, leave it where everybody can see +it, not in the corners." + +She peeped behind the screen, and all the horrible welter of a cabinet +de toilette met her gaze: a repulsive medley of foul waters, stained +vessels and cloths, brushes, sponges, powders, and pastes. Clothes were +hung up in disorder on rough nails; among them she recognized a +dressing-gown of Madame Foucault's, and, behind affairs of later date, +the dazzling scarlet cloak in which she had first seen Madame Foucault, +dilapidated now. So this was Madame Foucault's room! This was the bower +from which that elegance emerged, the filth from which had sprung the +mature blossom! + +She passed from that room direct to another, of which the shutters were +closed, leaving it in twilight. This room too was a bedroom, rather +smaller than the middle one, and having only one window, but furnished +with the same dubious opulence. Dust covered it everywhere, and small +footmarks were visible in the dust on the floor. At the back was a +small door, papered to match the wall, and within this door was a +cabinet de toilette, with no light and no air; neither in the room nor +in the closet was there any sign of individual habitation. She +traversed the main bedroom again and found another bedroom to balance +the second one, but open to the full light of day, and in a state of +extreme disorder; the double-pillowed bed had not even been made: +clothes and towels draped all the furniture: shoes were about the +floor, and on a piece of string tied across the windows hung a single +white stocking, wet. At the back was a cabinet de toilette, as dark as +the other one, a vile malodorous mess of appliances whose familiar +forms loomed vague and extraordinarily sinister in the dense obscurity. +Sophia turned away with the righteous disgust of one whose preparations +for the gaze of the world are as candid and simple as those of a child. +Concealed dirt shocked her as much as it would have shocked her mother; +and as for the trickeries of the toilet table, she contemned them as +harshly as a young saint who has never been tempted contemns moral +weakness. She thought of the strange flaccid daily life of those two +women, whose hours seemed to slip unprofitably away without any result +of achievement. She had actually witnessed nothing; but since the +beginning of her convalescence her ears had heard, and she could piece +the evidences together. There was never any sound in the flat, outside +the kitchen, until noon. Then vague noises and smells would commence. +And about one o'clock Madame Foucault, disarrayed, would come to +inquire if the servant had attended to the needs of the invalid. Then +the odours of cookery would accentuate themselves; bells rang; +fragments of conversations escaped through doors ajar; occasionally a +man's voice or a heavy step; then the fragrance of coffee; sometimes +the sound of a kiss, the banging of the front door, the noise of +brushing, or of the shaking of a carpet, a little scream as at some +trifling domestic contretemps. Laurence, still in a dressing-gown, +would lounge into Sophia's room, dirty, haggard, but polite with a +curious stiff ceremony, and would drink her coffee there. This +wandering in peignoirs would continue till three o'clock, and then +Laurence might say, as if nerving herself to an unusual and immense +effort: "I must be dressed by five o'clock. I have not a moment." Often +Madame Foucault did not dress at all; on such days she would go to bed +immediately after dinner, with the remark that she didn't know what was +the matter with her, but she was exhausted. And then the servant would +retire to her seventh floor, and there would be silence until, now and +then, faint creepings were heard at midnight or after. Once or twice, +through the chinks of her door, Sophia had seen a light at two o'clock +in the morning, just before the dawn. + +Yet these were the women who had saved her life, who between them had +put her into a cold bath every three hours night and day for weeks! +Surely it was impossible after that to despise them for shiftlessness +and talkative idling in peignoirs; impossible to despise them for +anything whatever! But Sophia, conscious of her inheritance of strong +and resolute character, did despise them as poor things. The one point +on which she envied them was their formal manners to her, which seemed +to become more dignified and graciously distant as her health improved. +It was always 'Madame,' 'Madame,' to her, with an intonation of +increasing deference. They might have been apologizing to her for +themselves. + +She prowled into all the corners of the flat; but she discovered no +more rooms, nothing but a large cupboard crammed with Madame Foucault's +dresses. Then she went back to the large bedroom, and enjoyed the busy +movement and rattle of the sloping street, and had long, vague +yearnings for strength and for freedom in wide, sane places. She +decided that on the morrow she would dress herself 'properly,' and +never again wear a peignoir; the peignoir and all that it represented, +disgusted her. And while looking at the street she ceased to see it and +saw Cook's office and Chirac helping her into the carriage. Where was +he? Why had he brought her to this impossible abode? What did he mean +by such conduct? But could he have acted otherwise? He had done the one +thing that he could do.... Chance! ... Chance! And why an impossible +abode? Was one place more impossible than another? All this came of +running away from home with Gerald. It was remarkable that she seldom +thought of Gerald. He had vanished from her life as he had come into +it--madly, preposterously. She wondered what the next stage in her +career would be. She certainly could not forecast it. Perhaps Gerald +was starving, or in prison ... Bah! That exclamation expressed her +appalling disdain of Gerald and of the Sophia who had once deemed him +the paragon of men. Bah! + +A carriage stopping in front of the house awakened her from her +meditation. Madame Foucault and a man very much younger than Madame +Foucault got out of it. Sophia fled. After all, this prying into other +people's rooms was quite inexcusable. She dropped on to her own bed and +picked up a book, in case Madame Foucault should come in. + +III + +In the evening, just after night had fallen, Sophia on the bed heard +the sound of raised and acrimonious voices in Madame Foucault's room. +Nothing except dinner had happened since the arrival of Madame Foucault +and the young man. These two had evidently dined informally in the +bedroom on a dish or so prepared by Madame Foucault, who had herself +served Sophia with her invalid's repast. The odours of cookery still +hung in the air. + +The noise of virulent discussion increased and continued, and then +Sophia could hear sobbing, broken by short and fierce phrases from the +man. Then the door of the bedroom opened brusquely. "J'en ai soupe!" +exclaimed the man, in tones of angry disgust. "Laisse-moi, je te prie!" +And then a soft muffled sound, as of a struggle, a quick step, and the +very violent banging of the front door. After that there was a +noticeable silence, save for the regular sobbing. Sophia wondered when +it would cease, that monotonous sobbing. + +"What is the matter?" she called out from her bed. + +The sobbing grew louder, like the sobbing of a child who has detected +an awakening of sympathy and instinctively begins to practise upon it. +In the end Sophia arose and put on the peignoir which she had almost +determined never to wear again. The broad corridor was lighted by a +small, smelling oil-lamp with a crimson globe. That soft, transforming +radiance seemed to paint the whole corridor with voluptuous luxury: so +much so that it was impossible to believe that the smell came from the +lamp. Under the lamp lay Madame Foucault on the floor, a shapeless mass +of lace, frilled linen, and corset; her light brown hair was loose and +spread about the floor. At the first glance, the creature abandoned to +grief made a romantic and striking picture, and Sophia thought for an +instant that she had at length encountered life on a plane that would +correspond to her dreams of romance. And she was impressed, with a +feeling somewhat akin to that of a middling commoner when confronted +with a viscount. There was, in the distance, something imposing and +sensational about that prone, trembling figure. The tragic works of +love were therein apparently manifest, in a sort of dignified beauty. +But when Sophia bent over Madame Foucault, and touched her flabbiness, +this illusion at once vanished; and instead of being dramatically +pathetic the woman was ridiculous. Her face, especially as damaged by +tears, could not support the ordeal of inspection; it was horrible; not +a picture, but a palette; or like the coloured design of a pavement +artist after a heavy shower. Her great, relaxed eyelids alone would +have rendered any face absurd; and there were monstrous details far +worse than the eyelids. Then she was amazingly fat; her flesh seemed to +be escaping at all ends from a corset strained to the utmost limit. And +above her boots--she was still wearing dainty, high-heeled, tightly +laced boots--the calves bulged suddenly out. + +As a woman of between forty and fifty, the obese sepulchre of a dead +vulgar beauty, she had no right to passions and tears and homage, or +even the means of life; she had no right to expose herself +picturesquely beneath a crimson glow in all the panoply of ribboned +garters and lacy seductiveness. It was silly; it was disgraceful. She +ought to have known that only youth and slimness have the right to +appeal to the feelings by indecent abandonments. + +Such were the thoughts that mingled with the sympathy of the beautiful +and slim Sophia as she bent down to Madame Foucault. She was sorry for +her landlady, but at the same time she despised her, and resented her +woe. + +"What is the matter?" she asked quietly. + +"He has chucked me!" stammered Madame Foucault. "And he's the last. I +have no one now!" + +She rolled over in the most grotesque manner, kicking up her legs, with +a fresh outburst of sobs. Sophia felt quite ashamed for her. + +"Come and lie down. Come now!" she said, with a touch of sharpness. +"You musn't lie there like that." + +Madame Foucault's behaviour was really too outrageous. Sophia helped +her, morally rather than physically, to rise, and then persuaded her +into the large bedroom. Madame Foucault fell on the bed, of which the +counterpane had been thrown over the foot. Sophia covered the lower +part of her heaving body with the counterpane. + +"Now, calm yourself, please!" + +This room too was lit in crimson, by a small lamp that stood on the +night-table, and though the shade of the lamp was cracked, the general +effect of the great chamber was incontestably romantic. Only the +pillows of the wide bed and a small semi-circle of floor were +illuminated, all the rest lay in shadow. Madame Foucault's head had +dropped between the pillows. A tray containing dirty plates and glasses +and a wine-bottle was speciously picturesque on the writing-table. + +Despite her genuine gratitude to Madame Foucault for astounding care +during her illness, Sophia did not like her landlady, and the present +scene made her coldly wrathful. She saw the probability of having +another's troubles piled on the top of her own. She did not, in her +mind, actively object, because she felt that she could not be more +hopelessly miserable than she was; but she passively resented the +imposition. Her reason told her that she ought to sympathize with this +ageing, ugly, disagreeable, undignified woman; but her heart was +reluctant; her heart did not want to know anything at all about Madame +Foucault, nor to enter in any way into her private life. + +"I have not a single friend now," stammered Madame Foucault. + +"Oh, yes, you have," said Sophia, cheerfully. "You have Madame +Laurence." + +"Laurence--that is not a friend. You know what I mean." + +"And me! I am your friend!" said Sophia, in obedience to her conscience. + +"You are very kind," replied Madame Foucault, from the pillow. "But you +know what I mean." + +The fact was that Sophia did know what she meant. The terms of their +intercourse had been suddenly changed. There was no pretentious +ceremony now, but the sincerity that disaster brings. The vast +structure of make-believe, which between them they had gradually built, +had crumbled to nothing. + +"I never treated badly any man in my life," whimpered Madame Foucault. +"I have always been a--good girl. There is not a man who can say I have +not been a good girl. Never was I a girl like the rest. And every one +has said so. Ah! when I tell you that once I had a hotel in the Avenue +de la Reine Hortense. Four horses ... I have sold a horse to Madame +Musard.... You know Madame Musard.... But one cannot make economies. +Impossible to make economies! Ah! In 'fifty-six I was spending a +hundred thousand francs a year. That cannot last. Always I have said to +myself: 'That cannot last.' Always I had the intention.... But what +would you? I installed myself here, and borrowed money to pay for the +furniture. There did not remain to me one jewel. The men are poltroons, +all! I could let three bedrooms for three hundred and fifty francs a +month, and with serving meals and so on I could live." + +"Then that," Sophia interrupted, pointing to her own bedroom across the +corridor, "is your room?" + +"Yes," said Madame Foucault. "I put you in it because at the moment all +these were let. They are so no longer. Only one--Laurence--and she does +not pay me always. What would you? Tenants--that does not find itself +at the present hour.... I have nothing, and I owe. And he quits me. He +chooses this moment to quit me! And why? For nothing. For nothing. That +is not for his money that I regret him. No, no! You know, at his +age--he is twenty-five--and with a woman like me--one is not generous! +No. I loved him. And then a man is a moral support, always. I loved +him. It is at my age, mine, that one knows how to love. Beauty goes +always, but not the temperament! Ah, that--No! ... I loved him. I love +him." + +Sophia's face tingled with a sudden emotion caused by the repetition of +those last three words, whose spell no usage can mar. But she said +nothing. + +"Do you know what I shall become? There is nothing but that for me. And +I know of such, who are there already. A charwoman! Yes, a charwoman! +More soon or more late. Well, that is life. What would you? One exists +always." Then in a different tone: "I demand your pardon, madame, for +talking like this. I ought to have shame." + +And Sophia felt that in listening she also ought to be ashamed. But she +was not ashamed. Everything seemed very natural, and even ordinary. +And, moreover, Sophia was full of the sense of her superiority over the +woman on the bed. Four years ago, in the Restaurant Sylvain, the +ingenuous and ignorant Sophia had shyly sat in awe of the resplendent +courtesan, with her haughty stare, her large, easy gestures, and her +imperturbable contempt for the man who was paying. And now Sophia knew +that she, Sophia, knew all that was to be known about human nature. She +had not merely youth, beauty, and virtue, but knowledge--knowledge +enough to reconcile her to her own misery. She had a vigorous, clear +mind, and a clean conscience. She could look any one in the face, and +judge every one too as a woman of the world. Whereas this obscene wreck +on the bed had nothing whatever left. She had not merely lost her +effulgent beauty, she had become repulsive. She could never have had +any commonsense, nor any force of character. Her haughtiness in the day +of glory was simply fatuous, based on stupidity. She had passed the +years in idleness, trailing about all day in stuffy rooms, and emerging +at night to impress nincompoops; continually meaning to do things which +she never did, continually surprised at the lateness of the hour, +continually occupied with the most foolish trifles. And here she was at +over forty writhing about on the bare floor because a boy of +twenty-five (who MUST be a worthless idiot) had abandoned her after a +scene of ridiculous shoutings and stampings. She was dependent on the +caprices of a young scamp, the last donkey to turn from her with +loathing! Sophia thought: "Goodness! If I had been in her place I +shouldn't have been like that. I should have been rich. I should have +saved like a miser. I wouldn't have been dependent on anybody at that +age. If I couldn't have made a better courtesan than this pitiable +woman, I would have drowned myself." + +In the harsh vanity of her conscious capableness and young strength she +thought thus, half forgetting her own follies, and half excusing them +on the ground of inexperience. + +Sophia wanted to go round the flat and destroy every crimson lampshade +in it. She wanted to shake Madame Foucault into self-respect and +sagacity. Moral reprehension, though present in her mind, was only +faint. Certainly she felt the immense gulf between the honest woman and +the wanton, but she did not feel it as she would have expected to feel +it. "What a fool you have been!" she thought; not: "What a sinner!" +With her precocious cynicism, which was somewhat unsuited to the lovely +northern youthfulness of that face, she said to herself that the whole +situation and their relative attitudes would have been different if +only Madame Foucault had had the wit to amass a fortune, as (according +to Gerald) some of her rivals had succeeded in doing. + +And all the time she was thinking, in another part of her mind: "I +ought not to be here. It's no use arguing. I ought not to be here. +Chirac did the only thing for me there was to do. But I must go now." + +Madame Foucault continued to recite her woes, chiefly financial, in a +weak voice damp with tears; she also continued to apologize for +mentioning herself. She had finished sobbing, and lay looking at the +wall, away from Sophia, who stood irresolute near the bed, ashamed for +her companion's weakness and incapacity. + +"You must not forget," said Sophia, irritated by the unrelieved +darkness of the picture drawn by Madame Foucault, "that at least I owe +you a considerable sum, and that I am only waiting for you to tell me +how much it is. I have asked you twice already, I think." + +"Oh, you are still suffering!" said Madame Foucault. + +"I am quite well enough to pay my debts," said Sophia. + +"I do not like to accept money from you," said Madame Foucault. + +"But why not?" + +"You will have the doctor to pay." + +"Please do not talk in that way," said Sophia. "I have money, and I can +pay for everything, and I shall pay for everything." + +She was annoyed because she was sure that Madame Foucault was only +making a pretence of delicacy, and that in any case her delicacy was +preposterous. Sophia had remarked this on the two previous occasions +when she had mentioned the subject of bills. Madame Foucault would not +treat her as an ordinary lodger, now that the illness was past. She +wanted, as it were, to complete brilliantly what she had begun, and to +live in Sophia's memory as a unique figure of lavish philanthropy. This +was a sentiment, a luxury that she desired to offer herself: the +thought that she had played providence to a respectable married lady in +distress; she frequently hinted at Sophia's misfortunes and +helplessness. But she could not afford the luxury. She gazed at it as a +poor woman gazes at costly stuffs through the glass of a shop-window. +The truth was, she wanted the luxury for nothing. For a double reason +Sophia was exasperated: by Madame Foucault's absurd desire, and by a +natural objection to the role of a subject for philanthropy. She would +not admit that Madame Foucault's devotion as a nurse entitled her to +the satisfaction of being a philanthropist when there was no necessity +for philanthropy. + +"How long have I been here?" asked Sophia. + +"I don't know." murmured Madame Foucault. "Eight weeks--or is it nine?" + +"Suppose we say nine," said Sophia. + +"Very well," agreed Madame Foucault, apparently reluctant. + +"Now, how much must I pay you per week?" + +"I don't want anything--I don't want anything! You are a friend of +Chirac's. You----" + +"Not at all!" Sophia interrupted, tapping her foot and biting her lip. +"Naturally I must pay." + +Madame Foucault wept quietly. + +"Shall I pay you seventy-five francs a week?" said Sophia, anxious to +end the matter. + +"It is too much!" Madame Foucault protested, insincerely. + +"What? For all you have done for me?" + +"I speak not of that," Madame Foucault modestly replied. + +If the devotion was not to be paid for, then seventy-five francs a week +was assuredly too much, as during more than half the time Sophia had +had almost no food. Madame Foucault was therefore within the truth when +she again protested, at sight of the bank-notes which Sophia brought +from her trunk: + +"I am sure that it is too much." + +"Not at all!" Sophia repeated. "Nine weeks at seventy-five. That makes +six hundred and seventy-five. Here are seven hundreds." + +"I have no change," said Madame Foucault. "I have nothing." + +"That will pay for the hire of the bath," said Sophia. + +She laid the notes on the pillow. Madame Foucault looked at them +gluttonously, as any other person would have done in her place. She did +not touch them. After an instant she burst into wild tears. + +"But why do you cry?" Sophia asked, softened. + +"I--I don't know!" spluttered Madame Foucault. "You are so beautiful. I +am so content that we saved you." Her great wet eyes rested on Sophia. + +It was sentimentality. Sophia ruthlessly set it down as sentimentality. +But she was touched. She was suddenly moved. Those women, such as they +were in their foolishness, probably had saved her life--and she a +stranger! Flaccid as they were, they had been capable of resolute +perseverance there. It was possible to say that chance had thrown them +upon an enterprise which they could not have abandoned till they or +death had won. It was possible to say that they hoped vaguely to derive +advantage from their labours. But even then? Judged by an ordinary +standard, those women had been angels of mercy. And Sophia was +despising them, cruelly taking their motives to pieces, accusing them +of incapacity when she herself stood a supreme proof of their capacity +in, at any rate, one direction! In a rush of emotion she saw her +hardness and her injustice. + +She bent down. "Never can I forget how kind you have been to me. It is +incredible! Incredible!" She spoke softly, in tones loaded with genuine +feeling. It was all she said. She could not embroider on the theme. She +had no talent for thanksgiving. + +Madame Foucault made the beginning of a gesture, as if she meant to +kiss Sophia with those thick, marred lips; but refrained. Her head sank +back, and then she had a recurrence of the fit of nervous sobbing. +Immediately afterwards there was the sound of a latchkey in the +front-door of the flat; the bedroom door was open. Still sobbing very +violently, she cocked her ear, and pushed the bank-notes under the +pillow. + +Madame Laurence--as she was called: Sophia had never heard her +surname--came straight into the bedroom, and beheld the scene with +astonishment in her dark twinkling eyes. She was usually dressed in +black, because people said that black suited her, and because black was +never out of fashion; black was an expression of her idiosyncrasy. She +showed a certain elegance, and by comparison with the extreme disorder +of Madame Foucault and the deshabille of Sophia her appearance, all +fresh from a modish restaurant, was brilliant; it gave her an advantage +over the other two--that moral advantage which ceremonial raiment +always gives. + +"What is it that passes?" she demanded. + +"He has chucked me, Laurence!" exclaimed Madame Foucault, in a sort of +hysteric scream which seemed to force its way through her sobs. From +the extraordinary freshness of Madame Foucault's woe, it might have +been supposed that her young man had only that instant strode out. + +Laurence and Sophia exchanged a swift glance; and Laurence, of course, +perceived that Sophia's relations with her landlady and nurse were now +of a different, a more candid order. She indicated her perception of +the change by a single slight movement of the eyebrows. + +"But listen, Aimee," she said authoritatively. "You must not let +yourself go like that. He will return." + +"Never!" cried Madame Foucault. "It is finished. And he is the last!" + +Laurence, ignoring Madame Foucault, approached Sophia. "You have an air +very fatigued," she said, caressing Sophia's shoulder with her gloved +hand. "You are pale like everything. All this is not for you. It is not +reasonable to remain here, you still suffering! At this hour! Truly not +reasonable!" + +Her hands persuaded Sophia towards the corridor. And, in fact, Sophia +did then notice her own exhaustion. She departed from the room with the +ready obedience of physical weakness, and shut her door. + +After about half an hour, during which she heard confused noises and +murmurings, her door half opened. + +"May I enter, since you are not asleep?" It was Laurence's voice. +Twice, now, she had addressed Sophia without adding the formal 'madame.' + +"Enter, I beg you," Sophia called from the bed. "I am reading." + +Laurence came in. Sophia was both glad and sorry to see her. She was +eager to hear gossip which, however, she felt she ought to despise. +Moreover, she knew that if they talked that night they would talk as +friends, and that Laurence would ever afterwards treat her with the +familiarity of a friend. This she dreaded. Still, she knew that she +would yield, at any rate, to the temptation to listen to gossip. + +"I have put her to bed," said Laurence, in a whisper, as she cautiously +closed the door. "The poor woman! Oh, what a charming bracelet! It is a +true pearl, naturally?" + +Her roving eye had immediately, with an infallible instinct, caught +sight of a bracelet which, in taking stock of her possessions, Sophia +had accidentally left on the piano. She picked it up, and then put it +down again. + +"Yes," said Sophia. She was about to add: "It's nearly all the +jewellery I possess;" but she stopped. + +Laurence moved towards Sophia's bed, and stood over it as she had often +done in her quality as nurse. She had taken off her gloves, and she +made a piquant, pretty show, with her thirty years, and her agreeable, +slightly roguish face, in which were mingled the knowingness of a +street boy and the confidence of a woman who has ceased to be surprised +at the influence of her snub nose on a highly intelligent man. + +"Did she tell you what they had quarrelled about?" Laurence inquired +abruptly. And not only the phrasing of the question, but the assured +tone in which it was uttered, showed that Laurence meant to be the +familiar of Sophia. + +"Not a word!" said Sophia. + +In this brief question and reply, all was crudely implied that had +previously been supposed not to exist. The relations between the two +women were altered irretrievably in a moment. + +"It must have been her fault!" said Laurence. "With men she is +insupportable. I have never understood how that poor woman has made her +way. With women she is charming. But she seems to be incapable of not +treating men like dogs. Some men adore that, but they are few. Is it +not?" + +Sophia smiled. + +"I have told her! How many times have I told her! But it is useless. It +is stronger than she is, and if she finishes on straw one will be able +to say that it was because of that. But truly she ought not to have +asked him here! Truly that was too much! If he knew...!" + +"Why not?" asked Sophia, awkwardly. The answer startled her. + +"Because her room has not been disinfected." + +"But I thought all the flat had been disinfected?" + +"All except her room." + +"But why not her room?" + +Laurence shrugged her shoulders. "She did not want to disturb her +things! Is it that I know, I? She is like that. She takes an idea--and +then, there you are!" + +"She told me every room had been disinfected." + +"She told the same to the police and the doctor." + +"Then all the disinfection is useless?" + +"Perfectly! But she is like that. This flat might be very remunerative; +but with her, never! She has not even paid for the furniture--after two +years!" + +"But what will become of her?" Sophia asked. + +"Ah--that!" Another shrug of the shoulders. "All that I know is that it +will be necessary for me to leave here. The last time I brought +Monsieur Cerf here, she was excessively rude to him. She has doubtless +told you about Monsieur Cerf?" + +"No. Who is Monsieur Cerf?" + +"Ah! She has not told you? That astonishes me. Monsieur Cerf, that is +my friend, you know." + +"Oh!" murmured Sophia. + +"Yes," Laurence proceeded, impelled by a desire to impress Sophia and +to gossip at large. "That is my friend. I knew him at the hospital. It +was to please him that I left the hospital. After that we quarrelled +for two years; but at the end he gave me right. I did not budge. Two +years! It is long. And I had left the hospital. I could have gone back. +But I would not. That is not a life, to be nurse in a Paris hospital! +No, I drew myself out as well as I could ... He is the most charming +boy you can imagine! And rich now; that is to say, relatively. He has a +cousin infinitely more rich than he. I dined with them both to-night at +the Maison Doree. For a luxurious boy, he is a luxurious boy--the +cousin I mean. It appears that he has made a fortune in Canada." + +"Truly!" said Sophia, with politeness. Laurence's hand was playing on +the edge of the bed, and Sophia observed for the first time that it +bore a wedding-ring. + +"You remark my ring?" Laurence laughed. "That is he--the cousin. +'What!' he said, 'you do not wear an alliance? An alliance is more +proper. We are going to arrange that after dinner.' I said that all the +jewellers' shops would be closed. 'That is all the same to me,' he +said. 'We will open one.' And in effect ... it passed like that. He +succeeded! Is it not beautiful?" She held forth her hand. + +"Yes," said Sophia. "It is very beautiful." + +"Yours also is beautiful," said Laurence, with an extremely puzzling +intonation. + +"It is just the ordinary English wedding-ring," said Sophia. In spite +of herself she blushed. + +"Now I have married you. It is I, the cure, said he--the cousin--when +he put the ring on my finger. Oh, he is excessively amusing! He pleases +me much. And he is all alone. He asked me whether I knew among my +friends a sympathetic, pretty girl, to make four with us three for a +picnic. I said I was not sure, but I thought not. Whom do I know? +Nobody. I'm not a woman like the rest. I am always discreet. I do not +like casual relations.... But he is very well, the cousin. Brown +eyes.... It is an idea--will you come, one day? He speaks English. He +loves the English. He is all that is most correct, the perfect +gentleman. He would arrange a dazzling fete. I am sure he would be +enchanted to make your acquaintance. Enchanted! ... As for my Charles, +happily he is completely mad about me--otherwise I should have fear." + +She smiled, and in her smile was a genuine respect for Sophia's face. + +"I fear I cannot come," said Sophia. She honestly endeavoured to keep +out of her reply any accent of moral superiority, but she did not quite +succeed. She was not at all horrified by Laurence's suggestion. She +meant simply to refuse it; but she could not do so in a natural voice. + +"It is true you are not yet strong enough," said the imperturbable +Laurence, quickly, and with a perfect imitation of naturalness. "But +soon you must make a little promenade." She stared at her ring. "After +all, it is more proper," she observed judicially. "With a wedding-ring +one is less likely to be annoyed. What is curious is that the idea +never before came to me. Yet ..." + +"You like jewellery?" said Sophia. + +"If I like jewellery!" with a gesture of the hands. + +"Will you pass me that bracelet?" + +Laurence obeyed, and Sophia clasped it round the girl's wrist. + +"Keep it," Sophia said. + +"For me?" Laurence exclaimed, ravished. "It is too much." + +"It is not enough," said Sophia. "And when you look at it, you must +remember how kind you were to me, and how grateful I am." + +"How nicely you say that!" Laurence said ecstatically. + +And Sophia felt that she had indeed said it rather nicely. This giving +of the bracelet, souvenir of one of the few capricious follies that +Gerald had committed for her and not for himself, pleased Sophia very +much. + +"I am afraid your nursing of me forced you to neglect Monsieur Cerf," +she added. + +"Yes, a little!" said Laurence, impartially, with a small pout of +haughtiness. "It is true that he used to complain. But I soon put him +straight. What an idea! He knows there are things upon which I do not +joke. It is not he who will quarrel a second time! Believe me!" + +Laurence's absolute conviction of her power was what impressed Sophia. +To Sophia she seemed to be a vulgar little piece of goods, with dubious +charm and a glance that was far too brazen. Her movements were vulgar. +And Sophia wondered how she had established her empire and upon what it +rested. + +"I shall not show this to Aimee," whispered Laurence, indicating the +bracelet. + +"As you wish," said Sophia. + +"By the way, have I told you that war is declared?" Laurence casually +remarked. + +"No," said Sophia. "What war?" + +"The scene with Aimee made me forget it ... With Germany. The city is +quite excited. An immense crowd in front of the new Opera. They say we +shall be at Berlin in a month--or at most two months." + +"Oh!" Sophia muttered. "Why is there a war?" + +"Ah! It is I who asked that. Nobody knows. It is those Prussians." + +"Don't you think we ought to begin again with the disinfecting?" Sophia +asked anxiously. "I must speak to Madame Foucault." + +Laurence told her not to worry, and went off to show the bracelet to +Madame Foucault. She had privately decided that this was a pleasure +which, after all, she could not deny herself. + +IV + +About a fortnight later--it was a fine Saturday in early +August--Sophia, with a large pinafore over her dress, was finishing the +portentous preparations for disinfecting the flat. Part of the affair +was already accomplished, her own room and the corridor having been +fumigated on the previous day, in spite of the opposition of Madame +Foucault, who had taken amiss Laurence's tale-bearing to Sophia. +Laurence had left the flat--under exactly what circumstances Sophia +knew not, but she guessed that it must have been in consequence of a +scene elaborating the tiff caused by Madame Foucault's resentment +against Laurence. The brief, factitious friendliness between Laurence +and Sophia had gone like a dream, and Laurence had gone like a dream. +The servant had been dismissed; in her place Madame Foucault employed a +charwoman each morning for two hours. Finally, Madame Foucault had been +suddenly called away that morning by a letter to her sick father at St. +Mammes-sur-Seine. Sophia was delighted at the chance. The disinfecting +of the flat had become an obsession with Sophia--the obsession of a +convalescent whose perspective unconsciously twists things to the most +wry shapes. She had had trouble on the day before with Madame Foucault, +and she was expecting more serious trouble when the moment arrived for +ejecting Madame Foucault as well as all her movable belongings from +Madame Foucault's own room. Nevertheless, Sophia had been determined, +whatever should happen, to complete an honest fumigation of the entire +flat. Hence the eagerness with which, urging Madame Foucault to go to +her father, Sophia had protested that she was perfectly strong and +could manage by herself for a couple of days. Owing to the partial +suppression of the ordinary railway services in favour of military +needs, Madame Foucault could not hope to go and return on the same day. +Sophia had lent her a louis. + +Pans of sulphur were mysteriously burning in each of the three front +rooms, and two pairs of doors had been pasted over with paper, to +prevent the fumes from escaping. The charwoman had departed. Sophia, +with brush, scissors, flour-paste, and news-sheets, was sealing the +third pair of doors, when there was a ring at the front door. + +She had only to cross the corridor in order to open. + +It was Chirac. She was not surprised to see him. The outbreak of the +war had induced even Sophia and her landlady to look through at least +one newspaper during the day, and she had in this way learnt, from an +article signed by Chirac, that he had returned to Paris after a mission +into the Vosges country for his paper. + +He started on seeing her. "Ah!" He breathed out the exclamation slowly. +And then smiled, seized her hand, and kissed it. + +The sight of his obvious extreme pleasure in meeting her again was the +sweetest experience that had fallen to Sophia for years. + +"Then you are cured?" + +"Quite." + +He sighed. "You know, this is an enormous relief to me, to know, +veritably, that you are no longer in danger. You gave me a fright ... +but a fright, my dear madame!" + +She smiled in silence. + +As he glanced inquiringly up and down the corridor, she said-- + +"I'm all alone in the flat. I'm disinfecting it." + +"Then that is sulphur that I smell?" + +She nodded. "Excuse me while I finish this door," she said. + +He closed the front-door. "But you seem to be quite at home here!" he +observed. + +"I ought to be," said she. + +He glanced again inquiringly up and down the corridor. "And you are +really all alone now?" he asked, as though to be doubly sure. + +She explained the circumstances. + +"I owe you my most sincere excuses for bringing you here," he said +confidentially. + +"But why?" she replied, looking intently at her door. "They have been +most kind to me. Nobody could have been kinder. And Madame Laurence +being such a good nurse----" + +"It is true," said he. "That was a reason. In effect they are both very +good-natured little women.... You comprehend, as journalist it arrives +to me to know all kinds of people ..." He snapped his fingers ... "And +as we were opposite the house. In fine, I pray you to excuse me." + +"Hold me this paper," she said. "It is necessary that every crack +should be covered; also between the floor and the door." + +"You English are wonderful," he murmured, as he took the paper. +"Imagine you doing that! Then," he added, resuming the confidential +tone, "I suppose you will leave the Foucault now, hein?" + +"I suppose so," she said carelessly. + +"You go to England?" + +She turned to him, as she patted the creases out of a strip of paper +with a duster, and shook her head. + +"Not to England?" + +"No." + +"If it is not indiscreet, where are you going?" + +"I don't know," she said candidly. + +And she did not know. She was without a plan. Her brain told her that +she ought to return to Bursley, or, at the least, write. But her pride +would not hear of such a surrender. Her situation would have to be far +more desperate than it was before she could confess her defeat to her +family even in a letter. A thousand times no! That was a point which +she had for ever decided. She would face any disaster, and any other +shame, rather than the shame of her family's forgiving reception of her. + +"And you?" she asked. "How does it go? This war?" + +He told her, in a few words, a few leading facts about himself. "It +must not be said," he added of the war, "but that will turn out ill! +I--I know, you comprehend." + +"Truly?" she answered with casualness. + +"You have heard nothing of him?" Chirac asked. + +"Who? Gerald?" + +He gave a gesture. + +"Nothing! Not a word! Nothing!" + +"He will have gone back to England!" + +"Never!" she said positively. + +"But why not?" + +"Because he prefers France. He really does like France. I think it is +the only real passion he ever had." + +"It is astonishing," reflected Chirac, "how France is loved! And +yet...! But to live, what will he do? Must live!" + +Sophia merely shrugged her shoulders. + +"Then it is finished between you two?" he muttered awkwardly. + +She nodded. She was on her knees, at the lower crack of the doors. + +"There!" she said, rising. "It's well done, isn't it? That is all." + +She smiled at him, facing him squarely, in the obscurity of the untidy +and shabby corridor. Both felt that they had become very intimate. He +was intensely flattered by her attitude, and she knew it. + +"Now," she said, "I will take off my pinafore. Where can I niche you? +There is only my bedroom, and I want that. What are we to do?" + +"Listen," he suggested diffidently. "Will you do me the honour to come +for a drive? That will do you good. There is sunshine. And you are +always very pale." + +"With pleasure," she agreed cordially. + +While dressing, she heard him walking up and down the corridor; +occasionally they exchanged a few words. Before leaving, Sophia pulled +off the paper from one of the key-holes of the sealed suite of rooms, +and they peered through, one after the other, and saw the green glow of +the sulphur, and were troubled by its uncanniness. And then Sophia +refixed the paper. + +In descending the stairs of the house she felt the infirmity of her +knees; but in other respects, though she had been out only once before +since her illness, she was conscious of a sufficient strength. A +disinclination for any enterprise had prevented her from taking the air +as she ought to have done, but within the flat she had exercised her +limbs in many small tasks. The little Chirac, nervously active and +restless, wanted to take her arm, but she would not allow it. + +The concierge and part of her family stared curiously at Sophia as she +passed under the archway, for the course of her illness had excited the +interest of the whole house. Just as the carriage was driving off, the +concierge came across the pavement and paid her compliments, and then +said: + +"You do not know by hazard why Madame Foucault has not returned for +lunch, madame?" + +"Returned for lunch!" said Sophia. "She will not come back till +to-morrow." + +The concierge made a face. "Ah! How curious it is! She told my husband +that she would return in two hours. It is very grave! Question of +business." + +"I know nothing, madame," said Sophia. She and Chirac looked at each +other. The concierge murmured thanks and went off muttering +indistinctly. + +The fiacre turned down the Rue Laferriere, the horse slipping and +sliding as usual over the cobblestones. Soon they were on the +boulevard, making for the Champs Elysees and the Bois de Boulogne. + +The fresh breeze and bright sunshine and the large freedom of the +streets quickly intoxicated Sophia--intoxicated her, that is to say, in +quite a physical sense. She was almost drunk, with the heady savour of +life itself. A mild ecstasy of well-being overcame her. She saw the +flat as a horrible, vile prison, and blamed herself for not leaving it +sooner and oftener. The air was medicine, for body and mind too. Her +perspective was instantly corrected. She was happy, living neither in +the past nor in the future, but in and for that hour. And beneath her +happiness moved a wistful melancholy for the Sophia who had suffered +such a captivity and such woes. She yearned for more and yet more +delight, for careless orgies of passionate pleasure, in the midst of +which she would forget all trouble. Why had she refused the offer of +Laurence? Why had she not rushed at once into the splendid fire of +joyous indulgence, ignoring everything but the crude, sensuous +instinct? Acutely aware as she was of her youth, her beauty, and her +charm, she wondered at her refusal. She did not regret her refusal. She +placidly observed it as the result of some tremendously powerful motive +in herself, which could not be questioned or reasoned with--which was, +in fact, the essential HER. + +"Do I look like an invalid?" she asked, leaning back luxuriously in the +carriage among the crowd of other vehicles. + +Chirac hesitated. "My faith! Yes!" he said at length. "But it becomes +you. If I did not know that you have little love for compliments, I--" + +"But I adore compliments!" she exclaimed. "What made you think that?" + +"Well, then," he youthfully burst out, "you are more ravishing than +ever." + +She gave herself up deliciously to his admiration. + +After a silence, he said: "Ah! if you knew how disquieted I was about +you, away there...! I should not know how to tell you. Veritably +disquieted, you comprehend! What could I do? Tell me a little about +your illness." + +She recounted details. + +As the fiacre entered the Rue Royale, they noticed a crowd of people in +front of the Madeleine shouting and cheering. + +The cabman turned towards them. "It appears there has been a victory!" +he said. + +"A victory! If only it was true!" murmured Chirac, cynically. + +In the Rue Royale people were running frantically to and fro, laughing +and gesticulating in glee. The customers in the cafes stood on their +chairs, and even on tables, to watch, and occasionally to join in, the +sudden fever. The fiacre was slowed to a walking pace. Flags and +carpets began to show from the upper storeys of houses. The crowd grew +thicker and more febrile. "Victory! Victory!" rang hoarsely, shrilly, +and hoarsely again in the air. + +"My God!" said Chirac, trembling. "It must be a true victory! We are +saved! We are saved! ... Oh yes, it is true!" + +"But naturally it is true! What are you saying?" demanded the driver. + +At the Place de la Concorde the fiacre had to stop altogether. The +immense square was a sea of white hats and flowers and happy faces, +with carriages anchored like boats on its surface. Flag after flag +waved out from neighbouring roofs in the breeze that tempered the +August sun. Then hats began to go up, and cheers rolled across the +square like echoes of firing in an enclosed valley. Chirac's driver +jumped madly on to his seat, and cracked his whip. + +"Vive la France!" he bawled with all the force of his lungs. + +A thousand throats answered him. + +Then there was a stir behind them. Another carriage was being slowly +forced to the front. The crowd was pushing it, and crying, +"Marseillaise! Marseillaise!" In the carriage was a woman alone; not +beautiful, but distinguished, and with the assured gaze of one who is +accustomed to homage and multitudinous applause. + +"It is Gueymard!" said Chirac to Sophia. He was very pale. And he too +shouted, "Marseillaise!" All his features were distorted. + +The woman rose and spoke to her coachman, who offered his hand and she +climbed to the box seat, and stood on it and bowed several times. + +"Marseillaise!" The cry continued. Then a roar of cheers, and then +silence spread round the square like an inundation. And amid this +silence the woman began to sing the Marseillaise. As she sang, the +tears ran down her cheeks. Everybody in the vicinity was weeping or +sternly frowning. In the pauses of the first verse could be heard the +rattle of horses' bits, or a whistle of a tug on the river. The +refrain, signalled by a proud challenging toss of Gueymard's head, +leapt up like a tropical tempest, formidable, overpowering. Sophia, who +had had no warning of the emotion gathering within her, sobbed +violently. At the close of the hymn Gueymard's carriage was assaulted +by worshippers. All around, in the tumult of shouting, men were kissing +and embracing each other; and hats went up continually in fountains. +Chirac leaned over the side of the carriage and wrung the hand of a man +who was standing by the wheel. + +"Who is that?" Sophia asked, in an unsteady voice, to break the +inexplicable tension within her. + +"I don't know," said Chirac. He was weeping like a child. And he sang +out: "Victory! To Berlin! Victory!" + +V + +Sophia walked alone, with tired limbs, up the damaged oak stairs to the +flat. Chirac had decided that, in the circumstances of the victory, he +would do well to go to the offices of his paper rather earlier than +usual. He had brought her back to the Rue Breda. They had taken leave +of each other in a sort of dream or general enchantment due to their +participation in the vast national delirium which somehow dominated +individual feelings. They did not define their relations. They had been +conscious only of emotion. + +The stairs, which smelt of damp even in summer, disgusted Sophia. She +thought of the flat with horror and longed for green places and luxury. +On the landing were two stoutish, ill-dressed men, of middle age, +apparently waiting. Sophia found her key and opened the door. + +"Pardon, madame!" said one of the men, raising his hat, and they both +pushed into the flat after her. They stared, puzzled, at the strips of +paper pasted on the doors. + +"What do you want?" she asked haughtily. She was very frightened. The +extraordinary interruption brought her down with a shock to the scale +of the individual. + +"I am the concierge," said the man who had addressed her. He had the +air of a superior artisan. "It was my wife who spoke to you this +afternoon. This," pointing to his companion, "this is the law. I regret +it, but ..." + +The law saluted and shut the front door. Like the concierge, the law +emitted an odour--the odour of uncleanliness on a hot August day. + +"The rent?" exclaimed Sophia. + +"No, madame, not the rent: the furniture!" + +Then she learnt the history of the furniture. It had belonged to the +concierge, who had acquired it from a previous tenant and sold it on +credit to Madame Foucault. Madame Foucault had signed bills and had not +met them. She had made promises and broken them. She had done +everything except discharge her liabilities. She had been warned and +warned again. That day had been fixed as the last limit, and she had +solemnly assured her creditor that on that day she would pay. On +leaving the house she had stated precisely and clearly that she would +return before lunch with all the money. She had made no mention of a +sick father. + +Sophia slowly perceived the extent of Madame Foucault's duplicity and +moral cowardice. No doubt the sick father was an invention. The woman, +at the end of a tether which no ingenuity of lies could further +lengthen, had probably absented herself solely to avoid the pain of +witnessing the seizure. She would do anything, however silly, to avoid +an immediate unpleasantness. Or perhaps she had absented herself +without any particular aim, but simply in the hope that something +fortunate might occur. Perhaps she had hoped that Sophia, taken +unawares, would generously pay. Sophia smiled grimly. + +"Well," she said. "I can't do anything. I suppose you must do what you +have to do. You will let me pack up my own affairs?" + +"Perfectly, madame!" + +She warned them as to the danger of opening the sealed rooms. The man +of the law seemed prepared to stay in the corridor indefinitely. No +prospect of delay disturbed him. + +Strange and disturbing, the triumph of the concierge! He was a +locksmith by trade. He and his wife and their children lived in two +little dark rooms by the archway--an insignificant fragment of the +house. He was away from home about fourteen hours every day, except +Sundays, when he washed the courtyard. All the other duties of the +concierge were performed by the wife. The pair always looked poor, +untidy, dirty, and rather forlorn. But they were steadily levying toll +on everybody in the big house. They amassed money in forty ways. They +lived for money, and all men have what they live for. With what +arrogant gestures Madame Foucault would descend from a carriage at the +great door! What respectful attitudes and tones the ageing courtesan +would receive from the wife and children of the concierge! But beneath +these conventional fictions the truth was that the concierge held the +whip. At last he was using it. And he had given himself a half-holiday +in order to celebrate his second acquirement of the ostentatious +furniture and the crimson lampshades. This was one of the dramatic +crises in his career as a man of substance. The national thrill of +victory had not penetrated into the flat with the concierge and the +law. The emotions of the concierge were entirely independent of the +Napoleonic foreign policy. + +As Sophia, sick with a sudden disillusion, was putting her things +together, and wondering where she was to go, and whether it would be +politic to consult Chirac, she heard a fluster at the front door: +cries, protestations, implorings. Her own door was thrust open, and +Madame Foucault burst in. + +"Save me!" exclaimed Madame Foucault, sinking to the ground. + +The feeble theatricality of the gesture offended Sophia's taste. She +asked sternly what Madame Foucault expected her to do. Had not Madame +Foucault knowingly exposed her, without the least warning, to the +extreme annoyance of this visit of the law, a visit which meant +practically that Sophia was put into the street? + +"You must not be hard!" Madame Foucault sobbed. + +Sophia learnt the complete history of the woman's efforts to pay for +the furniture: a farrago of folly and deceptions. Madame Foucault +confessed too much. Sophia scorned confession for the sake of +confession. She scorned the impulse which forces a weak creature to +insist on its weakness, to revel in remorse, and to find an excuse for +its conduct in the very fact that there is no excuse. She gathered that +Madame Foucault had in fact gone away in the hope that Sophia, trapped, +would pay; and that in the end, she had not even had the courage of her +own trickery, and had run back, driven by panic into audacity, to fall +at Sophia's feet, lest Sophia might not have yielded and the furniture +have been seized. From, beginning to end the conduct of Madame Foucault +had been fatuous and despicable and wicked. Sophia coldly condemned +Madame Foucault for having allowed herself to be brought into the world +with such a weak and maudlin character, and for having allowed herself +to grow old and ugly. As a sight the woman was positively disgraceful. + +"Save me!" she exclaimed again. "I did what I could for you!" + +Sophia hated her. But the logic of the appeal was irresistible. + +"But what can I do?" she asked reluctantly. + +"Lend me the money. You can. If you don't, this will be the end for me." + +"And a good thing, too!" thought Sophia's hard sense. + +"How much is it?" Sophia glumly asked. + +"It isn't a thousand francs!" said Madame Foucault with eagerness. "All +my beautiful furniture will go for less than a thousand francs! Save +me!" + +She was nauseating Sophia. + +"Please rise," said Sophia, her hands fidgeting undecidedly. + +"I shall repay you, surely!" Madame Foucault asseverated. "I swear!" + +"Does she take me for a fool?" thought Sophia, "with her oaths!" + +"No!" said Sophia. "I won't lend you the money. But I tell you what I +will do. I will buy the furniture at that price; and I will promise to +re-sell it to you as soon as you can pay me. Like that, you can be +tranquil. But I have very little money. I must have a guarantee. The +furniture must be mine till you pay me." + +"You are an angel of charity!" cried Madame Foucault, embracing +Sophia's skirts. "I will do whatever you wish. Ah! You Englishwomen are +astonishing." + +Sophia was not an angel of charity. What she had promised to do +involved sacrifice and anxiety without the prospect of reward. But it +was not charity. It was part of the price Sophia paid for the exercise +of her logical faculty; she paid it unwillingly. 'I did what I could +for you!' Sophia would have died sooner than remind any one of a +benefit conferred, and Madame Foucault had committed precisely that +enormity. The appeal was inexcusable to a fine mind; but it was +effective. + +The men were behind the door, listening. Sophia paid out of her stock +of notes. Needless to say, the total was more and not less than a +thousand francs. Madame Foucault grew rapidly confidential with the +man. Without consulting Sophia, she asked the bailiff to draw up a +receipt transferring the ownership of all the furniture to Sophia; and +the bailiff, struck into obligingness by glimpses of Sophia's beauty, +consented to do so. There was much conferring upon forms of words, and +flourishing of pens between thick, vile fingers, and scattering of ink. + +Before the men left Madame Foucault uncorked a bottle of wine for them, +and helped them to drink it. Throughout the evening she was +insupportably deferential to Sophia, who was driven to bed. Madame +Foucault contentedly went up to the sixth floor to occupy the servant's +bedroom. She was glad to get so far away from the sulphur, of which a +few faint fumes had penetrated into the corridor. + +The next morning, after a stifling night of bad dreams, Sophia was too +ill to get up. She looked round at the furniture in the little room, +and she imagined the furniture in the other rooms, and dismally +thought: "All this furniture is mine. She will never pay me! I am +saddled with it." + +It was cheaply bought, but she probably could not sell it for even what +she had paid. Still, the sense of ownership was reassuring. + +The charwoman brought her coffee, and Chirac's newspaper; from which +she learnt that the news of the victory which had sent the city mad on +the previous day was utterly false. Tears came into her eyes as she +gazed absently at all the curtained windows of the courtyard. She had +youth and loveliness; according to the rules she ought to have been +irresponsible, gay, and indulgently watched over by the wisdom of +admiring age. But she felt towards the French nation as a mother might +feel towards adorable, wilful children suffering through their own +charming foolishness. She saw France personified in Chirac. How easily, +despite his special knowledge, he had yielded to the fever! Her heart +bled for France and Chirac on that morning of reaction and of truth. +She could not bear to recall the scene in the Place de la Concorde. +Madame Foucault had not descended. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE SIEGE + +I + + +Madame Foucault came into Sophia's room one afternoon with a peculiar +guilty expression on her large face, and she held her peignoir close to +her exuberant body in folds consciously majestic, as though +endeavouring to prove to Sophia by her carriage that despite her +shifting eyes she was the most righteous and sincere woman that ever +lived. + +It was Saturday, the third of September, a beautiful day. Sophia, +suffering from an unimportant relapse, had remained in a state of +inactivity, and had scarcely gone out at all. She loathed the flat, but +lacked the energy to leave it every day. There was no sufficiently +definite object in leaving it. She could not go out and look for health +as she might have looked for flowers. So she remained in the flat, and +stared at the courtyard and the continual mystery of lives hidden +behind curtains that occasionally moved. And the painted yellow walls +of the house, and the papered walls of her room pressed upon her and +crushed her. For a few days Chirac had called daily, animated by the +most adorable solicitude. Then he had ceased to call. She had tired of +reading the journals; they lay unopened. The relations between Madame +Foucault and herself, and her status in the flat of which she now +legally owned the furniture,--these things were left unsettled. But the +question of her board was arranged on the terms that she halved the +cost of food and service with Madame Foucault; her expenses were thus +reduced to the lowest possible--about eighteen francs a week. An idea +hung in the air--like a scientific discovery on the point of being made +by several independent investigators simultaneously--that she and +Madame Foucault should co-operate in order to let furnished rooms at a +remunerative profit. Sophia felt the nearness of the idea and she +wanted to be shocked at the notion of any avowed association between +herself and Madame Foucault; but she could not be. + +"Here are a lady and a gentleman who want a bedroom," began Madame +Foucault, "a nice large bedroom, furnished." + +"Oh!" said Sophia; "who are they?" + +"They will pay a hundred and thirty francs a month, in advance, for the +middle bedroom." + +"You've shown it to them already?" said Sophia. And her tone implied +that somehow she was conscious of a right to overlook the affair of +Madame Foucault. + +"No," said the other. "I said to myself that first I would ask you for +a counsel." + +"Then will they pay all that for a room they haven't seen?" + +"The fact is," said Madame Foucault, sheepishly. "The lady has seen the +room before. I know her a little. It is a former tenant. She lived here +some weeks." + +"In that room?" + +"Oh no! She was poor enough then." + +"Where are they?" + +"In the corridor. She is very well, the lady. Naturally one must live, +she like all the world; but she is veritably well. Quite respectable! +One would never say ... Then there would be the meals. We could demand +one franc for the cafe au lait, two and a half francs for the lunch, +and three francs for the dinner. Without counting other things. That +would mean over five hundred francs a month, at least. And what would +they cost us? Almost nothing! By what appears, he is a plutocrat ... I +could thus quickly repay you." + +"Is it a married couple?" + +"Ah! You know, one cannot demand the marriage certificate." Madame +Foucault indicated by a gesture that the Rue Breda was not the paradise +of saints. + +"When she came before, this lady, was it with the same man?" Sophia +asked coldly. + +"Ah, my faith, no!" exclaimed Madame Foucault, bridling. "It was a bad +sort, the other, a...! Ah, no." + +"Why do you ask my advice?" Sophia abruptly questioned, in a hard, +inimical voice. "Is it that it concerns me?" + +Tears came at once into the eyes of Madame Foucault. "Do not be +unkind," she implored. + +"I'm not unkind," said Sophia, in the same tone. + +"Shall you leave me if I accept this offer?" + +There was a pause. + +"Yes," said Sophia, bluntly. She tried to be large-hearted, +large-minded, and sympathetic; but there was no sign of these qualities +in her speech. + +"And if you take with you the furniture which is yours...!" + +Sophia kept silence. + +"How am I to live, I demand of you?" Madame Foucault asked weakly. + +"By being respectable and dealing with respectable people!" said +Sophia, uncompromisingly, in tones of steel. + +"I am unhappy!" murmured the elder woman. "However, you are more strong +than I!" + +She brusquely dabbed her eyes, gave a little sob, and ran out of the +room. Sophia listened at the door, and heard her dismiss the would-be +tenants of the best bedroom. She wondered that she should possess such +moral ascendancy over the woman, she so young and ingenuous! For, of +course, she had not meant to remove the furniture. She could hear +Madame Foucault sobbing quietly in one of the other rooms; and her lips +curled. + +Before evening a truly astonishing event happened. Perceiving that +Madame Foucault showed no signs of bestirring herself, Sophia, with +good nature in her heart but not on her tongue, went to her, and said: + +"Shall I occupy myself with the dinner?" + +Madame Foucault sobbed more loudly. + +"That would be very amiable on your part," Madame Foucault managed at +last to reply, not very articulately. + +Sophia put a hat on and went to the grocer's. The grocer, who kept a +busy establishment at the corner of the Rue Clausel, was a middle-aged +and wealthy man. He had sent his young wife and two children to +Normandy until victory over the Prussians should be more assured, and +he asked Sophia whether it was true that there was a good bedroom to +let in the flat where she lived. His servant was ill of smallpox; he +was attacked by anxieties and fears on all sides; he would not enter +his own flat on account of possible infection; he liked Sophia, and +Madame Foucault had been a customer of his, with intervals, for twenty +years. Within an hour he had arranged to rent the middle bedroom at +eighty francs a month, and to take his meals there. The terms were +modest, but the respectability was prodigious. All the glory of this +tenancy fell upon Sophia. + +Madame Foucault was deeply impressed. Characteristically she began at +once to construct a theory that Sophia had only to walk out of the +house in order to discover ideal tenants for the rooms. Also she +regarded the advent of the grocer as a reward from Providence for her +self-denial in refusing the profits of sinfulness. Sophia felt +personally responsible to the grocer for his comfort, and so she +herself undertook the preparation of the room. Madame Foucault was +amazed at the thoroughness of her housewifery, and at the ingenuity of +her ideas for the arrangement of furniture. She sat and watched with +admiration sycophantic but real. + +That night, when Sophia was in bed, Madame Foucault came into the room, +and dropped down by the side of the bed, and begged Sophia to be her +moral support for ever. She confessed herself generally. She explained +how she had always hated the negation of respectability; how +respectability was the one thing that she had all her life passionately +desired. She said that if Sophia would be her partner in the letting of +furnished rooms to respectable persons, she would obey her in +everything. She gave Sophia a list of all the traits in Sophia's +character which she admired. She asked Sophia to influence her, to +stand by her. She insisted that she would sleep on the sixth floor in +the servant's tiny room; and she had a vision of three bedrooms let to +successful tradesmen. She was in an ecstasy of repentance and good +intentions. + +Sophia consented to the business proposition; for she had nothing else +whatever in prospect, and she shared Madame Foucault's rosy view about +the remunerativeness of the bedrooms. With three tenants who took meals +the two women would be able to feed themselves for nothing and still +make a profit on the food; and the rents would be clear gain. + +And she felt very sorry for the ageing, feckless Madame Foucault, whose +sincerity was obvious. The association between them would be strange; +it would have been impossible to explain it to St. Luke's Square.... +And yet, if there was anything at all in the virtue of Christian +charity, what could properly be urged against the association? + +"Ah!" murmured Madame Foucault, kissing Sophia's hands, "it is to-day, +then, that I recommence my life. You will see--you will see! You have +saved me!" + +It was a strange sight, the time-worn, disfigured courtesan, half +prostrate before the beautiful young creature proud and unassailable in +the instinctive force of her own character. It was almost a didactic +tableau, fraught with lessons for the vicious. Sophia was happier than +she had been for years. She had a purpose in existence; she had a fluid +soul to mould to her will according to her wisdom; and there was a +large compassion to her credit. Public opinion could not intimidate +her, for in her case there was no public opinion; she knew nobody; +nobody had the right to question her doings. + +The next day, Sunday, they both worked hard at the bedrooms from early +morning. The grocer was installed in his chamber, and the two other +rooms were cleansed as they had never been cleansed. At four o'clock, +the weather being more magnificent than ever, Madame Foucault said: + +"If we took a promenade on the boulevard?" + +Sophia reflected. They were partners. "Very well," she agreed. + +The boulevard was crammed with gay, laughing crowds. All the cafes were +full. None, who did not know, could have guessed that the news of Sedan +was scarcely a day old in the capital. Delirious joy reigned in the +glittering sunshine. As the two women strolled along, content with +their industry and their resolves, they came to a National Guard, who, +perched on a ladder, was chipping away the "N" from the official sign +of a court-tradesman. He was exchanging jokes with a circle of open +mouths. It was in this way that Madame Foucault and Sophia learnt of +the establishment of a republic. + +"Vive la republique!" cried Madame Foucault, incontinently, and then +apologized to Sophia for the lapse. + +They listened a long while to a man who was telling strange histories +of the Empress. + +Suddenly Sophia noticed that Madame Foucault was no longer at her +elbow. She glanced about, and saw her in earnest conversation with a +young man whose face seemed familiar. She remembered it was the young +man with whom Madame Foucault had quarrelled on the night when Sophia +found her prone in the corridor; the last remaining worshipper of the +courtesan. + +The woman's face was quite changed by her agitation. Sophia drew away, +offended. She watched the pair from a distance for a few moments, and +then, furious in disillusion, she escaped from the fever of the +boulevards and walked quietly home. Madame Foucault did not return. +Apparently Madame Foucault was doomed to be the toy of chance. Two days +later Sophia received a scrawled letter from her, with the information +that her lover had required that she should accompany him to Brussels, +as Paris would soon be getting dangerous. "He adores me always. He is +the most delicious boy. As I have always said, this is the grand +passion of my life. I am happy. He would not permit me to come to you. +He has spent two thousand francs on clothes for me, since naturally I +had nothing." And so on. No word of apology. Sophia, in reading the +letter, allowed for a certain exaggeration and twisting of the truth. + +"Young fool! Fool!" she burst out angrily. She did not mean herself; +she meant the fatuous adorer of that dilapidated, horrible woman. She +never saw her again. Doubtless Madame Foucault fulfilled her own +prediction as to her ultimate destiny, but in Brussels. + +II + +Sophia still possessed about a hundred pounds, and had she chosen to +leave Paris and France, there was nothing to prevent her from doing so. +Perhaps if she had chanced to visit the Gare St. Lazare or the Gare du +Nord, the sight of tens of thousands of people flying seawards might +have stirred in her the desire to flee also from the vague coming +danger. But she did not visit those termini; she was too busy looking +after M. Niepce, her grocer. Moreover, she would not quit her +furniture, which seemed to her to be a sort of rock. With a flat full +of furniture she considered that she ought to be able to devise a +livelihood; the enterprise of becoming independent was already indeed +begun. She ardently wished to be independent, to utilize in her own +behalf the gifts of organization, foresight, commonsense and tenacity +which she knew she possessed and which had lain idle. And she hated the +idea of flight. + +Chirac returned as unexpectedly as he had gone; an expedition for his +paper had occupied him. With his lips he urged her to go, but his eyes +spoke differently. He had, one afternoon, a mood of candid despair, +such as he would have dared to show only to one in whom he felt great +confidence. "They will come to Paris," he said; "nothing can stop them. +And ... then...!" He gave a cynical laugh. But when he urged her to go +she said: + +"And what about my furniture? And I've promised M. Niepce to look after +him." + +Then Chirac informed her that he was without a lodging, and that he +would like to rent one of her rooms. She agreed. + +Shortly afterwards he introduced a middle-aged acquaintance named +Carlier, the secretary-general of his newspaper, who wished to rent a +bedroom. Thus by good fortune Sophia let all her rooms immediately, and +was sure of over two hundred francs a month, apart from the profit on +meals supplied. On this latter occasion Chirac (and his companion too) +was quite optimistic, reiterating an absolute certitude that Paris +could never be invested. Briefly, Sophia did not believe him. She +believed the candidly despairing Chirac. She had no information, no +wide theory, to justify her pessimism; nothing but the inward +conviction that the race capable of behaving as she had seen it behave +in the Place de la Concorde, was bound to be defeated. She loved the +French race; but all the practical Teutonic sagacity in her wanted to +take care of it in its difficulties, and was rather angry with it for +being so unfitted to take care of itself. + +She let the men talk, and with careless disdain of their discussions +and their certainties she went about her business of preparation. At +this period, overworked and harassed by novel responsibilities and +risks, she was happier, for days together, than she had ever been, +simply because she had a purpose in life and was depending upon +herself. Her ignorance of the military and political situation was +complete; the situation did not interest her. What interested her was +that she had three men to feed wholly or partially, and that the price +of eatables was rising. She bought eatables. She bought fifty pecks of +potatoes at a franc a peck, and another fifty pecks at a franc and a +quarter--double the normal price; ten hams at two and a half francs a +pound; a large quantity of tinned vegetables and fruits, a sack of +flour, rice, biscuits, coffee, Lyons sausage, dried prunes, dried figs, +and much wood and charcoal. But the chief of her purchases was cheese, +of which her mother used to say that bread and cheese and water made a +complete diet. Many of these articles she obtained from her grocer. All +of them, except the flour and the biscuits, she stored in the cellar +belonging to the flat; after several days' delay, for the Parisian +workmen were too elated by the advent of a republic to stoop to labour, +she caused a new lock to be fixed on the cellar-door. Her activities +were the sensation of the house. Everybody admired, but no one imitated. + +One morning, on going to do her marketing, she found a notice across +the shuttered windows of her creamery in the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette: +"Closed for want of milk." The siege had begun. It was in the closing +of the creamery that the siege was figured for her; in this, and in +eggs at five sous a piece. She went elsewhere for her milk and paid a +franc a litre for it. That evening she told her lodgers that the price +of meals would be doubled, and that if any gentleman thought that he +could get equally good meals elsewhere, he was at liberty to get them +elsewhere. Her position was strengthened by the appearance of another +candidate for a room, a friend of Niepce. She at once offered him her +own room, at a hundred and fifty francs a month. + +"You see," she said, "there is a piano in it." + +"But I don't play the piano," the man protested, shocked at the price. + +"That is not my fault," she said. + +He agreed to pay the price demanded for the room because of the +opportunity of getting good meals much cheaper than in the restaurants. +Like M. Niepce, he was a 'siege-widower,' his wife having been put +under shelter in Brittany. Sophia took to the servant's bedroom on the +sixth floor. It measured nine feet by seven, and had no window save a +skylight; but Sophia was in a fair way to realize a profit of at least +four pounds a week, after paying for everything. + +On the night when she installed herself in that chamber, amid a world +of domestics and poor people, she worked very late, and the rays of her +candles shot up intermittently through the skylight into a black +heaven; at intervals she flitted up and down the stairs with a candle. +Unknown to her a crowd gradually formed opposite the house in the +street, and at about one o'clock in the morning a file of soldiers woke +the concierge and invaded the courtyard, and every window was suddenly +populated with heads. Sophia was called upon to prove that she was not +a spy signalling to the Prussians. Three quarters of an hour passed +before her innocence was established and the staircases cleared of +uniforms and dishevelled curiosity. The childish, impossible unreason +of the suspicion against her completed in Sophia's mind the ruin of the +reputation of the French people as a sensible race. She was extremely +caustic the next day to her boarders. Except for this episode, the +frequency of military uniforms in the streets, the price of food, and +the fact that at least one house in four was flying either the +ambulance flag or the flag of a foreign embassy (in an absurd hope of +immunity from the impending bombardment) the siege did not exist for +Sophia. The men often talked about their guard-duty, and disappeared +for a day or two to the ramparts, but she was too busy to listen to +them. She thought of nothing but her enterprise, which absorbed all her +powers. She arose at six a.m., in the dark, and by seven-thirty M. +Niepce and his friend had been served with breakfast, and much general +work was already done. At eight o'clock she went out to market. When +asked why she continued to buy at a high price, articles of which she +had a store, she would reply: "I am keeping all that till things are +much dearer." This was regarded as astounding astuteness. + +On the fifteenth of October she paid the quarter's rent of the flat, +four hundred francs, and was accepted as tenant. Her ears were soon +quite accustomed to the sound of cannon, and she felt that she had +always been a citizeness of Paris, and that Paris had always been +besieged. She did not speculate about the end of the siege; she lived +from day to day. Occasionally she had a qualm of fear, when the firing +grew momentarily louder, or when she heard that battles had been fought +in such and such a suburb. But then she said it was absurd to be afraid +when you were with a couple of million people, all in the same plight +as yourself. She grew reconciled to everything. She even began to like +her tiny bedroom, partly because it was so easy to keep warm (the +question of artificial heat was growing acute in Paris), and partly +because it ensured her privacy. Down in the flat, whatever was done or +said in one room could be more or less heard in all the others, owing +to the prevalence of doors. + +Her existence, in the first half of November, had become regular with a +monotony almost absolute. Only the number of meals served to her +boarders varied slightly from day to day. All these repasts, save now +and then one in the evening, were carried into the bedrooms by the +charwoman. Sophia did not allow herself to be seen much, except in the +afternoons. Though Sophia continued to increase her prices, and was now +selling her stores at an immense profit, she never approached the +prices current outside. She was very indignant against the exploitation +of Paris by its shopkeepers, who had vast supplies of provender, and +were hoarding for the rise. But the force of their example was too +great for her to ignore it entirely; she contented herself with about +half their gains. Only to M. Niepce did she charge more than to the +others, because he was a shopkeeper. The four men appreciated their +paradise. In them developed that agreeable feeling of security which +solitary males find only under the roof of a landlady who is at once +prompt, honest, and a votary of cleanliness. Sophia hung a slate near +the frontdoor, and on this slate they wrote their requests for meals, +for being called, for laundry-work, etc. Sophia never made a mistake, +and never forgot. The perfection of the domestic machine amazed these +men, who had been accustomed to something quite different, and who +every day heard harrowing stories of discomfort and swindling from +their acquaintances. They even admired Sophia for making them pay, if +not too high, still high. They thought it wonderful that she should +tell them the price of all things in advance, and even show them how to +avoid expense, particularly in the matter of warmth. She arranged rugs +for each of them, so that they could sit comfortably in their rooms +with nothing but a small charcoal heater for the hands. Quite naturally +they came to regard her as the paragon and miracle of women. They +endowed her with every fine quality. According to them there had never +been such a woman in the history of mankind; there could not have been! +She became legendary among their friends: a young and elegant creature, +surpassingly beautiful, proud, queenly, unapproachable, scarcely +visible, a marvellous manager, a fine cook and artificer of strange +English dishes, utterly reliable, utterly exact and with habits of +order...! They adored the slight English accent which gave a touch of +the exotic to her very correct and freely idiomatic French. In short, +Sophia was perfect for them, an impossible woman. Whatever she did was +right. + +And she went up to her room every night with limbs exhausted, but with +head clear enough to balance her accounts and go through her money. She +did this in bed with thick gloves on. If often she did not sleep well, +it was not because of the distant guns, but because of her +preoccupation with the subject of finance. She was making money, and +she wanted to make more. She was always inventing ways of economy. She +was so anxious to achieve independence that money was always in her +mind. She began to love gold, to love hoarding it, and to hate paying +it away. + +One morning her charwoman, who by good fortune was nearly as precise as +Sophia herself, failed to appear. When the moment came for serving M. +Niepce's breakfast, Sophia hesitated, and then decided to look after +the old man personally. She knocked at his door, and went boldly in +with the tray and candle. He started at seeing her; she was wearing a +blue apron, as the charwoman did, but there could be no mistaking her +for the charwoman. Niepce looked older in bed than when dressed. He had +a rather ridiculous, undignified appearance, common among old men +before their morning toilette is achieved; and a nightcap did not +improve it. His rotund paunch lifted the bedclothes, upon which, for +the sake of extra warmth, he had spread unmajestic garments. Sophia +smiled to herself; but the contempt implied by that secret smile was +softened by the thought: "Poor old man!" She told him briefly that she +supposed the charwoman to be ill. He coughed and moved nervously. His +benevolent and simple face beamed on her paternally as she fixed the +tray by the bed. + +"I really must open the window for one little second," she said, and +did so. The chill air of the street came through the closed shutters, +and the old man made a noise as of shivering. She pushed back the +shutters, and closed the window, and then did the same with the other +two windows. It was almost day in the room. + +"You will no longer need the candle," she said, and came back to the +bedside to extinguish it. + +The benign and fatherly old man put his arm round her waist. Fresh from +the tonic of pure air, and with the notion of his ridiculousness still +in her mind, she was staggered for an instant by this gesture. She had +never given a thought to the temperament of the old grocer, the husband +of a young wife. She could not always imaginatively keep in mind the +effect of her own radiance, especially under such circumstances. But +after an instant her precocious cynicism, which had slept, sprang up. +"Naturally! I might have expected it!" she thought with blasting scorn. + +"Take away your hand!" she said bitterly to the amiable old fool. She +did not stir. + +He obeyed, sheepishly. + +"Do you wish to remain with me?" she asked, and as he did not +immediately answer, she said in a most commanding tone: "Answer, then!" + +"Yes," he said feebly. + +"Well, behave properly." + +She went towards the door. + +"I wished only--" he stammered. + +"I do not wish to know what you wished," she said. + +Afterwards she wondered how much of the incident had been overheard. +The other breakfasts she left outside the respective doors; and in +future Niepce's also. + +The charwoman never came again. She had caught smallpox and she died of +it, thus losing a good situation. Strange to say, Sophia did not +replace her; the temptation to save her wages and food was too strong. +She could not, however, stand waiting for hours at the door of the +official baker and the official butcher, one of a long line of frozen +women, for the daily rations of bread and tri-weekly rations of meat. +She employed the concierge's boy, at two sous an hour, to do this. +Sometimes he would come in with his hands so blue and cold that he +could scarcely hold the precious cards which gave the right to the +rations and which cost Chirac an hour or two of waiting at the mayoral +offices each week. Sophia might have fed her flock without resorting to +the official rations, but she would not sacrifice the economy which +they represented. She demanded thick clothes for the concierge's boy, +and received boots from Chirac, gloves from Carlier, and a great +overcoat from Niepce. The weather increased in severity, and provisions +in price. One day she sold to the wife of a chemist who lived on the +first floor, for a hundred and ten francs, a ham for which she had paid +less than thirty francs. She was conscious of a thrill of joy in +receiving a beautiful banknote and a gold coin in exchange for a mere +ham. By this time her total cash resources had grown to nearly five +thousand francs. It was astounding. And the reserves in the cellar were +still considerable, and the sack of flour that encumbered the kitchen +was still more than half full. The death of the faithful charwoman, +when she heard of it, produced but little effect on Sophia, who was so +overworked and so completely absorbed in her own affairs that she had +no nervous energy to spare for sentimental regrets. The charwoman, by +whose side she had regularly passed many hours in the kitchen, so that +she knew every crease in her face and fold of her dress, vanished out +of Sophia's memory. + +Sophia cleaned and arranged two of the bedrooms in the morning, and two +in the afternoon. She had stayed in hotels where fifteen bedrooms were +in charge of a single chambermaid, and she thought it would be hard if +she could not manage four in the intervals of cooking and other work! +This she said to herself by way of excuse for not engaging another +charwoman. One afternoon she was rubbing the brass knobs of the +numerous doors in M. Niepce's room, when the grocer unexpectedly came +in. + +She glanced at him sharply. There was a self-conscious look in his eye. +He had entered the flat noiselessly. She remembered having told him, in +response to a question, that she now did his room in the afternoon. Why +should he have left his shop? He hung up his hat behind the door, with +the meticulous care of an old man. Then he took off his overcoat and +rubbed his hands. + +"You do well to wear gloves, madame," he said. "It is dog's weather." + +"I do not wear them for the cold," she replied. "I wear them so as not +to spoil my hands." + +"Ah! truly! Very well! Very well! May I demand some wood? Where shall I +find it? I do not wish to derange you." + +She refused his help, and brought wood from the kitchen, counting the +logs audibly before him. + +"Shall I light the fire now?" she asked. + +"I will light it," he said. + +"Give me a match, please." + +As she was arranging the wood and paper, he said: "Madame, will you +listen to me?" + +"What is it?" + +"Do not be angry," he said. "Have I not proved that I am capable of +respecting you? I continue in that respect. It is with all that respect +that I say to you that I love you, madame.... No, remain calm, I +implore you!" The fact was that Sophia showed no sign of not remaining +calm. "It is true that I have a wife. But what do you wish...? She is +far away. I love you madly," he proceeded with dignified respect. "I +know I am old; but I am rich. I understand your character. You are a +lady, you are decided, direct, sincere, and a woman of business. I have +the greatest respect for you. One can talk to you as one could not to +another woman. You prefer directness and sincerity. Madame, I will give +you two thousand francs a month, and all you require from my shop, if +you will be amiable to me. I am very solitary, I need the society of a +charming creature who would be sympathetic. Two thousand francs a +month. It is money." + +He wiped his shiny head with his hand. + +Sophia was bending over the fire. She turned her head towards him. + +"Is that all?" she said quietly. + +"You could count on my discretion," he said in a low voice. "I +appreciate your scruples. I would come, very late, to your room on the +sixth. One could arrange ... You see, I am direct, like you." + +She had an impulse to order him tempestuously out of the flat; but it +was not a genuine impulse. He was an old fool. Why not treat him as +such? To take him seriously would be absurd. Moreover, he was a very +remunerative boarder. + +"Do not be stupid," she said with cruel tranquillity. "Do not be an old +fool." + +And the benign but fatuous middle-aged lecher saw the enchanting vision +of Sophia, with her natty apron and her amusing gloves, sweep and fade +from the room. He left the house, and the expensive fire warmed an +empty room. + +Sophia was angry with him. He had evidently planned the proposal. If +capable of respect, he was evidently also capable of chicane. But she +supposed these Frenchmen were all alike: disgusting; and decided that +it was useless to worry over a universal fact. They had simply no +shame, and she had been very prudent to establish herself far away on +the sixth floor. She hoped that none of the other boarders had +overheard Niepce's outrageous insolence. She was not sure if Chirac was +not writing in his room. + +That night there was no sound of cannon in the distance, and Sophia for +some time was unable to sleep. She woke up with a start, after a doze, +and struck a match to look at her watch. It had stopped. She had +forgotten to wind it up, which omission indicated that the grocer had +perturbed her more than she thought. She could not be sure how long she +had slept. The hour might be two o'clock or it might be six o'clock. +Impossible for her to rest! She got up and dressed (in case it should +be as late as she feared) and crept down the interminable creaking +stairs with the candle. As she descended, the conviction that it was +the middle of the night grew upon her, and she stepped more softly. +There was no sound save that caused by her footfalls. With her latchkey +she cautiously opened the front door of the flat and entered. She could +then hear the noisy ticking of the small, cheap clock in the kitchen. +At the same moment another door creaked, and Chirac, with hair all +tousled, but fully dressed, appeared in the corridor. + +"So you have decided to sell yourself to him!" Chirac whispered. + +She drew away instinctively, and she could feel herself blushing. She +was at a loss. She saw that Chirac was in a furious rage, tremendously +moved. He crept towards her, half crouching. She had never seen +anything so theatrical as his movement, and the twitching of his face. +She felt that she too ought to be theatrical, that she ought nobly to +scorn his infamous suggestion, his unwarrantable attack. Even supposing +that she had decided to sell herself to the old pasha, did that concern +him? A dignified silence, an annihilating glance, were all that he +deserved. But she was not capable of this heroic behaviour. + +"What time is it?" she added weakly. + +"Three o'clock," Chirac sneered. + +"I forgot to wind up my watch," she said. "And so I came down to see." + +"In effect!" He spoke sarcastically, as if saying: "I've waited for +you, and here you are." + +She said to herself that she owed him nothing, but all the time she +felt that he and she were the only young people in that flat, and that +she did owe to him the proof that she was guiltless of the supreme +dishonour of youth. She collected her forces and looked at him. + +"You should be ashamed," she said. "You will wake the others." + +"And M. Niepce--will he need to be wakened?" + +"M. Niepce is not here," she said. + +Niepce's door was unlatched. She pushed it open, and went into the +room, which was empty and bore no sign of having been used. + +"Come and satisfy yourself!" she insisted. + +Chirac did so. His face fell. + +She took her watch from her pocket. + +"And now wind my watch, and set it, please." + +She saw that he was in anguish. He could not take the watch. Tears came +into his eyes. Then he hid his face, and dashed away. She heard a +sob-impeded murmur that sounded like, "Forgive me!" and the banging of +a door. And in the stillness she heard the regular snoring of M. +Carlier. She too cried. Her vision was blurred by a mist, and she +stumbled into the kitchen and seized the clock, and carried it with her +upstairs, and shivered in the intense cold of the night. She wept +gently for a very long time. "What a shame! What a shame!" she said to +herself. Yet she did not quite blame Chirac. The frost drove her into +bed, but not to sleep. She continued to cry. At dawn her eyes were +inflamed with weeping. She was back in the kitchen then. Chirac's door +was wide open. He had left the flat. On the slate was written, "I shall +not take meals to-day." + +III + +Their relations were permanently changed. For several days they did not +meet at all; and when at the end of the week Chirac was obliged at last +to face Sophia in order to pay his bill, he had a most grievous +expression. It was obvious that he considered himself a criminal +without any defence to offer for his crime. He seemed to make no +attempt to hide his state of mind. But he said nothing. As for Sophia, +she preserved a mien of amiable cheerfulness. She exerted herself to +convince him by her attitude that she bore no resentment, that she had +determined to forget the incident, that in short she was the forgiving +angel of his dreams. She did not, however, succeed entirely in being +quite natural. Confronted by his misery, it would have been impossible +for her to be quite natural, and at the same time quite cheerful! + +A little later the social atmosphere of the flat began to grow +querulous, disputatious and perverse. The nerves of everybody were +seriously strained. This applied to the whole city. Days of heavy rains +followed the sharp frosts, and the town was, as it were, sodden with +woe. The gates were closed. And though nine-tenths of the inhabitants +never went outside the gates, the definite and absolute closing of them +demoralized all hearts. Gas was no longer supplied. Rats, cats, and +thorough-bred horses were being eaten and pronounced 'not bad.' The +siege had ceased to be a novelty. Friends did not invite one another to +a 'siege-dinner' as to a picnic. Sophia, fatigued by regular overwork, +became weary of the situation. She was angry with the Prussians for +dilatoriness, and with the French for inaction, and she poured out her +English spleen on her boarders. The boarders told each other in secret +that the patronne was growing formidable. Chiefly she bore a grudge +against the shopkeepers; and when, upon a rumour of peace, the +shop-windows one day suddenly blossomed with prodigious quantities of +all edibles, at highest prices, thus proving that the famine was +artificially created, Sophia was furious. M. Niepce in particular, +though he sold goods to her at a special discount, suffered +indignities. A few days later that benign and fatherly man put himself +lamentably in the wrong by attempting to introduce into his room a +charming young creature who knew how to be sympathetic. Sophia, by an +accident unfortunate for the grocer, caught them in the corridor. She +was beside herself, but the only outward symptoms were a white face and +a cold steely voice that grated like a rasp on the susceptibilities of +the adherents of Aphrodite. At this period Sophia had certainly +developed into a termagant--without knowing it! + +She would often insist now on talking about the siege, and hearing +everything that the men could tell her. Her comments, made without the +least regard for the justifiable delicacy of their feelings as +Frenchmen, sometimes led to heated exchanges. When all Montmartre and +the Quartier Breda was impassioned by the appearance from outside of +the Thirty-second battalion, she took the side of the populace, and +would not credit the solemn statement of the journalists, proved by +documents, that these maltreated soldiers were not cowards in flight. +She supported the women who had spit in the faces of the Thirty-second. +She actually said that if she had met them, she would have spit too. +Really, she was convinced of the innocence of the Thirty-second, but +something prevented her from admitting it. The dispute ended with high +words between herself and Chirac. + +The next day Chirac came home at an unusual hour, knocked at the +kitchen door, and said: + +"I must give notice to leave you." + +"Why?" she demanded curtly. + +She was kneading flour and water for a potato-cake. Her potato-cakes +were the joy of the household. + +"My paper has stopped!" said Chirac. + +"Oh!" she added thoughtfully, but not looking at him. "That is no +reason why you should leave." + +"Yes," he said. "This place is beyond my means. I do not need to tell +you that in ceasing to appear the paper has omitted to pay its debts. +The house owes me a month's salary. So I must leave." + +"No!" said Sophia. "You can pay me when you have money." + +He shook his head. "I have no intention of accepting your kindness." + +"Haven't you got any money?" she abruptly asked. + +"None," said he. "It is the disaster--quite simply!" + +"Then you will be forced to get into debt somewhere." + +"Yes, but not here! Not to you!" + +"Truly, Chirac," she exclaimed, with a cajoling voice, "you are not +reasonable." + +"Nevertheless it is like that!" he said with decision. + +"Eh, well!" she turned on him menacingly. "It will not be like that! +You understand me? You will stay. And you will pay me when you can. +Otherwise we shall quarrel. Do you imagine I shall tolerate your +childishness? Just because you were angry last night----" + +"It is not that," he protested. "You ought to know it is not that." +(She did.) "It is solely that I cannot permit myself to----" + +"Enough!" she cried peremptorily, stopping him. And then in a quieter +tone, "And what about Carlier? Is he also in the ditch?" + +"Ah! he has money," said Chirac, with sad envy. + +"You also, one day," said she. "You stop--in any case until after +Christmas, or we quarrel. Is it agreed?" Her accent had softened. + +"You are too good!" he yielded. "I cannot quarrel with you. But it +pains me to accept--" + +"Oh!" she snapped, dropping into the vulgar idiom, "you make me sweat +with your stupid pride. Is it that that you call friendship? Go away +now. How do you wish that I should succeed with this cake while you +station yourself there to distract me?" + +IV + +But in three days' Chirac, with amazing luck, fell into another +situation, and on the Journal des Debats. It was the Prussians who had +found him a place. The celebrated Payenneville, second greatest +chroniqueur of his time, had caught a cold while doing his duty as a +national guard, and had died of pneumonia. The weather was severe +again; soldiers were being frozen to death at Aubervilliers. +Payenneville's position was taken by another man, whose post was +offered to Chirac. He told Sophia of his good fortune with unconcealed +vanity. + +"You with your smile!" she said impatiently. "One can refuse you +nothing!" + +She behaved just as though Chirac had disgusted her. She humbled him. +But with his fellow-lodgers his airs of importance as a member of the +editorial staff of the Debats were comical in their ingenuousness. On +the very same day Carlier gave notice to leave Sophia. He was +comparatively rich; but the habits which had enabled him to arrive at +independence in the uncertain vocation of a journalist would not allow +him, while he was earning nothing, to spend a sou more than was +absolutely necessary. He had decided to join forces with a widowed +sister, who was accustomed to parsimony as parsimony is understood in +France, and who was living on hoarded potatoes and wine. + +"There!" said Sophia, "you have lost me a tenant!" + +And she insisted, half jocularly and half seriously, that Carlier was +leaving because he could not stand Chirac's infantile conceit. The flat +was full of acrimonious words. + +On Christmas morning Chirac lay in bed rather late; the newspapers did +not appear that day. Paris seemed to be in a sort of stupor. About +eleven o'clock he came to the kitchen door. + +"I must speak with you," he said. His tone impressed Sophia. + +"Enter," said she. + +He went in, and closed the door like a conspirator. "We must have a +little fete," he said. "You and I." + +"Fete!" she repeated. "What an idea! How can I leave?" + +If the idea had not appealed to the secrecies of her heart, stirring +desires and souvenirs upon which the dust of time lay thick, she would +not have begun by suggesting difficulties; she would have begun by a +flat refusal. + +"That is nothing," he said vigorously. "It is Christmas, and I must +have a chat with you. We cannot chat here. I have not had a true little +chat with you since you were ill. You will come with me to a restaurant +for lunch." + +She laughed. "And the lunch of my lodgers?" + +"You will serve it a little earlier. We will go out immediately +afterwards, and we will return in time for you to prepare dinner. It is +quite simple." + +She shook her head. "You are mad," she said crossly. + +"It is necessary that I should offer you something," he went on +scowling. "You comprehend me? I wish you to lunch with me to-day. I +demand it, and you are not going to refuse me." + +He was very close to her in the little kitchen, and he spoke fiercely, +bullyingly, exactly as she had spoken to him when insisting that he +should live on credit with her for a while. + +"You are very rude," she parried. + +"If I am rude, it is all the same to me," he held out uncompromisingly. +"You will lunch with me; I hold to it." + +"How can I be dressed?" she protested. + +"That does not concern me. Arrange that as you can." + +It was the most curious invitation to a Christmas dinner imaginable. + +At a quarter past twelve they issued forth side by side, heavily clad, +into the mournful streets. The sky, slate-coloured, presaged snow. The +air was bitterly cold, and yet damp. There were no fiacres in the +little three-cornered place which forms the mouth of the Rue Clausel. +In the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette, a single empty omnibus was toiling up +the steep glassy slope, the horses slipping and recovering themselves +in response to the whip-cracking, which sounded in the streets as in an +empty vault. Higher up, in the Rue Fontaine, one of the few shops that +were open displayed this announcement: "A large selection of cheeses +for New Year's gifts." They laughed. + +"Last year at this moment," said Chirac, "I was thinking of only one +thing--the masked ball at the opera. I could not sleep after it. This +year even the churches, are not open. And you?" + +She put her lips together. "Do not ask me," she said. + +They proceeded in silence. + +"We are triste, we others," he said. "But the Prussians, in their +trenches, they cannot be so gay, either! Their families and their +Christmas trees must be lacking to them. Let us laugh!" + +The Place Blanche and the Boulevard de Clichy were no more lively than +the lesser streets and squares. There was no life anywhere, scarcely a +sound; not even the sound of cannon. Nobody knew anything; Christmas +had put the city into a lugubrious trance of hopelessness. Chirac took +Sophia's arm across the Place Blanche, and a few yards up the Rue Lepic +he stopped at a small restaurant, famous among the initiated, and known +as "The Little Louis." They entered, descending by two steps into a +confined and sombrely picturesque interior. + +Sophia saw that they were expected. Chirac must have paid a previous +visit to the restaurant that morning. Several disordered tables showed +that people had already lunched, and left; but in the corner was a +table for two, freshly laid in the best manner of such restaurants; +that is to say, with a red-and-white checked cloth, and two other +red-and-white cloths, almost as large as the table-cloth, folded as +serviettes and arranged flat on two thick plates between solid steel +cutlery; a salt-cellar, out of which one ground rock-salt by turning a +handle, a pepper-castor, two knife-rests, and two common tumblers. The +phenomena which differentiated this table from the ordinary table were +a champagne bottle and a couple of champagne glasses. Champagne was one +of the few items which had not increased in price during the siege. + +The landlord and his wife were eating in another corner, a fat, +slatternly pair, whom no privations of a siege could have emaciated. +The landlord rose. He was dressed as a chef, all in white, with the +sacred cap; but a soiled white. Everything in the place was untidy, +unkempt and more or less unclean, except just the table upon which +champagne was waiting. And yet the restaurant was agreeable, +reassuring. The landlord greeted his customers as honest friends. His +greasy face was honest, and so was the pale, weary, humorous face of +his wife. Chirac saluted her. + +"You see," said she, across from the other corner, indicating a bone on +her plate. "This is Diane!" + +"Ah! the poor animal!" exclaimed Chirac, sympathetically. + +"What would you?" said the landlady. "It cost too dear to feed her. And +she was so mignonne! One could not watch her grow thin!" + +"I was saying to my wife," the landlord put in, "how she would have +enjoyed that bone--Diane!" He roared with laughter. + +Sophia and the landlady exchanged a curious sad smile at this +pleasantry, which had been re-discovered by the landlord for perhaps +the thousandth time during the siege, but which he evidently regarded +as quite new and original. + +"Eh, well!" he continued confidentially to Chirac. "I have found for +you something very good--half a duck." And in a still lower tone: "And +it will not cost you too dear." + +No attempt to realize more than a modest profit was ever made in that +restaurant. It possessed a regular clientele who knew the value of the +little money they had, and who knew also how to appreciate sincere and +accomplished cookery. The landlord was the chef, and he was always +referred to as the chef, even by his wife. + +"How did you get that?" Chirac asked. + +"Ah!" said the landlord, mysteriously. "I have one of my friends, who +comes from Villeneuve St. Georges--refugee, you know. In fine ..." A +wave of the fat hands, suggesting that Chirac should not inquire too +closely. + +"In effect!" Chirac commented. "But it is very chic, that!" + +"I believe you that it is chic!" said the landlady, sturdily. + +"It is charming," Sophia murmured politely. + +"And then a quite little salad!" said the landlord. + +"But that--that is still more striking!" said Chirac. + +The landlord winked. The fact was that the commerce which resulted in +fresh green vegetables in the heart of a beleagured town was notorious. + +"And then also a quite little cheese!" said Sophia, slightly imitating +the tone of the landlord, as she drew from the inwardness of her cloak +a small round parcel. It contained a Brie cheese, in fairly good +condition. It was worth at least fifty francs, and it had cost Sophia +less than two francs. The landlady joined the landlord in inspecting +this wondrous jewel. Sophia seized a knife and cut a slice for the +landlady's table. + +"Madame is too good!" said the landlady, confused by this noble +generosity, and bearing the gift off to her table as a fox-terrier will +hurriedly seek solitude with a sumptuous morsel. The landlord beamed. +Chirac was enchanted. In the intimate and unaffected cosiness of that +interior the vast, stupefied melancholy of the city seemed to be +forgotten, to have lost its sway. + +Then the landlord brought a hot brick for the feet of madame. It was +more an acknowledgment of the slice of cheese than a necessity, for the +restaurant was very warm; the tiny kitchen opened directly into it, and +the door between the two was open; there was no ventilation whatever. + +"It is a friend of mine," said the landlord, proudly, in the way of +gossip as he served an undescribed soup, "a butcher in the Faubourg St. +Honore, who has bought the three elephants of the Jardin des Plantes +for twenty-seven thousand francs." + +Eyebrows were lifted. He uncorked the champagne. + +As she drank the first mouthful (she had long lost her youthful +aversion for wine), Sophia had a glimpse of herself in a tilted mirror +hung rather high on the opposite wall. It was several months since she +had attired herself with ceremoniousness. The sudden unexpected vision +of elegance and pallid beauty pleased her. And the instant effect of +the champagne was to renew in her mind a forgotten conception of the +goodness of life and of the joys which she had so long missed. + +V + +At half-past two they were alone in the little salon of the restaurant, +and vaguely in their dreamy and feverish minds that were too +preoccupied to control with precision their warm, relaxed bodies, there +floated the illusion that the restaurant belonged to them and that in +it they were at home. It was no longer a restaurant, but a retreat and +shelter from hard life. The chef and his wife were dozing in an inner +room. The champagne was drunk; the adorable cheese was eaten; and they +were sipping Marc de Bourgogne. They sat at right angles to one +another, close to one another, with brains aswing; full of good nature +and quick sympathy; their flesh content and yet expectant. In a pause +of the conversation (which, entirely banal and fragmentary, had seemed +to reach the acme of agreeableness), Chirac put his hand on the hand of +Sophia as it rested limp on the littered table. Accidentally she caught +his eye; she had not meant to do so. They both became self-conscious. +His thin, bearded face had more than ever that wistfulness which always +softened towards him the uncompromisingness of her character. He had +the look of a child. For her, Gerald had sometimes shown the same look. +But indeed she was now one of those women for whom all men, and +especially all men in a tender mood, are invested with a certain +incurable quality of childishness. She had not withdrawn her hand at +once, and so she could not withdraw it at all. + +He gazed at her with timid audacity. Her eyes were liquid. + +"What are you thinking about?" she asked. + +"I was asking myself what I should have done if you had refused to +come." + +"And what SHOULD you have done?" + +"Assuredly something terribly inconvenient," he replied, with the large +importance of a man who is in the domain of pure supposition. He leaned +towards her. "My very dear friend," he said in a different voice, +getting bolder. + +It was infinitely sweet to her, voluptuously sweet, this basking in the +heat of temptation. It certainly did seem to her, then, the one real +pleasure in the world. Her body might have been saying to his: "See how +ready I am!" Her body might have been saying to his: "Look into my +mind. For you I have no modesty. Look and see all that is there." The +veil of convention seemed to have been rent. Their attitude to each +other was almost that of lover and mistress, between whom a single +glance may be charged with the secrets of the past and promises for the +future. Morally she was his mistress in that moment. + +He released her hand and put his arm round her waist. + +"I love thee," he whispered with great emotion. + +Her face changed and hardened. "You must not do that," she said, +coldly, unkindly, harshly. She scowled. She would not abate one crease +in her forehead to the appeal of his surprised glance. Yet she did not +want to repulse him. The instinct which repulsed him was not within her +control. Just as a shy man will obstinately refuse an invitation which +he is hungering to accept, so, though not from shyness, she was +compelled to repulse Chirac. Perhaps if her desires had not been laid +to sleep by excessive physical industry and nervous strain, the sequel +might have been different. + +Chirac, like most men who have once found a woman weak, imagined that +he understood women profoundly. He thought of women as the Occidental +thinks of the Chinese, as a race apart, mysterious but capable of being +infallibly comprehended by the application of a few leading principles +of psychology. Moreover he was in earnest; he was hard driven, and he +was honest. He continued, respectfully obedient in withdrawing his arm: + +"Very dear friend," he urged with undaunted confidence, "you must know +that I love you." + +She shook her head impatiently, all the time wondering what it was that +prevented her from slipping into his arms. She knew that she was +treating him badly by this brusque change of front; but she could not +help it. Then she began to feel sorry for him. + +"We have been very good friends," he said. "I have always admired you +enormously. I did not think that I should dare to love you until that +day when I overheard that old villain Niepce make his advances. Then, +when I perceived my acute jealousy, I knew that I was loving you. Ever +since, I have thought only of you. I swear to you that if you will not +belong to me, it is already finished for me! Altogether! Never have I +seen a woman like you! So strong, so proud, so kind, and so beautiful! +You are astonishing, yes, astonishing! No other woman could have drawn +herself out of an impossible situation as you have done, since the +disappearance of your husband. For me, you are a woman unique. I am +very sincere. Besides, you know it ... Dear friend!" + +She shook her head passionately. + +She did not love him. But she was moved. And she wanted to love him. +She wanted to yield to him, only liking him, and to love afterwards. +But this obstinate instinct held her back. "I do not say, now," Chirac +went on. "Let me hope." + +The Latin theatricality of his gestures and his tone made her sorrowful +for him. + +"My poor Chirac!" she plaintively murmured, and began to put on her +gloves. + +"I shall hope!" he persisted. + +She pursed her lips. He seized her violently by the waist. She drew her +face away from his, firmly. She was not hard, not angry now. +Disconcerted by her compassion, he loosed her. + +"My poor Chirac," she said, "I ought not to have come. I must go. It is +perfectly useless. Believe me." + +"No, no!" he whispered fiercely. + +She stood up and the abrupt movement pushed the table gratingly across +the floor. The throbbing spell of the flesh was snapped like a +stretched string, and the scene over. The landlord, roused from his +doze, stumbled in. Chirac had nothing but the bill as a reward for his +pains. He was baffled. + +They left the restaurant, silently, with a foolish air. + +Dusk was falling on the mournful streets, and the lamp-lighters were +lighting the miserable oil lamps that had replaced gas. They two, and +the lamplighters, and an omnibus were alone in the streets. The gloom +was awful; it was desolating. The universal silence seemed to be the +silence of despair. Steeped in woe, Sophia thought wearily upon the +hopeless problem of existence. For it seemed to her that she and Chirac +had created this woe out of nothing, and yet it was an incurable woe! + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +SUCCESS + +I + + +Sophia lay awake one night in the room lately quitted by Carlier. That +silent negation of individuality had come and gone, and left scarcely +any record of himself either in his room or in the memories of those +who had surrounded his existence in the house. Sophia had decided to +descend from the sixth floor, partly because the temptation of a large +room, after months in a cubicle, was rather strong; but more because of +late she had been obliged to barricade the door of the cubicle with a +chest of drawers, owing to the propensities of a new tenant of the +sixth floor. It was useless to complain to the concierge; the sole +effective argument was the chest of drawers, and even that was frailer +than Sophia could have wished. Hence, finally, her retreat. + +She heard the front-door of the flat open; then it was shut with +nervous violence. The resonance of its closing would have certainly +wakened less accomplished sleepers than M. Niepce and his friend, whose +snores continued with undisturbed regularity. After a pause of +shuffling, a match was struck, and feet crept across the corridor with +the most exaggerated precautions against noise. There followed the +unintentional bang of another door. It was decidedly the entry of a man +without the slightest natural aptitude for furtive irruptions. The +clock in M. Niepce's room, which the grocer had persuaded to exact +time-keeping, chimed three with its delicate ting. + +For several days past Chirac had been mysteriously engaged very late at +the bureaux of the Debats. No one knew the nature of his employment; he +said nothing, except to inform Sophia that he would continue to come +home about three o'clock until further notice. She had insisted on +leaving in his room the materials and apparatus for a light meal. +Naturally he had protested, with the irrational obstinacy of a +physically weak man who sticks to it that he can defy the laws of +nature. But he had protested in vain. + +His general conduct since Christmas Day had frightened Sophia, in spite +of her tendency to stifle facile alarms at their birth. He had eaten +scarcely anything at all, and he went about with the face of a man +dying of a broken heart. The change in him was indeed tragic. And +instead of improving, he grew worse. "Have I done this?" Sophia asked +herself. "It is impossible that I should have done this! It is absurd +and ridiculous that he should behave so!" Her thoughts were employed +alternately in sympathizing with him and in despising him, in blaming +herself and in blaming him. When they spoke, they spoke awkwardly, as +though one or both of them had committed a shameful crime, which could +not even be mentioned. The atmosphere of the flat was tainted by the +horror. And Sophia could not offer him a bowl of soup without wondering +how he would look at her or avoid looking, and without carefully +arranging in advance her own gestures and speech. Existence was a +nightmare of self-consciousness. + +"At last they have unmasked their batteries!" he had exclaimed with +painful gaiety two days after Christmas, when the besiegers had +recommenced their cannonade. He tried to imitate the strange, general +joy of the city, which had been roused from apathy by the recurrence of +a familiar noise; but the effort was a deplorable failure. And Sophia +condemned not merely the failure of Chirac's imitation, but the thing +imitated. "Childish!" she thought. Yet, despise the feebleness of +Chirac's behaviour as she might, she was deeply impressed, genuinely +astonished, by the gravity and persistence of the symptoms. "He must +have been getting himself into a state about me for a long time," she +thought. "Surely he could not have gone mad like this all in a day or +two! But I never noticed anything. No; honestly I never noticed +anything!" And just as her behaviour in the restaurant had shaken +Chirac's confidence in his knowledge of the other sex, so now the +singular behaviour of Chirac shook hers. She was taken aback. She was +frightened, though she pretended not to be frightened. + +She had lived over and over again the scene in the restaurant. She +asked herself over and over again if really she had not beforehand +expected him to make love to her in the restaurant. She could not +decide exactly when she had begun to expect a declaration; but probably +a long time before the meal was finished. She had foreseen it, and +might have stopped it. But she had not chosen to stop it. Curiosity +concerning not merely him, but also herself, had tempted her tacitly to +encourage him. She asked herself over and over again why she had +repulsed him. It struck her as curious that she had repulsed him. Was +it because she was a married woman? Was it because she had moral +scruples? Was it at bottom because she did not care for him? Was it +because she could not care for anybody? Was it because his fervid +manner of love-making offended her English phlegm? And did she feel +pleased or displeased by his forbearance in not renewing the assault? +She could not answer. She did not know. + +But all the time she knew that she wanted love. Only, she conceived a +different kind of love: placid, regular, somewhat stern, somewhat above +the plane of whims, moods, caresses, and all mere fleshly contacts. Not +that she considered that she despised these things (though she did)! +What she wanted was a love that was too proud, too independent, to +exhibit frankly either its joy or its pain. She hated a display of +sentiment. And even in the most intimate abandonments she would have +made reserves, and would have expected reserves, trusting to a lover's +powers of divination, and to her own! The foundation of her character +was a haughty moral independence, and this quality was what she most +admired in others. + +Chirac's inability to draw from his own pride strength to sustain +himself against the blow of her refusal gradually killed in her the +sexual desire which he had aroused, and which during a few days +flickered up under the stimulus of fancy and of regret. Sophia saw with +increasing clearness that her unreasoning instinct had been right in +saying him nay. And when, in spite of this, regrets still visited her, +she would comfort herself in thinking: "I cannot be bothered with all +that sort of thing. It is not worth while. What does it lead to? Is not +life complicated enough without that? No, no! I will stay as I am. At +any rate I know what I am in for, as things are!" And she would reflect +upon her hopeful financial situation, and the approaching prospect of a +constantly sufficient income. And a little thrill of impatience against +the interminable and gigantic foolishness of the siege would take her. + +But her self-consciousness in presence of Chirac did not abate. + +As she lay in bed she awaited accustomed sounds which should have +connoted Chirac's definite retirement for the night. Her ear, however, +caught no sound whatever from his room. Then she imagined that there +was a smell of burning in the flat. She sat up, and sniffed anxiously, +of a sudden wideawake and apprehensive. And then she was sure that the +smell of burning was not in her imagination. The bedroom was in perfect +darkness. Feverishly she searched with her right hand for the matches +on the night-table, and knocked candlestick and matches to the floor. +She seized her dressing-gown, which was spread over the bed, and put it +on, aiming for the door. Her feet were bare. She discovered the door. +In the passage she could discern nothing at first, and then she made +out a thin line of light, which indicated the bottom of Chirac's door. +The smell of burning was strong and unmistakable. She went towards the +faint light, fumbled for the door-handle with her palm, and opened. It +did not occur to her to call out and ask what was the matter. + +The house was not on fire; but it might have been. She had left on the +table at the foot of Chirac's bed a small cooking-lamp, and a saucepan +of bouillon. All that Chirac had to do was to ignite the lamp and put +the saucepan on it. He had ignited the lamp, having previously raised +the double wicks, and had then dropped into the chair by the table just +as he was, and sunk forward and gone to sleep with his head lying +sideways on the table. He had not put the saucepan on the lamp; he had +not lowered the wicks, and the flames, capped with thick black smoke, +were waving slowly to and fro within a few inches of his loose hair. +His hat had rolled along the floor; he was wearing his great overcoat +and one woollen glove; the other glove had lodged on his slanting knee. +A candle was also burning. + +Sophia hastened forward, as it were surreptitiously, and with a +forward-reaching movement turned down the wicks of the lamp; black +specks were falling on the table; happily the saucepan was covered, or +the bouillon would have been ruined. + +Chirac made a heart-rending spectacle, and Sophia was aware of deep and +painful emotion in seeing him thus. He must have been utterly exhausted +and broken by loss of sleep. He was a man incapable of regular hours, +incapable of treating his body with decency. Though going to bed at +three o'clock, he had continued to rise at his usual hour. He looked +like one dead; but more sad, more wistful. Outside in the street a fog +reigned, and his thin draggled beard was jewelled with the moisture of +it. His attitude had the unconsidered and violent prostration of an +overspent dog. The beaten animal in him was expressed in every detail +of that posture. It showed even in his white, drawn eyelids, and in the +falling of a finger. All his face was very sad. It appealed for mercy +as the undefended face of sleep always appeals; it was so helpless, so +exposed, so simple. It recalled Sophia to a sense of the inner +mysteries of life, reminding her somehow that humanity walks ever on a +thin crust over terrific abysses. She did not physically shudder; but +her soul shuddered. + +She mechanically placed the saucepan on the lamp, and the noise +awakened Chirac. He groaned. At first he did not perceive her. When he +saw that some one was looking down at him, he did not immediately +realize who this some one was. He rubbed his eyes with his fists, +exactly like a baby, and sat up, and the chair cracked. + +"What then?" he demanded. "Oh, madame, I ask pardon. What?" + +"You have nearly destroyed the house," she said. "I smelt fire, and I +came in. I was just in time. There is no danger now. But please be +careful." She made as if to move towards the door. + +"But what did I do?" he asked, his eyelids wavering. + +She explained. + +He rose from his chair unsteadily. She told him to sit down again, and +he obeyed as though in a dream. + +"I can go now," she said. + +"Wait one moment," he murmured. "I ask pardon. I should not know how to +thank you. You are truly too good. Will you wait one moment?" + +His tone was one of supplication. He gazed at her, a little dazzled by +the light and by her. The lamp and the candle illuminated the lower +part of her face, theatrically, and showed the texture of her blue +flannel peignoir; the pattern of a part of the lace collar was +silhouetted in shadow on her cheek. Her face was flushed, and her hair +hung down unconfined. Evidently he could not recover from his excusable +astonishment at the apparition of such a figure in his room. + +"What is it--now?" she said. The faint, quizzical emphasis which she +put on the 'now' indicated the essential of her thought. The sight of +him touched her and filled her with a womanly sympathy. But that +sympathy was only the envelope of her disdain of him. She could not +admire weakness. She could but pity it with a pity in which scorn was +mingled. Her instinct was to treat him as a child. He had failed in +human dignity. And it seemed to her as if she had not previously been +quite certain whether she could not love him, but that now she was +quite certain. She was close to him. She saw the wounds of a soul that +could not hide its wounds, and she resented the sight. She was hard. +She would not make allowances. And she revelled in her hardness. +Contempt--a good-natured, kindly, forgiving contempt--that was the +kernel of the sympathy which exteriorly warmed her! Contempt for the +lack of self-control which had resulted in this swift degeneration of a +man into a tortured victim! Contempt for the lack of perspective which +magnified a mere mushroom passion till it filled the whole field of +life! Contempt for this feminine slavery to sentiment! She felt that +she might have been able to give herself to Chirac as one gives a toy +to an infant. But of loving him...! No! She was conscious of an +immeasurable superiority to him, for she was conscious of the freedom +of a strong mind. + +"I wanted to tell you," said he, "I am going away." + +"Where?" she asked. + +"Out of Paris." + +"Out of Paris? How?" + +"By balloon! My journal...! It is an affair of great importance. You +understand. I offered myself. What would you?" + +"It is dangerous," she observed, waiting to see if he would put on the +silly air of one who does not understand fear. + +"Oh!" the poor fellow muttered with a fatuous intonation and snapping +of the fingers. "That is all the same to me. Yes, it is dangerous. Yes, +it is dangerous!" he repeated. "But what would you...? For me...!" + +She wished that she had not mentioned danger. It hurt her to watch him +incurring her ironic disdain. + +"It will be the night after to-morrow," he said. "In the courtyard of +the Gare du Nord. I want you to come and see me go. I particularly want +you to come and see me go. I have asked Carlier to escort you." + +He might have been saying, "I am offering myself to martyrdom, and you +must assist at the spectacle." + +She despised him yet more. + +"Oh! Be tranquil," he said. "I shall not worry you. Never shall I speak +to you again of my love. I know you. I know it would be useless. But I +hope you will come and wish me bon voyage." + +"Of course, if you really wish it," she replied with cheerful coolness. + +He seized her hand and kissed it. + +Once it had pleased her when he kissed her hand. But now she did not +like it. It seemed hysterical and foolish to her. She felt her feet to +be stone-cold on the floor. + +"I'll leave you now," she said. "Please eat your soup." + +She escaped, hoping he would not espy her feet. + +II + +The courtyard of the Nord Railway Station was lighted by oil-lamps +taken from locomotives; their silvered reflectors threw dazzling rays +from all sides on the under portion of the immense yellow mass of the +balloon; the upper portion was swaying to and fro with gigantic +ungainliness in the strong breeze. It was only a small balloon, as +balloons are measured, but it seemed monstrous as it wavered over the +human forms that were agitating themselves beneath it. The cordage was +silhouetted against the yellow taffetas as high up as the widest +diameter of the balloon, but above that all was vague, and even +spectators standing at a distance could not clearly separate the summit +of the great sphere from the darkly moving sky. The car, held by ropes +fastened to stakes, rose now and then a few inches uneasily from the +ground. The sombre and severe architecture of the station-buildings +enclosed the balloon on every hand; it had only one way of escape. Over +the roofs of that architecture, which shut out the sounds of the city, +came the irregular booming of the bombardment. Shells were falling in +the southern quarters of Paris, doing perhaps not a great deal of +damage, but still plunging occasionally into the midst of some domestic +interior and making a sad mess of it. The Parisians were convinced that +the shells were aimed maliciously at hospitals and museums; and when a +child happened to be blown to pieces their unspoken comments upon the +Prussian savagery were bitter. Their faces said: "Those barbarians +cannot even spare our children!" They amused themselves by creating a +market in shells, paying more for a live shell than a dead one, and +modifying the tariff according to the supply. And as the cattle-market +was empty, and the vegetable-market was empty, and beasts no longer +pastured on the grass of the parks, and the twenty-five million rats of +the metropolis were too numerous to furnish interest to spectators, and +the Bourse was practically deserted, the traffic in shells sustained +the starving mercantile instinct during a very dull period. But the +effect on the nerves was deleterious. The nerves of everybody were like +nothing but a raw wound. Violent anger would spring up magically out of +laughter, and blows out of caresses. This indirect consequence of the +bombardment was particularly noticeable in the group of men under the +balloon. Each behaved as if he were controlling his temper in the most +difficult circumstances. Constantly they all gazed upwards into the +sky, though nothing could possibly be distinguished there save the +blurred edge of a flying cloud. But the booming came from that sky; the +shells that were dropping on Montrouge came out of that sky; and the +balloon was going up into it; the balloon was ascending into its +mysteries, to brave its dangers, to sweep over the encircling ring of +fire and savages. + +Sophia stood apart with Carlier. Carlier had indicated a particular +spot, under the shelter of the colonnade, where he said it was +imperative that they should post themselves. Having guided Sophia to +this spot, and impressed upon her that they were not to move, he seemed +to consider that the activity of his role was finished, and spoke no +word. With the very high silk hat which he always wore, and a thin +old-fashioned overcoat whose collar was turned up, he made a rather +grotesque figure. Fortunately the night was not very cold, or he might +have passively frozen to death on the edge of that feverish group. +Sophia soon ignored him. She watched the balloon. An aristocratic old +man leaned against the car, watch in hand; at intervals he scowled, or +stamped his foot. An old sailor, tranquilly smoking a pipe, walked +round and round the balloon, staring at it; once he climbed up into the +rigging, and once he jumped into the car and angrily threw out of it a +bag, which some one had placed in it. But for the most part he was +calm. Other persons of authority hurried about, talking and +gesticulating; and a number of workmen waited idly for orders. + +"Where is Chirac?" suddenly cried the old man with the watch. + +Several voices deferentially answered, and a man ran away into the +gloom on an errand. + +Then Chirac appeared, nervous, self-conscious, restless. He was +enveloped in a fur coat that Sophia had never seen before, and he +carried dangling in his hand a cage containing six pigeons whose +whiteness stirred uneasily within it. The sailor took the cage from him +and all the persons of authority gathered round to inspect the +wonderful birds upon which, apparently, momentous affairs depended. +When the group separated, the sailor was to be seen bending over the +edge of the car to deposit the cage safely. He then got into the car, +still smoking his pipe, and perched himself negligently on the +wicker-work. The man with the watch was conversing with Chirac; Chirac +nodded his head frequently in acquiescence, and seemed to be saying all +the time: "Yes, sir! Perfectly sir! I understand, sir! Yes, sir!" + +Suddenly Chirac turned to the car and put a question to the sailor, who +shook his head. Whereupon Chirac gave a gesture of submissive despair +to the man with the watch. And in an instant the whole throng was in a +ferment. + +"The victuals!" cried the man with the watch. "The victuals, name of +God! Must one be indeed an idiot to forget the victuals! Name of +God--of God!" + +Sophia smiled at the agitation, and at the inefficient management which +had never thought of food. For it appeared that the food had not merely +been forgotten; it was a question which had not even been considered. +She could not help despising all that crowd of self-important and fussy +males to whom the idea had not occurred that even balloonists must eat. +And she wondered whether everything was done like that. After a delay +that seemed very long, the problem of victuals was solved, chiefly, as +far as Sophia could judge, by means of cakes of chocolate and bottles +of wine. + +"It is enough! It is enough!" Chirac shouted passionately several times +to a knot of men who began to argue with him. + +Then he gazed round furtively, and with an inflation of the chest and a +patting of his fur coat he came directly towards Sophia. Evidently +Sophia's position had been prearranged between him and Carlier. They +could forget food, but they could think of Sophia's position! + +All eyes followed him. Those eyes could not, in the gloom, distinguish +Sophia's beauty, but they could see that she was young and slim and +elegant, and of foreign carriage. That was enough. The very air seemed +to vibrate with the intense curiosity of those eyes. And immediately +Chirac grew into the hero of some brilliant and romantic adventure. +Immediately he was envied and admired by every man of authority +present. What was she? Who was she? Was it a serious passion or simply +a caprice? Had she flung herself at him? It was undeniable that lovely +creatures did sometimes fling themselves at lucky mediocrities. Was she +a married woman? An artiste? A girl? Such queries thumped beneath +overcoats, while the correctness of a ceremonious demeanour was +strictly observed. + +Chirac uncovered, and kissed her hand. The wind disarranged his hair. +She saw that his face was very pale and anxious beneath the swagger of +a sincere desire to be brave. + +"Well, it is the moment!" he said. + +"Did you all forget the food?" she asked. + +He shrugged his shoulders. "What will you? One cannot think of +everything." + +"I hope you will have a safe voyage," she said. + +She had already taken leave of him once, in the house, and heard all +about the balloon and the sailor-aeronaut and the preparations; and now +she had nothing to say, nothing whatever. + +He shrugged his shoulders again. "I hope so!" he murmured, but in a +tone to convey that he had no such hope. + +"The wind isn't too strong?" she suggested. + +He shrugged his shoulders again. "What would you?" + +"Is it in the direction you want?" + +"Yes, nearly," he admitted unwillingly. Then rousing himself: "Eh, +well, madame. You have been extremely amiable to come. I held to it +very much--that you should come. It is because of you I quit Paris." + +She resented the speech by a frown. + +"Ah!" he implored in a whisper. "Do not do that. Smile on me. After +all, it is not my fault. Remember that this may be the last time I see +you, the last time I regard your eyes." + +She smiled. She was convinced of the genuineness of the emotion which +expressed itself in all this flamboyant behaviour. And she had to make +excuses to herself on behalf of Chirac. She smiled to give him +pleasure. The hard commonsense in her might sneer, but indubitably she +was the centre of a romantic episode. The balloon darkly swinging +there! The men waiting! The secrecy of the mission! And Chirac, +bare-headed in the wind that was to whisk him away, telling her in +fatalistic accents that her image had devastated his life, while +envious aspirants watched their colloquy! Yes, it was romantic. And she +was beautiful! Her beauty was an active reality that went about the +world playing tricks in spite of herself. The thoughts that passed +through her mind were the large, splendid thoughts of romance. And it +was Chirac who had aroused them! A real drama existed, then, triumphing +over the accidental absurdities and pettinesses of the situation. Her +final words to Chirac were tender and encouraging. + +He hurried back to the balloon, resuming his cap. He was received with +the respect due to one who comes fresh from conquest. He was sacred. + +Sophia rejoined Carlier, who had withdrawn, and began to talk to him +with a self-conscious garrulity. She spoke without reason and scarcely +noticed what she was saying. Already Chirac was snatched out of her +life, as other beings, so many of them, had been snatched. She thought +of their first meetings, and of the sympathy which had always united +them. He had lost his simplicity, now, in the self-created crisis of +his fate, and had sunk in her esteem. And she was determined to like +him all the more because he had sunk in her esteem. She wondered +whether he really had undertaken this adventure from sentimental +disappointment. She wondered whether, if she had not forgotten to wind +her watch one night, they would still have been living quietly under +the same roof in the Rue Breda. + +The sailor climbed definitely into the car; he had covered himself with +a large cloak. Chirac had got one leg over the side of the car, and +eight men were standing by the ropes, when a horse's hoofs clattered +through the guarded entrance to the courtyard, amid an uproar of sudden +excitement. The shiny chest of the horse was flecked with the classic +foam. + +"A telegram from the Governor of Paris!" + +As the orderly, checking his mount, approached the group, even the old +man with the watch raised his hat. The orderly responded, bent down to +make an inquiry, which Chirac answered, and then, with another exchange +of salutes, the official telegram was handed over to Chirac, and the +horse backed away from the crowd. It was quite thrilling. Carlier was +thrilled. + +"He is never too prompt, the Governor. It is a quality!" said Carlier, +with irony. + +Chirac entered the car. And then the old man with the watch drew a +black bag from the shadow behind him and entrusted it to Chirac, who +accepted it with a profound deference and hid it. The sailor began to +issue commands. The men at the ropes were bending down now. Suddenly +the balloon rose about a foot and trembled. The sailor continued to +shout. All the persons of authority gazed motionless at the balloon. +The moment of suspense was eternal. + +"Let go all!" cried the sailor, standing up, and clinging to the +cordage. Chirac was seated in the car, a mass of dark fur with a small +patch of white in it. The men at the ropes were a knot of struggling +confused figures. + +One side of the car tilted up, and the sailor was nearly pitched out. +Three men at the other side had failed to free the ropes. + +"Let go, corpses!" the sailor yelled at them. + +The balloon jumped, as if it were drawn by some terrific impulse from +the skies. + +"Adieu!" called Chirac, pulling his cap off and waving it. "Adieu!" + +"Bon voyage! Bon voyage!" the little crowd cheered. And then, "Vive la +France!" Throats tightened, including Sophia's. + +But the top of the balloon had leaned over, destroying its pear-shape, +and the whole mass swerved violently towards the wall of the station, +the car swinging under it like a toy, and an anchor under the car. +There was a cry of alarm. Then the great ball leaped again, and swept +over the high glass roof, escaping by inches the spouting. The cheers +expired instantly.... The balloon was gone. It was spirited away as if +by some furious and mighty power that had grown impatient in waiting +for it. There remained for a few seconds on the collective retina of +the spectators a vision of the inclined car swinging near the roof like +the tail of a kite. And then nothing! Blankness! Blackness! Already the +balloon was lost to sight in the vast stormy ocean of the night, a +plaything of the winds. The spectators became once more aware of the +dull booming of the cannonade. The balloon was already perhaps flying +unseen amid the wrack over those guns. + +Sophia involuntarily caught her breath. A chill sense of loneliness, of +purposelessness, numbed her being. + +Nobody ever saw Chirac or the old sailor again. The sea must have +swallowed them. Of the sixty-five balloons that left Paris during the +siege, two were not heard of. This was the first of the two. Chirac +had, at any rate, not magnified the peril, though his intention was +undoubtedly to magnify it. + +III + +This was the end of Sophia's romantic adventures in France. Soon +afterwards the Germans entered Paris, by mutual agreement, and made a +point of seeing the Louvre, and departed, amid the silence of a city. +For Sophia the conclusion of the siege meant chiefly that prices went +down. Long before supplies from outside could reach Paris, the +shop-windows were suddenly full of goods which had arrived from the +shopkeepers alone knew where. Sophia, with the stock in her cellar, +could have held out for several weeks more, and it annoyed her that she +had not sold more of her good things while good things were worth gold. +The signing of a treaty at Versailles reduced the value of Sophia's two +remaining hams from about five pounds apiece to the usual price of +hams. However, at the end of January she found herself in possession of +a capital of about eight thousand francs, all the furniture of the +flat, and a reputation. She had earned it all. Nothing could destroy +the structure of her beauty, but she looked worn and appreciably older. +She wondered often when Chirac would return. She might have written to +Carlier or to the paper; but she did not. It was Niepce who discovered +in a newspaper that Chirac's balloon had miscarried. At the moment the +news did not affect her at all; but after several days she began to +feel her loss in a dull sort of way; and she felt it more and more, +though never acutely. She was perfectly convinced that Chirac could +never have attracted her powerfully. She continued to dream, at rare +intervals, of the kind of passion that would have satisfied her, +glowing but banked down like a fire in some fine chamber of a rich but +careful household. + +She was speculating upon what her future would be, and whether by +inertia she was doomed to stay for ever in the Rue Breda, when the +Commune caught her. She was more vexed than frightened by the Commune; +vexed that a city so in need of repose and industry should indulge in +such antics. For many people the Commune was a worse experience than +the siege; but not for Sophia. She was a woman and a foreigner. Niepce +was infinitely more disturbed than Sophia; he went in fear of his life. +Sophia would go out to market and take her chances. It is true that +during one period the whole population of the house went to live in the +cellars, and orders to the butcher and other tradesmen were given over +the party-wall into the adjoining courtyard, which communicated with an +alley. A strange existence, and possibly perilous! But the women who +passed through it and had also passed through the siege, were not very +much intimidated by it, unless they happened to have husbands or lovers +who were active politicians. + +Sophia did not cease, during the greater part of the year 1871, to make +a living and to save money. She watched every sou, and she developed a +tendency to demand from her tenants all that they could pay. She +excused this to herself by ostentatiously declaring every detail of her +prices in advance. It came to the same thing in the end, with this +advantage, that the bills did not lead to unpleasantness. Her +difficulties commenced when Paris at last definitely resumed its normal +aspect and life, when all the women and children came back to those +city termini which they had left in such huddled, hysterical throngs, +when flats were re-opened that had long been shut, and men who for a +whole year had had the disadvantages and the advantages of being +without wife and family, anchored themselves once more to the hearth. +Then it was that Sophia failed to keep all her rooms let. She could +have let them easily and constantly and at high rents; but not to men +without encumbrances. Nearly every day she refused attractive tenants +in pretty hats, or agreeable gentlemen who only wanted a room on +condition that they might offer hospitality to a dashing petticoat. It +was useless to proclaim aloud that her house was 'serious.' The +ambition of the majority of these joyous persons was to live in a +'serious' house, because each was sure that at bottom he or she was a +'serious' person, and quite different from the rest of the joyous +world. The character of Sophia's flat, instead of repelling the wrong +kind of aspirant, infallibly drew just that kind. Hope was +inextinguishable in these bosoms. They heard that there would be no +chance for them at Sophia's; but they tried nevertheless. And +occasionally Sophia would make a mistake, and grave unpleasantness +would occur before the mistake could be rectified. The fact was that +the street was too much for her. Few people would credit that there was +a serious boarding-house in the Rue Breda. The police themselves would +not credit it. And Sophia's beauty was against her. At that time the +Rue Breda was perhaps the most notorious street in the centre of Paris; +at the height of its reputation as a warren of individual +improprieties; most busily creating that prejudice against itself +which, over thirty years later, forced the authorities to change its +name in obedience to the wish of its tradesmen. When Sophia went out at +about eleven o'clock in the morning with her reticule to buy, the +street was littered with women who had gone out with reticules to buy. +But whereas Sophia was fully dressed, and wore headgear, the others +were in dressing-gown and slippers, or opera-cloak and slippers, having +slid directly out of unspeakable beds and omitted to brush their hair +out of their puffy eyes. In the little shops of the Rue Breda, the Rue +Notre Dame de Lorette, and the Rue des Martyrs, you were very close +indeed to the primitive instincts of human nature. It was wonderful; it +was amusing; it was excitingly picturesque; and the universality of the +manners rendered moral indignation absurd. But the neighbourhood was +certainly not one in which a woman of Sophia's race, training, and +character, could comfortably earn a living, or even exist. She could +not fight against the entire street. She, and not the street, was out +of place and in the wrong. Little wonder that the neighbours lifted +their shoulders when they spoke of her! What beautiful woman but a mad +Englishwoman would have had the idea of establishing herself in the Rue +Breda with the intention of living like a nun and compelling others to +do the same? + +By dint of continual ingenuity, Sophia contrived to win somewhat more +than her expenses, but she was slowly driven to admit to herself that +the situation could not last. + +Then one day she saw in Galignani's Messenger an advertisement of an +English pension for sale in the Rue Lord Byron, in the Champs Elysees +quarter. It belonged to some people named Frensham, and had enjoyed a +certain popularity before the war. The proprietor and his wife, +however, had not sufficiently allowed for the vicissitudes of politics +in Paris. Instead of saving money during their popularity they had put +it on the back and on the fingers of Mrs. Frensham. The siege and the +Commune had almost ruined them. With capital they might have restored +themselves to their former pride; but their capital was exhausted. +Sophia answered the advertisement. She impressed the Frenshams, who +were delighted with the prospect of dealing in business with an honest +English face. Like many English people abroad they were most strangely +obsessed by the notion that they had quitted an island of honest men to +live among thieves and robbers. They always implied that dishonesty was +unknown in Britain. They offered, if she would take over the lease, to +sell all their furniture and their renown for ten thousand francs. She +declined, the price seeming absurd to her. When they asked her to name +a price, she said that she preferred not to do so. Upon entreaty, she +said four thousand francs. They then allowed her to see that they +considered her to have been quite right in hesitating to name a price +so ridiculous. And their confidence in the honest English face seemed +to have been shocked. Sophia left. When she got back to the Rue Breda +she was relieved that the matter had come to nothing. She did not +precisely foresee what her future was to be, but at any rate she knew +she shrank from the responsibility of the Pension Frensham. The next +morning she received a letter offering to accept six thousand. She +wrote and declined. She was indifferent and she would not budge from +four thousand. The Frenshams gave way. They were pained, but they gave +way. The glitter of four thousand francs in cash, and freedom, was too +tempting. + +Thus Sophia became the proprietress of the Pension Frensham in the cold +and correct Rue Lord Byron. She made room in it for nearly all her +other furniture, so that instead of being under-furnished, as pensions +usually are, it was over-furnished. She was extremely timid at first, +for the rent alone was four thousand francs a year; and the prices of +the quarter were alarmingly different from those of the Rue Breda. She +lost a lot of sleep. For some nights, after she had been installed in +the Rue Lord Byron about a fortnight, she scarcely slept at all, and +she ate no more than she slept. She cut down expenditure to the very +lowest, and frequently walked over to the Rue Breda to do her +marketing. With the aid of a charwoman at six sous an hour she +accomplished everything. And though clients were few, the feat was in +the nature of a miracle; for Sophia had to cook. + +The articles which George Augustus Sala wrote under the title "Paris +herself again" ought to have been paid for in gold by the hotel and +pension-keepers of Paris. They awakened English curiosity and the +desire to witness the scene of terrible events. Their effect was +immediately noticeable. In less than a year after her adventurous +purchase, Sophia had acquired confidence, and she was employing two +servants, working them very hard at low wages. She had also acquired +the landlady's manner. She was known as Mrs. Frensham. Across the +balconies of two windows the Frenshams had left a gilded sign, "Pension +Frensham," and Sophia had not removed it. She often explained that her +name was not Frensham; but in vain. Every visitor inevitably and +persistently addressed her according to the sign. It was past the +general comprehension that the proprietress of the Pension Frensham +might bear another name than Frensham. But later there came into being +a class of persons, habitues of the Pension Frensham, who knew the real +name of the proprietress and were proud of knowing it, and by this +knowledge were distinguished from the herd. What struck Sophia was the +astounding similarity of her guests. They all asked the same questions, +made the same exclamations, went out on the same excursions, returned +with the same judgments, and exhibited the same unimpaired assurance +that foreigners were really very peculiar people. They never seemed to +advance in knowledge. There was a constant stream of explorers from +England who had to be set on their way to the Louvre or the Bon Marche. + +Sophia's sole interest was in her profits. The excellence of her house +was firmly established. She kept it up, and she kept the modest prices +up. Often she had to refuse guests. She naturally did so with a certain +distant condescension. Her manner to guests increased in stiff +formality; and she was excessively firm with undesirables. She grew to +be seriously convinced that no pension as good as hers existed in the +world, or ever had existed, or ever could exist. Hers was the acme of +niceness and respectability. Her preference for the respectable rose to +a passion. And there were no faults in her establishment. Even the once +despised showy furniture of Madame Foucault had mysteriously changed +into the best conceivable furniture; and its cracks were hallowed. + +She never heard a word of Gerald nor of her family. In the thousands of +people who stayed under her perfect roof, not one mentioned Bursley nor +disclosed a knowledge of anybody that Sophia had known. Several men had +the wit to propose marriage to her with more or less skilfulness, but +none of them was skilful enough to perturb her heart. She had forgotten +the face of love. She was a landlady. She was THE landlady: efficient, +stylish, diplomatic, and tremendously experienced. There was no +trickery, no baseness of Parisian life that she was not acquainted with +and armed against. She could not be startled and she could not be +swindled. + +Years passed, until there was a vista of years behind her. Sometimes +she would think, in an unoccupied moment, "How strange it is that I +should be here, doing what I am doing!" But the regular ordinariness of +her existence would instantly seize her again. At the end of 1878, the +Exhibition Year, her Pension consisted of two floors instead of one, +and she had turned the two hundred pounds stolen from Gerald into over +two thousand. + + + + +BOOK IV + +WHAT LIFE IS + + + + +CHAPTER I + +FRENSHAM'S + +I + + +Matthew Peel-Swynnerton sat in the long dining-room of the Pension +Frensham, Rue Lord Byron, Paris; and he looked out of place there. It +was an apartment about thirty feet in length, and of the width of two +windows, which sufficiently lighted one half of a very long table with +round ends. The gloom of the other extremity was illumined by a large +mirror in a tarnished gilt frame, which filled a good portion of the +wall opposite the windows. Near the mirror was a high folding-screen of +four leaves, and behind this screen could be heard the sound of a door +continually shutting and opening. In the long wall to the left of the +windows were two doors, one dark and important, a door of state, +through which a procession of hungry and a procession of sated solemn +self-conscious persons passed twice daily, and the other, a smaller +door, glazed, its glass painted with wreaths of roses, not an original +door of the house, but a late breach in the wall, that seemed to lead +to the dangerous and to the naughty. The wall-paper and the window +drapery were rich and forbidding, dark in hue, mysterious of pattern. +Over the state-door was a pair of antlers. And at intervals, so high up +as to defy inspection, engravings and oil-paintings made oblong patches +on the walls. They were hung from immense nails with porcelain heads, +and they appeared to depict the more majestic aspect of man and nature. +One engraving, over the mantelpiece and nearer earth than the rest, +unmistakably showed Louis Philippe and his family in attitudes of +virtue. Beneath this royal group, a vast gilt clock, flanked by +pendants of the same period, gave the right time--a quarter past seven. + +And down the room, filling it, ran the great white table, bordered with +bowed heads and the backs of chairs. There were over thirty people at +the table, and the peculiarly restrained noisiness of their knives and +forks on the plates proved that they were a discreet and a correct +people. Their clothes--blouses, bodices, and jackets--did not flatter +the lust of the eye. Only two or three were in evening dress. They +spoke little, and generally in a timorous tone, as though silence had +been enjoined. Somebody would half-whisper a remark, and then his +neighbour, absently fingering her bread and lifting gaze from her plate +into vacancy, would conscientiously weigh the remark and half-whisper +in reply: "I dare say." But a few spoke loudly and volubly, and were +regarded by the rest, who envied them, as underbred. + +Food was quite properly the chief preoccupation. The diners ate as +those eat who are paying a fixed price per day for as much as they can +consume while observing the rules of the game. Without moving their +heads they glanced out of the corners of their eyes, watching the +manoeuvres of the three starched maids who served. They had no +conception of food save as portions laid out in rows on large silver +dishes, and when a maid bent over them deferentially, balancing the +dish, they summed up the offering in an instant, and in an instant +decided how much they could decently take, and to what extent they +could practise the theoretic liberty of choice. And if the food for any +reason did not tempt them, or if it egregiously failed to coincide with +their aspirations, they considered themselves aggrieved. For, according +to the game, they might not command; they had the right to seize all +that was presented under their noses, like genteel tigers; and they had +the right to refuse: that was all. The dinner was thus a series of +emotional crises for the diners, who knew only that full dishes and +clean plates came endlessly from the banging door behind the screen, +and that ravaged dishes and dirty plates vanished endlessly through the +same door. They were all eating similar food simultaneously; they began +together and they finished together. The flies that haunted the +paper-bunches which hung from the chandeliers to the level of the +flower-vases, were more free. The sole event that chequered the exact +regularity of the repast was the occasional arrival of a wine-bottle +for one of the guests. The receiver of the wine-bottle signed a small +paper in exchange for it and wrote largely a number on the label of the +bottle; then, staring at the number and fearing that after all it might +be misread by a stupid maid or an unscrupulous compeer, he would +re-write the number on another part of the label, even more largely. + +Matthew Peel-Swynnerton obviously did not belong to this world. He was +a young man of twenty-five or so, not handsome, but elegant. Though he +was not in evening dress, though he was, as a fact, in a very light +grey suit, entirely improper to a dinner, he was elegant. The suit was +admirably cut, and nearly new; but he wore it as though he had never +worn anything else. Also his demeanour, reserved yet free from +self-consciousness, his method of handling a knife and fork, the +niceties of his manner in transferring food from the silver dishes to +his plate, the tone in which he ordered half a bottle of wine--all +these details infallibly indicated to the company that Matthew +Peel-Swynnerton was their superior. Some folks hoped that he was the +son of a lord, or even a lord. He happened to be fixed at the end of +the table, with his back to the window, and there was a vacant chair on +either side of him; this situation favoured the hope of his high rank. +In truth, he was the son, the grandson, and several times the nephew, +of earthenware manufacturers. He noticed that the large 'compote' (as +it was called in his trade) which marked the centre of the table, was +the production of his firm. This surprised him, for Peel, Swynnerton +and Co., known and revered throughout the Five Towns as 'Peels,' did +not cater for cheap markets. A late guest startled the room, a fat, +flabby, middle-aged man whose nose would have roused the provisional +hostility of those who have convinced themselves that Jews are not as +other men. His nose did not definitely brand him as a usurer and a +murderer of Christ, but it was suspicious. His clothes hung loose, and +might have been anybody's clothes. He advanced with brisk assurance to +the table, bowed, somewhat too effusively, to several people, and sat +down next to Peel-Swynnerton. One of the maids at once brought him a +plate of soup, and he said: "Thank you, Marie," smiling at her. He was +evidently a habitue of the house. His spectacled eyes beamed the +superiority which comes of knowing girls by their names. He was +seriously handicapped in the race for sustenance, being two and a half +courses behind, but he drew level with speed and then, having +accomplished this, he sighed, and pointedly engaged Peel-Swynnerton +with his sociable glance. + +"Ah!" he breathed out. "Nuisance when you come in late, sir!" + +Peel-Swynnerton gave a reluctant affirmative. + +"Doesn't only upset you! It upsets the house! Servants don't like it!" + +"No," murmured Peel-Swynnerton, "I suppose not." + +"However, it's not often _I_'m late," said the man. "Can't help it +sometimes. Business! Worst of these French business people is that +they've no notion of time. Appointments...! God bless my soul!" + +"Do you come here often?" asked Peel-Swynnerton. He detested the +fellow, quite inexcusably, perhaps because his serviette was tucked +under his chin; but he saw that the fellow was one of your determined +talkers, who always win in the end. Moreover, as being clearly not an +ordinary tourist in Paris, the fellow mildly excited his curiosity. + +"I live here," said the other. "Very convenient for a bachelor, you +know. Have done for years. My office is just close by. You may know my +name--Lewis Mardon." + +Peel-Swynnerton hesitated. The hesitation convicted him of not 'knowing +his Paris' well. + +"House-agent," said Lewis Mardon, quickly. + +"Oh yes," said Peel-Swynnerton, vaguely recalling a vision of the name +among the advertisements on newspaper kiosks. + +"I expect," Mr. Mardon went on, "my name is as well-known as anybody's +in Paris." + +"I suppose so," assented Peel-Swynnerton. + +The conversation fell for a few moments. + +"Staying here long?" Mr. Mardon demanded, having added up +Peel-Swynnerton as a man of style and of means, and being puzzled by +his presence at that table. + +"I don't know," said Peel-Swynnerton. + +This was a lie, justified in the utterer's opinion as a repulse to Mr. +Mardon's vulgar inquisitiveness, such inquisitiveness as might have +been expected from a fellow who tucked his serviette under his chin. +Peel-Swynnerton knew exactly how long he would stay. He would stay +until the day after the morrow; he had only about fifty francs in his +pocket. He had been making a fool of himself in another quarter of +Paris, and he had descended to the Pension Frensham as a place where he +could be absolutely sure of spending not more than twelve francs a day. +Its reputation was high, and it was convenient for the Galliera Museum, +where he was making some drawings which he had come to Paris expressly +to make, and without which he could not reputably return to England. He +was capable of foolishness, but he was also capable of wisdom, and +scarcely any pressure of need would have induced him to write home for +money to replace the money spent on making himself into a fool. + +Mr. Mardon was conscious of a check. But, being of an accommodating +disposition, he at once tried another direction. + +"Good food here, eh?" he suggested. + +"Very," said Peel-Swynnerton, with sincerity. "I was quite--" + +At that moment, a tall straight woman of uncertain age pushed open the +principal door and stood for an instant in the doorway. Peel-Swynnerton +had just time to notice that she was handsome and pale, and that her +hair was black, and then she was gone again, followed by a clipped +poodle that accompanied her. She had signed with a brief gesture to one +of the servants, who at once set about lighting the gas-jets over the +table. + +"Who is that?" asked Peel-Swynnerton, without reflecting that it was +now he who was making advances to the fellow whose napkin covered all +his shirt-front. + +"That's the missis, that is," said Mr. Mardon, in a lower and +semi-confidential voice. + +"Oh! Mrs. Frensham?" + +"Yes. But her real name is Scales," said Mr. Mardon, proudly. + +"Widow, I suppose?" + +"Yes." + +"And she runs the whole show?" + +"She runs the entire contraption," said Mr. Mardon, solemnly; "and +don't you make any mistake!" He was getting familiar. + +Peel-Swynnerton beat him off once more, glancing with careful, +uninterested nonchalance at the gas-burners which exploded one after +another with a little plop under the application of the maid's taper. +The white table gleamed more whitely than ever under the flaring gas. +People at the end of the room away from the window instinctively +smiled, as though the sun had begun to shine. The aspect of the dinner +was changed, ameliorated; and with the reiterated statement that the +evenings were drawing in though it was only July, conversation became +almost general. In two minutes Mr. Mardon was genially talking across +the whole length of the table. The meal finished in a state that +resembled conviviality. + +Matthew Peel-Swynnerton might not go out into the crepuscular delights +of Paris. Unless he remained within the shelter of the Pension, he +could not hope to complete successfully his re-conversion from folly to +wisdom. So he bravely passed through the small rose-embroidered door +into a small glass-covered courtyard, furnished with palms, wicker +armchairs, and two small tables; and he lighted a pipe and pulled out +of his pocket a copy of The Referee. That retreat was called the +Lounge; it was the only part of the Pension where smoking was not +either a positive crime or a transgression against good form. He felt +lonely. He said to himself grimly in one breath that pleasure was all +rot, and in the next he sullenly demanded of the universe how it was +that pleasure could not go on for ever, and why he was not Mr. Barney +Barnato. Two old men entered the retreat and burnt cigarettes with many +precautions. Then Mr. Lewis Mardon appeared and sat down boldly next to +Matthew, like a privileged friend. After all, Mr. Mardon was better +than nobody whatever, and Matthew decided to suffer him, especially as +he began without preliminary skirmishing to talk about life in Paris. +An irresistible subject! Mr. Mardon said in a worldly tone that the +existence of a bachelor in Paris might easily be made agreeable. But +that, of course, for himself--well, he preferred, as a general rule, +the Pension Frensham sort of thing; and it was excellent for his +business. Still he could not ... he knew ... He compared the advantages +of what he called 'knocking about' in Paris, with the equivalent in +London. His information about London was out of date, and +Peel-Swynnerton was able to set him right on important details. But his +information about Paris was infinitely precious and interesting to the +younger man, who saw that he had hitherto lived under strange +misconceptions. + +"Have a whiskey?" asked Mr. Mardon, suddenly. "Very good here!" he +added. + +"Thanks!" drawled Peel-Swynnerton. + +The temptation to listen to Mr. Mardon as long as Mr. Mardon would talk +was not to be overcome. And presently, when the old men had departed, +they were frankly telling each other stories in the dimness of the +retreat. Then, when the supply of stories came to an end, Mr. Mardon +smacked his lips over the last drop of whiskey and ejaculated: "Yes!" +as if giving a general confirmation to all that had been said. + +"Do have one with me," said Matthew, politely. It was the least he +could do. + +The second supply of whiskies was brought into the Lounge by Mr. +Mardon's Marie. He smiled on her familiarly, and remarked that he +supposed she would soon be going to bed after a hard day's work. She +gave a moue and a flounce in reply, and swished out. + +"Carries herself well, doesn't she?" observed Mr. Mardon, as though +Marie had been an exhibit at an agricultural show. "Ten years ago she +was very fresh and pretty, but of course it takes it out of 'em, a +place like this!" + +"But still," said Peel-Swynnerton, "they must like it or they wouldn't +stay--that is, unless things are very different here from what they are +in England." + +The conversation seemed to have stimulated him to examine the woman +question in all its bearings, with philosophic curiosity. + +"Oh! They LIKE it," Mr. Mardon assured him, as one who knew. "Besides, +Mrs. Scales treats 'em very well. I know THAT. She's told me. She's +very particular"--he looked around to see if walls had ears--"and, by +Jove, you've got to be; but she treats 'em well. You'd scarcely believe +the wages they get, and pickings. Now at the Hotel Moscow--know the +Hotel Moscow?" + +Happily Peel-Swynnerton did. He had been advised to avoid it because it +catered exclusively for English visitors, but in the Pension Frensham +he had accepted something even more exclusively British than the Hotel +Moscow. Mr. Mardon was quite relieved at his affirmative. + +"The Hotel Moscow is a limited company now," said he; "English." + +"Really?" + +"Yes. I floated it. It was my idea. A great success! That's how I know +all about the Hotel Moscow." He looked at the walls again. "I wanted to +do the same here," he murmured, and Peel-Swynnerton had to show that he +appreciated this confidence. "But she never would agree. I've tried her +all ways. No go! It's a thousand pities." + +"Paying thing, eh?" + +"This place? I should say it was! And I ought to be able to judge, I +reckon. Mrs. Scales is one of the shrewdest women you'd meet in a day's +march. She's made a lot of money here, a lot of money. And there's no +reason why a place like this shouldn't be five times as big as it is. +Ten times. The scope's unlimited, my dear sir. All that's wanted is +capital. Naturally she has capital of her own, and she could get more. +But then, as she says, she doesn't want the place any bigger. She says +it's now just as big as she can handle. That isn't so. She's a woman +who could handle anything--a born manager--but even if it was so, all +she would have to do would be to retire--only leave us the place and +the name. It's the name that counts. And she's made the name of +Frensham worth something, I can tell you!" + +"Did she get the place from her husband?" asked Peel-Swynnerton. Her +own name of Scales intrigued him. + +Mr. Mardon shook his head. "Bought it on her own, after the husband's +time, for a song--a song! I know, because I knew the original +Frenshams." + +"You must have been in Paris a long time," said Peel-Swynnerton. + +Mr. Mardon could never resist an opportunity to talk about himself. His +was a wonderful history. And Peel-Swynnerton, while scorning the man +for his fatuity, was impressed. And when that was finished-- + +"Yes!" said Mr. Mardon after a pause, reaffirming everything in +general by a single monosyllable. + +Shortly afterwards he rose, saying that his habits were regular. + +"Good-night," he said with a mechanical smile. + +"G-good-night," said Peel-Swynnerton, trying to force the tone of +fellowship and not succeeding. Their intimacy, which had sprung up like +a mushroom, suddenly fell into dust. Peel-Swynnerton's unspoken comment +to Mr. Mardon's back was: "Ass!" Still, the sum of Peel-Swynnerton's +knowledge had indubitably been increased during the evening. And the +hour was yet early. Half-past ten! The Folies-Marigny, with its +beautiful architecture and its crowds of white toilettes, and its +frothing of champagne and of beer, and its musicians in tight red +coats, was just beginning to be alive--and at a distance of scarcely a +stone's-throw! Peel-Swynnerton pictured the terraced, glittering hall, +which had been the prime origin of his exceeding foolishness. And he +pictured all the other resorts, great and small, garlanded with white +lanterns, in the Champs Elysees; and the sombre aisles of the Champs +Elysees where mysterious pale figures walked troublingly under the +shade of trees, while snatches of wild song or absurd brassy music +floated up from the resorts and restaurants. He wanted to go out and +spend those fifty francs that remained in his pocket. After all, why +not telegraph to England for more money? "Oh, damn it!" he said +savagely, and stretched his arms and got up. The Lounge was very small, +gloomy and dreary. + +One brilliant incandescent light burned in the hall, crudely +illuminating the wicker fauteuils, a corded trunk with a blue-and-red +label on it, a Fitzroy barometer, a map of Paris, a coloured poster of +the Compagnie Transatlantique, and the mahogany retreat of the +hall-portress. In that retreat was not only the hall-portress--an aged +woman with a white cap above her wrinkled pink face--but the mistress +of the establishment. They were murmuring together softly; they seemed +to be well disposed to one another. The portress was respectful, but +the mistress was respectful also. The hall, with its one light +tranquilly burning, was bathed in an honest calm, the calm of a day's +work accomplished, of gradual relaxation from tension, of growing +expectation of repose. In its simplicity it affected Peel-Swynnerton as +a medicine tonic for nerves might have affected him. In that hall, +though exterior nocturnal life was but just stirring into activity, it +seemed that the middle of the night had come, and that these two women +alone watched in a mansion full of sleepers. And all the recitals which +Peel-Swynnerton and Mr. Mardon had exchanged sank to the level of +pitiably foolish gossip. Peel-Swynnerton felt that his duty to the +house was to retire to bed. He felt, too, that he could not leave the +house without saying that he was going out, and that he lacked the +courage deliberately to tell these two women that he was going out--at +that time of night! He dropped into one of the chairs and made a second +attempt to peruse The Referee. Useless! Either his mind was outside in +the Champs Elysees, or his gaze would wander surreptitiously to the +figure of Mrs. Scales. He could not well distinguish her face because +it was in the shadow of the mahogany. + +Then the portress came forth from her box, and, slightly bent, sped +actively across the hall, smiling pleasantly at the guest as she passed +him, and disappeared up the stairs. The mistress was alone in the +retreat. Peel-Swynnerton jumped up brusquely, dropping the paper with a +rustle, and approached her. + +"Excuse me," he said deferentially. "Have any letters come for me +to-night?" + +He knew that the arrival of letters for him was impossible, since +nobody knew his address. + +"What name?" The question was coldly polite, and the questioner looked +him full in the face. Undoubtedly she was a handsome woman. Her hair +was greying at the temples, and the skin was withered and crossed with +lines. But she was handsome. She was one of those women of whom to +their last on earth the stranger will say: "When she was young she must +have been worth looking at!"--with a little transient regret that +beautiful young women cannot remain for ever young. Her voice was firm +and even, sweet in tone, and yet morally harsh from incessant +traffic--with all varieties of human nature. Her eyes were the +impartial eyes of one who is always judging. And evidently she was a +proud, even a haughty creature, with her careful, controlled +politeness. Evidently she considered herself superior to no matter what +guest. Her eyes announced that she had lived and learnt, that she knew +more about life than any one whom she was likely to meet, and that +having pre-eminently succeeded in life, she had tremendous confidence +in herself. The proof of her success was the unique Frensham's. A +consciousness of the uniqueness of Frensham's was also in those eyes. +Theoretically Matthew Peel-Swynnerton's mental attitude towards +lodging-house keepers was condescending, but here it was not +condescending. It had the real respectfulness of a man who for the +moment at any rate is impressed beyond his calculations. His glance +fell as he said-- + +"Peel-Swynnerton." Then he looked up again. + +He said the words awkwardly, and rather fearfully, as if aware that he +was playing with fire. If this Mrs. Scales was the long-vanished aunt +of his friend, Cyril Povey, she must know those two names, locally so +famous. Did she start? Did she show a sign of being perturbed? At first +he thought he detected a symptom of emotion, but in an instant he was +sure that he had detected nothing of the sort, and that it was silly to +suppose that he was treading on the edge of a romance. Then she turned +towards the letter-rack at her side, and he saw her face in profile. It +bore a sudden and astonishing likeness to the profile of Cyril Povey; a +resemblance unmistakable and finally decisive. The nose, and the curve +of the upper lip were absolutely Cyril's. Matthew Peel-Swynnerton felt +very queer. He felt like a criminal in peril of being caught in the +act, and he could not understand why he should feel so. The landlady +looked in the 'P' pigeon-hole, and in the 'S' pigeon-hole. + +"No," she said quietly, "I see nothing for you." + +Taken with a swift rash audacity, he said: "Have you had any one named +Povey here recently?" + +"Povey?" + +"Yes. Cyril Povey, of Bursley--in the Five Towns." + +He was very impressionable, very sensitive, was Matthew +Peel-Swynnerton. His voice trembled as he spoke. But hers also trembled +in reply. + +"Not that I remember! No! Were you expecting him to be here?" + +"Well, it wasn't at all sure," he muttered. "Thank you. Good-night." + +"Good-night," she said, apparently with the simple perfunctoriness of +the landlady who says good-night to dozens of strangers every evening. + +He hurried away upstairs, and met the portress coming down. "Well, +well!" he thought. "Of all the queer things--!" And he kept nodding his +head. At last he had encountered something REALLY strange in the +spectacle of existence. It had fallen to him to discover the legendary +woman who had fled from Bursley before he was born, and of whom nobody +knew anything. What news for Cyril! What a staggering episode! He had +scarcely any sleep that night. He wondered whether he would be able to +meet Mrs. Scales without self-consciousness on the morrow. However, he +was spared the curious ordeal of meeting her. She did not appear at all +on the following day; nor did he see her before he left. He could not +find a pretext for asking why she was invisible. + +II + +The hansom of Matthew Peel-Swynnerton drew up in front of No. 26, +Victoria Grove, Chelsea; his kit-bag was on the roof of the cab. The +cabman had a red flower in his buttonhole. Matthew leaped out of the +vehicle, holding his straw hat on his head with one hand. On reaching +the pavement he checked himself suddenly and became carelessly calm. +Another straw-hatted and grey-clad figure was standing at the side-gate +of No. 26 in the act of lighting a cigarette. + +"Hello, Matt!" exclaimed the second figure, languidly, and in a veiled +voice due to the fact that he was still holding the match to the +cigarette and puffing. "What's the meaning of all this fluster? You're +just the man I want to see." + +He threw away the match with a wave of the arm, and took Matthew's hand +for a moment, blowing a double shaft of smoke through his nose. + +"I want to see you, too," said Matthew. "And I've only got a minute. +I'm on my way to Euston. I must catch the twelve-five." + +He looked at his friend, and could positively see no feature of it that +was not a feature of Mrs. Scales's face. Also, the elderly woman held +her body in exactly the same way as the young man. It was entirely +disconcerting. + +"Have a cigarette," answered Cyril Povey, imperturbably. He was two +years younger than Matthew, from whom he had acquired most of his vast +and intricate knowledge of life and art, with certain leading notions +of deportment; whose pupil indeed he was in all the things that matter +to young men. But he had already surpassed his professor. He could +pretend to be old much more successfully than Matthew could. + +The cabman approvingly watched the ignition of the second cigarette, +and then the cabman pulled out a cigar, and showed his large, white +teeth, as he bit the end off it. The appearance and manner of his fare, +the quality of the kit-bag, and the opening gestures of the interview +between the two young dukes, had put the cabman in an optimistic mood. +He had no apprehensions of miserly and ungentlemanly conduct by his +fare upon the arrival at Euston. He knew the language of the tilt of a +straw hat. And it was a magnificent day in London. The group of the two +elegances dominated by the perfection of the cabman made a striking +tableau of triumphant masculinity, content with itself, and needing +nothing. + +Matthew lightly took Cyril's arm and drew him further down the street, +past the gate leading to the studio (hidden behind a house) which Cyril +rented. + +"Look here, my boy," he began, "I've found your aunt." + +"Well, that's very nice of you," said Cyril, solemnly. "That's a +friendly act. May I ask what aunt?" + +"Mrs. Scales," said Matthew. "You know--" + +"Not the--" Cyril's face changed. + +"Yes, precisely!" said Matthew, feeling that he was not being cheated +of the legitimate joy caused by making a sensation. Assuredly he had +made a sensation in Victoria Grove. + +When he had related the whole story, Cyril said: "Then she doesn't know +you know?" + +"I don't think so. No, I'm sure she doesn't. She may guess." + +"But how can you be certain you haven't made a mistake? It may be +that--" + +"Look here, my boy," Matthew interrupted him. "I've not made any +mistake." + +"But you've no proof." + +"Proof be damned!" said Matthew, nettled. "I tell you it's HER!" + +"Oh! All right! All right! What puzzles me most is what the devil you +were doing in a place like that. According to your description of it, +it must be a--" + +"I went there because I was broke," said Matthew. + +"Razzle?" + +Matthew nodded. + +"Pretty stiff, that!" commented Cyril, when Matthew had narrated the +prologue to Frensham's. + +"Well, she absolutely swore she never took less than two hundred +francs. And she looked it, too! And she was worth it! I had the time of +my life with that woman. I can tell you one thing--no more English for +me! They simply aren't in it." + +"How old was she?" + +Matthew reflected judicially. "I should say she was thirty." The gaze +of admiration and envy was upon him. He had the legitimate joy of +making a second sensation. "I'll let you know more about that when I +come back," he added. "I can open your eyes, my child." + +Cyril smiled sheepishly. "Why can't you stay now?" he asked. "I'm going +to take the cast of that Verrall girl's arm this afternoon, and I know +I can't do it alone. And Robson's no good. You're just the man I want." + +"Can't!" said Matthew. + +"Well, come into the studio a minute, anyhow." + +"Haven't time; I shall miss my train." + +"I don't care if you miss forty trains. You must come in. You've got to +see that fountain," Cyril insisted crossly. + +Matthew yielded. When they emerged into the street again, after six +minutes of Cyril's savage interest in his own work, Matthew remembered +Mrs. Scales. + +"Of course you'll write to your mother?" he said. + +"Yes," said Cyril, "I'll write; but if you happen to see her, you might +tell her." + +"I will," said Matthew. "Shall you go over to Paris?" + +"What! To see Auntie?" He smiled. "I don't know. Depends. If the mater +will fork out all my exes ... it's an idea," he said lightly, and then +without any change of tone, "Naturally, if you're going to idle about +here all morning you aren't likely to catch the twelve-five." + +Matthew got into the cab, while the driver, the stump of a cigar +between his exposed teeth, leaned forward and lifted the reins away +from the tilted straw hat. + +"By-the-by, lend me some silver," Matthew demanded. "It's a good thing +I've got my return ticket. I've run it as fine as ever I did in my +life." + +Cyril produced eight shillings in silver. Secure in the possession of +these riches, Matthew called to the driver-- + +"Euston--like hell!" + +"Yes, sir," said the driver, calmly. + +"Not coming my way I suppose?" Matthew shouted as an afterthought, just +when the cab began to move. + +"No. Barber's," Cyril shouted in answer, and waved his hand. + +The horse rattled into Fulham Road. + +III + +Three days later Matthew Peel-Swynnerton was walking along Bursley +Market Place when, just opposite the Town Hall, he met a short, fat, +middle-aged lady dressed in black, with a black embroidered mantle, and +a small bonnet tied with black ribbon and ornamented with jet fruit and +crape leaves. As she stepped slowly and carefully forward she had the +dignified, important look of a provincial woman who has always been +accustomed to deference in her native town, and whose income is ample +enough to extort obsequiousness from the vulgar of all ranks. But +immediately she caught sight of Matthew, her face changed. She became +simple and naive. She blushed slightly, smiling with a timid pleasure. +For her, Matthew belonged to a superior race. He bore the almost sacred +name of Peel. His family had been distinguished in the district for +generations. 'Peel!' You could without impropriety utter it in the same +breath with 'Wedgwood.' And 'Swynnerton' stood not much lower. Neither +her self-respect, which was great, nor her commonsense, which far +exceeded the average, could enable her to extend as far as the Peels +the theory that one man is as good as another. The Peels never shopped +in St. Luke's Square. Even in its golden days the Square could not have +expected such a condescension. The Peels shopped in London or in +Stafford; at a pinch, in Oldcastle. That was the distinction for the +ageing stout lady in black. Why, she had not in six years recovered +from her surprise that her son and Matthew Peel-Swynnerton treated each +other rudely as equals! She and Matthew did not often meet, but they +liked each other. Her involuntary meekness flattered him. And his +rather elaborate homage flattered her. He admired her fundamental +goodness, and her occasional raps at Cyril seemed to put him into +ecstasies of joy. + +"Well, Mrs. Povey," he greeted her, standing over her with his hat +raised. (It was a fashion he had picked up in Paris.) "Here I am, you +see." + +"You're quite a stranger, Mr. Matthew. I needn't ask you how you are. +Have you been seeing anything of my boy lately?" + +"Not since Wednesday," said Matthew. "Of course he's written to you?" + +"There's no 'of course' about it," she laughed faintly. "I had a short +letter from him on Wednesday morning. He said you were in Paris." + +"But since that--hasn't he written?" + +"If I hear from him on Sunday I shall be lucky, bless ye!" said +Constance, grimly. "It's not letter-writing that will kill Cyril." + +"But do you mean to say he hasn't--" Matthew stopped. + +"Whatever's amiss?" asked Constance. Matthew was at a loss to know what +to do or say. "Oh, nothing." + +"Now, Mr. Matthew, do please--" Constance's tone had suddenly quite +changed. It had become firm, commanding, and gravely suspicious. The +conversation had ceased to be small-talk for her. + +Matthew saw how nervous and how fragile she was. He had never noticed +before that she was so sensitive to trifles, though it was notorious +that nobody could safely discuss Cyril with her in terms of chaff. He +was really astounded at that youth's carelessness, shameful +carelessness. That Cyril's attitude to his mother was marked by a +certain benevolent negligence--this Matthew knew; but not to have +written to her with the important news concerning Mrs. Scales was +utterly inexcusable; and Matthew determined that he would tell Cyril +so. He felt very sorry for Mrs. Povey. She seemed pathetic to him, +standing there in ignorance of a tremendous fact which she ought to +have been aware of. He was very content that he had said nothing about +Mrs. Scales to anybody except his own mother, who had prudently +enjoined silence upon him, saying that his one duty, having told Cyril, +was to keep his mouth shut until the Poveys talked. Had it not been for +his mother's advice he would assuredly have spread the amazing tale, +and Mrs. Povey might have first heard of it from a stranger's gossip, +which would have been too cruel upon her. + +"Oh!" Matthew tried to smile gaily, archly. "You're bound to hear from +Cyril to-morrow." + +He wanted to persuade her that he was concealing merely some delightful +surprise from her. But he did not succeed. With all his experience of +the world and of women he was not clever enough to deceive that simple +woman. + +"I'm waiting, Mr. Matthew," she said, in a tone that flattened the +smile out of Matthew's sympathetic face. She was ruthless. The fact +was, she had in an instant convinced herself that Cyril had met some +girl and was engaged to be married. She could think of nothing else. +"What has Cyril been doing?" she added, after a pause. + +"It's nothing to do with Cyril," said he. + +"Then what is it?" + +"It was about--Mrs. Scales," he murmured, nearly trembling. As she +offered no response, merely looking around her in a peculiar fashion, +he said: "Shall we walk along a bit?" And he turned in the direction in +which she had been going. She obeyed the suggestion. + +"What did ye say?" she asked. The name of Scales for a moment had no +significance for her. But when she comprehended it she was afraid, and +so she said vacantly, as though wishing to postpone a shock: "What did +ye say?" + +"I said it was about Mrs. Scales. You know I m-met her in Paris." And +he was saying to himself: "I ought not to be telling this poor old +thing here in the street. But what can I do?" + +"Nay, nay!" she muttered. + +She stopped and looked at him with a worried expression. Then he +observed that the hand that carried her reticule was making strange +purposeless curves in the air, and her rosy face went the colour of +cream, as though it had been painted with one stroke of an unseen +brush. Matthew was very much put about. + +"Hadn't you better--" he began. + +"Eh," she said; "I must sit me--" Her bag dropped. + +He supported her to the door of Allman's shop, the ironmonger's. +Unfortunately, there were two steps up into the shop, and she could not +climb them. She collapsed like a sack of flour on the first step. Young +Edward Allman ran to the door. He was wearing a black apron and +fidgeting with it in his excitement. + +"Don't lift her up--don't try to lift her up, Mr. Peel-Swynnerton!" he +cried, as Matthew instinctively began to do the wrong thing. + +Matthew stopped, looking a fool and feeling one, and he and young +Allman contemplated each other helpless for a second across the body of +Constance Povey. A part of the Market Place now perceived that the +unusual was occurring. It was Mr. Shawcross, the chemist next door to +Allman's who dealt adequately with the situation. He had seen all, +while selling a Kodak to a young lady, and he ran out with salts. +Constance recovered very rapidly. She had not quite swooned. She gave a +long sigh, and whispered weakly that she was all right. The three men +helped her into the lofty dark shop, which smelt of nails and of +stove-polish, and she was balanced on a ricketty chair. + +"My word!" exclaimed young Allman, in his loud voice, when she could +smile and the pink was returning reluctantly to her cheeks. "You +mustn't frighten us like that, Mrs. Povey!" + +Matthew said nothing. He had at last created a genuine sensation. Once +again he felt like a criminal, and could not understand why. + +Constance announced that she would walk slowly home, down the Cock-yard +and along Wedgwood Street. But when, glancing round in her returned +strength, she saw the hedge of faces at the doorway, she agreed with +Mr. Shawcross that she would do better to have a cab. Young Allman went +to the door and whistled to the unique cab that stands for ever at the +grand entrance to the Town Hall. + +"Mr. Matthew will come with me," said Constance. + +"Certainly, with pleasure," said Matthew. + +And she passed through the little crowd of gapers on Mr. Shawcross's +arm. + +"Just take care of yourself, missis," said Mr. Shawcross to her, +through the window of the cab. "It's fainting weather, and we're none +of us any younger, seemingly." + +She nodded. + +"I'm awfully sorry I upset you, Mrs. Povey," said Matthew, when the cab +moved. + +She shook her head, refusing his apology as unnecessary. Tears filled +her eyes. In less than a minute the cab had stopped in front of +Constance's light-grained door. She demanded her reticule from Matthew, +who had carried it since it fell. She would pay the cabman. Never +before had Matthew permitted a woman to pay for a cab in which he had +ridden; but there was no arguing with Constance. Constance was +dangerous. + +Amy Bates, still inhabiting the cave, had seen the cab-wheels through +the grating of her window and had panted up the kitchen stairs to open +the door ere Constance had climbed the steps. Amy, decidedly over +forty, was a woman of authority. She wanted to know what was the +matter, and Constance had to tell her that she had 'felt unwell.' Amy +took the hat and mantle and departed to prepare a cup of tea. When they +were alone Constance said to Matthew: + +"Now. Mr. Matthew, will you please tell me?" + +"It's only this," he began. + +And as he told it, in quite a few words, it indeed had the air of being +'only that.' And yet his voice shook, in sympathy with the ageing +woman's controlled but visible emotion. It seemed to him that gladness +should have filled the absurd little parlour, but the spirit that +presided had no name; it was certainly not joy. He himself felt very +sad, desolated. He would have given much money to have been spared the +experience. He knew simply that in the memory of the stout, comical, +nice woman in the rocking-chair he had stirred old, old things, wakened +slumbers that might have been eternal. He did not know that he was +sitting on the very spot where the sofa had been on which Samuel Povey +lay when a beautiful and shameless young creature of fifteen extracted +his tooth. He did not know that Constance was sitting in the very chair +in which the memorable Mrs. Baines had sat in vain conflict with that +same unconquerable girl. He did not know ten thousand matters that were +rushing violently about in the vast heart of Constance. + +She cross-questioned him in detail. But she did not put the questions +which he in his innocence expected; such as, if her sister looked old, +if her hair was grey, if she was stout or thin. And until Amy, +mystified and resentful, had served the tea, on a little silver tray, +she remained comparatively calm. It was in the middle of a gulp of tea +that she broke down, and Matthew had to take the cup from her. + +"I can't thank you, Mr. Matthew," she wept. "I couldn't thank you +enough." + +"But I've done nothing," he protested. + +She shook her head. "I never hoped for this. Never hoped for it!" she +went on. "It makes me so happy--in a way.... You mustn't take any +notice of me. I'm silly. You must kindly write down that address for +me. And I must write to Cyril at once. And I must see Mr. Critchlow." + +"It's really very funny that Cyril hasn't written to you," said Matthew. + +"Cyril has not been a good son," she said with sudden, solemn coldness. +"To think that he should have kept that...!" She wept again. + +At length Matthew saw the possibility of leaving. He felt her warm, +soft, crinkled hand round his fingers. + +"You've behaved very nicely over this," she said. "And very cleverly. +In EVERY thing--both over there and here. Nobody could have shown a +nicer feeling than you've shown. It's a great comfort to me that my son +has got you for a friend." + +When he thought of his escapades, and of all the knowledge, unutterable +in Bursley, fantastically impossible in Bursley, which he had imparted +to her son, he marvelled that the maternal instinct should be so +deceived. Still, he felt that her praise of him was deserved. + +Outside, he gave vent to a 'Phew' of relief. He smiled, in his +worldliest manner. But the smile was a sham. A pretence to himself! A +childish attempt to disguise from himself how profoundly he had been +moved by a natural scene! + +IV + +On the night when Matthew Peel-Swynnerton spoke to Mrs. Scales, Matthew +was not the only person in the Pension Frensham who failed to sleep. +When the old portress came downstairs from her errand, she observed +that her mistress was leaving the mahogany retreat. + +"She is sleeping tranquilly, the poor one!" said the portress, +discharging her commission, which had been to learn the latest news of +the mistress's indisposed dog, Fossette. In saying this her ancient, +vibrant voice was rich with sympathy for the suffering animal. And she +smiled. She was rather like a figure out of an almshouse, with her +pink, apparently brittle skin, her tight black dress, and frilled white +cap. She stooped habitually, and always walked quickly, with her head a +few inches in advance of her feet. Her grey hair was scanty. She was +old; nobody perhaps knew exactly how old. Sophia had taken her with the +Pension, over a quarter of a century before, because she was old and +could not easily have found another place. Although the clientele was +almost exclusively English, she spoke only French, explaining herself +to Britons by means of benevolent smiles. + +"I think I shall go to bed, Jacqueline," said the mistress, in reply. + +A strange reply, thought Jacqueline. The unalterable custom of +Jacqueline was to retire at midnight and to rise at five-thirty. Her +mistress also usually retired about midnight, and during the final hour +mistress and portress saw a good deal of each other. And considering +that Jacqueline had just been sent up into the mistress's own bedroom +to glance at Fossette, and that the bulletin was satisfactory, and that +madame and Jacqueline had several customary daily matters to discuss, +it seemed odd that madame should thus be going instantly to bed. +However, Jacqueline said nothing but: + +"Very well, madame. And the number 32?" + +"Arrange yourself as you can," said the mistress, curtly. + +"It is well, madame. Good evening, madame, and a good night." + +Jacqueline, alone in the hall, re-entered her box and set upon one of +those endless, mysterious tasks which occupied her when she was not +rushing to and fro or whistling up the tubes. + +Sophia, scarcely troubling even to glance into Fossette's round basket, +undressed, put out the light, and got into bed. She felt extremely and +inexplicably gloomy. She did not wish to reflect; she strongly wished +not to reflect; but her mind insisted on reflection--a monotonous, +futile, and distressing reflection. Povey! Povey! Could this be +Constance's Povey, the unique Samuel Povey? That is to say, not he, but +his son, Constance's son. Had Constance a grown-up son? Constance must +be over fifty now, perhaps a grandmother! Had she really married Samuel +Povey? Possibly she was dead. Certainly her mother must be dead, and +Aunt Harriet and Mr. Critchlow. If alive, her mother must be at least +eighty years of age. + +The cumulative effect of merely remaining inactive when one ought to be +active, was terrible. Undoubtedly she should have communicated with her +family. It was silly not to have done so. After all, even if she had, +as a child, stolen a trifle of money from her wealthy aunt, what would +that have mattered? She had been proud. She was criminally proud. That +was her vice. She admitted it frankly. But she could not alter her +pride. Everybody had some weak spot. Her reputation for sagacity, for +commonsense, was, she knew, enormous; she always felt, when people were +talking to her, that they regarded her as a very unusually wise woman. +And yet she had been guilty of the capital folly of cutting herself off +from her family. She was ageing, and she was alone in the world. She +was enriching herself; she had the most perfectly managed and the most +respectable Pension in the world (she sincerely believed), and she was +alone in the world. Acquaintances she had--French people who never +offered nor accepted hospitality other than tea or wine, and one or two +members of the English commercial colony--but her one friend was +Fossette, aged three years! She was the most solitary person on earth. +She had heard no word of Gerald, no word of anybody. Nobody whatever +could truly be interested in her fate. This was what she had achieved +after a quarter of a century of ceaseless labour and anxiety, during +which she had not once been away from the Rue Lord Byron for more than +thirty hours at a stretch. It was appalling--the passage of years; and +the passage of years would grow more appalling. Ten years hence, where +would she be? She pictured herself dying. Horrible! + +Of course there was nothing to prevent her from going back to Bursley +and repairing the grand error of her girlhood. No, nothing except the +fact that her whole soul recoiled from the mere idea of any such +enterprise! She was a fixture in the Rue Lord Byron. She was a part of +the street. She knew all that happened or could happen there. She was +attached to it by the heavy chains of habit. In the chill way of long +use she loved it. There! The incandescent gas-burner of the street-lamp +outside had been turned down, as it was turned down every night! If it +is possible to love such a phenomenon, she loved that phenomenon. That +phenomenon was a portion of her life, dear to her. + +An agreeable young man, that Peel-Swynnerton! Then evidently, since her +days in Bursley, the Peels and the Swynnertons, partners in business, +must have intermarried, or there must have been some affair of a will. +Did he suspect who she was? He had had a very self-conscious, guilty +look. No! He could not have suspected who she was. The idea was +ridiculous. Probably he did not even know that her name was Scales. And +even if he knew her name, he had probably never heard of Gerald Scales, +or the story of her flight. Why, he could not have been born until +after she had left Bursley! Besides, the Peels were always quite aloof +from the ordinary social life of the town. No! He could not have +suspected her identity. It was infantile to conceive such a thing. + +And yet, she inconsequently proceeded in the tangle of her afflicted +mind, supposing he had suspected it! Supposing by some queer chance, he +had heard her forgotten story, and casually put two and two together! +Supposing even that he were merely to mention in the Five Towns that +the Pension Frensham was kept by a Mrs. Scales. 'Scales? Scales?' +people might repeat. 'Now, what does that remind me of?' And the ball +might roll and roll till Constance or somebody picked it up! And then... + +Moreover--a detail of which she had at first unaccountably failed to +mark the significance--this Peel-Swynnerton was a friend of the Mr. +Povey as to whom he had inquired. In that case it could not be the same +Povey. Impossible that the Peels should be on terms of friendship with +Samuel Povey or his connections! But supposing after all they were! +Supposing something utterly unanticipated and revolutionary had +happened in the Five Towns! + +She was disturbed. She was insecure. She foresaw inquiries being made +concerning her. She foresaw an immense family fuss, endless tomfoolery, +the upsetting of her existence, the destruction of her calm. And she +sank away from that prospect. She could not face it. She did not want +to face it. "No," she cried passionately in her soul, "I've lived +alone, and I'll stay as I am. I can't change at my time of life." And +her attitude towards a possible invasion of her solitude became one of +resentment. "I won't have it! I won't have it! I will be left alone. +Constance! What can Constance be to me, or I to her, now?" The vision +of any change in her existence was in the highest degree painful to +her. And not only painful! It frightened her. It made her shrink. But +she could not dismiss it.... She could not argue herself out of it. The +apparition of Matthew Peel-Swynnerton had somehow altered the very +stuff of her fibres. + +And surging on the outskirts of the central storm of her brain were ten +thousand apprehensions about the management of the Pension. All was +black, hopeless. The Pension might have been the most complete business +failure that gross carelessness and incapacity had ever provoked. Was +it not the fact that she had to supervise everything herself, that she +could depend on no one? Were she to be absent even for a single day the +entire structure would inevitably fall. Instead of working less she +worked harder. And who could guarantee that her investments were safe? + +When dawn announced itself, slowly discovering each object in the +chamber, she was ill. Fever seemed to rage in her head. And in and +round her mouth she had strange sensations. Fossette stirred in the +basket near the large desk on which multifarious files and papers were +ranged with minute particularity. + +"Fossette!" she tried to call out; but no sound issued from her lips. +She could not move her tongue. She tried to protrude it, and could not. +For hours she had been conscious of a headache. Her heart sank. She was +sick with fear. Her memory flashed to her father and his seizure. She +was his daughter! Paralysis! "Ca serait le comble!" she thought in +French, horrified. Her fear became abject! "Can I move at all?" she +thought, and madly jerked her head. Yes, she could move her head +slightly on the pillow, and she could stretch her right arm, both arms. +Absurd cowardice! Of course it was not a seizure! She reassured +herself. Still, she could not put her tongue out. Suddenly she began to +hiccough, and she had no control over the hiccough. She put her hand to +the bell, whose ringing would summon the man who slept in a pantry off +the hall, and suddenly the hiccough ceased. Her hand dropped. She was +better. Besides, what use in ringing for a man if she could not speak +to him through the door? She must wait for Jacqueline. At six o'clock +every morning, summer and winter, Jacqueline entered her mistress's +bedroom to release the dog for a moment's airing under her own +supervision. The clock on the mantelpiece showed five minutes past +three. She had three hours to wait. Fossette pattered across the room, +and sprang on to the bed and nestled down. Sophia ignored her, but +Fossette, being herself unwell and torpid, did not seem to care. + +Jacqueline was late. In the quarter of an hour between six o'clock and +a quarter past, Sophia suffered the supreme pangs of despair and verged +upon insanity. It appeared to her that her cranium would blow off under +pressure from within. Then the door opened silently, a few inches. +Usually Jacqueline came into the room, but sometimes she stood behind +the door and called in her soft, trembling voice, "Fossette! Fossette!" +And on this morning she did not come into the room. The dog did not +immediately respond. Sophia was in an agony. She marshalled all her +volition, all her self-control and strength, to shout: + +"Jacqueline!" + +It came out of her, a horribly difficult and misshapen birth, but it +came. She was exhausted. + +"Yes, madame." Jacqueline entered. + +As soon as she had a glimpse of Sophia she threw up her hands. Sophia +stared at her, wordless. + +"I will fetch the doctor--myself," whispered Jacqueline, and fled. + +"Jacqueline!" The woman stopped. Then Sophia determined to force +herself to make a speech, and she braced her muscles to an +unprecedented effort. "Say not a word to the others." She could not +bear that the whole household should know of her illness. Jacqueline +nodded and vanished, the dog following. Jacqueline understood. She +lived in the place with her mistress as with a fellow-conspirator. + +Sophia began to feel better. She could get into a sitting posture, +though the movement made her dizzy. By working to the foot of the bed +she could see herself in the glass of the wardrobe. And she saw that +the lower part of her face was twisted out of shape. + +The doctor, who knew her, and who earned a lot of money in her house, +told her frankly what had happened. Paralysie glosso-labio-laryngee was +the phrase he used. She understood. A very slight attack; due to +overwork and worry. He ordered absolute rest and quiet. + +"Impossible!" she said, genuinely convinced that she alone was +indispensable. + +"Repose the most absolute!" he repeated. + +She marvelled that a few words with a man who chanced to be named +Peel-Swynnerton could have resulted in such a disaster, and drew a +curious satisfaction from this fearful proof that she was so +highly-strung. But even then she did not realize how profoundly she had +been disturbed. + +V + +"My darling Sophia--" + +The inevitable miracle had occurred. Her suspicions concerning that Mr. +Peel-Swynnerton were well-founded, after all! Here was a letter from +Constance! The writing on the envelope was not Constance's; but even +before examining it she had had a peculiar qualm. She received letters +from England nearly every day asking about rooms and prices (and on +many of them she had to pay threepence excess postage, because the +writers carelessly or carefully forgot that a penny stamp was not +sufficient); there was nothing to distinguish this envelope, and yet +her first glance at it had startled her; and when, deciphering the +smudged post-mark, she made out the word 'Bursley,' her heart did +literally seem to stop, and she opened the letter in quite violent +tremulation, thinking to herself: "The doctor would say this is very +bad for me." Six days had elapsed since her attack, and she was +wonderfully better; the distortion of her face had almost disappeared. +But the doctor was grave; he ordered no medicine, merely a tonic; and +monotonously insisted on 'repose the most absolute,' on perfect mental +calm. He said little else, allowing Sophia to judge from his silences +the seriousness of her condition. Yes, the receipt of such a letter +must be bad for her! + +She controlled herself while she read it, lying in her dressing-gown +against several pillows on the bed; a mist did not form in her eyes, +nor did she sob, nor betray physically that she was not reading an +order for two rooms for a week. But the expenditure of nervous force +necessary to self-control was terrific. + +Constance's handwriting had changed; it was, however, easily +recognizable as a development of the neat calligraphy of the girl who +could print window-tickets. The 'S' of Sophia was formed in the same +way as she had formed it in the last letter which she had received from +her at Axe! + +"MY DARLING SOPHIA, + +"I cannot tell you how overjoyed I was to learn that after all these +years you are alive and well, and doing so well too. I long to see you, +my dear sister. It was Mr. Peel-Swynnerton who told me. He is a friend +of Cyril's. Cyril is the name of my son. I married Samuel in 1867. +Cyril was born in 1874 at Christmas. He is now twenty-two, and doing +very well in London as a student of sculpture, though so young. He won +a National Scholarship. There were only eight, of which he won one, in +all England. Samuel died in 1888. If you read the papers you must have +seen about the Povey affair. I mean of course Mr. Daniel Povey, +Confectioner. It was that that killed poor Samuel. Poor mother died in +1875. It doesn't seem so long. Aunt Harriet and Aunt Maria are both +dead. Old Dr. Harrop is dead, and his son has practically retired. He +has a partner, a Scotchman. Mr. Critchlow has married Miss Insull. Did +you ever hear of such a thing? They have taken over the shop, and I +live in the house part, the other being bricked up. Business in the +Square is not what it used to be. The steam trams take all the custom +to Hanbridge, and they are talking of electric trams, but I dare say it +is only talk. I have a fairly good servant. She has been with me a long +time, but servants are not what they were. I keep pretty well, except +for my sciatica and palpitation. Since Cyril went to London I have been +very lonely. But I try to cheer up and count my blessings. I am sure I +have a great deal to be thankful for. And now this news of you! Please +write to me a long letter, and tell me all about yourself. It is a long +way to Paris. But surely now you know I am still here, you will come +and pay me a visit--at least. Everybody would be most glad to see you. +And I should be so proud and glad. As I say, I am all alone. Mr. +Critchlow says I am to say there is a deal of money waiting for you. +You know he is the trustee. There is the half-share of mother's and +also of Aunt Harriet's, and it has been accumulating. By the way, they +are getting up a subscription for Miss Chetwynd, poor old thing. Her +sister is dead, and she is in poverty. I have put myself down for L20. +Now, my dear sister, please do write to me at once. You see it is still +the old address. I remain, my darling Sophia, with much love, your +affectionate sister, + +"CONSTANCE POVEY. + +"P.S.--I should have written yesterday, but I was not fit. Every time I +sat down to write, I cried." + +"Of course," said Sophia to Fossette, "she expects me to go to her, +instead of her coming to me! And yet who's the busiest?" + +But this observation was not serious. It was merely a trifle of +affectionate malicious embroidery that Sophia put on the edge of her +deep satisfaction. The very spirit of simple love seemed to emanate +from the paper on which Constance had written. And this spirit woke +suddenly and completely Sophia's love for Constance. Constance! At that +moment there was assuredly for Sophia no creature in the world like +Constance. Constance personified for her the qualities of the Baines +family. Constance's letter was a great letter, a perfect letter, +perfect in its artlessness; the natural expression of the Baines +character at its best. Not an awkward reference in the whole of it! No +clumsy expression of surprise at anything that she, Sophia, had done, +or failed to do! No mention of Gerald! Just a sublime acceptance of the +situation as it was, and the assurance of undiminished love! Tact? No; +it was something finer than tact! Tact was conscious, skilful. Sophia +was certain that the notion of tactfulness had not entered Constance's +head. Constance had simply written out of her heart. And that was what +made the letter so splendid. Sophia was convinced that no one but a +Baines could have written such a letter. She felt that she must rise to +the height of that letter, that she too must show her Baines blood. And +she went primly to her desk, and began to write (on private notepaper) +in that imperious large hand of hers that was so different from +Constance's. She began a little stiffly, but after a few lines her +generous and passionate soul was responding freely to the appeal of +Constance. She asked that Mr. Critchlow should pay L20 for her to the +Miss Chetwynd fund. She spoke of her Pension and of Paris, and of her +pleasure in Constance's letter. But she said nothing as to Gerald, nor +as to the possibility of a visit to the Five Towns. She finished the +letter in a blaze of love, and passed from it as from a dream to the +sterile banality of the daily life of the Pension Frensham, feeling +that, compared to Constance's affection, nothing else had any worth. + +But she would not consider the project of going to Bursley. Never, +never would she go to Bursley. If Constance chose to come to Paris and +see her, she would be delighted, but she herself would not budge. The +mere notion of any change in her existence intimidated her. And as for +returning to Bursley itself ... no, no! + +Nevertheless, at the Pension Frensham, the future could not be as the +past. Sophia's health forbade that. She knew that the doctor was right. +Every time that she made an effort, she knew intimately and speedily +that the doctor was right. Only her will-power was unimpaired; the +machinery by which will-power is converted into action was mysteriously +damaged. She was aware of the fact. But she could not face it yet. Time +would have to elapse before she could bring herself to face that fact. +She was getting an old woman. She could no longer draw on reserves. Yet +she persisted to every one that she was quite recovered, and was +abstaining from her customary work simply from an excess of prudence. +Certainly her face had recovered. And the Pension, being a machine all +of whose parts were in order, continued to run, apparently, with its +usual smoothness. It is true that the excellent chef began to peculate, +but as his cuisine did not suffer, the result was not noticeable for a +long period. The whole staff and many of the guests knew that Sophia +had been indisposed; and they knew no more. + +When by hazard Sophia observed a fault in the daily conduct of the +house, her first impulse was to go to the root of it and cure it, her +second was to leave it alone, or to palliate it by some superficial +remedy. Unperceived, and yet vaguely suspected by various people, the +decline of the Pension Frensham had set in. The tide, having risen to +its highest, was receding, but so little that no one could be sure that +it had turned. Every now and then it rushed up again and washed the +furthest stone. + +Sophia and Constance exchanged several letters. Sophia said repeatedly +that she could not leave Paris. At length she roundly asked Constance +to come and pay her a visit. She made the suggestion with fear--for the +prospect of actually seeing her beloved Constance alarmed her--but she +could do no less than make it. And in a few days she had a reply to say +that Constance would have come, under Cyril's charge, but that her +sciatica was suddenly much worse, and she was obliged to lie down every +day after dinner to rest her legs. Travelling was impossible for her. +The fates were combining against Sophia's decision. + +And now Sophia began to ask herself about her duty to Constance. The +truth was that she was groping round to find an excuse for reversing +her decision. She was afraid to reverse it, yet tempted. She had the +desire to do something which she objected to doing. It was like the +desire to throw one's self over a high balcony. It drew her, drew her, +and she drew back against it. The Pension was now tedious to her. It +bored her even to pretend to be the supervising head of the Pension. +Throughout the house discipline had loosened. + +She wondered when Mr. Mardon would renew his overtures for the +transformation of her enterprise into a limited company. In spite of +herself she would deliberately cross his path and give him +opportunities to begin on the old theme. He had never before left her +in peace for so long a period. No doubt she had, upon his last assault, +absolutely convinced him that his efforts had no smallest chance of +success, and he had made up his mind to cease them. With a single word +she could wind him up again. The merest hint, one day when he was +paying his bill, and he would be beseeching her. But she could not +utter the word. + +Then she began to say openly that she did not feel well, that the house +was too much for her, and that the doctor had imperatively commanded +rest. She said this to every one except Mardon. And every one somehow +persisted in not saying it to Mardon. The doctor having advised that +she should spend more time in the open air, she would take afternoon +drives in the Bois with Fossette. It was October. But Mr. Mardon never +seemed to hear of those drives. + +One morning he met her in the street outside the house. + +"I'm sorry to hear you're so unwell," he said confidentially, after +they had discussed the health of Fossette. + +"So unwell!" she exclaimed as if resenting the statement. "Who told you +I was so unwell?" + +"Jacqueline. She told me you often said that what you needed was a +complete change. And it seems the doctor says so, too." + +"Oh! doctors!" she murmured, without however denying the truth of +Jacqueline's assertion. She saw hope in Mr. Mardon's eyes. + +"Of course, you know," he said, still more confidentially, "if you +SHOULD happen to change your mind, I'm always ready to form a little +syndicate to take this"--he waved discreetly at the Pension--"off your +hands." + +She shook her head violently, which was strange, considering that for +weeks she had been wishing to hear such words from Mr. Mardon. + +"You needn't give it up altogether," he said. "You could retain your +hold on it. We'd make you manageress, with a salary and a share in the +profits. You'd be mistress just as much as you are now." + +"Oh!" said she carelessly. "IF _I_ GAVE IT UP, _I_ SHOULD GIVE IT UP +ENTIRELY. No half measures for me." + +With the utterance of that sentence, the history of Frensham's as a +private understanding was brought to a close. Sophia knew it. Mr. +Mardon knew it. Mr. Mardon's heart leapt. He saw in his imagination the +formation of the preliminary syndicate, with himself at its head, and +then the re-sale by the syndicate to a limited company at a profit. He +saw a nice little profit for his own private personal self of a +thousand or so--gained in a moment. The plant, his hope, which he had +deemed dead, blossomed with miraculous suddenness. + +"Well," he said. "Give it up entirely, then! Take a holiday for life. +You've deserved it, Mrs. Scales." + +She shook her head once again. + +"Think it over," he said. + +"I gave you my answer years ago," she said obstinately, while fearing +lest he should take her at her word. + +"Oblige me by thinking it over," he said. "I'll mention it to you again +in a few days." + +"It will be no use," she said. + +He took his leave, waddling down the street in his vague clothes, +conscious of his fame as Lewis Mardon, the great house-agent of the +Champs Elysees, known throughout Europe and America. + +In a few days he did mention it again. + +"There's only one thing that makes me dream of it even for a moment," +said Sophia. "And that is my sister's health." + +"Your sister!" he exclaimed. He did not know she had a sister. Never +had she spoken of her family. + +"Yes. Her letters are beginning to worry me." + +"Does she live in Paris?" + +"No. In Staffordshire. She has never left home." + +And to preserve her pride intact she led Mr. Mardon to think that +Constance was in a most serious way, whereas in truth Constance had +nothing worse than her sciatica, and even that was somewhat better. + +Thus she yielded. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE MEETING + +I + + +Soon after dinner one day in the following spring, Mr. Critchlow +knocked at Constance's door. She was seated in the rocking-chair in +front of the fire in the parlour. She wore a large 'rough' apron, and +with the outlying parts of the apron she was rubbing the moisture out +of the coat of a young wire-haired fox-terrier, for whom no more +original name had been found than 'Spot.' It is true that he had a +spot. Constance had more than once called the world to witness that she +would never have a young dog again, because, as she said, she could not +be always running about after them, and they ate the stuffing out of +the furniture. But her last dog had lived too long; a dog can do worse +things than eat furniture; and, in her natural reaction against age in +dogs, and also in the hope of postponing as long as possible the +inevitable sorrow and upset which death causes when it takes off a +domestic pet, she had not known how to refuse the very desirable +fox-terrier aged ten months that an acquaintance had offered to her. +Spot's beautiful pink skin could be seen under his disturbed hair; he +was exquisitely soft to the touch, and to himself he was loathsome. His +eyes continually peeped forth between corners of the agitated towel, +and they were full of inquietude and shame. + +Amy was assisting at this performance, gravely on the watch to see that +Spot did not escape into the coal-cellar. She opened the door to Mr. +Critchlow's knock. Mr. Critchlow entered without any formalities, as +usual. He did not seem to have changed. He had the same quantity of +white hair, he wore the same long white apron, and his voice (which +showed however an occasional tendency to shrillness) had the same +grating quality. He stood fairly straight. He was carrying a newspaper +in his vellum hand. + +"Well, missis!" he said. + +"That will do, thank you, Amy," said Constance, quietly. Amy went +slowly. + +"So ye're washing him for her!" said Mr. Critchlow. + +"Yes," Constance admitted. Spot glanced sharply at the aged man. + +"An' ye seen this bit in the paper about Sophia?" he asked, holding the +Signal for her inspection. + +"About Sophia?" cried Constance. "What's amiss?" + +"Nothing's amiss. But they've got it. It's in the 'Staffordshire day by +day' column. Here! I'll read it ye." He drew a long wooden +spectacle-case from his waistcoat pocket, and placed a second pair of +spectacles on his nose. Then he sat down on the sofa, his knees +sticking out pointedly, and read: "'We understand that Mrs. Sophia +Scales, proprietress of the famous Pension Frensham in the Rue Lord +Byron, Paris'--it's that famous that nobody in th' Five Towns has ever +heard of it--'is about to pay a visit to her native town, Bursley, +after an absence of over thirty years. Mrs. Scales belonged to the +well-known and highly respected family of Baines. She has recently +disposed of the Pension Frensham to a limited company, and we are +betraying no secret in stating that the price paid ran well into five +figures.' So ye see!" Mr. Critchlow commented. + +"How do those Signal people find out things?" Constance murmured. + +"Eh, bless ye, I don't know," said Mr. Critchlow. + +This was an untruth. Mr. Critchlow had himself given the information to +the new editor of the Signal, who had soon been made aware of +Critchlow's passion for the press, and who knew how to make use of it. + +"I wish it hadn't appeared just to-day," said Constance. + +"Why?" + +"Oh! I don't know, I wish it hadn't." + +"Well, I'll be touring on, missis," said Mr. Critchlow, meaning that he +would go. + +He left the paper, and descended the steps with senile deliberation. It +was characteristic that he had shown no curiosity whatever as to the +details of Sophia's arrival. + +Constance removed her apron, wrapped Spot up in it, and put him in a +corner of the sofa. She then abruptly sent Amy out to buy a penny +time-table. + +"I thought you were going by tram to Knype," Amy observed. + +"I have decided to go by train," said Constance, with cold dignity, as +if she had decided the fate of nations. She hated such observations +from Amy, who unfortunately lacked, in an increasing degree, the +supreme gift of unquestioning obedience. + +When Amy came breathlessly back, she found Constance in her bedroom, +withdrawing crumpled balls of paper from the sleeves of her second-best +mantle. Constance scarcely ever wore this mantle. In theory it was +destined for chapel on wet Sundays; in practice it had remained long in +the wardrobe, Sundays having been obstinately fine for weeks and weeks +together. It was a mantle that Constance had never really liked. But +she was not going to Knype to meet Sophia in her everyday mantle; and +she had no intention of donning her best mantle for such an excursion. +To make her first appearance before Sophia in the best mantle she +had--this would have been a sad mistake of tactics! Not only would it +have led to an anti-climax on Sunday, but it would have given to +Constance the air of being in awe of Sophia. Now Constance was in truth +a little afraid of Sophia; in thirty years Sophia might have grown into +anything, whereas Constance had remained just Constance. Paris was a +great place; and it was immensely far off. And the mere sound of that +limited company business was intimidating. Imagine Sophia having by her +own efforts created something which a real limited company wanted to +buy and had bought! Yes, Constance was afraid, but she did not mean to +show her fear in her mantle. After all, she was the elder. And she had +her dignity too--and a lot of it--tucked away in her secret heart, +hidden within the mildness of that soft exterior. So she had decided on +the second-best mantle, which, being seldom used, had its sleeves +stuffed with paper to the end that they might keep their shape and +their 'fall.' The little balls of paper were strewed over the bed. + +"There's a train at a quarter to three, gets to Knype at ten minutes +past." said Amy. officiously. "But supposing it was only three minutes +late and the London train was prompt, then you might miss her. Happen +you'd better take the two fifteen to be on the safe side." + +"Let me look," said Constance, firmly. "Please put all this paper in +the wardrobe." + +She would have preferred not to follow Amy's suggestion, but it was so +incontestably wise that she was obliged to accept it. + +"Unless ye go by tram," said Amy. "That won't mean starting quite so +soon." + +But Constance would not go by tram. If she took the tram she would be +bound to meet people who had read the Signal, and who would say, with +their stupid vacuity: "Going to meet your sister at Knype?" And then +tiresome conversations would follow. Whereas, in the train, she would +choose a compartment, and would be far less likely to encounter +chatterers. + +There was now not a minute to lose. And the excitement which had been +growing in that house for days past, under a pretence of calm, leapt +out swiftly into the light of the sun, and was unashamed. Amy had to +help her mistress make herself as comely as she could be made without +her best dress, mantle, and bonnet. Amy was frankly consulted as to +effects. The barrier of class was lowered for a space. Many years had +elapsed since Constance had been conscious of a keen desire to look +smart. She was reminded of the days when, in full fig for chapel, she +would dash downstairs on a Sunday morning, and, assuming a pose for +inspection at the threshold of the parlour, would demand of Samuel: +"Shall I do?" Yes, she used to dash downstairs, like a child, and yet +in those days she had thought herself so sedate and mature! She sighed, +half with lancinating regret, and half in gentle disdain of that +mercurial creature aged less than thirty. At fifty-one she regarded +herself as old. And she was old. And Amy had the tricks and manners of +an old spinster. Thus the excitement in the house was an 'old' +excitement, and, like Constance's desire to look smart, it had its +ridiculous side, which was also its tragic side, the side that would +have made a boor guffaw, and a hysterical fool cry, and a wise man +meditate sadly upon the earth's fashion of renewing itself. + +At half-past one Constance was dressed, with the exception of her +gloves. She looked at the clock a second time to make sure that she +might safely glance round the house without fear of missing the train. +She went up into the bedroom on the second-floor, her and Sophia's old +bedroom, which she had prepared with enormous care for Sophia. The +airing of that room had been an enterprise of days, for, save by a +minister during the sittings of the Wesleyan Methodist Conference at +Bursley, it had never been occupied since the era when Maria Insull +used occasionally to sleep in the house. Cyril clung to his old room on +his visits. Constance had an ample supply of solid and stately +furniture, and the chamber destined for Sophia was lightened in every +corner by the reflections of polished mahogany. It was also fairly +impregnated with the odour of furniture paste--an odour of which no +housewife need be ashamed. Further, it had been re-papered in a +delicate blue, with one of the new 'art' patterns. It was a 'Baines' +room. And Constance did not care where Sophia came from, nor what +Sophia had been accustomed to, nor into what limited company Sophia had +been transformed--that room was adequate! It could not have been +improved upon. You had only to look at the crocheted mats--even those +on the washstand under the white-and-gold ewer and other utensils. It +was folly to expose such mats to the splashings of a washstand, but it +was sublime folly. Sophia might remove them if she cared. Constance was +house-proud; house-pride had slumbered within her; now it blazed forth. + +A fire brightened the drawing-room, which was a truly magnificent +apartment, a museum of valuables collected by the Baines and the +Maddack families since the year 1840, tempered by the latest novelties +in antimacassars and cloths. In all Bursley there could have been few +drawing-rooms to compare with Constance's. Constance knew it. She was +not afraid of her drawing-room being seen by anybody. + +She passed for an instant into her own bedroom, where Amy was patiently +picking balls of paper from the bed. + +"Now you quite understand about tea?" Constance asked. + +"Oh yes, 'm," said Amy, as if to say: "How much oftener are you going +to ask me that question?" "Are you off now, 'm?" + +"Yes," said Constance. "Come and fasten the front-door after me." + +They descended together to the parlour. A white cloth for tea lay +folded on the table. It was of the finest damask that skill could +choose and money buy. It was fifteen years old, and had never been +spread. Constance would not have produced it for the first meal, had +she not possessed two other of equal eminence. On the harmonium were +ranged several jams and cakes, a Bursley pork-pie, and some pickled +salmon; with the necessary silver. All was there. Amy could not go +wrong. And crocuses were in the vases on the mantelpiece. Her 'garden,' +in the phrase which used to cause Samuel to think how extraordinarily +feminine she was! It was a long time since she had had a 'garden' on +the mantelpiece. Her interest in her chronic sciatica and in her +palpitations had grown at the expense of her interest in gardens. +Often, when she had finished the complicated processes by which her +furniture and other goods were kept in order, she had strength only to +'rest.' She was rather a fragile, small, fat woman, soon out of breath, +easily marred. This business of preparing for the advent of Sophia had +appeared to her genuinely colossal. However, she had come through it +very well. She was in pretty good health; only a little tired, and more +than a little anxious and nervous, as she gave the last glance. + +"Take away that apron, do!" she said to Amy, pointing to the rough +apron in the corner of the sofa. "By the way, where is Spot?" + +"Spot, m'm?" Amy ejaculated. + +Both their hearts jumped. Amy instinctively looked out of the window. +He was there, sure enough, in the gutter, studying the +indescribabilities of King Street. He had obviously escaped when Amy +came in from buying the time-table. The woman's face was guilty. + +"Amy, I wonder AT you!" exclaimed Constance, tragically. She opened the +door. + +"Well, I never did see the like of that dog!" murmured Amy. + +"Spot!" his mistress commanded. "Come here at once. Do you hear me?" + +Spot turned sharply and gazed motionless at Constance. Then with a toss +of the head he dashed off to the corner of the Square, and gazed +motionless again. Amy went forth to catch him. After an age she brought +him in, squealing. He was in a state exceedingly offensive to the eye +and to the nose. He had effectively got rid of the smell of soap, which +he loathed. Constance could have wept. It did really appear to her that +nothing had gone right that day. And Spot had the most innocent, +trustful air. Impossible to make him realize that his aunt Sophia was +coming. He would have sold his entire family into servitude in order to +buy ten yards of King Street gutter. + +"You must wash him in the scullery, that's all there is for it," said +Constance, controlling herself. "Put that apron on, and don't forget +one of your new aprons when you open the door. Better shut him up in +Mr. Cyril's bedroom when you've dried him." + +And she went, charged with worries, clasping her bag and her umbrella +and smoothing her gloves, and spying downwards at the folds of her +mantle. + +"That's a funny way to go to Bursley Station, that is," said Amy, +observing that Constance was descending King Street instead of crossing +it into Wedgwood Street. And she caught Spot 'a fair clout on the +head,' to indicate to him that she had him alone in the house now. + +Constance was taking a round-about route to the station, so that, if +stopped by acquaintances, she should not be too obviously going to the +station. Her feelings concerning the arrival of Sophia, and concerning +the town's attitude towards it, were very complex. + +She was forced to hurry. And she had risen that morning with plans +perfectly contrived for the avoidance of hurry. She disliked hurry +because it always 'put her about.' + +II + +The express from London was late, so that Constance had three-quarters +of an hour of the stony calmness of Knype platform when it is waiting +for a great train. At last the porters began to cry, "Macclesfield, +Stockport, and Manchester train;" the immense engine glided round the +curve, dwarfing the carriages behind it, and Constance had a supreme +tremor. The calmness of the platform was transformed into a melee. +Little Constance found herself left on the fringe of a physically +agitated crowd which was apparently trying to scale a precipice +surmounted by windows and doors from whose apertures looked forth +defenders of the train. Knype platform seemed as if it would never be +reduced to order again. And Constance did not estimate highly the +chances of picking out an unknown Sophia from that welter. She was very +seriously perturbed. All the muscles of her face were drawn as her gaze +wandered anxiously from end to end of the train. + +Presently she saw a singular dog. Other people also saw it. It was of +the colour of chocolate; it had a head and shoulders richly covered +with hair that hung down in thousands of tufts like the tufts of a +modern mop such as is bought in shops. This hair stopped suddenly +rather less than halfway along the length of the dog's body, the +remainder of which was naked and as smooth as marble. The effect was to +give to the inhabitants of the Five Towns the impression that the dog +had forgotten an essential part of its attire and was outraging +decency. The ball of hair which had been allowed to grow on the dog's +tail, and the circles of hair which ornamented its ankles, only served +to intensify the impression of indecency. A pink ribbon round its neck +completed the outrage. The animal had absolutely the air of a decked +trollop. A chain ran taut from the creature's neck into the middle of a +small crowd of persons gesticulating over trunks, and Constance traced +it to a tall and distinguished woman in a coat and skirt with a rather +striking hat. A beautiful and aristocratic woman, Constance thought, at +a distance! Then the strange idea came to her: "That's Sophia!" She was +sure.... She was not sure.... She was sure. The woman emerged from the +crowd. Her eye fell on Constance. They both hesitated, and, as it were, +wavered uncertainly towards each other. + +"I should have known you anywhere," said Sophia, with apparently +careless tranquillity, as she stooped to kiss Constance, raising her +veil. + +Constance saw that this marvellous tranquillity must be imitated, and +she imitated it very well. It was a 'Baines' tranquillity. But she +noticed a twitching of her sister's lips. The twitching comforted +Constance, proving to her that she was not alone in foolishness. There +was also something queer about the permanent lines of Sophia's mouth. +That must be due to the 'attack' about which Sophia had written. + +"Did Cyril meet you?" asked Constance. It was all that she could think +of to say. + +"Oh yes!" said Sophia, eagerly. "And I went to his studio, and he saw +me off at Euston. He is a VERY nice boy. I love him." + +She said 'I love him' with the intonation of Sophia aged fifteen. Her +tone and imperious gesture sent Constance flying back to the 'sixties. +"She hasn't altered one bit," Constance thought with joy. "Nothing +could change Sophia." And at the back of that notion was a more general +notion: "Nothing could change a Baines." It was true that Constance's +Sophia had not changed. Powerful individualities remain undisfigured by +no matter what vicissitudes. After this revelation of the original +Sophia, arising as it did out of praise of Cyril, Constance felt +easier, felt reassured. + +"This is Fossette," said Sophia, pulling at the chain. + +Constance knew not what to reply. Surely Sophia could not be aware what +she did in bringing such a dog to a place where people were so +particular as they are in the Five Towns. + +"Fossette!" She repeated the name in an endearing accent, half stooping +towards the dog. After all, it was not the dog's fault. Sophia had +certainly mentioned a dog in her letters, but she had not prepared +Constance for the spectacle of Fossette. + +All that happened in a moment. A porter appeared with two trunks +belonging to Sophia. Constance observed that they were superlatively +'good' trunks; also that Sophia's clothes, though 'on the showy side,' +were superlatively 'good.' The getting of Sophia's ticket to Bursley +occupied them next, and soon the first shock of meeting had worn off. + +In a second-class compartment of the Loop Line train, with Sophia and +Fossette opposite to her, Constance had leisure to 'take in' Sophia. +She came to the conclusion that, despite her slenderness and +straightness and the general effect of the long oval of her face under +the hat, Sophia looked her age. She saw that Sophia must have been +through a great deal; her experiences were damagingly printed in the +details of feature. Seen at a distance, she might have passed for a +woman of thirty, even for a girl, but seen across a narrow railway +carriage she was a woman whom suffering had aged. Yet obviously her +spirit was unbroken. Hear her tell a doubtful porter that of course she +should take Fossette with her into the carriage! See her shut the +carriage door with the expressed intention of keeping other people out! +She was accustomed to command. At the same time her face had an almost +set smile, as though she had said to herself: "I will die smiling." +Constance felt sorry for her. While recognizing in Sophia a superior in +charm, in experience, in knowledge of the world and in force of +personality, she yet with a kind of undisturbed, fundamental +superiority felt sorry for Sophia. + +"What do you think?" said Sophia, absently fingering Fossette. "A man +came up to me at Euston, while Cyril was getting my ticket, and said, +'Eh, Miss Baines, I haven't seen ye for over thirty years, but I know +you're Miss Baines, or WERE--and you're looking bonny.' Then he went +off. I think it must have been Holl, the grocer." + +"Had he got a long white beard?" + +"Yes." + +"Then it was Mr. Holl. He's been Mayor twice. He's an alderman, you +know." + +"Really!" said Sophia. "But wasn't it queer?" + +"Eh! Bless us!" exclaimed Constance. "Don't talk about queer! It's +terrible how time flies." + +The conversation stopped, and it refused to start again. Two women who +are full of affectionate curiosity about each other, and who have not +seen each other for thirty years, and who are anxious to confide in +each other, ought to discover no difficulty in talking; but somehow +these two could not talk. Constance perceived that Sophia was impeded +by the same awkwardness as herself. + +"Well I never!" cried Sophia, suddenly. She had glanced out of the +window and had seen two camels and an elephant in a field close to the +line, amid manufactories and warehouses and advertisements of soap. + +"Oh!" said Constance. "That's Barnum's, you know. They have what they +call a central depot here, because it's the middle of England." +Constance spoke proudly. (After all, there can be only one middle.) It +was on her tongue to say, in her 'tart' manner, that Fossette ought to +be with the camels, but she refrained. Sophia hit on the excellent idea +of noting all the buildings that were new to her and all the landmarks +that she remembered. It was surprising how little the district had +altered. + +"Same smoke!" said Sophia. + +"Same smoke!" Constance agreed. + +"It's even worse," said Sophia. + +"Do you think so?" Constance was slightly piqued. "But they're doing +something now for smoke abatement." + +"I must have forgotten how dirty it was!" said Sophia. "I suppose +that's it. I'd no idea...!" + +"Really!" said Constance. Then, in candid admission, "The fact is, it +is dirty. You can't imagine what work it makes, especially with +window-curtains." + +As the train puffed under Trafalgar Road, Constance pointed to a new +station that was being built there, to be called 'Trafalgar Road' +station. + +"Won't it be strange?" said she, accustomed to the eternal sequence of +Loop Lane stations--Turnhill, Bursley, Bleakridge, Hanbridge, Cauldon, +Knype, Trent Vale, and Longshaw. A 'Trafalgar Road' inserting itself +between Bleakridge and Hanbridge seemed to her excessively curious. + +"Yes, I suppose it will," Sophia agreed. + +"But of course it's not the same to you," said Constance, dashed. She +indicated the glories of Bursley Park, as the train slackened for +Bursley, with modesty. Sophia gazed, and vaguely recognized the slopes +where she had taken her first walk with Gerald Scales. + +Nobody accosted them at Bursley Station, and they drove to the Square +in a cab. Amy was at the window; she held up Spot, who was in a plenary +state of cleanliness, rivalling the purity of Amy's apron. + +"Good afternoon, m'm," said Amy, officiously, to Sophia, as Sophia came +up the steps. + +"Good afternoon, Amy," Sophia replied. She flattered Amy in thus +showing that she was acquainted with her name; but if ever a servant +was put into her place by mere tone, Amy was put into her place on that +occasion. Constance trembled at Sophia's frigid and arrogant +politeness. Certainly Sophia was not used to being addressed first by +servants. But Amy was not quite the ordinary servant. She was much +older than the ordinary servant, and she had acquired a partial moral +dominion over Constance, though Constance would have warmly denied it. +Hence Constance's apprehension. However, nothing happened. Amy +apparently did not feel the snub. + +"Take Spot and put him in Mr. Cyril's bedroom," Constance murmured to +her, as if implying: "Have I not already told you to do that?" The fact +was, she was afraid for Spot's life. + +"Now, Fossette!" She welcomed the incoming poodle kindly; the poodle +began at once to sniff. + +The fat, red cabman was handling the trunks on the pavement, and Amy +was upstairs. For a moment the sisters were alone together in the +parlour. + +"So here I am!" exclaimed the tall, majestic woman of fifty. And her +lips twitched again as she looked round the room--so small to her. + +"Yes, here you are!" Constance agreed. She bit her lip, and, as a +measure of prudence to avoid breaking down, she bustled out to the +cabman. A passing instant of emotion, like a fleck of foam on a wide +and calm sea! + +The cabman blundered up and downstairs with trunks, and saluted +Sophia's haughty generosity, and then there was quietness. Amy was +already brewing the tea in the cave. The prepared tea-table in front of +the fire made a glittering array. + +"Now, what about Fossette?" Constance voiced anxieties that had been +growing on her. + +"Fossette will be quite right with me," said Sophia, firmly. + +They ascended to the guest's room, which drew Sophia's admiration for +its prettiness. She hurried to the window and looked out into the +Square. + +"Would you like a fire?" Constance asked, in a rather perfunctory +manner. For a bedroom fire, in seasons of normal health, was still +regarded as absurd in the Square. + +"Oh, no!" said Sophia; but with a slight failure to rebut the +suggestion as utterly ridiculous. + +"Sure?" Constance questioned. + +"Quite, thank you," said Sophia. + +"Well, I'll leave you. I expect Amy will have tea ready directly." She +went down into the kitchen. "Amy," she said, "as soon as we've finished +tea, light a fire in Mrs. Scales's bedroom." + +"In the top bedroom, m'm?" + +"Yes." + +Constance climbed again to her own bedroom, and shut the door. She +needed a moment to herself, in the midst of this terrific affair. She +sighed with relief as she removed her mantle. She thought: "At any rate +we've met, and I've got her here. She's very nice. No, she isn't a bit +altered." She hesitated to admit that to her Sophia was the least in +the world formidable. And so she said once more: "She's very nice. She +isn't a bit altered." And then: "Fancy her being here! She really is +here." With her perfect simplicity it did not occur to Constance to +speculate as to what Sophia thought of her. + +Sophia was downstairs first, and Constance found her looking at the +blank wall beyond the door leading to the kitchen steps. + +"So this is where you had it bricked up?" said Sophia. + +"Yes," said Constance. "That's the place." + +"It makes me feel like people feel when they have tickling in a limb +that's been cut off!" said Sophia. + +"Oh, Sophia!" + +The tea received a great deal of praise from Sophia, but neither of +them ate much. Constance found that Sophia was like herself: she had to +be particular about her food. She tasted dainties for the sake of +tasting, but it was a bird's pecking. Not the twelfth part of the tea +was consumed. They dared not indulge caprices. Only their eyes could +feed. + +After tea they went up to the drawing-room, and in the corridor had the +startling pleasure of seeing two dogs who scurried about after each +other in amity. Spot had found Fossette, with the aid of Amy's +incurable carelessness, and had at once examined her with great +particularity. She seemed to be of an amiable disposition, and not +averse from the lighter distractions. For a long time the sisters sat +chatting together in the lit drawing-room to the agreeable sound of +happy dogs playing in the dark corridor. Those dogs saved the +situation, because they needed constant attention. When the dogs dozed, +the sisters began to look through photograph albums, of which Constance +had several, bound in plush or morocco. Nothing will sharpen the +memory, evoke the past, raise the dead, rejuvenate the ageing, and +cause both sighs and smiles, like a collection of photographs gathered +together during long years of life. Constance had an astonishing +menagerie of unknown cousins and their connections, and of townspeople; +she had Cyril at all ages; she had weird daguerreotypes of her parents +and their parents. The strangest of all was a portrait of Samuel Povey +as an infant in arms. Sophia checked an impulse to laugh at it. But +when Constance said: "Isn't it funny?" she did allow herself to laugh. +A photograph of Samuel in the year before his death was really +imposing. Sophia stared at it, impressed. It was the portrait of an +honest man. + +"How long have you been a widow?" Constance asked in a low voice, +glancing at upright Sophia over her spectacles, a leaf of the album +raised against her finger. + +Sophia unmistakably flushed. "I don't know that I am a widow," said +she, with an air. "My husband left me in 1870, and I've never seen nor +heard of him since." + +"Oh, my dear!" cried Constance, alarmed and deafened as by a clap of +awful thunder. "I thought ye were a widow. Mr. Peel-Swynnerton said he +was told positively ye were a widow. That's why I never...." She +stopped. Her face was troubled. + +"Of course I always passed for a widow, over there," said Sophia. + +"Of course," said Constance quickly. "I see...." + +"And I may be a widow," said Sophia. + +Constance made no remark. This was a blow. Bursley was such a +particular place. Doubtless, Gerald Scales had behaved like a +scoundrel. That was sure! + +When, immediately afterwards, Amy opened the drawing-room door (having +first knocked--the practice of encouraging a servant to plunge without +warning of any kind into a drawing-room had never been favoured in that +house) she saw the sisters sitting rather near to each other at the +walnut oval table, Mrs. Scales very upright, and staring into the fire, +and Mrs. Povey 'bunched up' and staring at the photograph album; both +seeming to Amy aged and apprehensive; Mrs. Povey's hair was quite grey, +though Mrs. Scales' hair was nearly as black as Amy's own. Mrs. Scales +started at the sound of the knock, and turned her head. + +"Here's Mr. and Mrs. Critchlow, m'm," announced Amy. + +The sisters glanced at one another, with lifted foreheads. Then Mrs. +Povey spoke to Amy as though visits at half-past eight at night were a +customary phenomenon of the household. Nevertheless, she trembled to +think what outrageous thing Mr. Critchlow might say to Sophia after +thirty years' absence. The occasion was great, and it might also be +terrible. + +"Ask them to come up," she said calmly. + +But Amy had the best of that encounter. "I have done," she replied, and +instantly produced them out of the darkness of the corridor. It was +providential: the sisters had made no remark that the Critchlows might +not hear. + +Then Maria Critchlow, simpering, had to greet Sophia. Mrs. Critchlow +was very agitated, from sheer nervousness. She curvetted; she almost +pranced; and she made noises with her mouth as though she saw some one +eating a sour apple. She wanted to show Sophia how greatly she had +changed from the young, timid apprentice. Certainly since her marriage +she had changed. As manager of other people's business she had not felt +the necessity of being effusive to customers, but as proprietress, +anxiety to succeed had dragged her out of her capable and mechanical +indifference. It was a pity. Her consistent dullness had had a sort of +dignity; but genial, she was merely ridiculous. Animation cruelly +displayed her appalling commonness and physical shabbiness. Sophia's +demeanour was not chilly; but it indicated that Sophia had no wish to +be eyed over as a freak of nature. + +Mr. Critchlow advanced very slowly into the room. "Ye still carry your +head on a stiff neck," said he, deliberately examining Sophia. Then +with great care he put out his long thin arm and took her hand. "Well, +I'm rare and glad to see ye!" + +Every one was thunderstruck at this expression of joy. Mr. Critchlow +had never been known to be glad to see anybody. + +"Yes," twittered Maria, "Mr. Critchlow would come in to-night. Nothing +would do but he must come in to-night." + +"You didn't tell me this afternoon," said Constance, "that you were +going to give us the pleasure of your company like this." + +He looked momentarily at Constance. "No," he grated, "I don't know as I +did." + +His gaze flattered Sophia. Evidently he treated this experienced and +sad woman of fifty as a young girl. And in presence of his extreme age +she felt like a young girl, remembering the while how as a young girl +she had hated him. Repulsing the assistance of his wife, he arranged an +armchair in front of the fire and meticulously put himself into it. +Assuredly he was much older in a drawing-room than behind the counter +of his shop. Constance had noticed that in the afternoon. A live coal +fell out of the fire. He bent forward, wet his fingers, picked up the +coal and threw it back into the fire. + +"Well," said Sophia. "I wouldn't have done that." + +"I never saw Mr. Critchlow's equal for picking up hot cinders," Maria +giggled. + +Mr. Critchlow deigned no remark. "When did ye leave this Paris?" he +demanded of Sophia, leaning back, and putting his hands on the arms of +the chair. + +"Yesterday morning," said Sophia, + +"And what'n ye been doing with yeself since yesterday morning?" + +"I spent last night in London," Sophia replied. + +"Oh, in London, did ye?" + +"Yes. Cyril and I had an evening together." + +"Eh? Cyril! What's yer opinion o' Cyril, Sophia?" + +"I'm very proud to have Cyril for a nephew," said Sophia. + +"Oh! Are ye?" The old man was obviously ironic. + +"Yes I am," Sophia insisted sharply. "I'm not going to hear a word said +against Cyril." + +She proceeded to an enthusiastic laudation of Cyril which rather +overwhelmed his mother. Constance was pleased; she was delighted. And +yet somewhere in her mind was an uncomfortable feeling that Cyril, +having taken a fancy to his brilliant aunt, had tried to charm her as +he seldom or never tried to charm his mother. Cyril and Sophia had +dazzled and conquered each other; they were of the same type; whereas +she, Constance, being but a plain person, could not glitter. + +She rang the bell and gave instructions to Amy about food--fruit cakes, +coffee and hot milk, on a tray; and Sophia also spoke to Amy murmuring +a request as to Fossette. + +"Yes, Mrs. Scales," said Amy, with eager deference. + +Mrs. Critchlow smiled vaguely from a low chair near the curtained +window. Then Constance lit another burner of the chandelier. In doing +so, she gave a little sigh; it was a sigh of relief. Mr. Critchlow had +behaved himself. Now that he and Sophia had met, the worst was over. +Had Constance known beforehand that he would pay a call, she would have +been agonized by apprehensions, but now that he had actually come she +was glad he had come. + +When he had silently sipped some hot milk, he drew a thick bunch of +papers, white and blue, from his bulging breast-pocket. + +"Now, Maria Critchlow," he called, edging round his chair slightly. +"Ye'd best go back home." + +Maria Critchlow was biting at a bit of walnut cake, while in her right +hand, all seamed with black lines, she held a cup of coffee. + +"But, Mr. Critchlow----!" Constance protested. + +"I've got business with Sophia, and I must get it done. I've got for to +render an account of my stewardship to Sophia, under her father's will, +and her mother's will, and her aunt's will, and it's nobody's business +but mine and Sophia's, I reckon. Now then," he glanced at his wife, +"off with ye!" + +Maria rose, half-kittenish and half-ashamed. + +"Surely you don't want to go into all that to-night," said Sophia. She +spoke softly, for she had already fully perceived that Mr. Critchlow +must be managed with the tact which the capricious obstinacies of +advanced age demanded. "Surely you can wait a day or two. I'm in no +hurry." + +"HAVEN'T I WAITED LONG ENOUGH?" he retorted fiercely. + +There was a pause. Maria Critchlow moved. + +"As for you being in no hurry, Sophia," the old man went on, "nobody +can say as you've been in a hurry." + +Sophia had suffered a check. She glanced hesitatingly at Constance. + +"Mrs. Critchlow and I will go down into the parlour," said Constance, +quickly. "There is a bit of fire there." + +"Oh no. I won't hear of such a thing!" + +"Yes, we will, won't we, Mrs. Critchlow?" Constance insisted, +cheerfully but firmly. She was determined that in her house Sophia +should have all the freedom and conveniences that she could have had in +her own. If a private room was needed for discussions between Sophia +and her trustee, Constance's pride was piqued to supply that room. +Further, Constance was glad to get Maria out of Sophia's sight. She was +accustomed to Maria; with her it did not matter; but she did not care +that the teeth of Sophia should be set on edge by the ridiculous +demeanour of Maria. So those two left the drawing-room, and the old man +began to open the papers which he had been preparing for weeks. + +There was very little fire in the parlour, and Constance, in addition +to being bored by Mrs. Critchlow's inane and inquisitive remarks, felt +chilly, which was bad for her sciatica. She wondered whether Sophia +would have to confess to Mr. Critchlow that she was not certainly a +widow. She thought that steps ought to be taken to ascertain, through +Birkinshaws, if anything was known of Gerald Scales. But even that +course was set with perils. Supposing that he still lived, an +unspeakable villain (Constance could only think of him as an +unspeakable villain), and supposing that he molested Sophia,--what +scenes! What shame in the town! Such frightful thoughts ran endlessly +through Constance's mind as she bent over the fire endeavouring to keep +alive a silly conversation with Maria Critchlow. + +Amy passed through the parlour to go to bed. There was no other way of +reaching the upper part of the house. + +"Are you going to bed, Amy?" + +"Yes'm." + +"Where is Fossette?" + +"In the kitchen, m'm," said Amy, defending herself. "Mrs. Scales told +me the dog might sleep in the kitchen with Spot, as they was such good +friends. I've opened the bottom drawer, and Fossit is lying in that." + +"Mrs. Scales has brought a dog with her!" exclaimed Maria. + +"Yes'm!" said Amy, drily, before Constance could answer. She implied +everything in that affirmative. + +"You are a family for dogs," said Maria. "What sort of dog is it?" + +"Well," said Constance. "I don't know exactly what they call it. It's a +French dog, one of those French dogs." Amy was lingering at the +stairfoot. "Good night, Amy, thank you." + +Amy ascended, shutting the door. + +"Oh! I see!" Maria muttered. "Well, I never!" + +It was ten o'clock before sounds above indicated that the first +interview between trustee and beneficiary was finished. + +"I'll be going on to open our side-door," said Maria. "Say good night +to Mrs. Scales for me." She was not sure whether Charles Critchlow had +really meant her to go home, or whether her mere absence from the +drawing-room had contented him. So she departed. He came down the +stairs with the most tiresome slowness, went through the parlour in +silence, ignoring Constance, and also Sophia, who was at his heels, and +vanished. + +As Constance shut and bolted the front-door, the sisters looked at each +other, Sophia faintly smiling. It seemed to them that they understood +each other better when they did not speak. With a glance, they +exchanged their ideas on the subject of Charles Critchlow and Maria, +and learnt that their ideas were similar. Constance said nothing as to +the private interview. Nor did Sophia. At present, on this the first +day, they could only achieve intimacy by intermittent flashes. + +"What about bed?" asked Sophia. + +"You must be tired," said Constance. + +Sophia got to the stairs, which received a little light from the +corridor gas, before Constance, having tested the window-fastening, +turned out the gas in the parlour. They climbed the lower flight of +stairs together. + +"I must just see that your room is all right," Constance said. + +"Must you?" Sophia smiled. + +They climbed the second flight, slowly. Constance was out of breath. + +"Oh, a fire! How nice!" cried Sophia. "But why did you go to all that +trouble? I told you not to." + +"It's no trouble at all," said Constance, raising the gas in the +bedroom. Her tone implied that bedroom fires were a quite ordinary +incident of daily life in a place like Bursley. + +"Well, my dear, I hope you'll find everything comfortable," said +Constance. + +"I'm sure I shall. Good night, dear." + +"Good night, then." + +They looked at each other again, with timid affectionateness. They did +not kiss. The thought in both their minds was: "We couldn't keep on +kissing every day." But there was a vast amount of quiet, restrained +affection, of mutual confidence and respect, even of tenderness, in +their tones. + +About half an hour later a dreadful hullaballoo smote the ear of +Constance. She was just getting into bed. She listened intently, in +great alarm. It was undoubtedly those dogs fighting, and fighting to +the death. She pictured the kitchen as a battlefield, and Spot slain. +Opening the door, she stepped out into the corridor. + +"Constance," said a low voice above her. She jumped. "Is that you?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, don't bother to go down to the dogs; they'll stop in a moment. +Fossette won't bite. I'm so sorry she's upsetting the house." + +Constance stared upwards, and discerned a pale shadow. The dogs did +soon cease their altercation. This short colloquy in the dark affected +Constance strangely. + +III + +The next morning, after a night varied by periods of wakefulness not +unpleasant, Sophia arose and, taking due precautions against cold, went +to the window. It was Saturday; she had left Paris on the Thursday. She +looked forth upon the Square, holding aside the blind. She had +expected, of course, to find that the Square had shrunk in size; but +nevertheless she was startled to see how small it was. It seemed to her +scarcely bigger than a courtyard. She could remember a winter morning +when from the window she had watched the Square under virgin snow in +the lamplight, and the Square had been vast, and the first wayfarer, +crossing it diagonally and leaving behind him the irregular impress of +his feet, had appeared to travel for hours over an interminable white +waste before vanishing past Holl's shop in the direction of the Town +Hall. She chiefly recalled the Square under snow; cold mornings, and +the coldness of the oil-cloth at the window, and the draught of cold +air through the ill-fitting sash (it was put right now)! These visions +of herself seemed beautiful to her; her childish existence seemed +beautiful; the storms and tempests of her girlhood seemed beautiful; +even the great sterile expanse of tedium when, after giving up a +scholastic career, she had served for two years in the shop--even this +had a strange charm in her memory. + +And she thought that not for millions of pounds would she live her life +over again. + +In its contents the Square had not surprisingly changed during the +immense, the terrifying interval that separated her from her virginity. +On the east side, several shops had been thrown into one, and forced +into a semblance of eternal unity by means of a coat of stucco. And +there was a fountain at the north end which was new to her. No other +constructional change! But the moral change, the sad declension from +the ancient proud spirit of the Square--this was painfully depressing. +Several establishments lacked tenants, had obviously lacked tenants for +a long time; 'To let' notices hung in their stained and dirty upper +windows, and clung insecurely to their closed shutters. And on the +sign-boards of these establishments were names that Sophia did not +know. The character of most of the shops seemed to have worsened; they +had become pettifogging little holes, unkempt, shabby, poor; they had +no brightness, no feeling of vitality. And the floor of the Square was +littered with nondescript refuse. The whole scene, paltry, confined, +and dull, reached for her the extreme of provinciality. It was what the +French called, with a pregnant intonation, la province. This--being +said, there was nothing else to say. Bursley, of course, was in the +provinces; Bursley must, in the nature of things, be typically +provincial. But in her mind it had always been differentiated from the +common province; it had always had an air, a distinction, and +especially St. Luke's Square! That illusion was now gone. Still, the +alteration was not wholly in herself; it was not wholly subjective. The +Square really had changed for the worse; it might not be smaller, but +it had deteriorated. As a centre of commerce it had assuredly +approached very near to death. On a Saturday morning thirty years ago +it would have been covered with linen-roofed stalls, and chattering +country-folk, and the stir of bargains. Now, Saturday morning was like +any other morning in the Square, and the glass-roof of St. Luke's +market in Wedgwood Street, which she could see from her window, echoed +to the sounds of noisy commerce. In that instance business had simply +moved a few yards to the east; but Sophia knew, from hints in +Constance's letters and in her talk, that business in general had moved +more than a few yards, it had moved a couple of miles--to arrogant and +pushing Hanbridge, with its electric light and its theatres and its +big, advertising shops. The heaven of thick smoke over the Square, the +black deposit on painted woodwork, the intermittent hooting of steam +syrens, showed that the wholesale trade of Bursley still flourished. +But Sophia had no memories of the wholesale trade of Bursley; it meant +nothing to the youth of her heart; she was attached by intimate links +to the retail traffic of Bursley, and as a mart old Bursley was done +for. + +She thought: "It would kill me if I had to live here. It's deadening. +It weighs on you. And the dirt, and the horrible ugliness! And the--way +they talk, and the way they think! I felt it first at Knype station. +The Square is rather picturesque, but it's such a poor, poor little +thing! Fancy having to look at it every morning of one's life! No!" She +almost shuddered. + +For the time being she had no home. To Constance she was 'paying a +visit.' + +Constance did not appear to realize the awful conditions of dirt, +decay, and provinciality in which she was living. Even Constance's +house was extremely inconvenient, dark, and no doubt unhealthy. +Cellar-kitchen, no hall, abominable stairs, and as to hygiene, simply +mediaeval. She could not understand why Constance had remained in the +house. Constance had plenty of money and might live where she liked, +and in a good modern house. Yet she stayed in the Square. "I daresay +she's got used to it," Sophia thought leniently. "I daresay I should be +just the same in her place." But she did not really think so, and she +could not understand Constance's state of mind. + +Certainly she could not claim to have 'added up' Constance yet. She +considered that her sister was in some respects utterly +provincial--what they used to call in the Five Towns a 'body.' Somewhat +too diffident, not assertive enough, not erect enough; with curious +provincial pronunciations, accents, gestures, mannerisms, and +inarticulate ejaculations; with a curious narrowness of outlook! But at +the same time Constance was very shrewd, and she was often proving by +some bit of a remark that she knew what was what, despite her +provinciality. In judgments upon human nature they undoubtedly thought +alike, and there was a strong natural general sympathy between them. +And at the bottom of Constance was something fine. At intervals Sophia +discovered herself secretly patronizing Constance, but reflection would +always cause her to cease from patronage and to examine her own +defences. Constance, besides being the essence of kindness, was no +fool. Constance could see through a pretence, an absurdity, as quickly +as any one. Constance did honestly appear to Sophia to be superior to +any Frenchwoman that she had ever encountered. She saw supreme in +Constance that quality which she had recognized in the porters at +Newhaven on landing--the quality of an honest and naive goodwill, of +powerful simplicity. That quality presented itself to her as the +greatest in the world, and it seemed to be in the very air of England. +She could even detect it in Mr. Critchlow, whom, for the rest, she +liked, admiring the brutal force of his character. She pardoned his +brutality to his wife. She found it proper. "After all," she said, +"supposing he hadn't married her, what would she have been? Nothing but +a slave! She's infinitely better off as his wife. In fact she's lucky. +And it would be absurd for him to treat her otherwise than he does +treat her." (Sophia did not divine that her masterful Critchlow had +once wanted Maria as one might want a star.) + +But to be always with such people! To be always with Constance! To be +always in the Bursley atmosphere, physical and mental! + +She pictured Paris as it would be on that very morning--bright, clean, +glittering; the neatness of the Rue Lord Byron, and the magnificent +slanting splendour of the Champs Elysees. Paris had always seemed +beautiful to her; but the life of Paris had not seemed beautiful to +her. Yet now it did seem beautiful. She could delve down into the +earlier years of her ownership of the Pension, and see a regular, +placid beauty in her daily life there. Her life there, even so late as +a fortnight ago, seemed beautiful; sad, but beautiful. It had passed +into history. She sighed when she thought of the innumerable interviews +with Mardon, the endless formalities required by the English and the +French law and by the particularity of the Syndicate. She had been +through all that. She had actually been through it and it was over. She +had bought the Pension for a song and sold it for great riches. She had +developed from a nobody into the desired of Syndicates. And after long, +long, monotonous, strenuous years of possession the day had come, the +emotional moment had come, when she had yielded up the keys of +ownership to Mr. Mardon and a man from the Hotel Moscow, and had paid +her servants for the last time and signed the last receipted bill. The +men had been very gallant, and had requested her to stay in the Pension +as their guest until she was ready to leave Paris. But she had declined +that. She could not have borne to remain in the Pension under the reign +of another. She had left at once and gone to a hotel with her few goods +while finally disposing of certain financial questions. And one evening +Jacqueline had come to see her, and had wept. + +Her exit from the Pension Frensham struck her now as poignantly +pathetic, in its quickness and its absence of ceremonial. Ten steps, +and her career was finished, closed. Astonishing with what liquid +tenderness she turned and looked back on that hard, fighting, +exhausting life in Paris! For, even if she had unconsciously liked it, +she had never enjoyed it. She had always compared France +disadvantageously with England, always resented the French temperament +in business, always been convinced that 'you never knew where you were' +with French tradespeople. And now they flitted before her endowed with +a wondrous charm; so polite in their lying, so eager to spare your +feelings and to reassure you, so neat and prim. And the French shops, +so exquisitely arranged! Even a butcher's shop in Paris was a pleasure +to the eye, whereas the butcher's shop in Wedgwood Street, which she +remembered of old, and which she had glimpsed from the cab--what a +bloody shambles! She longed for Paris again. She longed to stretch her +lungs in Paris. These people in Bursley did not suspect what Paris was. +They did not appreciate and they never would appreciate the marvels +that she had accomplished in a theatre of marvels. They probably never +realized that the whole of the rest of the world was not more or less +like Bursley. They had no curiosity. Even Constance was a thousand +times more interested in relating trifles of Bursley gossip than in +listening to details of life in Paris. Occasionally she had expressed a +mild, vapid surprise at things told to her by Sophia; but she was not +really impressed, because her curiosity did not extend beyond Bursley. +She, like the rest, had the formidable, thrice-callous egotism of the +provinces. And if Sophia had informed her that the heads of Parisians +grew out of their navels she would have murmured: "Well, well! Bless +us! I never heard of such things! Mrs. Brindley's second boy has got +his head quite crooked, poor little fellow!" + +Why should Sophia feel sorrowful? She did not know. She was free; free +to go where she liked and do what she liked, She had no +responsibilities, no cares. The thought of her husband had long ago +ceased to rouse in her any feeling of any kind. She was rich. Mr. +Critchlow had accumulated for her about as much money as she had +herself acquired. Never could she spend her income! She did not know +how to spend it. She lacked nothing that was procurable. She had no +desires except the direct desire for happiness. If thirty thousand +pounds or so could have bought a son like Cyril, she would have bought +one for herself. She bitterly regretted that she had no child. In this, +she envied Constance. A child seemed to be the one commodity worth +having. She was too free, too exempt from responsibilities. In spite of +Constance she was alone in the world. The strangeness of the hazards of +life overwhelmed her. Here she was at fifty, alone. + +But the idea of leaving Constance, having once rejoined her, did not +please Sophia. It disquieted her. She could not see herself living away +from Constance. She was alone--but Constance was there. + +She was downstairs first, and she had a little conversation with Amy. +And she stood on the step of the front-door while Fossette made a +preliminary inspection of Spot's gutter. She found the air nipping. + +Constance, when she descended, saw stretching across one side of the +breakfast-table an umbrella, Sophia's present to her from Paris. It was +an umbrella such that a better could not be bought. It would have +impressed even Aunt Harriet. The handle was of gold, set with a circlet +of opalines. The tips of the ribs were also of gold. It was this detail +which staggered Constance. Frankly, this development of luxury had been +unknown and unsuspected in the Square. That the tips of the ribs should +match the handle ... that did truly beat everything! Sophia said calmly +that the device was quite common. But she did not conceal that the +umbrella was strictly of the highest class and that it might be shown +to queens without shame. She intimated that the frame (a 'Fox's +Paragon'), handle, and tips, would outlast many silks. Constance was +childish with pleasure. + +They decided to go out marketing together. The unspoken thought in +their minds was that as Sophia would have to be introduced to the town +sooner or later, it might as well be sooner. Constance looked at the +sky. "It can't possibly rain," she said. "I shall take my umbrella." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +TOWARDS HOTEL LIFE + +I + + +SOPHIA wore list slippers in the morning. It was a habit which she had +formed in the Rue Lord Byron--by accident rather than with an intention +to utilize list slippers for the effective supervision of servants. +These list slippers were the immediate cause of important happenings in +St. Luke's Square. Sophia had been with Constance one calendar +month--it was, of course, astonishing how quickly the time had +passed!--and she had become familiar with the house. Restraint had +gradually ceased to mark the relations of the sisters. Constance, in +particular, hid nothing from Sophia, who was made aware of the minor +and major defects of Amy and all the other creakings of the household +machine. Meals were eaten off the ordinary tablecloths, and on the days +for 'turning out' the parlour, Constance assumed, with a little laugh, +that Sophia would excuse Amy's apron, which she had not had time to +change. In brief, Sophia was no longer a stranger, and nobody felt +bound to pretend that things were not exactly what they were. In spite +of the foulness and the provinciality of Bursley, Sophia enjoyed the +intimacy with Constance. As for Constance, she was enchanted. The +inflections of their voices, when they were talking to each other very +privately, were often tender, and these sudden surprising tendernesses +secretly thrilled both of them. + +On the fourth Sunday morning Sophia put on her dressing-gown and those +list slippers very early, and paid a visit to Constance's bedroom. She +was somewhat concerned about Constance, and her concern was pleasurable +to her. She made the most of it. Amy, with her lifelong carelessness +about doors, had criminally failed to latch the street-door of the +parlour on the previous morning, and Constance had only perceived the +omission by the phenomenon of frigidity in her legs at breakfast. She +always sat with her back to the door, in her mother's fluted +rocking-chair; and Sophia on the spot, but not in the chair, occupied +by John Baines in the forties, and in the seventies and later by Samuel +Povey. Constance had been alarmed by that frigidity. "I shall have a +return of my sciatica!" she had exclaimed, and Sophia was startled by +the apprehension in her tone. Before evening the sciatica had indeed +revisited Constance's sciatic nerve, and Sophia for the first time +gained an idea of what a pulsating sciatica can do in the way of +torturing its victim. Constance, in addition to the sciatica, had +caught a sneezing cold, and the act of sneezing caused her the most +acute pain. Sophia had soon stopped the sneezing. Constance was got to +bed. Sophia wished to summon the doctor, but Constance assured her that +the doctor would have nothing new to advise. Constance suffered +angelically. The weak and exquisite sweetness of her smile, as she lay +in bed under the stress of twinging pain amid hot-water bottles, was +amazing to Sophia. It made her think upon the reserves of Constance's +character, and upon the variety of the manifestations of the Baines' +blood. + +So on the Sunday morning she had arisen early, just after Amy. + +She discovered Constance to be a little better, as regards the +neuralgia, but exhausted by the torments of a sleepless night. Sophia, +though she had herself not slept well, felt somehow conscience-stricken +for having slept at all. + +"You poor dear!" she murmured, brimming with sympathy. "I shall make +you some tea at once, myself." + +"Oh, Amy will do it," said Constance. + +Sophia repeated with a resolute intonation: "I shall make it myself." +And after being satisfied that there was no instant need for a renewal +of hot-water bottles, she went further downstairs in those list +slippers. + +As she was descending the dark kitchen steps she heard Amy's voice in +pettish exclamation: "Oh, get out, YOU!" followed by a yelp from +Fossette. She had a swift movement of anger, which she controlled. The +relations between her and Fossette were not marked by transports, and +her rule over dogs in general was severe; even when alone she very +seldom kissed the animal passionately, according to the general habit +of people owning dogs. But she loved Fossette. And, moreover, her love +for Fossette had been lately sharpened by the ridicule which Bursley +had showered upon that strange beast. Happily for Sophia's amour +propre, there was no means of getting Fossette shaved in Bursley, and +thus Fossette was daily growing less comic to the Bursley eye. Sophia +could therefore without loss of dignity yield to force of circumstances +what she would not have yielded to popular opinion. She guessed that +Amy had no liking for the dog, but the accent which Amy had put upon +the 'you' seemed to indicate that Amy was making distinctions between +Fossette and Spot, and this disturbed Sophia much more than Fossette's +yelp. + +Sophia coughed, and entered the kitchen. + +Spot was lapping his morning milk out of a saucer, while Fossette stood +wistfully, an amorphous mass of thick hair, under the table. + +"Good morning, Amy," said Sophia, with dreadful politeness. + +"Good morning, m'm," said Amy, glumly. + +Amy knew that Sophia had heard that yelp, and Sophia knew that she +knew. The pretence of politeness was horrible. Both the women felt as +though the kitchen was sanded with gunpowder and there were lighted +matches about. Sophia had a very proper grievance against Amy on +account of the open door of the previous day. Sophia thought that, +after such a sin, the least Amy could do was to show contrition and +amiability and an anxiety to please: which things Amy had not shown. +Amy had a grievance against Sophia because Sophia had recently thrust +upon her a fresh method of cooking green vegetables. Amy was a strong +opponent of new or foreign methods. Sophia was not aware of this +grievance, for Amy had hidden it under her customary cringing +politeness to Sophia. + +They surveyed each other like opposing armies. + +"What a pity you have no gas-stove here! I want to make some tea at +once for Mrs. Povey," said Sophia, inspecting the just-born fire. + +"Gas-stove, m'm?" said Amy, hostilely. It was Sophia's list slippers +which had finally decided Amy to drop the mask of deference. + +She made no effort to aid Sophia; she gave no indication as to where +the various necessaries for tea were to be found. Sophia got the +kettle, and washed it out. Sophia got the smallest tea-pot, and, as the +tea-leaves had been left in it, she washed out the teapot also, with +exaggerated noise and meticulousness. Sophia got the sugar and the +other trifles, and Sophia blew up the fire with the bellows. And Amy +did nothing in particular except encourage Spot to drink. + +"Is that all the milk you give to Fossette?" Sophia demanded coldly, +when it had come to Fossette's turn. She was waiting for the water to +boil. The saucer for the bigger dog, who would have made two of Spot, +was not half full. + +"It's all there is to spare, m'm," Amy rasped. + +Sophia made no reply. Soon afterwards she departed, with the tea +successfully made. If Amy had not been a mature woman of over forty she +would have snorted as Sophia went away. But Amy was scarcely the +ordinary silly girl. + +Save for a certain primness as she offered the tray to her sister, +Sophia's demeanour gave no sign whatever that the Amazon in her was +aroused. Constance's eager trembling pleasure in the tea touched her +deeply, and she was exceedingly thankful that Constance had her, +Sophia, as a succour in time of distress. + +A few minutes later, Constance, having first asked Sophia what time it +was by the watch in the watch-case on the chest of drawers (the Swiss +clock had long since ceased to work), pulled the red tassel of the +bell-cord over her bed. A bell tinkled far away in the kitchen. + +"Anything I can do?" Sophia inquired. + +"Oh no, thanks," said Constance. "I only want my letters, if the +postman has come. He ought to have been here long ago." Sophia had +learned during her stay that Sunday morning was the morning on which +Constance expected a letter from Cyril. It was a definite arrangement +between mother and son that Cyril should write on Saturdays, and +Constance on Sundays. Sophia knew that Constance set store by this +letter, becoming more and more preoccupied about Cyril as the end of +the week approached. Since Sophia's arrival Cyril's letter had not +failed to come, but once it had been naught save a scribbled line or +two, and Sophia gathered that it was never a certainty, and that +Constance was accustomed, though not reconciled, to disappointments. +Sophia had been allowed to read the letters. They left a faint +impression on her mind that her favourite was perhaps somewhat +negligent in his relations with his mother. + +There was no reply to the bell. Constance rang again without effect. + +With a brusque movement Sophia left the bedroom by way of Cyril's room. + +"Amy," she called over the banisters, "do you not hear your mistress's +bell?" + +"I'm coming as quick as I can, m'm." The voice was still very glum. + +Sophia murmured something inarticulate, staying till assured that Amy +really was coming, and then she passed back into Cyril's bedroom. She +waited there, hesitant, not exactly on the watch, not exactly unwilling +to assist at an interview between Amy and Amy's mistress; indeed, she +could not have surely analyzed her motive for remaining in Cyril's +bedroom, with the door ajar between that room and Constance's. + +Amy reluctantly mounted the stairs and went into her mistress's bedroom +with her chin in the air. She thought that Sophia had gone up to the +second storey, where she 'belonged.' She stood in silence by the bed, +showing no sympathy with Constance, no curiosity as to the +indisposition. She objected to Constance's attack of sciatica, as being +a too permanent reproof of her carelessness as to doors. + +Constance also waited, for the fraction of a second, as if expectant. + +"Well, Amy," she said at length in her voice weakened by fatigue and +pain. "The letters?" + +"There ain't no letters," said Amy, grimly. "You might have known, if +there'd been any, I should have brought 'em up. Postman went past +twenty minutes agone. I'm always being interrupted, and it isn't as if +I hadn't got enough to do--now!" + +She turned to leave, and was pulling the door open. + +"Amy!" said a voice sharply. It was Sophia's. + +The servant jumped, and in spite of herself obeyed the implicit, +imperious command to stop. + +"You will please not speak to your mistress in that tone, at any rate +while I'm here," said Sophia, icily. "You know she is ill and weak. You +ought to be ashamed of yourself." + +"I never----" Amy began. + +"I don't want to argue," Sophia said angrily. "Please leave the room." + +Amy obeyed. She was cowed, in addition to being staggered. + +To the persons involved in it, this episode was intensely dramatic. +Sophia had surmised that Constance permitted liberties of speech to +Amy; she had even guessed that Amy sometimes took licence to be rude. +But that the relations between them were such as to allow the bullying +of Constance by an Amy downright insolent--this had shocked and wounded +Sophia, who suddenly had a vision of Constance as the victim of a reign +of terror. "If the creature will do this while I'm here," said Sophia +to herself, "what does she do when they are alone together in the +house?" + +"Well," she exclaimed, "I never heard of such goings-on! And you let +her talk to you in that style! My dear Constance!" + +Constance was sitting up in bed, the small tea-tray on her knees. Her +eyes were moist. The tears had filled them when she knew that there was +no letter. Ordinarily the failure of Cyril's letter would not have made +her cry, but weakness had impaired her self-control. And the tears +having once got into her eyes, she could not dismiss them. There they +were! + +"She's been with me such a long time," Constance murmured. "She takes +liberties. I've corrected her once or twice." + +"Liberties!" Sophia repeated the word. "Liberties!" + +"Of course I really ought not to allow it," said Constance. "I ought to +have put a stop to it long since." + +"Well," said Sophia, rather relieved by this symptom of Constance's +secret mind, "I do hope you won't think I'm meddlesome, but truly it +was too much for me. The words were out of my mouth before I----" She +stopped. + +"You were quite right, quite right," said Constance, seeing before her +in the woman of fifty the passionate girl of fifteen. + +"I've had a good deal of experience of servants," said Sophia. + +"I know you have," Constance put in. + +"And I'm convinced that it never pays to stand any sauce. Servants +don't understand kindness and forbearance. And this sort of thing grows +and grows till you can't call your soul your own." + +"You are quite right," Constance said again, with even more +positiveness. + +Not merely the conviction that Sophia was quite right, but the desire +to assure Sophia that Sophia was not meddlesome, gave force to her +utterance. Amy's allusion to extra work shamed Amy's mistress as a +hostess, and she was bound to make amends. + +"Now as to that woman," said Sophia in a lower voice, as she sat down +confidentially on the edge of the bed. And she told Constance about Amy +and the dogs, and about Amy's rudeness in the kitchen. "I should never +have DREAMT of mentioning such things," she finished. "But under the +circumstances I feel it right that you should know. I feel you ought to +know." + +And Constance nodded her head in thorough agreement. She did not +trouble to go into articulate apologies to her guest for the actual +misdeeds of her servant. The sisters were now on a plane of intimacy +where such apologies would have been supererogatory. Their voices fell +lower and lower, and the case of Amy was laid bare and discussed to the +minutest detail. + +Gradually they realized that what had occurred was a crisis. They were +both very excited, apprehensive, and rather too consciously defiant. At +the same time they were drawn very close to each other, by Sophia's +generous indignation and by Constance's absolute loyalty. + +A long time passed before Constance said, thinking about something else: + +"I expect it's been delayed in the post." + +"Cyril's letter? Oh, no doubt! If you knew the posts in France, my +word!" + +Then they determined, with little sighs, to face the crisis cheerfully. + +In truth it was a crisis, and a great one. The sensation of the crisis +affected the atmosphere of the entire house. Constance got up for tea +and managed to walk to the drawing-room. And when Sophia, after an +absence in her own room, came down to tea and found the tea all served, +Constance whispered: + +"She's given notice! And Sunday too!" + +"What did she say?" + +"She didn't say much," Constance replied vaguely, hiding from Sophia +that Amy had harped on the too great profusion of mistresses in that +house. "After all, it's just as well. She'll be all right. She's saved +a good bit of money, and she has friends." + +"But how foolish of her to give up such a good place!" + +"She simply doesn't care," said Constance, who was a little hurt by +Amy's defection. "When she takes a thing into her head she simply +doesn't care. She's got no common sense. I've always known that." + +"So you're going to leave, Amy?" said Sophia that evening, as Amy was +passing through the parlour on her way to bed. Constance was already +arranged for the night. + +"I am, m'm," answered Amy, precisely. + +Her tone was not rude, but it was firm. She had apparently reconnoitred +her position in calmness. + +"I'm sorry I was obliged to correct you this morning," said Sophia, +with cheerful amicableness, pleased in spite of herself with the +woman's tone. "But I think you will see that I had reason to." + +"I've been thinking it over, m'm," said Amy, with dignity, "and I see +as I must leave." + +There was a pause. + +"Well, you know best.... Good night, Amy." + +"Good night, m'm." + +"She's a decent woman," thought Sophia, "but hopeless for this place +now." + +The sisters were fronted with the fact that Constance had a month in +which to find a new servant, and that a new servant would have to be +trained in well-doing and might easily prove disastrous. Both Constance +and Amy were profoundly disturbed by the prospective dissolution of a +bond which dated from the seventies. And both were decided that there +was no alternative to the dissolution. Outsiders knew merely that Mrs. +Povey's old servant was leaving. Outsiders merely saw Mrs. Povey's +advertisement in the Signal for a new servant. They could not read +hearts. Some of the younger generation even said superiorly that +old-fashioned women like Mrs. Povey seemed to have servants on the +brain, etc., etc. + +II + +"Well, have you got your letter?" Sophia demanded cheerfully of +Constance when she entered the bedroom the next morning. + +Constance merely shook her head. She was very depressed. Sophia's +cheerfulness died out. As she hated to be insincerely optimistic, she +said nothing. Otherwise she might have remarked: "Perhaps the afternoon +post will bring it." Gloom reigned. To Constance particularly, as Amy +had given notice and as Cyril was 'remiss,' it seemed really that the +time was out of joint and life unworth living. Even the presence of +Sophia did not bring her much comfort. Immediately Sophia left the room +Constance's sciatica began to return, and in a severe form. She had +regretted this, less for the pain than because she had just assured +Sophia, quite honestly, that she was not suffering; Sophia had been +sceptical. After that it was of course imperative that Constance should +get up as usual. She had said that she would get up as usual. Besides, +there was the immense enterprise of obtaining a new servant! Worries +loomed mountainous. Suppose Cyril were dangerously ill, and unable to +write! Suppose something had happened to him! Supposing she never did +obtain a new servant! + +Sophia, up in her room, was endeavouring to be philosophical, and to +see the world brightly. She was saying to herself that she must take +Constance in hand, that what Constance lacked was energy, that +Constance must be stirred out of her groove. And in the cavernous +kitchen Amy, preparing the nine-o'clock breakfast, was meditating upon +the ingratitude of employers and wondering what the future held for +her. She had a widowed mother in the picturesque village of Sneyd, +where the mortal and immortal welfare of every inhabitant was watched +over by God's vicegerent, the busy Countess of Chell; she possessed +about two hundred pounds of her own; her mother for years had been +begging Amy to share her home free of expense. But nevertheless Amy's +mind was black with foreboding and vague dejection. The house was a +house of sorrow, and these three women, each solitary, the devotees of +sorrow. And the two dogs wandered disconsolate up and down, aware of +the necessity for circumspection, never guessing that the highly +peculiar state of the atmosphere had been brought about by nothing but +a half-shut door and an incorrect tone. + +As Sophia, fully dressed this time, was descending to breakfast, she +heard Constance's voice, feebly calling her, and found the convalescent +still in bed. The truth could not be concealed. Constance was once more +in great pain, and her moral condition was not favourable to fortitude. + +"I wish you had told me, to begin with," Sophia could not help saying, +"then I should have known what to do." + +Constance did not defend herself by saying that the pain had only +recurred since their first interview that morning. She just wept. + +"I'm very low!" she blubbered. + +Sophia was surprised. She felt that this was not 'being a Baines.' + +During the progress of that interminable April morning, her +acquaintance with the possibilities of sciatica as an agent destructive +of moral fibre was further increased. Constance had no force at all to +resist its activity. The sweetness of her resignation seemed to melt +into nullity. She held to it that the doctor could do nothing for her. + +About noon, when Sophia was moving anxiously around her, she suddenly +screamed. + +"I feel as if my leg was going to burst!" she cried. + +That decided Sophia. As soon as Constance was a little easier she went +downstairs to Amy. + +"Amy," she said, "it's a Doctor Stirling that your mistress has when +she's ill, isn't it?" + +"Yes, m'm." + +"Where is his surgery?" + +"Well, m'm, he did live just opposite, with Dr. Harrop, but latterly +he's gone to live at Bleakridge." + +"I wish you would put your things on, and run up there and ask him to +call as soon as he can." + +"I will, m'm," said Amy, with the greatest willingness. "I thought I +heard missis cry out." She was not effusive. She was better than +effusive: kindly and helpful with a certain reserve. + +"There's something about that woman I like," said Sophia, to herself. +For a proved fool, Amy was indeed holding her own rather well. + +Dr. Stirling drove down about two o'clock. He had now been established +in the Five Towns for more than a decade, and the stamp of success was +on his brow and on the proud forehead of his trotting horse. He had, in +the phrase of the Signal, 'identified himself with the local life of +the district.' He was liked, being a man of broad sympathies. In his +rich Scotch accent he could discuss with equal ability the flavour of +whisky or of a sermon, and he had more than sufficient tact never to +discuss either whiskies or sermons in the wrong place. He had made a +speech (responding for the learned professions) at the annual dinner of +the Society for the Prosecution of Felons, and this speech (in which +praise of red wine was rendered innocuous by praise of books--his fine +library was notorious) had classed him as a wit with the American +consul, whose post-prandial manner was modelled on Mark Twain's. He was +thirty-five years of age, tall and stoutish, with a chubby boyish face +that the razor left chiefly blue every morning. + +The immediate effect of his arrival on Constance was miraculous. His +presence almost cured her for a moment, just as though her malady had +been toothache and he a dentist. Then, when he had finished his +examination, the pain resumed its sway over her. + +In talking to her and to Sophia, he listened very seriously to all that +they said; he seemed to regard the case as the one case that had ever +aroused his genuine professional interest; but as it unfolded itself, +in all its difficulty and urgency, so he seemed, in his mind, to be +discovering wondrous ways of dealing with it; these mysterious +discoveries seemed to give him confidence, and his confidence was +communicated to the patient by means of faint sallies of humour. He was +a highly skilled doctor. This fact, however, had no share in his +popularity; which was due solely to his rare gift of taking a case very +seriously while remaining cheerful. + +He said he would return in a quarter of an hour, and he returned in +thirteen minutes with a hypodermic syringe, with which he attacked the +pain in its central strongholds. + +"What is it?" asked Constance, breathing gratitude for the relief. + +He paused, looking at her roguishly from under lowered eyelids. + +"I'd better not tell ye," he said. "It might lead ye into mischief." + +"Oh, but you must tell me, doctor," Constance insisted, anxious that he +should live up to his reputation for Sophia's benefit. + +"It's hydrochloride of cocaine," he said, and lifted a finger. "Beware +of the cocaine habit. It's ruined many a respectable family. But if I +hadn't had a certain amount of confidence in yer strength of character, +Mrs. Povey, I wouldn't have risked it." + +"He will have his joke, will the doctor!" Constance smiled, in a +brighter world. + +He said he should come again about half-past five, and he arrived about +half-past six, and injected more cocaine. The special importance of the +case was thereby established. On this second visit, he and Sophia soon +grew rather friendly. When she conducted him downstairs again he +stopped chatting with her in the parlour for a long time, as though he +had nothing else on earth to do, while his coachman walked the horse to +and fro in front of the door. + +His attitude to her flattered Sophia, for it showed that he took her +for no ordinary woman. It implied a continual assumption that she must +be a mine of interest for any one who was privileged to delve into her +memory. So far, among Constance's acquaintance, Sophia had met no one +who showed more than a perfunctory curiosity as to her life. Her return +was accepted with indifference. Her escapade of thirty years ago had +entirely lost its dramatic quality. Many people indeed had never heard +that she had run away from home to marry a commercial traveller; and to +those who remembered, or had been told, it seemed a sufficiently banal +exploit--after thirty years! Her fear, and Constance's, that the town +would be murmurous with gossip was ludicrously unfounded. The effect of +time was such that even Mr. Critchlow appeared to have forgotten even +that she had been indirectly responsible for her father's death. She +had nearly forgotten it herself; when she happened to think of it she +felt no shame, no remorse, seeing the death as purely accidental, and +not altogether unfortunate. On two points only was the town +inquisitive: as to her husband, and as to the precise figure at which +she had sold the pension. The town knew that she was probably not a +widow, for she had been obliged to tell Mr. Critchlow, and Mr. +Critchlow in some hour of tenderness had told Maria. But nobody had +dared to mention the name of Gerald Scales to her. With her fashionable +clothes, her striking mien of command, and the legend of her wealth, +she inspired respect, if not awe, in the townsfolk. In the doctor's +attitude there was something of amaze; she felt it. Though the dull +apathy of the people she had hitherto met was assuredly not without its +advantageous side for her tranquillity of mind, it had touched her +vanity, and the gaze of the doctor soothed the smart. He had so +obviously divined her interestingness; he so obviously wanted to enjoy +it. + +"I've just been reading Zola's 'Downfall,'" he said. + +Her mind searched backwards, and recalled a poster. + +"Oh!" she replied. "'La Debacle'?" + +"Yes. What do ye think of it?" His eyes lighted at the prospect of a +talk. He was even pleased to hear her give him the title in French. + +"I haven't read it," she said, and she was momentarily sorry that she +had not read it, for she could see that he was dashed. The doctor had +supposed that residence in a foreign country involved a knowledge of +the literature of that country. Yet he had never supposed that +residence in England involved a knowledge of English literature. Sophia +had read practically nothing since 1870; for her the latest author was +Cherbuliez. Moreover, her impression of Zola was that he was not at all +nice, and that he was the enemy of his race, though at that date the +world had scarcely heard of Dreyfus. Dr. Stirling had too hastily +assumed that the opinions of the bourgeois upon art differ in different +countries. + +"And ye actually were in the siege of Paris?" he questioned, trying +again. + +"Yes." + +"AND the commune?" + +"Yes, the commune too." + +"Well!" he exclaimed. "It's incredible! When I was reading the +'Downfall' the night before last, I said to myself that you must have +been through a lot of all that. I didn't know I was going to have the +pleasure of a chat with ye so soon." + +She smiled. "But how did you know I was in the siege of Paris?" she +asked, curious. + +"How do I know? I know because I've seen that birthday card ye sent to +Mrs. Povey in 1871, after it was over. It's one of her possessions, +that card is. She showed it me one day when she told me ye were coming." + +Sophia started. She had quite forgotten that card. It had not occurred +to her that Constance would have treasured all those cards that she had +despatched during the early years of her exile. She responded as well +as she could to his eagerness for personal details concerning the siege +and the commune. He might have been disappointed at the prose of her +answers, had he not been determined not to be disappointed. + +"Ye seem to have taken it all very quietly," he observed. + +"Eh yes!" she agreed, not without pride. "But it's a long time since." + +Those events, as they existed in her memory, scarcely warranted the +tremendous fuss subsequently made about them. What were they, after +all? Such was her secret thought. Chirac himself was now nothing but a +faint shadow. Still, were the estimate of those events true or false, +she was a woman who had been through them, and Dr. Stirling's high +appreciation of that fact was very pleasant to her. Their friendliness +approached intimacy. Night had fallen. Outside could be heard the +champing of a bit. + +"I must be getting on," he said at last; but he did not move. + +"Then there is nothing else I am to do for my sister?" Sophia inquired. + +"I don't think so," said he. "It isn't a question of medicine." + +"Then what is it a question of?" Sophia demanded bluntly. + +"Nerves," he said. "It's nearly all nerves. I know something about Mrs. +Povey's constitution now, and I was hoping that your visit would do her +good." + +"She's been quite well--I mean what you may call quite well--until the +day before yesterday, when she sat in that draught. She was better last +night, and then this morning I find her ever so much worse." + +"No worries?" The doctor looked at her confidentially. + +"What CAN she have in the way of worries?" exclaimed Sophia. "That's to +say--real worries." + +"Exactly!" the doctor agreed. + +"I tell her she doesn't know what worry is," said Sophia. + +"So do I!" said the doctor, his eyes twinkling. + +"She was a little upset because she didn't receive her usual Sunday +letter from Cyril yesterday. But then she was weak and low." + +"Clever youth, Cyril!" mused the doctor. + +"I think he's a particularly nice boy," said Sophia, eagerly, + +"So you've seen him?" + +"Of course," said Sophia, rather stiffly. Did the doctor suppose that +she did not know her own nephew? She went back to the subject of her +sister. "She is also a little bothered, I think, because the servant is +going to leave." + +"Oh! So Amy is going to leave, is she?" He spoke still lower. "Between +you and me, it's no bad thing." + +"I'm so glad you think so." + +"In another few years the servant would have been the mistress here. +One can see these things coming on, but it's so difficult to do +anything. In fact ye can't do anything." + +"I did something," said Sophia, sharply. "I told the woman straight +that it shouldn't go on while I was in the house. I didn't suspect it +at first--but when I found it out ... I can tell you!" She let the +doctor imagine what she could tell him. + +He smiled. "No," he said. "I can easily understand that ye didn't +suspect anything at first. When she's well and bright Mrs. Povey could +hold her own--so I'm told. But it was certainly slowly getting worse." + +"Then people talk about it?" said Sophia, shocked. + +"As a native of Bursley, Mrs. Scales," said the doctor, "ye ought to +know what people in Bursley do!" Sophia put her lips together. The +doctor rose, smoothing his waistcoat. "What does she bother with +servants at all for?" he burst out. "She's perfectly free. She hasn't +got a care in the world, if she only knew it. Why doesn't she go out +and about, and enjoy herself? She wants stirring up, that's what your +sister wants." + +"You're quite right," Sophia burst out in her turn. "That's precisely +what I say to myself; precisely! I was thinking it over only this +morning. She wants stirring up. She's got into a rut." + +"She needs to be jolly. Why doesn't she go to some seaside place, and +live in a hotel, and enjoy herself? Is there anything to prevent her?" + +"Nothing whatever." + +"Instead of being dependent on a servant! I believe in enjoying one's +self--when ye've got the money to do it with! Can ye imagine anybody +living in Bursley, for pleasure? And especially in St. Luke's Square, +right in the thick of it all! Smoke! Dirt! No air! No light! No +scenery! No amusements! What does she do it for? She's in a rut." + +"Yes, she's in a rut," Sophia repeated her own phrase, which he had +copied. + +"My word!" said the doctor. "Wouldn't I clear out and enjoy myself if I +could! Your sister's a young woman." + +"Of course she is!" Sophia concurred, feeling that she herself was even +younger. "Of course she is!" + +"And except that she's nervously organized, and has certain +predispositions, there's nothing the matter with her. This sciatica--I +don't say it would be cured, but it might be, by a complete change and +throwing off all these ridiculous worries. Not only does she live in +the most depressing conditions, but she suffers tortures for it, and +there's absolutely no need for her to be here at all." + +"Doctor," said Sophia, solemnly, impressed, "you are quite right. I +agree with every word you say." + +"Naturally she's attached to the place," he continued, glancing round +the room. "I know all about that. After living here all her life! But +she's got to break herself of her attachment. It's her duty to do so. +She ought to show a little energy. I'm deeply attached to my bed in the +morning, but I have to leave it." + +"Of course," said Sophia, in an impatient tone, as though disgusted +with every person who could not perceive, or would not subscribe to, +these obvious truths that the doctor was uttering. "Of course!" + +"What she needs is the bustle of life in a good hotel, a good hydro, +for instance. Among jolly people. Parties! Games! Excursions! She +wouldn't be the same woman. You'd see. Wouldn't I do it, if I could? +Strathpeffer. She'd soon forget her sciatica. I don't know what Mrs. +Povey's annual income is, but I expect that if she took it into her +head to live in the dearest hotel in England, there would be no reason +why she shouldn't." + +Sophia lifted her head and smiled in calm amusement. "I expect so," she +said superiorly. + +"A hotel--that's the life. No worries. If ye want anything ye ring a +bell. If a waiter gives notice, it's some one else who has the worry, +not you. But you know all about that, Mrs. Scales." + +"No one better," murmured Sophia. + +"Good evening," he said abruptly, sticking out his hand. "I'll be down +in the morning." + +"Did you ever mention this to my sister?" Sophia asked him, rising. + +"Yes," said he. "But it's no use. Oh yes, I've told her. But she does +really think it's quite impossible. She wouldn't even hear of going to +live in London with her beloved son. She won't listen." + +"I never thought of that," said Sophia. "Good night." + +Their hand-grasp was very intimate and mutually comprehending. He was +pleased by the quick responsiveness of her temperament, and the +masterful vigour which occasionally flashed out in her replies. He +noticed the hardly perceptible distortion of her handsome, worn face, +and he said to himself: "She's been through a thing or two," and: +"She'll have to mind her p's and q's." Sophia was pleased because he +admired her, and because with her he dropped his bedside jocularities, +and talked plainly as a sensible man will talk when he meets an +uncommonly wise woman, and because he echoed and amplified her own +thoughts. She honoured him by standing at the door till he had driven +off. + +For a few moments she mused solitary in the parlour, and then, lowering +the gas, she went upstairs to her sister, who lay in the dark. Sophia +struck a match. + +"You've been having quite a long chat with the doctor," said Constance. +"He's very good company, isn't he? What did he talk about this time?" + +"He wanted to know about Paris and so on," Sophia answered. + +"Oh! I believe he's a rare student." + +Lying there in the dark, the simple Constance never suspected that +those two active and strenuous ones had been arranging her life for +her, so that she should be jolly and live for twenty years yet. She did +not suspect that she had been tried and found guilty of sinful +attachments, and of being in a rut, and of lacking the elements of +ordinary sagacity. It had not occurred to her that if she was worried +and ill, the reason was to be found in her own blind and stupid +obstinacy. She had thought herself a fairly sensible kind of creature. + +III + +The sisters had an early supper together in Constance's bedroom. +Constance was much easier. Having a fancy that a little movement would +be beneficial, she had even got up for a few moments and moved about +the room. Now she sat ensconced in pillows. A fire burned in the +old-fashioned ineffectual grate. From the Sun Vaults opposite came the +sound of a phonograph singing an invitation to God to save its gracious +queen. This phonograph was a wonderful novelty, and filled the Sun +nightly. For a few evenings it had interested the sisters, in spite of +themselves, but they had soon sickened of it and loathed it. Sophia +became more and more obsessed by the monstrous absurdity of the simple +fact that she and Constance were there, in that dark inconvenient +house, wearied by the gaiety of public-houses, blackened by smoke, +surrounded by mud, instead of being luxuriously installed in a +beautiful climate, amid scenes of beauty and white cleanliness. +Secretly she became more and more indignant. + +Amy entered, bearing a letter in her coarse hand. As Amy +unceremoniously handed the letter to Constance, Sophia thought: "If she +was my servant she would hand letters on a tray." (An advertisement had +already been sent to the Signal.) + +Constance took the letter trembling. "Here it is at last," she cried. + +When she had put on her spectacles and read it, she exclaimed: + +"Bless us! Here's news! He's coming down! That's why he didn't write on +Saturday as usual." + +She gave the letter to Sophia to read. It ran-- + +"Sunday midnight. + +"DEAR MOTHER, + +"Just a line to say I am coming down to Bursley on Wednesday, on +business with Peels. I shall get to Knype at 5.28, and take the Loop. +I've been very busy, and as I was coming down I didn't write on +Saturday. I hope you didn't worry. Love to yourself and Aunt Sophia. + +"Yours, C." + +"I must send him a line," said Constance, excitedly. + +"What? To-night?" + +"Yes. Amy can easily catch the last post with it. Otherwise he won't +know that I've got his letter." + +She rang the bell. + +Sophia thought: "His coming down is really no excuse for his not +writing on Saturday. How could she guess that he was coming down? I +shall have to put in a little word to that young man. I wonder +Constance is so blind. She is quite satisfied now that his letter has +come." On behalf of the elder generation she rather resented +Constance's eagerness to write in answer. + +But Constance was not so blind. Constance thought exactly as Sophia +thought. In her heart she did not at all justify or excuse Cyril. She +remembered separately almost every instance of his carelessness in her +regard. "Hope I didn't worry, indeed!" she said to herself with a faint +touch of bitterness, apropos of the phrase in his letter. + +Nevertheless she insisted on writing at once. And Amy had to bring the +writing materials. + +"Mr. Cyril is coming down on Wednesday," she said to Amy with great +dignity. + +Amy's stony calmness was shaken, for Mr. Cyril was a great deal to Amy. +Amy wondered how she would be able to look Mr. Cyril in the face when +he knew that she had given notice. + +In the middle of writing, on her knee, Constance looked up at Sophia, +and said, as though defending herself against an accusation: "I didn't +write to him yesterday, you know, or to-day." + +"No," Sophia murmured assentingly. + +Constance rang the bell yet again, and Amy was sent out to the post. + +Soon afterwards the bell was rung for a fourth time, and not answered. + +"I suppose she hasn't come back yet. But I thought I heard the door. +What a long time she is!" + +"What do you want?" Sophia asked. + +"I just want to speak to her," said Constance. + +When the bell had been rung seven or eight times, Amy at length +re-appeared, somewhat breathless. + +"Amy," said Constance, "let me examine those sheets, will you?" + +"Yes'm," said Amy, apparently knowing what sheets, of all the various +and multitudinous sheets in that house. + +"And the pillow-cases," Constance added as Amy left the room. + +So it continued. The next day the fever heightened. Constance was up +early, before Sophia, and trotting about the house like a girl. +Immediately after breakfast Cyril's bedroom was invested and +revolutionized; not till evening was order restored in that chamber. +And on the Wednesday morning it had to be dusted afresh. Sophia watched +the preparations, and the increasing agitation of Constance's +demeanour, with an astonishment which she had real difficulty in +concealing. "Is the woman absolutely mad?" she asked herself. The +spectacle was ludicrous: or it seemed so to Sophia, whose career had +not embraced much experience of mothers. It was not as if the +manifestations of Constance's anxiety were dignified or original or +splendid. They were just silly, ordinary fussinesses; they had no sense +in them. Sophia was very careful to make no observation. She felt that +before she and Constance were very much older she had a very great deal +to do, and that a subtle diplomacy and wary tactics would be necessary. +Moreover, Constance's angelic temper was slightly affected by the +strain of expectation. She had a tendency to rasp. After the high-tea +was set she suddenly sprang on to the sofa and lifted down the 'Stag at +Eve' engraving. The dust on the top of the frame incensed her. + +"What are you going to do?" Sophia asked, in a final marvel. + +"I'm going to change it with that one," said Constance, pointing to +another engraving opposite the fireplace. "He said the effect would be +very much better if they were changed. And his lordship is very +particular." + +Constance did not go to Bursley station to meet her son. She explained +that it upset her to do so, and that also Cyril preferred her not to +come. + +"Suppose I go to meet him," said Sophia, at half-past five. The idea +had visited her suddenly. She thought: "Then I could talk to him before +any one else." + +"Oh, do!" Constance agreed. + +Sophia put her things on with remarkable expedition. She arrived at the +station a minute before the train came in. Only a few persons emerged +from the train, and Cyril was not among them. A porter said that there +was not supposed to be any connection between the Loop Line trains and +the main line expresses, and that probably the express had missed the +Loop. She waited thirty-five minutes for the next Loop, and Cyril did +not emerge from that train either. + +Constance opened the front-door to her, and showed a telegram-- + +"Sorry prevented last moment. Writing. CYRIL." + +Sophia had known it. Somehow she had known that it was useless to wait +for the second train. Constance was silent and calm; Sophia also. + +"What a shame! What a shame!" thumped Sophia's heart. + +It was the most ordinary episode. But beneath her calm she was furious +against her favourite. She hesitated. + +"I'm just going out a minute," she said. + +"Where?" asked Constance. "Hadn't we better have tea? I suppose we must +have tea." + +"I shan't be long. I want to buy something." + +Sophia went to the post-office and despatched a telegram. Then, +partially eased, she returned to the arid and painful desolation of the +house. + +IV + +The next evening Cyril sat at the tea-table in the parlour with his +mother and his aunt. To Constance his presence there had something of +the miraculous in it. He had come, after all! Sophia was in a rich +robe, and for ornament wore an old silver-gilt neck-chain, which was +clasped at the throat, and fell in double to her waist, where it was +caught in her belt. This chain interested Cyril. He referred to it once +or twice, and then he said: "Just let me have a LOOK at that chain," +and put out his hand; and Sophia leaned forward so that he could handle +it. His fingers played with it thus for some seconds; the picture +strikingly affected Constance. At length he dropped it, and said: +"H'm!" After a pause he said: "Louis Sixteenth, eh?" and Sophia said: + +"They told me so. But it's nothing; it only cost thirty francs, you +know." And Cyril took her up sharply: + +"What does that matter?" Then after another pause he asked: "How often +do you break a link of it?" + +"Oh, often," she said. "It's always getting shorter." + +And he murmured mysteriously: "H'm!" + +He was still mysterious, withdrawn within himself extraordinarily +uninterested in his physical surroundings. But that evening he talked +more than he usually did. He was benevolent, and showed a particular +benevolence towards his mother, apparently exerting himself to answer +her questions with fullness and heartiness, as though admitting frankly +her right to be curious. He praised the tea; he seemed to notice what +he was eating. He took Spot on his knee, and gazed in admiration at +Fossette. + +"By Jove!" he said, "that's a dog, that is! ... All the same...." And +he burst out laughing. + +"I won't have Fossette laughed at," Sophia warned him. + +"No, seriously," he said, in his quality of an amateur of dogs; "she is +very fine." Even then he could not help adding: "What you can see of +her!" + +Whereupon Sophia shook her head, deprecating such wit. Sophia was very +lenient towards him. Her leniency could be perceived in her eyes, which +followed his movements all the time. "Do you think he is like me, +Constance?" she asked. + +"I wish I was half as good-looking," said Cyril, quickly; and Constance +said: + +"As a baby he was very like you. He was a handsome baby. He wasn't at +all like you when he was at school. These last few years he's begun to +be like you again. He's very much changed since he left school; he was +rather heavy and clumsy then." + +"Heavy and clumsy!" exclaimed Sophia. "Well, I should never have +believed it!" + +"Oh, but he was!" Constance insisted. + +"Now, mater," said Cyril, "it's a pity you don't want that cake cutting +into. I think I could have eaten a bit of that cake. But of course if +it's only for show...!" + +Constance sprang up, seizing a knife. + +"You shouldn't tease your mother," Sophia told him. "He doesn't really +want any, Constance; he's regularly stuffed himself." + +And Cyril agreed, "No, no, mater, don't cut it; I really couldn't. I +was only gassing." + +But Constance could never clearly see through humour of that sort. She +cut three slices of cake, and she held the plate towards Cyril. + +"I tell you I really couldn't!" he protested. + +"Come!" she said obstinately. "I'm waiting! How much longer must I hold +this plate?" + +And he had to take a slice. So had Sophia. When she was roused, they +both of them had to yield to Constance. + +With the dogs, and the splendour of the tea-table under the gas, and +the distinction of Sophia and Cyril, and the conversation, which on the +whole was gay and free, rising at times to jolly garrulity, the scene +in her parlour ought surely to have satisfied Constance utterly. She +ought to have been quite happy, as her sciatica had raised the siege +for a space. But she was not quite happy. The circumstances of Cyril's +arrival had disturbed her; they had in fact wounded her, though she +would scarcely admit the wound. In the morning she had received a brief +letter from Cyril to say that he had not been able to come, and vaguely +promising, or half-promising, to run down at a later date. That letter +had the cardinal defects of all Cyril's relations with his mother; it +was casual, and it was not candid. It gave no hint of the nature of the +obstacle which had prevented him from coming. Cyril had always been too +secretive. She was gravely depressed by the letter, which she did not +show to Sophia, because it impaired her dignity as a mother, and +displayed her son in a bad light. Then about eleven o'clock a telegram +had come for Sophia. + +"That's all right," Sophia had said, on reading it. "He'll be here this +evening!" And she had handed over the telegram, which read-- + +"Very well. Will come same train to-day." + +And Constance learned that when Sophia had rushed out just before tea +on the previous evening, it was to telegraph to Cyril. + +"What did you say to him?" Constance asked. + +"Oh!" said Sophia, with a careless air, "I told him I thought he ought +to come. After all, you're more important than any business, Constance! +And I don't like him behaving like that. I was determined he should +come!" + +Sophia had tossed her proud head. + +Constance had pretended to be pleased and grateful. But the existence +of a wound was incontestable. Sophia, then, could do more with Cyril +than she could! Sophia had only met him once, and could simply twist +him round her little finger. He would never have done so much for his +mother. A fine sort of an obstacle it must have been, if a single +telegram from Sophia could overcome it...! And Sophia, too, was +secretive. She had gone out and had telegraphed, and had not breathed a +word until she got the reply, sixteen hours later. She was secretive, +and Cyril was secretive. They resembled one another. They had taken to +one another. But Sophia was a curious mixture. When Constance had asked +her if she should go to the station again to meet Cyril, she had +replied scornfully: "No, indeed! I've done going to meet Cyril. People +who don't arrive must not expect to be met." + +When Cyril drove up to the door, Sophia had been in attendance. She +hurried down the steps. "Don't say anything about my telegram," she had +rapidly whispered to Cyril; there was no time for further explanation. +Constance was at the top of the steps. Constance had not heard the +whisper, but she had seen it; and she saw a guilty, puzzled look on +Cyril's face, afterwards an ineffectively concealed conspiratorial look +on both their faces. They had 'something between them,' from which she, +the mother, was shut out! Was it not natural that she should be +wounded? She was far too proud to mention the telegrams. And as neither +Cyril nor Sophia mentioned them, the circumstances leading to Cyril's +change of plan were not referred to at all, which was very curious. +Then Cyril was more sociable than he had ever been; he was different, +under his aunt's gaze. Certainly he treated his mother faultlessly. But +Constance said to herself: "It is because she is here that he is so +specially nice to me." + +When tea was finished and they were going upstairs to the drawing-room, +she asked him, with her eye on the 'Stag at Eve' engraving: + +"Well, is it a success?" + +"What?" His eye followed hers. "Oh, you've changed it! What did you do +that for, mater?" + +"You said it would be better like that," she reminded him. + +"Did I?" He seemed genuinely surprised. "I don't remember. I believe it +is better, though," he added. "It might be even better still if you +turned it the other way up." + +He pulled a face to Sophia, and screwed up his shoulders, as if to +indicate: "I've done it, this time!" + +"How? The other way up?" Constance queried. Then as she comprehended +that he was teasing her, she said: "Get away with you!" and pretended +to box his ears. "You were fond enough of that picture at one time!" +she said ironically. + +"Yes, I was, mater," he submissively agreed. "There's no getting over +that." And he pressed her cheeks between his hands and kissed her. + +In the drawing-room he smoked cigarettes and played the piano--waltzes +of his own composition. Constance and Sophia did not entirely +comprehend those waltzes. But they agreed that all were wonderful and +that one was very pretty indeed. (It soothed Constance that Sophia's +opinion coincided with hers.) He said that that waltz was the worst of +the lot. When he had finished with the piano, Constance informed him +about Amy. "Oh! She told me," he said, "when she brought me my water. I +didn't mention it because I thought it would be rather a sore subject." +Beneath the casualness of his tone there lurked a certain curiosity, a +willingness to hear details. He heard them. + +At five minutes to ten, when Constance had yawned, he threw a bomb +among them on the hearthrug. + +"Well," he said, "I've got an appointment with Matthew at the +Conservative Club at ten o'clock. I must go. Don't wait up for me." + +Both women protested, Sophia the more vivaciously. It was Sophia now +who was wounded. + +"It's business," he said, defending himself. "He's going away early +to-morrow, and it's my only chance." And as Constance did not brighten +he went on: "Business has to be attended to. You mustn't think I've got +nothing to do but enjoy myself." + +No hint of the nature of the business! He never explained. As to +business, Constance knew only that she allowed him three hundred a +year, and paid his local tailor. The sum had at first seemed to her +enormous, but she had grown accustomed to it. + +"I should have preferred you to see Mr. Peel-Swynnerton here," said +Constance. "You could have had a room to yourselves. I do not like you +going out at ten o'clock at night to a club." + +"Well, good night, mater," he said, getting up. "See you to-morrow. I +shall take the key out of the door. It's true my pocket will never be +the same again." + +Sophia saw Constance into bed, and provided her with two hot-water +bottles against sciatica. They did not talk much. + +V + +Sophia sat waiting on the sofa in the parlour. It appeared to her that, +though little more than a month had elapsed since her arrival in +Bursley, she had already acquired a new set of interests and anxieties. +Paris and her life there had receded in the strangest way. Sometimes +for hours she would absolutely forget Paris. Thoughts of Paris were +disconcerting; for either Paris or Bursley must surely be unreal! As +she sat waiting on the sofa Paris kept coming into her mind. Certainly +it was astonishing that she should be just as preoccupied with her +schemes for the welfare of Constance as she had ever been preoccupied +with schemes for the improvement of the Pension Frensham. She said to +herself: "My life has been so queer--and yet every part of it +separately seemed ordinary enough--how will it end?" + +Then there were footfalls on the steps outside, and a key was put into +the door, which she at once opened. + +"Oh!" exclaimed Cyril, startled, and also somewhat out of countenance. +"You're still up! Thanks." He came in, smoking the end of a cigar. +"Fancy having to cart that about!" he murmured, holding up the great +old-fashioned key before inserting it in the lock on the inside. + +"I stayed up," said Sophia, "because I wanted to talk to you about your +mother, and it's so difficult to get a chance." + +Cyril smiled, not without self-consciousness, and dropped into his +mother's rocking-chair, which he had twisted round with his feet to +face the sofa. + +"Yes," he said. "I was wondering what was the real meaning of your +telegram. What was it?" He blew out a lot of smoke and waited for her +reply. + +"I thought you ought to come down," said Sophia, cheerfully but firmly. +"It was a fearful disappointment to your mother that you didn't come +yesterday. And when she's expecting a letter from you and it doesn't +come, it makes her ill." + +"Oh, well!" he said. "I'm glad it's no worse. I thought from your +telegram there was something seriously wrong. And then when you told me +not to mention it--when I came in...!" + +She saw that he failed to realize the situation, and she lifted her +head challengingly. + +"You neglect your mother, young man," she said. + +"Oh, come now, auntie!" he answered quite gently. "You mustn't talk +like that. I write to her every week. I've never missed a week. I come +down as often as----" + +"You miss the Sunday sometimes," Sophia interrupted him. + +"Perhaps," he said doubtfully. "But what----" + +"Don't you understand that she simply lives for your letters? And if +one doesn't come, she's very upset indeed--can't eat! And it brings on +her sciatica, and I don't know what!" + +He was taken aback by her boldness, her directness. + +"But how silly of her! A fellow can't always----" + +"It may be silly. But there it is. You can't alter her. And, after all, +what would it cost you to be more attentive, even to write to her twice +a week? You aren't going to tell me you're so busy as all that! I know +a great deal more about young men than your mother does." She smiled +like an aunt. + +He answered her smile sheepishly. + +"If you'll only put yourself in your mother's place...!" + +"I expect you're quite right," he said at length. "And I'm much obliged +to you for telling me. How was I to know?" He threw the end of the +cigar, with a large sweeping gesture, into the fire. + +"Well, anyhow, you know now!" she said curtly; and she thought: "You +OUGHT to have known. It was your business to know." But she was pleased +with the way in which he had accepted her criticism, and the gesture +with which he threw away the cigar-end struck her as very distinguished. + +"That's all right!" he said dreamily, as if to say: "That's done with." +And he rose. + +Sophia, however, did not stir. + +"Your mother's health is not what it ought to be," she went on, and +gave him a full account of her conversation with the doctor. + +"Really!" Cyril murmured, leaning on the mantel-piece with his elbow +and looking down at her. "Stirling said that, did he? I should have +thought she would have been better where she is, in the Square." + +"Why better in the Square?" + +"Oh, I don't know!" + +"Neither do I!" + +"She's always been here." + +"Yes." said Sophia, "she's been here a great deal too long." + +"What do YOU suggest?" Cyril asked, with impatience in his voice +against this new anxiety that was being thrust upon him. + +"Well," said Sophia, "what should you say to her coming to London and +living with you?" + +Cyril started back. Sophia could see that he was genuinely shocked. "I +don't think that would do at all," he said. + +"Why?" + +"Oh! I don't think it would. London wouldn't suit her. She's not that +sort of woman. I really thought she was quite all right down here. She +wouldn't like London." He shook his head, looking up at the gas; his +eyes had a dangerous glare. + +"But supposing she said she did?" + +"Look here," Cyril began in a new and brighter tone. "Why don't you and +she keep house together somewhere? That would be the very--" + +He turned his head sharply. There was a noise on the staircase, and the +staircase door opened with its eternal creak. + +"Yes," said Sophia. "The Champs Elysees begins at the Place de la +Concorde, and ends----. Is that you, Constance?" + +The figure of Constance filled the doorway. Her face was troubled. She +had heard Cyril in the street, and had come down to see why he remained +so long in the parlour. She was astounded to find Sophia with him. +There they were, as intimate as cronies, chattering about Paris! +Undoubtedly she was jealous! Never did Cyril talk like that to her! + +"I thought you were in bed and asleep, Sophia," she said weakly. "It's +nearly one o'clock." + +"No," said Sophia. "I didn't seem to feel like going to bed; and then +Cyril happened to come in." + +But neither she nor Cyril could look innocent. And Constance glanced +from one to the other apprehensively. + +The next morning Cyril received a letter which, he said--with no +further explanation--forced him to leave at once. He intimated that +there had been danger in his coming just then, and that matters had +turned out as he had feared. + +"You think over what I said," he whispered to Sophia when they were +alone for an instant, "and let me know." + +VI + +A week before Easter the guests of the Rutland Hotel in the Broad Walk, +Buxton, being assembled for afternoon tea in the "lounge" of that +establishment, witnessed the arrival of two middle-aged ladies and two +dogs. Critically to examine newcomers was one of the amusements of the +occupants of the lounge. This apartment, furnished "in the oriental +style," made a pretty show among the photographs in the illustrated +brochure of the hotel, and, though draughty, it was of all the public +rooms the favourite. It was draughty because only separated from the +street (if the Broad Walk can be called a street) by two pairs of +swinging-doors--in charge of two page-boys. Every visitor entering the +hotel was obliged to pass through the lounge, and for newcomers the +passage was an ordeal; they were made to feel that they had so much to +learn, so much to get accustomed to; like passengers who join a ship at +a port of call, they felt that the business lay before them of creating +a niche for themselves in a hostile and haughty society. The two ladies +produced a fairly favourable impression at the outset by reason of +their two dogs. It is not every one who has the courage to bring dogs +into an expensive private hotel; to bring one dog indicates that you +are not accustomed to deny yourself small pleasures for the sake of a +few extra shillings; to bring two indicates that you have no fear of +hotel-managers and that you are in the habit of regarding your own whim +as nature's law. The shorter and stouter of the two ladies did not +impose herself with much force on the collective vision of the Rutland; +she was dressed in black, not fashionably, though with a certain +unpretending richness; her gestures were timid and nervous; evidently +she relied upon her tall companion to shield her in the first trying +contacts of hotel life. The tall lady was of a different stamp. +Handsome, stately, deliberate, and handsomely dressed in colours, she +had the assured hard gaze of a person who is thoroughly habituated to +the inspection of strangers. She curtly asked one of the page-boys for +the manager, and the manager's wife tripped rapidly down the stairs in +response, and was noticeably deferential--Her voice was quiet and +commanding, the voice of one who gives orders that are obeyed. The +opinion of the lounge was divided as to whether or not they were +sisters. + +They vanished quietly upstairs in convoy of the manager's wife, and +they did not re-appear for the lounge tea, which in any case would have +been undrinkably stewed. It then became known, by the agency of one of +those guests, to be found in every hotel, who acquire all the secrets +of the hotel by the exercise of unabashed curiosity on the personnel, +that the two ladies had engaged two bedrooms, Nos. 17 and 18, and the +sumptuous private parlour with a balcony on the first floor, styled "C" +in the nomenclature of rooms. This fact definitely established the +position of the new arrivals in the moral fabric of the hotel. They +were wealthy. They had money to throw away. For even in a select hotel +like the Rutland it is not everybody who indulges in a private +sitting-room; there were only four such apartments in the hotel, as +against fifty bedrooms. + +At dinner they had a small table to themselves in a corner. The short +lady wore a white shawl over her shoulders. Her almost apologetic +manner during the meal confirmed the view that she must be a very +simple person, unused to the world and its ways. The other continued to +be imperial. She ordered half-a-bottle of wine and drank two glasses. +She stared about her quite self-unconsciously, whereas the little woman +divided her glances between her companion and her plate. They did not +talk much. Immediately after dinner they retired. "Widows in easy +circumstances" was the verdict; but the contrast between the pair held +puzzles that piqued the inquisitive. + +Sophia had conquered again. Once more Sophia had resolved to accomplish +a thing and she had accomplished it. Events had fallen out thus. The +advertisement for a general servant in the Signal had been a +disheartening failure. A few answers were received, but of an entirely +unsatisfactory character. Constance, a great deal more than Sophia, had +been astounded by the bearing and the demands of modern servants. +Constance was in despair. If Constance had not had an immense pride she +would have been ready to suggest to Sophia that Amy should be asked to +'stay on.' But Constance would have accepted a modern impudent wench +first. It was Maria Critchlow who got Constance out of her difficulty +by giving her particulars of a reliable servant who was about to leave +a situation in which she had stayed for eight years. Constance did not +imagine that a servant recommended by Maria Critchlow would suit her, +but, being in a quandary, she arranged to see the servant, and both she +and Sophia were very pleased with the girl--Rose Bennion by name. The +mischief was that Rose would not be free until about a month after Amy +had left. Rose would have left her old situation, but she had a fancy +to go and spend a fortnight with a married sister at Manchester before +settling into new quarters. Constance and Sophia felt that this caprice +of Rose's was really very tiresome and unnecessary. Of course Amy might +have been asked to 'stay on' just for a month. Amy would probably have +volunteered to do so had she been aware of the circumstances. She was +not, however, aware of the circumstances. And Constance was determined +not to be beholden to Amy for anything. What could the sisters do? +Sophia, who conducted all the interviews with Rose and other +candidates, said that it would be a grave error to let Rose slip. +Besides, they had no one to take her place, no one who could come at +once. + +The dilemma was appalling. At least, it seemed appalling to Constance, +who really believed that no mistress had ever been so 'awkwardly +fixed.' And yet, when Sophia first proposed her solution, Constance +considered it to be a quite impossible solution. Sophia's idea was that +they should lock up the house and leave it on the same day as Amy left +it, to spend a few weeks in some holiday resort. To begin with, the +idea of leaving the house empty seemed to Constance a mad idea. The +house had never been left empty. And then--going for a holiday in +April! Constance had never been for a holiday except in the month of +August. No! The project was beset with difficulties and dangers which +could not be overcome nor provided against. For example, "We can't come +back to a dirty house," said Constance. "And we can't have a strange +servant coming here before us." To which Sophia had replied: "Then what +SHALL you do?" And Constance, after prodigious reflection on the +frightful pass to which destiny had brought her, had said that she +supposed she would have to manage with a charwoman until Rose's advent. +She asked Sophia if she remembered old Maggie. Sophia, of course, +perfectly remembered. Old Maggie was dead, as well as the drunken, +amiable Hollins, but there was a young Maggie (wife of a bricklayer) +who went out charing in the spare time left from looking after seven +children. The more Constance meditated upon young Maggie, the more was +she convinced that young Maggie would meet the case. Constance felt she +could trust young Maggie. + +This expression of trust in Maggie was Constance's undoing. Why should +they not go away, and arrange with Maggie to come to the house a few +days before their return, to clean and ventilate? The weight of reason +overbore Constance. She yielded unwillingly, but she yielded. It was +the mention of Buxton that finally moved her. She knew Buxton. Her old +landlady at Buxton was dead, and Constance had not visited the place +since before Samuel's death; nevertheless its name had a reassuring +sound to her ears, and for sciatica its waters and climate were +admitted to be the best in England. Gradually Constance permitted +herself to be embarked on this perilous enterprise of shutting up the +house for twenty-five days. She imparted the information to Amy, who +was astounded. Then she commenced upon her domestic preparations. She +wrapped Samuel's Family Bible in brown paper; she put Cyril's +straw-framed copy of Sir Edwin Landseer away in a drawer, and she took +ten thousand other precautions. It was grotesque; it was farcical; it +was what you please. And when, with the cab at the door and the luggage +on the cab, and the dogs chained together, and Maria Critchlow waiting +on the pavement to receive the key, Constance put the key into the door +on the outside, and locked up the empty house, Constance's face was +tragic with innumerable apprehensions. And Sophia felt that she had +performed a miracle. She had. + +On the whole the sisters were well received in the hotel, though they +were not at an age which commands popularity. In the criticism which +was passed upon them--the free, realistic and relentless criticism of +private hotels--Sophia was at first set down as overbearing. But in a +few days this view was modified, and Sophia rose in esteem. The fact +was that Sophia's behaviour changed after forty-eight hours. The +Rutland Hotel was very good. It was so good as to disturb Sophia's +profound beliefs that there was in the world only one truly high-class +pension, and that nobody could teach the creator of that unique pension +anything about the art of management. The food was excellent; the +attendance in the bedrooms was excellent (and Sophia knew how difficult +of attainment was excellent bedroom attendance); and to the eye the +interior of the Rutland presented a spectacle far richer than the +Pension Frensham could show. The standard of comfort was higher. The +guests had a more distinguished appearance. It is true that the prices +were much higher. Sophia was humbled. She had enough sense to adjust +her perspective. Further, she found herself ignorant of many matters +which by the other guests were taken for granted and used as a basis +for conversation. Prolonged residence in Paris would not justify this +ignorance; it seemed rather to intensify its strangeness. Thus, when +someone of cosmopolitan experience, having learnt that she had lived in +Paris for many years, asked what had been going on lately at the +Comedie Francaise, she had to admit that she had not been in a French +theatre for nearly thirty years. And when, on a Sunday, the same person +questioned her about the English chaplain in Paris, lo! she knew +nothing but his name, had never even seen him. Sophia's life, in its +way, had been as narrow as Constance's. Though her experience of human +nature was wide, she had been in a groove as deep as Constance's. She +had been utterly absorbed in doing one single thing. + +By tacit agreement she had charge of the expedition. She paid all the +bills. Constance protested against the expensiveness of the affair +several times, but Sophia quietened her by sheer force of +individuality. Constance had one advantage over Sophia. She knew Buxton +and its neighbourhood intimately, and she was therefore in a position +to show off the sights and to deal with local peculiarities. In all +other respects Sophia led. + +They very soon became acclimatized to the hotel. They moved easily +between Turkey carpets and sculptured ceilings; their eyes grew used to +the eternal vision of themselves and other slow-moving dignities in +gilt mirrors, to the heaviness of great oil-paintings of picturesque +scenery, to the indications of surreptitious dirt behind massive +furniture, to the grey-brown of the shirt-fronts of the waiters, to the +litter of trays, boots and pails in long corridors; their ears were +always awake to the sounds of gongs and bells. They consulted the +barometer and ordered the daily carriage with the perfunctoriness of +habit. They discovered what can be learnt of other people's needlework +in a hotel on a wet day. They performed co-operative outings with +fellow-guests. They invited fellow-guests into their sitting-room. When +there was an entertainment they did not avoid it. Sophia was determined +to do everything that could with propriety be done, partly as an outlet +for her own energy (which since she left Paris had been accumulating), +but more on Constance's account. She remembered all that Dr. Stirling +had said, and the heartiness of her own agreement with his opinions. It +was a great day when, under tuition of an aged lady and in the privacy +of their parlour, they both began to study the elements of Patience. +Neither had ever played at cards. Constance was almost afraid to touch +cards, as though in the very cardboard there had been something +unrighteous and perilous. But the respectability of a luxurious private +hotel makes proper every act that passes within its walls. And +Constance plausibly argued that no harm could come from a game which +you played by yourself. She acquired with some aptitude several +varieties of Patience. She said: "I think I could enjoy that, if I kept +at it. But it does make my head whirl." + +Nevertheless Constance was not happy in the hotel. She worried the +whole time about her empty house. She anticipated difficulties and even +disasters. She wondered again and again whether she could trust the +second Maggie in her house alone, whether it would not be better to +return home earlier and participate personally in the cleaning. She +would have decided to do so had it not been that she hesitated to +subject Sophia to the inconvenience of a house upside down. The matter +was on her mind, always. Always she was restlessly anticipating the day +when they would leave. She had carelessly left her heart behind in St. +Luke's Square. She had never stayed in a hotel before, and she did not +like it. Sciatica occasionally harassed her. Yet when it came to the +point she would not drink the waters. She said she never had drunk +them, and seemed to regard that as a reason why she never should. +Sophia had achieved a miracle in getting her to Buxton for nearly a +month, but the ultimate grand effect lacked brilliance. + +Then came the fatal letter, the desolating letter, which vindicated +Constance's dark apprehensions. Rose Bennion calmly wrote to say that +she had decided not to come to St. Luke's Square. She expressed regret +for any inconvenience which might possibly be caused; she was polite. +But the monstrousness of it! Constance felt that this actually and +truly was the deepest depth of her calamities. There she was, far from +a dirty home, with no servant and no prospect of a servant! She bore +herself bravely, nobly; but she was stricken. She wanted to return to +the dirty home at once. + +Sophia felt that the situation created by this letter would demand her +highest powers of dealing with situations, and she determined to deal +with it adequately. Great measures were needed, for Constance's health +and happiness were at stake. She alone could act. She knew that she +could not rely upon Cyril. She still had an immense partiality for +Cyril; she thought him the most charming young man she had ever known; +she knew him to be industrious and clever; but in his relations with +his mother there was a hardness, a touch of callousness. She explained +it vaguely by saying that 'they did not get on well together'; which +was strange, considering Constance's sweet affectionateness. Still, +Constance could be a little trying--at times. Anyhow, it was soon clear +to Sophia that the idea of mother and son living together in London was +entirely impracticable. No! If Constance was to be saved from herself, +there was no one but Sophia to save her. + +After half a morning spent chiefly in listening to Constance's hopeless +comments on the monstrous letter, Sophia said suddenly that she must +take the dogs for an airing. Constance did not feel equal to walking +out, and she would not drive. She did not want Sophia to 'venture,' +because the sky threatened. However, Sophia did venture, and she +returned a few minutes late for lunch, full of vigour, with two happy +dogs. Constance was moodily awaiting her in the dining-room. Constance +could not eat. But Sophia ate, and she poured out cheerfulness and +energy as from a source inexhaustible. After lunch it began to rain. +Constance said she thought she should retire directly to the +sitting-room. "I'm coming too," said Sophia, who was still wearing her +hat and coat and carried her gloves in her hand. In the pretentious and +banal sitting-room they sat down on either side the fire. Constance put +a little shawl round her shoulders, pushed her spectacles into her grey +hair, folded her hands, and sighed an enormous sigh: "Oh, dear!" She +was the tragic muse, aged, and in black silk. + +"I tell you what I've been thinking," said Sophia, folding up her +gloves. + +"What?" asked Constance, expecting some wonderful solution to come out +of Sophia's active brain. + +"There's no earthly reason why you should go back to Bursley. The house +won't run away, and it's costing nothing but the rent. Why not take +things easy for a bit?" + +"And stay here?" said Constance, with an inflection that enlightened +Sophia as to the intensity of her dislike of the existence at the +Rutland. + +"No, not here," Sophia answered with quick deprecation. "There are +plenty of other places we could go to." + +"I don't think I should be easy in my mind," said Constance. "What with +nothing being settled, the house----" + +"What does it matter about the house?" + +"It matters a great deal," said Constance, seriously, and slightly +hurt. "I didn't leave things as if we were going to be away for a long +time. It wouldn't do." + +"I don't see that anything could come to any harm, I really don't!" +said Sophia, persuasively. "Dirt can always be cleaned, after all. I +think you ought to go about more. It would do you good--all the good in +the world. And there is no reason why you shouldn't go about. You are +perfectly free. Why shouldn't we go abroad together, for instance, you +and I? I'm sure you would enjoy it very much." + +"Abroad?" murmured Constance, aghast, recoiling from the proposition as +from a grave danger. + +"Yes," said Sophia, brightly and eagerly. She was determined to take +Constance abroad. "There are lots of places we could go to, and live +very comfortably among nice English people." She thought of the resorts +she had visited with Gerald in the sixties. They seemed to her like +cities of a dream. They came back to her as a dream recurs. + +"I don't think going abroad would suit me," said Constance. + +"But why not? You don't know. You've never tried, my dear." She smiled +encouragingly. But Constance did not smile. Constance was inclined to +be grim. + +"I don't think it would," said she, obstinately. "I'm one of your +stay-at-homes. I'm not like you. We can't all be alike," she added, +with her 'tart' accent. + +Sophia suppressed a feeling of irritation. She knew that she had a +stronger individuality than Constance's. + +"Well, then," she said, with undiminished persuasiveness, "in England +or Scotland. There are several places I should like to visit--Torquay, +Tunbridge Wells. I've always under-stood that Tunbridge Wells is a very +nice town indeed, with very superior people, and a beautiful climate." + +"I think I shall have to be getting back to St. Luke's Square," said +Constance, ignoring all that Sophia had said. "There's so much to be +done." + +Then Sophia looked at Constance with a more serious and resolute air; +but still kindly, as though looking thus at Constance for Constance's +own good. + +"You are making a mistake, Constance," she said, "if you will allow me +to say so." + +"A mistake!" exclaimed Constance, startled. + +"A very great mistake," Sophia insisted, observing that she was +creating an effect. + +"I don't see how I can be making a mistake," Constance said, gaining +confidence in herself, as she thought the matter over. + +"No," said Sophia, "I'm sure you don't see it. But you are. You know, +you are just a little apt to let yourself be a slave to that house of +yours. Instead of the house existing for you, you exist for the house." + +"Oh! Sophia!" Constance muttered awkwardly. "What ideas you do have, to +be sure!" In her nervousness she rose and picked up some embroidery, +adjusting her spectacles and coughing. When she sat down she said: "No +one could take things easier than I do as regards housekeeping. I can +assure you I let dozens of little matters go, rather than bother +myself." + +"Then why do you bother now?" Sophia posed her. + +"I can't leave the place like that." Constance was hurt. + +"There's one thing I can't understand," said Sophia, raising her head +and gazing at Constance again, "and that is, why you live in St. Luke's +Square at all." + +"I must live somewhere. And I'm sure it's very pleasant." + +"In all that smoke! And with that dirt! And the house is very old." + +"It's a great deal better built than a lot of those new houses by the +Park," Constance sharply retorted. In spite of herself she resented any +criticism of her house. She even resented the obvious truth that it was +old. + +"You'll never get a servant to stay in that cellar-kitchen, for one +thing," said Sophia, keeping calm. + +"Oh! I don't know about that! I don't know about that! That Bennion +woman didn't object to it, anyway. It's all very well for you, Sophia, +to talk like that. But I know Bursley perhaps better than you do." She +was tart again. "And I can assure you that my house is looked upon as a +very good house indeed." + +"Oh! I don't say it isn't; I don't say it isn't. But you would be +better away from it. Every one says that." + +"Every one?" Constance looked up, dropping her work. "Who? Who's been +talking about me?" + +"Well," said Sophia, "the doctor, for instance." + +"Dr. Stirling? I like that! He's always saying that Bursley is one of +the healthiest climates in England. He's always sticking up for +Bursley." + +"Dr. Stirling thinks you ought to go away more--not stay always in that +dark house." If Sophia had sufficiently reflected she would not have +used the adjective 'dark.' It did not help her cause. + +"Oh, does he!" Constance fairly snorted. "Well, if it's of any interest +to Dr. Stirling, I like my dark house." + +"Hasn't he ever told you you ought to go away more?" Sophia persisted. + +"He may have mentioned it," Constance reluctantly admitted. + +"When he was talking to me he did a good deal more than mention it. And +I've a good mind to tell you what he said." + +"Do!" said Constance, politely. + +"You don't realize how serious it is, I'm afraid," said Sophia. "You +can't see yourself." She hesitated a moment. Her blood being stirred by +Constance's peculiar inflection of the phrase 'my dark house,' her +judgment was slightly obscured. She decided to give Constance a fairly +full version of the conversation between herself and the doctor. + +"It's a question of your health," she finished. "I think it's my duty +to talk to you seriously, and I have done. I hope you'll take it as +it's meant." + +"Oh, of course!" Constance hastened to say. And she thought: "It isn't +yet three months that we've been together, and she's trying already to +get me under her thumb." + +A pause ensued. Sophia at length said: "There's no doubt that both your +sciatica and your palpitations are due to nerves. And you let your +nerves get into a state because you worry over trifles. A change would +do you a tremendous amount of good. It's just what you need. Really, +you must admit, Constance, that the idea of living always in a place +like St. Luke's Square, when you are perfectly free to do what you like +and go where you like--you must admit it's rather too much." + +Constance put her lips together and bent over her embroidery. + +"Now, what do you say?" Sophia gently entreated. + +"There's some of us like Bursley, black as it is!" said Constance. And +Sophia was surprised to detect tears in her sister's voice. + +"Now, my dear Constance," she remonstrated. + +"It's no use!" cried Constance, flinging away her work, and letting her +tears flow suddenly. Her face was distorted. She was behaving just like +a child. "It's no use! I've got to go back home and look after things. +It's no use. Here we are pitching money about in this place. It's +perfectly sinful. Drives, carriages, extras! A shilling a day extra for +each dog. I never heard of such goings-on. And I'd sooner be at home. +That's it. I'd sooner be at home." This was the first reference that +Constance had made for a long time to the question of expense, and +incomparably the most violent. It angered Sophia. + +"We will count it that you are here as my guest," said Sophia, loftily, +"if that is how you look at it." + +"Oh no!" said Constance. "It isn't the money I grudge. Oh no, we +won't." And her tears were falling thick. + +"Yes, we will," said Sophia, coldly. "I've only been talking to you for +your own good. I--" + +"Well," Constance interrupted her despairingly, "I wish you wouldn't +try to domineer over me!" + +"Domineer!" exclaimed Sophia, aghast. "Well, Constance, I do think--" + +She got up and went to her bedroom, where the dogs were imprisoned. +They escaped to the stairs. She was shaking with emotion. This was what +came of trying to help other people! Imagine Constance...! Truly +Constance was most unjust, and quite unlike her usual self! And Sophia +encouraged in her breast the feeling of injustice suffered. But a voice +kept saying to her: "You've made a mess of this. You've not conquered +this time. You're beaten. And the situation is unworthy of you, of both +of you. Two women of fifty quarreling like this! It's undignified. +You've made a mess of things." And to strangle the voice, she did her +best to encourage the feeling of injustice suffered. + +'Domineer!' + +And Constance was absolutely in the wrong. She had not argued at all. +She had merely stuck to her idea like a mule! How difficult and painful +would be the next meeting with Constance, after this grievous +miscarriage! + +As she was reflecting thus the door burst open, and Constance stumbled, +as it were blindly, into the bedroom. She was still weeping. + +"Sophia!" she sobbed, supplicatingly, and all her fat body was +trembling. "You mustn't kill me ... I'm like that--you can't alter me. +I'm like that. I know I'm silly. But it's no use!" She made a piteous +figure. + +Sophia was aware of a lump in her throat. + +"It's all right, Constance; it's all right. I quite understand. Don't +bother any more." + +Constance, catching her breath at intervals, raised her wet, worn face +and kissed her. + +Sophia remembered the very words, 'You can't alter her,' which she had +used in remonstrating with Cyril. And now she had been guilty of +precisely the same unreason as that with which she had reproached +Cyril! She was ashamed, both for herself and for Constance. Assuredly +it had not been such a scene as women of their age would want to go +through often. It was humiliating. She wished that it could have been +blotted out as though it had never happened. Neither of them ever +forgot it. They had had a lesson. And particularly Sophia had had a +lesson. Having learnt, they left the Rutland, amid due ceremonies, and +returned to St. Luke's Square. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +END OF SOPHIA + +I + + +The kitchen steps were as steep, dark, and difficult as ever. Up those +steps Sophia Scales, nine years older than when she had failed to +persuade Constance to leave the Square, was carrying a large basket, +weighted with all the heaviness of Fossette. Sophia, despite her age, +climbed the steps violently, and burst with equal violence into the +parlour, where she deposited the basket on the floor near the empty +fireplace. She was triumphant and breathless. She looked at Constance, +who had been standing near the door in the attitude of a shocked +listener. + +"There!" said Sophia. "Did you hear how she talked?" + +"Yes," said Constance. "What shall you do?" + +"Well," said Sophia. "I had a very good mind to order her out of the +house at once. But then I thought I would take no notice. Her time will +be up in three weeks. It's best to be indifferent. If once they see +they can upset you.... However, I wasn't going to leave Fossette down there +to her tender mercies a moment longer. She's simply not looked after +her at all." + +Sophia went on her knees to the basket, and, pulling aside the dog's +hair, round about the head, examined the skin. Fossette was a sick dog +and behaved like one. Fossette, too, was nine years older, and her +senility was offensive. She was to no sense a pleasant object. + +"See here," said Sophia. + +Constance also knelt to the basket. + +"And here," said Sophia. "And here." + +The dog sighed, the insincere and pity-seeking sigh of a spoilt animal. +Fossette foolishly hoped by such appeals to be spared the annoying +treatment prescribed for her by the veterinary surgeon. + +While the sisters were coddling her, and protecting her from her own +paws, and trying to persuade her that all was for the best, another +aged dog wandered vaguely into the room: Spot. Spot had very few teeth, +and his legs were stiff. He had only one vice, jealousy. Fearing that +Fossette might be receiving the entire attention of his mistresses, he +had come to inquire into the situation. When he found the justification +of his gloomiest apprehensions, he nosed obstinately up to Constance, +and would not be put off. In vain Constance told him at length that he +was interfering with the treatment. In vain Sophia ordered him sharply +to go away. He would not listen to reason, being furious with jealousy. +He got his foot into the basket. + +"Will you!" exclaimed Sophia angrily, and gave him a clout on his old +head. He barked snappishly, and retired to the kitchen again, +disillusioned, tired of the world, and nursing his terrific grievance. +"I do declare," said Sophia, "that dog gets worse and worse." + +Constance said nothing. + +When everything was done that could be done for the aged virgin in the +basket, the sisters rose from their knees, stiffly; and they began to +whisper to each other about the prospects of obtaining a fresh servant. +They also debated whether they could tolerate the criminal +eccentricities of the present occupant of the cave for yet another +three weeks. Evidently they were in the midst of a crisis. To judge +from Constance's face every imaginable woe had been piled on them by +destiny without the slightest regard for their powers of resistance. +Her eyes had the permanent look of worry, and there was in them also +something of the self-defensive. Sophia had a bellicose air, as though +the creature in the cave had squarely challenged her, and she was +decided to take up the challenge. Sophia's tone seemed to imply an +accusation of Constance. The general tension was acute. + +Then suddenly their whispers expired, and the door opened and the +servant came in to lay the supper. Her nose was high, her gaze cruel, +radiant, and conquering. She was a pretty and an impudent girl of about +twenty-three. She knew she was torturing her old and infirm mistresses. +She did not care. She did it purposely. Her motto was: War on +employers, get all you can out of them, for they will get all they can +out of you. On principle--the sole principle she possessed--she would +not stay in a place more than six months. She liked change. And +employers did not like change. She was shameless with men. She ignored +all orders as to what she was to eat and what she was not to eat. She +lived up to the full resources of her employers. She could be to the +last degree slatternly. Or she could be as neat as a pin, with an apron +that symbolized purity and propriety, as to-night. She could be idle +during a whole day, accumulating dirty dishes from morn till eve. On +the other hand she could, when she chose, work with astonishing +celerity and even thoroughness. In short, she was born to infuriate a +mistress like Sophia and to wear out a mistress like Constance. Her +strongest advantage in the struggle was that she enjoyed altercation; +she revelled in a brawl; she found peace tedious. She was perfectly +calculated to convince the sisters that times had worsened, and that +the world would never again be the beautiful, agreeable place it once +had been. + +Her gestures as she laid the table were very graceful, in the pert +style. She dropped forks into their appointed positions with disdain; +she made slightly too much noise; when she turned she manoeuvred her +swelling hips as though for the benefit of a soldier in a handsome +uniform. + +Nothing but the servant had been changed in that house. The harmonium +on which Mr. Povey used occasionally to play was still behind the door; +and on the harmonium was the tea-caddy of which Mrs. Baines used to +carry the key on her bunch. In the corner to the right of the fireplace +still hung the cupboard where Mrs. Baines stored her pharmacopoeia. The +rest of the furniture was arranged as it had been arranged when the +death of Mrs. Baines endowed Mr. and Mrs. Povey with all the treasures +of the house at Axe. And it was as good as ever; better than ever. Dr. +Stirling often expressed the desire for a corner cupboard like Mrs. +Baines's corner cupboard. One item had been added: the 'Peel' compote +which Matthew Peel-Swynnerton had noticed in the dining-room of the +Pension Frensham. This majestic piece, which had been reserved by +Sophia in the sale of the pension, stood alone on a canterbury in the +drawingroom. She had stored it, with a few other trifles, in Paris, and +when she sent for it and the packing-case arrived, both she and +Constance became aware that they were united for the rest of their +lives. Of worldly goods, except money, securities, and clothes, that +compote was practically all that Sophia owned. Happily it was a +first-class item, doing no shame to the antique magnificence of the +drawing-room. + +In yielding to Constance's terrible inertia, Sophia had meant +nevertheless to work her own will on the interior of the house. She had +meant to bully Constance into modernizing the dwelling. She did bully +Constance, but the house defied her. Nothing could be done to that +house. If only it had had a hall or lobby a complete transformation +would have been possible. But there was no access to the upper floor +except through the parlour. The parlour could not therefore be turned +into a kitchen and the basement suppressed, and the ladies of the house +could not live entirely on the upper floor. The disposition of the +rooms had to remain exactly as it had always been. There was the same +draught under the door, the same darkness on the kitchen stairs, the +same difficulties with tradesmen in the distant backyard, the same +twist in the bedroom stairs, the same eternal ascending and descending +of pails. An efficient cooking-stove, instead of the large and +capacious range, alone represented the twentieth century in the +fixtures of the house. + +Buried at the root of the relations between the sisters was Sophia's +grudge against Constance for refusing to leave the Square. Sophia was +loyal. She would not consciously give with one hand while taking away +with the other, and in accepting Constance's decision she honestly +meant to close her eyes to its stupidity. But she could not entirely +succeed. She could not avoid thinking that the angelic Constance had +been strangely and monstrously selfish in refusing to quit the Square. +She marvelled that a woman of Constance's sweet and calm disposition +should be capable of so vast and ruthless an egotism. Constance must +have known that Sophia would not leave her, and that the habitation of +the Square was a continual irk to Sophia. Constance had never been able +to advance a single argument for remaining in the Square. And yet she +would not budge. It was so inconsistent with the rest of Constance's +behaviour. See Sophia sitting primly there by the table, a woman +approaching sixty, with immense experience written on the fine hardness +of her worn and distinguished face! Though her hair is not yet all +grey, nor her figure bowed, you would imagine that she would, in her +passage through the world, have learnt better than to expect a +character to be consistent. But no! She was ever disappointed and hurt +by Constance's inconsistency! And see Constance, stout and bowed, +looking more than her age with hair nearly white and slightly trembling +hands! See that face whose mark is meekness and the spirit of +conciliation, the desire for peace--you would not think that that +placid soul could, while submitting to it, inly rage against the +imposed weight of Sophia's individuality. "Because I wouldn't turn out +of my house to please her," Constance would say to herself, "she +fancies she is entitled to do just as she likes." Not often did she +secretly rebel thus, but it occurred sometimes. They never quarrelled. +They would have regarded separation as a disaster. Considering the +difference of their lives, they agreed marvellously in their judgment +of things. But that buried question of domicile prevented a complete +unity between, them. And its subtle effect was to influence both of +them to make the worst, instead of the best, of the trifling mishaps +that disturbed their tranquillity. When annoyed, Sophia would meditate +upon the mere fact that they lived in the Square for no reason +whatever, until it grew incredibly shocking to her. After all it was +scarcely conceivable that they should be living in the very middle of a +dirty, ugly, industrial town simply because Constance mulishly declined +to move. Another thing that curiously exasperated both of them upon +occasion was that, owing to a recurrence of her old complaint of +dizziness after meals, Sophia had been strictly forbidden to drink tea, +which she loved. Sophia chafed under the deprivation, and Constance's +pleasure was impaired because she had to drink it alone. + +While the brazen and pretty servant, mysteriously smiling to herself, +dropped food and utensils on to the table, Constance and Sophia +attempted to converse with negligent ease upon indifferent topics, as +though nothing had occurred that day to mar the beauty of ideal +relations between employers and employed. The pretence was ludicrous. +The young wench saw through it instantly, and her mysterious smile +developed almost into a laugh. + +"Please shut the door after you, Maud," said Sophia, as the girl picked +up her empty tray. + +"Yes, ma'am," replied Maud, politely. + +She went out and left the door open. + +It was a defiance, offered from sheer, youthful, wanton mischief. + +The sisters looked at each other, their faces gravely troubled, aghast, +as though they had glimpsed the end of civilized society, as though +they felt that they had lived too long into an age of decadence and +open shame. Constance's face showed despair--she might have been about +to be pitched into the gutter without a friend and without a +shilling--but Sophia's had the reckless courage that disaster breeds. + +Sophia jumped up, and stepped to the door. "Maud," she called out. + +No answer. + +"Maud, do you hear me?" + +The suspense was fearful. + +Still no answer. + +Sophia glanced at Constance. "Either she shuts this door, or she leaves +this house at once, even if I have to fetch a policeman!" + +And Sophia disappeared down the kitchen steps. Constance trembled with +painful excitement. The horror of existence closed in upon her. She +could imagine nothing more appalling than the pass to which they had +been brought by the modern change in the lower classes. + +In the kitchen, Sophia, conscious that the moment held the future of at +least the next three weeks, collected her forces. + +"Maud," she said, "did you not hear me call you?" + +Maud looked up from a book--doubtless a wicked book. + +"No, ma'am." + +"You liar!" thought Sophia. And she said: "I asked you to shut the +parlour door, and I shall be obliged if you will do so." + +Now Maud would have given a week's wages for the moral force to disobey +Sophia. There was nothing to compel her to obey. She could have +trampled on the fragile and weak Sophia. But something in Sophia's gaze +compelled her to obey. She flounced; she bridled; she mumbled; she +unnecessarily disturbed the venerable Spot; but she obeyed. Sophia had +risked all, and she had won something. + +"And you should light the gas in the kitchen," said Sophia +magnificently, as Maud followed her up the steps. "Your young eyes may +be very good now, but you are not going the way to preserve them. My +sister and I have often told you that we do not grudge you gas." + +With stateliness she rejoined Constance, and sat down to the cold +supper. And as Maud clicked the door to, the sisters breathed relief. +They envisaged new tribulations, but for a brief instant there was +surcease. + +Yet they could not eat. Neither of them, when it came to the point, +could swallow. The day had been too exciting, too distressing. They +were at the end of their resources. And they did not hide from each +other that they were at the end of their resources. The illness of +Fossette, without anything else, had been more than enough to ruin +their tranquillity. But the illness of Fossette was as nothing to the +ingenious naughtiness of the servant. Maud had a sense of temporary +defeat, and was planning fresh operations; but really it was Maud who +had conquered. Poor old things, they were in such a 'state' that they +could not eat! + +"I'm not going to let her think she can spoil my appetite!" said +Sophia, dauntless. Truly that woman's spirit was unquenchable. + +She cut a couple of slices off the cold fowl; she cut a tomato into +slices; she disturbed the butter; she crumbled bread on the cloth, and +rubbed bits of fowl over the plates, and dirtied knives and forks. Then +she put the slices of fowl and bread and tomato into a piece of tissue +paper, and silently went upstairs with the parcel and came down again a +moment afterwards empty-handed. + +After an interval she rang the bell, and lighted the gas. + +"We've finished, Maud. You can clear away." + +Constance thirsted for a cup of tea. She felt that a cup of tea was the +one thing that would certainly keep her alive. She longed for it +passionately. But she would not demand it from Maud. Nor would she +mention it to Sophia, lest Sophia, flushed by the victory of the door, +should incur new risks. She simply did without. On empty stomachs they +tried pathetically to help each other in games of Patience. And when +the blithe Maud passed through the parlour on the way to bed, she saw +two dignified and apparently calm ladies, apparently absorbed in a +delightful game of cards, apparently without a worry in the world. They +said "Good night, Maud," cheerfully, politely, and coldly. It was a +heroic scene. Immediately afterwards Sophia carried Fossette up to her +own bedroom. + +II + +The next afternoon the sisters, in the drawing-room, saw Dr. Stirling's +motor-car speeding down the Square. The doctor's partner, young Harrop, +had died a few years before at the age of over seventy, and the +practice was much larger than it had ever been, even in the time of old +Harrop. Instead of two or three horses, Stirling kept a car, which was +a constant spectacle in the streets of the district. + +"I do hope he'll call in," said Mrs. Povey, and sighed. + +Sophia smiled to herself with a little scorn. She knew that Constance's +desire for Dr. Stirling was due simply to the need which she felt of +telling some one about the great calamity that had happened to them +that morning. Constance was utterly absorbed by it, in the most +provincial way. Sophia had said to herself at the beginning of her +sojourn in Bursley, and long afterwards, that she should never get +accustomed to the exasperating provinciality of the town, exemplified +by the childish preoccupation of the inhabitants with their own +two-penny affairs. No characteristic of life in Bursley annoyed her +more than this. None had oftener caused her to yearn in a brief madness +for the desert-like freedom of great cities. But she had got accustomed +to it. Indeed, she had almost ceased to notice it. Only occasionally, +when her nerves were more upset than usual, did it strike her. + +She went into Constance's bedroom to see whether the doctor's car +halted in King Street. It did. + +"He's here," she called out to Constance. + +"I wish you'd go down, Sophia," said Constance. "I can't trust that +minx----" + +So Sophia went downstairs to superintend the opening of the door by the +minx. + +The doctor was radiant, according to custom. + +"I thought I'd just see how that dizziness was going on," said he as he +came up the steps. + +"I'm glad you've come," said Sophia, confidentially. Since the first +days of their acquaintanceship they had always been confidential. +"You'll do my sister good to-day." + +Just as Maud was closing the door a telegraph-boy arrived, with a +telegram addressed to Mrs. Scales. Sophia read it and then crumpled it +in her hand. + +"What's wrong with Mrs. Povey to-day?" the doctor asked, when the +servant had withdrawn. + +"She only wants a bit of your society," said Sophia. "Will you go up? +You know the way to the drawing-room. I'll follow." + +As soon as he had gone she sat down on the sofa, staring out of the +window. Then with a grunt: "Well, that's no use, anyway!" she went +upstairs after the doctor. Already Constance had begun upon her recital. + +"Yes," Constance was saying. "And when I went down this morning to keep +an eye on the breakfast, I thought Spot was very quiet--" She paused. +"He was dead in the drawer. She pretended she didn't know, but I'm sure +she did. Nothing will convince me that she didn't poison that dog with +the mice-poison we had last year. She was vexed because Sophia took her +up sharply about Fossette last night, and she revenged herself on the +other dog. It would just be like her. Don't tell me! I know. I should +have packed her off at once, but Sophia thought better not. We couldn't +prove anything, as Sophia says. Now, what do you think of it, doctor?" + +Constance's eyes suddenly filled with tears. + +"Ye'd had Spot a long time, hadn't ye?" he said sympathetically. + +She nodded. "When I was married," said she, "the first thing my husband +did was to buy a fox-terrier, and ever since we've always had a +fox-terrier in the house." This was not true, but Constance was firmly +convinced of its truth. + +"It's very trying," said the doctor. "I know when my Airedale died, I +said to my wife I'd never have another dog--unless she could find me +one that would live for ever. Ye remember my Airedale?" + +"Oh, quite well!" + +"Well, my wife said I should be bound to have another one sooner or +later, and the sooner the better. She went straight off to Oldcastle +and bought me a spaniel pup, and there was such a to-do training it +that we hadn't too much time to think about Piper." + +Constance regarded this procedure as somewhat callous, and she said so, +tartly. Then she recommenced the tale of Spot's death from the +beginning, and took it as far as his burial, that afternoon, by Mr. +Critchlow's manager, in the yard. It had been necessary to remove and +replace paving-stones. + +"Of course," said Dr. Stirling, "ten years is a long time. He was an +old dog. Well, you've still got the celebrated Fossette." He turned to +Sophia. + +"Oh yes," said Constance, perfunctorily. "Fossette's ill. The fact is +that if Fossette hadn't been ill, Spot would probably have been alive +and well now." + +Her tone exhibited a grievance. She could not forget that Sophia had +harshly dismissed Spot to the kitchen, thus practically sending him to +his death. It seemed very hard to her that Fossette, whose life had +once been despaired of, should continue to exist, while Spot, always +healthy and unspoilt, should die untended, and by treachery. For the +rest, she had never liked Fossette. On Spot's behalf she had always +been jealous of Fossette. + +"Probably alive and well now!" she repeated, with a peculiar accent. + +Observing that Sophia maintained a strange silence, Dr. Stirling +suspected a slight tension in the relations of the sisters, and he +changed the subject. One of his great qualities was that he refrained +from changing a subject introduced by a patient unless there was a +professional reason for changing it. + +"I've just met Richard Povey in the town," said he. "He told me to tell +ye that he'll be round in about an hour or so to take you for a spin. +He was in a new car, which he did his best to sell to me, but he didn't +succeed." + +"It's very kind of Dick," said Constance. "But this afternoon really +we're not--" + +"I'll thank ye to take it as a prescription, then," replied the doctor. +"I told Dick I'd see that ye went. Splendid June weather. No dust after +all that rain. It'll do ye all the good in the world. I must exercise +my authority. The truth is, I've gradually been losing all control over +ye. Ye do just as ye like." + +"Oh, doctor, how you do run on!" murmured Constance, not quite well +pleased to-day by his tone. + +After the scene between Sophia and herself at Buxton, Constance had +always, to a certain extent, in the doctor's own phrase, 'got her knife +into him.' Sophia had, then, in a manner betrayed him. Constance and +the doctor discussed that matter with frankness, the doctor humorously +accusing her of being 'hard' on him. Nevertheless the little cloud +between them was real, and the result was often a faint captiousness on +Constance's part in judging the doctor's behaviour. + +"He's got a surprise for ye, has Dick!" the doctor added. + +Dick Povey, after his father's death and his own partial recovery, had +set up in Hanbridge as a bicycle agent. He was permanently lamed, and +he hopped about with a thick stick. He had succeeded with bicycles and +had taken to automobiles, and he was succeeding with automobiles. +People were at first startled that he should advertise himself in the +Five Towns. There was an obscure general feeling that because his +mother had been a drunkard and his father a murderer, Dick Povey had no +right to exist. However, when it had recovered from the shock of seeing +Dick Povey's announcement of bargains in the Signal, the district most +sensibly decided that there was no reason why Dick Povey should not +sell bicycles as well as a man with normal parents. He was now supposed +to be acquiring wealth rapidly. It was said that he was a marvellous +chauffeur, at once daring and prudent. He had one day, several years +previously, overtaken the sisters in the rural neighbourhood of Sneyd, +where they had been making an afternoon excursion. Constance had +presented him to Sophia, and he had insisted on driving the ladies +home. They had been much impressed by his cautious care of them, and +their natural prejudice against anything so new as a motorcar had been +conquered instantly. Afterwards he had taken them out for occasional +runs. He had a great admiration for Constance, founded on gratitude to +Samuel Povey; and as for Sophia, he always said to her that she would +be an ornament to any car. + +"You haven't heard his latest, I suppose?" said the doctor, smiling. + +"What is it?" Sophia asked perfunctorily. + +"He wants to take to ballooning. It seems he's been up once." + +Constance made a deprecating noise with her lips. + +"However, that's not his surprise," the doctor added, smiling again at +the floor. He was sitting on the music-stool, and saying to himself, +behind his mask of effulgent good-nature: "It gets more and more uphill +work, cheering up these two women. I'll try them on Federation." + +Federation was the name given to the scheme for blending the Five Towns +into one town, which would be the twelfth largest town in the kingdom. +It aroused fury in Bursley, which saw in the suggestion nothing but the +extinction of its ancient glory to the aggrandizement of Hanbridge. +Hanbridge had already, with the assistance of electric cars that +whizzed to and fro every five minutes, robbed Bursley of two-thirds of +its retail trade--as witness the steady decadence of the Square!--and +Bursley had no mind to swallow the insult and become a mere ward of +Hanbridge. Bursley would die fighting. Both Constance and Sophia were +bitter opponents of Federation. They would have been capable of putting +Federationists to the torture. Sophia in particular, though so long +absent from her native town, had adopted its cause with characteristic +vigour. And when Dr. Stirling wished to practise his curative treatment +of taking the sisters 'out of themselves,' he had only to start the +hare of Federation and the hunt would be up in a moment. But this +afternoon he did not succeed with Sophia, and only partially with +Constance. When he stated that there was to be a public meeting that +very night, and that Constance as a ratepayer ought to go to it and +vote, if her convictions were genuine, she received his chaff with a +mere murmur to the effect that she did not think she should go. Had the +man forgotten that Spot was dead? At length he became grave, and +examined them both as to their ailments, and nodded his head, and +looked into vacancy while meditating upon each case. And then, when he +had inquired where they meant to go for their summer holidays, he +departed. + +"Aren't you going to see him out?" Constance whispered to Sophia, who +had shaken hands with him at the drawingroom door. It was Sophia who +did the running about, owing to the state of Constance's sciatic nerve. +Constance had, indeed, become extraordinarily inert, leaving everything +to Sophia. + +Sophia shook her head. She hesitated; then approached Constance, +holding out her hand and disclosing the crumpled telegram. + +"Look at that!" said she. + +Her face frightened Constance, who was always expectant of new +anxieties and troubles. Constance straightened out the paper with +difficulty, and read-- + +"Mr. Gerald Scales is dangerously ill here. Boldero, 49, Deansgate, +Manchester." + +All through the inexpressibly tedious and quite unnecessary call of Dr. +Stirling--(Why had he chosen to call just then? Neither of them was +ill)--Sophia had held that telegram concealed in her hand and its +information concealed in her heart. She had kept her head up, offering +a calm front to the world. She had given no hint of the terrible +explosion--for an explosion it was. Constance was astounded at her +sister's self-control, which entirely passed her comprehension. +Constance felt that worries would never cease, but would rather go on +multiplying until death ended all. First, there had been the frightful +worry of the servant; then the extremely distressing death and burial +of Spot--and now it was Gerald Scales turning up again! With what +violence was the direction of their thoughts now shifted! The +wickedness of maids was a trifle; the death of pets was a trifle. But +the reappearance of Gerald Scales! That involved the possibility of +consequences which could not even be named, so afflictive was the mere +prospect to them. Constance was speechless, and she saw that Sophia was +also speechless. + +Of course the event had been bound to happen. People do not vanish +never to be heard of again. The time surely arrives when the secret is +revealed. So Sophia said to herself--now! + +She had always refused to consider the effect of Gerald's reappearance. +She had put the idea of it away from her, determined to convince +herself that she had done with him finally and for ever. She had +forgotten him. It was years since he had ceased to disturb her +thoughts--many years. "He MUST be dead," she had persuaded herself. "It +is inconceivable that he should have lived on and never come across me. +If he had been alive and learnt that I had made money, he would +assuredly have come to me. No, he must be dead!" + +And he was not dead! The brief telegram overwhelmingly shocked her. Her +life had been calm, regular, monotonous. And now it was thrown into an +indescribable turmoil by five words of a telegram, suddenly, with no +warning whatever. Sophia had the right to say to herself: "I have had +my share of trouble, and more than my share!" The end of her life +promised to be as awful as the beginning. The mere existence of Gerald +Scales was a menace to her. But it was the simple impact of the blow +that affected her supremely, beyond ulterior things. One might have +pictured fate as a cowardly brute who had struck this ageing woman full +in the face, a felling blow, which however had not felled her. She +staggered, but she stuck on her legs. It seemed a shame--one of those +crude, spectacular shames which make the blood boil--that the gallant, +defenceless creature should be so maltreated by the bully, destiny. + +"Oh, Sophia!" Constance moaned. "What trouble is this?" + +Sophia's lip curled with a disgusted air. Under that she hid her +suffering. + +She had not seen him for thirty-six years. He must be over seventy +years of age, and he had turned up again like a bad penny, doubtless a +disgrace! What had he been doing in those thirty-six years? He was an +old, enfeebled man now! He must be a pretty sight! And he lay at +Manchester, not two hours away! + +Whatever feelings were in Sophia's heart, tenderness was not among +them. As she collected her wits from the stroke, she was principally +aware of the sentiment of fear. She recoiled from the future. + +"What shall you do?" Constance asked. Constance was weeping. + +Sophia tapped her foot, glancing out of the window. + +"Shall you go to see him?" Constance continued. + +"Of course," said Sophia. "I must!" + +She hated the thought of going to see him. She flinched from it. She +felt herself under no moral obligation to go. Why should she go? Gerald +was nothing to her, and had no claim on her of any kind. This she +honestly believed. And yet she knew that she must go to him. She knew +it to be impossible that she should not go. + +"Now?" demanded Constance. + +Sophia nodded. + +"What about the trains? ... Oh, you poor dear!" The mere idea of the +journey to Manchester put Constance out of her wits, seeming a business +of unparalleled complexity and difficulty. + +"Would you like me to come with you?" + +"Oh no! I must go by myself." + +Constance was relieved by this. They could not have left the servant in +the house alone, and the idea of shutting up the house without notice +or preparation presented itself to Constance as too fantastic. + +By a common instinct they both descended to the parlour. + +"Now, what about a time-table? What about a time-table?" Constance +mumbled on the stairs. She wiped her eyes resolutely. "I wonder +whatever in this world has brought him at last to that Mr. Boldero's in +Deansgate?" she asked the walls. + +As they came into the parlour, a great motor-car drove up before the +door, and when the pulsations of its engine had died away, Dick Povey +hobbled from the driver's seat to the pavement. In an instant he was +hammering at the door in his lively style. There was no avoiding him. +The door had to be opened. Sophia opened it. Dick Povey was over forty, +but he looked considerably younger. Despite his lameness, and the fact +that his lameness tended to induce corpulence, he had a dashing air, +and his face, with its short, light moustache, was boyish. He seemed to +be always upon some joyous adventure. + +"Well, aunties," he greeted the sisters, having perceived Constance +behind Sophia; he often so addressed them. "Has Dr. Stirling warned you +that I was coming? Why haven't you got your things on?" + +Sophia observed a young woman in the car. + +"Yes," said he, following her gaze, "you may as well look. Come down, +miss. Come down, Lily. You've got to go through with it." The young +woman, delicately confused and blushing, obeyed. "This is Miss Lily +Holl," he went on. "I don't know whether you would remember her. I +don't think you do. It's not often she comes to the Square. But, of +course, she knows you by sight. Granddaughter of your old neighbour, +Alderman Holl! We are engaged to be married, if you please." + +Constance and Sophia could not decently pour out their griefs on the +top of such news. The betrothed pair had to come in and be +congratulated upon their entry into the large realms of mutual love. +But the sisters, even in their painful quandary, could not help +noticing what a nice, quiet, ladylike girl Lily Holl was. Her one fault +appeared to be that she was too quiet. Dick Povey was not the man to +pass time in formalities, and he was soon urging departure. + +"I'm sorry we can't come," said Sophia. "I've got to go to Manchester +now. We are in great trouble." + +"Yes, in great trouble," Constance weakly echoed. + +Dick's face clouded sympathetically. And both the affianced began to +see that to which the egotism of their happiness had blinded them. They +felt that long, long years had elapsed since these ageing ladies had +experienced the delights which they were feeling. + +"Trouble? I'm sorry to hear that!" said Dick. + +"Can you tell me the trains to Manchester?" asked Sophia. + +"No," said Dick, quickly, "But I can drive you there quicker than any +train, if it's urgent. Where do you want to go to?" + +"Deansgate," Sophia faltered. + +"Look here," said Dick, "it's half-past three. Put yourself in my +hands; I'll guarantee at Deansgate you shall be before half-past five. +I'll look after you." + +"But----" + +"There isn't any 'but.' I'm quite free for the afternoon and evening." + +At first the suggestion seemed absurd, especially to Constance. But +really it was too tempting to be declined. While Sophia made ready for +the journey, Dick and Lily Holl and Constance conversed in low, solemn +tones. The pair were waiting to be enlightened as to the nature of the +trouble; Constance, however, did not enlighten them. How could +Constance say to them: "Sophia has a husband that she hasn't seen for +thirty-six years, and he's dangerously ill, and they've telegraphed for +her to go?" Constance could not. It did not even occur to Constance to +order a cup of tea. + +III + +Dick Povey kept his word. At a quarter-past five he drew up in front of +No. 49, Deansgate, Manchester. "There you are!" he said, not without +pride. "Now, we'll come back in about a couple of hours or so, just to +take your orders, whatever they are." He was very comforting, with his +suggestion that in him Sophia had a sure support in the background. + +Without many words Sophia went straight into the shop. It looked like a +jeweller's shop, and a shop for bargains generally. Only the +conventional sign over a side-entrance showed that at heart it was a +pawnbroker's. Mr. Till Boldero did a nice business in the Five Towns, +and in other centres near Manchester, by selling silver-ware +second-hand, or nominally second hand, to persons who wished to make +presents to other persons or to themselves. He would send anything by +post on approval. Occasionally he came to the Five Towns, and he had +once, several years before, met Constance. They had talked. He was the +son of a cousin of the late great and wealthy Boldero, sleeping partner +in Birkinshaws, and Gerald's uncle. It was from Constance that he had +learnt of Sophia's return to Bursley. Constance had often remarked to +Sophia what a superior man Mr. Till Boldero was. + +The shop was narrow and lofty. It seemed like a menagerie for trapped +silver-ware. In glass cases right up to the dark ceiling silver vessels +and instruments of all kinds lay confined. The top of the counter was a +glass prison containing dozens of gold watches, together with +snuff-boxes, enamels, and other antiquities. The front of the counter +was also glazed, showing vases and large pieces of porcelain. A few +pictures in heavy gold frames were perched about. There was a case of +umbrellas with elaborate handles and rich tassels. There were a couple +of statuettes. The counter, on the customers' side, ended in a glass +screen on which were the words 'Private Office.' On the seller's side +the prospect was closed by a vast safe. A tall young man was fumbling +in this safe. Two women sat on customers' chairs, leaning against the +crystal counter. The young man came towards them from the safe, bearing +a tray. + +"How much is that goblet?" asked one of the women, raising her parasol +dangerously among such fragility and pointing to one object among many +in a case high up from the ground. + +"That, madam?" + +"Yes." + +"Thirty-five pounds." + +The young man disposed his tray on the counter. It was packed with more +gold watches, adding to the extraordinary glitter and shimmer of the +shop. He chose a small watch from the regiment. + +"Now, this is something I can recommend," he said. "It's made by +Cuthbert Butler of Blackburn. I can guarantee you that for five years." +He spoke as though he were the accredited representative of the Bank of +England, with calm and absolute assurance. + +The effect upon Sophia was mysteriously soothing. She felt that she was +among honest men. The young man raised his head towards her with a +questioning, deferential gesture. + +"Can I see Mr. Boldero?" she asked. "Mrs. Scales." + +The young man's face changed instantly to a sympathetic comprehension. + +"Yes, madam. I'll fetch him at once," said he, and he disappeared +behind the safe. The two customers discussed the watch. Then the door +opened in the glass screen, and a portly, middle-aged man showed +himself. He was dressed in blue broad-cloth, with a turned-down collar +and a small black tie. His waistcoat displayed a plain but heavy gold +watch-chain, and his cuff-links were of plain gold. His eye-glasses +were gold-rimmed. He had grey hair, beard and moustache, but on the +backs of his hands grew a light brown hair. His appearance was +strangely mild, dignified, and confidence-inspiring. He was, in fact, +one of the most respected tradesmen in Manchester. + +He peered forward, looking over his eye-glasses, which he then took +off, holding them up in the air by their short handle. Sophia had +approached him. + +"Mrs. Scales?" he said, in a very quiet, very benevolent voice. Sophia +nodded. "Please come this way." He took her hand, squeezing it +commiseratingly, and drew her into the sanctum. "I didn't expect you so +soon," he said. "I looked up th' trains, and I didn't see how you could +get here before six." + +Sophia explained. + +He led her further, through the private office, into a sort of parlour, +and asked her to sit down. And he too sat down. Sophia waited, as it +were, like a suitor. + +"I'm afraid I've got bad news for you, Mrs. Scales," he said, still in +that mild, benevolent voice. + +"He's dead?" Sophia asked. + +Mr. Till Boldero nodded. "He's dead. I may as well tell you that he had +passed away before I telegraphed. It all happened very, very suddenly." +He paused. "Very, very suddenly!" + +"Yes," said Sophia, weakly. She was conscious of a profound sadness +which was not grief, though it resembled grief. And she had also a +feeling that she was responsible to Mr. Till Boldero for anything +untoward that might have occurred to him by reason of Gerald. + +"Yes," said Mr. Till Boldero, deliberately and softly. "He came in last +night just as we were closing. We had very heavy rain here. I don't +know how it was with you. He was wet, in a dreadful state, simply +dreadful. Of course, I didn't recognize him. I'd never seen him before, +so far as my recollection goes. He asked me if I was the son of Mr. +Till Boldero that had this shop in 1866. I said I was. 'Well,' he says, +'you're the only connection I've got. My name's Gerald Scales. My +mother was your father's cousin. Can you do anything for me?' he says. +I could see he was ill. I had him in here. When I found he couldn't eat +nor drink I thought I'd happen better send for th' doctor. The doctor +got him to bed. He passed away at one o'clock this afternoon. I was +very sorry my wife wasn't here to look after things a bit better. But +she's at Southport, not well at all." + +"What was it?" Sophia asked briefly. + +Mr. Boldero indicated the enigmatic. "Exhaustion, I suppose," he +replied. + +"He's here?" demanded Sophia, lifting her eyes to possible bedrooms. + +"Yes," said Mr. Boldero. "I suppose you would wish to see him?" + +"Yes," said Sophia. + +"You haven't seen him for a long time, your sister told me?" Mr. +Boldero murmured, sympathetically. + +"Not since 'seventy," said Sophia. + +"Eh, dear! Eh, dear!" ejaculated Mr. Boldero. "I fear it's been a sad +business for ye, Mrs. Scales. Not since 'seventy!" He sighed. "You must +take it as well as you can. I'm not one as talks much, but I +sympathize, with you. I do that! I wish my wife had been here to +receive you." + +Tears came into Sophia's eyes. + +"Nay, nay!" he said. "You must bear up now!" + +"It's you that make me cry," said Sophia, gratefully. "You were very +good to take him in. It must have been exceedingly trying for you." + +"Oh," he protested, "you mustn't talk like that. I couldn't leave a +Boldero on the pavement, and an old man at that! ... Oh, to think that +if he'd only managed to please his uncle he might ha' been one of the +richest men in Lancashire. But then there'd ha' been no Boldero +Institute at Strangeways!" he added. + +They both sat silent a moment. + +"Will you come now? Or will you wait a bit?" asked Mr. Boldero, gently. +"Just as you wish. I'm sorry as my wife's away, that I am!" + +"I'll come now," said Sophia, firmly. But she was stricken. + +He conducted her up a short, dark flight of stairs, which gave on a +passage, and at the end of the passage was a door ajar. He pushed the +door open. "I'll leave you for a moment," he said, always in the same +very restrained tone. "You'll find me downstairs, there, if you want +me." And he moved away with hushed, deliberate tread. + +Sophia went into the room, of which the white blind was drawn. She +appreciated Mr. Boldero's consideration in leaving her. She was +trembling. But when she saw, in the pale gloom, the face of an aged man +peeping out from under a white sheet on a naked mattress, she started +back, trembling no more--rather transfixed into an absolute rigidity. +That was no conventional, expected shock that she had received. It was +a genuine unforeseen shock, the most violent that she had ever had. In +her mind she had not pictured Gerald as a very old man. She knew that +he was old; she had said to herself that he must be very old, well over +seventy. But she had not pictured him. This face on the bed was +painfully, pitiably old. A withered face, with the shiny skin all drawn +into wrinkles! The stretched skin under the jaw was like the skin of a +plucked fowl. The cheek-bones stood up, and below them were deep +hollows, almost like egg-cups. A short, scraggy white beard covered the +lower part of the face. The hair was scanty, irregular, and quite +white; a little white hair grew in the ears. The shut mouth obviously +hid toothless gums, for the lips were sucked in. The eyelids were as if +pasted down over the eyes, fitting them like kid. All the skin was +extremely pallid; it seemed brittle. The body, whose outlines were +clear under the sheet, was very small, thin, shrunk, pitiable as the +face. And on the face was a general expression of final fatigue, of +tragic and acute exhaustion; such as made Sophia pleased that the +fatigue and exhaustion had been assuaged in rest, while all the time +she kept thinking to herself horribly: "Oh! how tired he must have +been!" + +Sophia then experienced a pure and primitive emotion, uncoloured by any +moral or religious quality. She was not sorry that Gerald had wasted +his life, nor that he was a shame to his years and to her. The manner +of his life was of no importance. What affected her was that he had +once been young, and that he had grown old, and was now dead. That was +all. Youth and vigour had come to that. Youth and vigour always came to +that. Everything came to that. He had ill-treated her; he had abandoned +her; he had been a devious rascal; but how trivial were such +accusations against him! The whole of her huge and bitter grievance +against him fell to pieces and crumbled. She saw him young, and proud, +and strong, as for instance when he had kissed her lying on the bed in +that London hotel--she forgot the name--in 1866; and now he was old, +and worn, and horrible, and dead. It was the riddle of life that was +puzzling and killing her. By the corner of her eye, reflected in the +mirror of a wardrobe near the bed, she glimpsed a tall, forlorn woman, +who had once been young and now was old; who had once exulted in +abundant strength, and trodden proudly on the neck of circumstance, and +now was old. He and she had once loved and burned and quarrelled in the +glittering and scornful pride of youth. But time had worn them out. +"Yet a little while," she thought, "and I shall be lying on a bed like +that! And what shall I have lived for? What is the meaning of it?" The +riddle of life itself was killing her, and she seemed to drown in a sea +of inexpressible sorrow. + +Her memory wandered hopelessly among those past years. She saw Chirac +with his wistful smile. She saw him whipped over the roof of the Gare +du Nord at the tail of a balloon. She saw old Niepce. She felt his +lecherous arm round her. She was as old now as Niepce had been then. +Could she excite lust now? Ah! the irony of such a question! To be +young and seductive, to be able to kindle a man's eye--that seemed to +her the sole thing desirable. Once she had been so! ... Niepce must +certainly have been dead for years. Niepce, the obstinate and hopeful +voluptuary, was nothing but a few bones in a coffin now! + +She was acquainted with affliction in that hour. All that she had +previously suffered sank into insignificance by the side of that +suffering. + +She turned to the veiled window and idly pulled the blind and looked +out. Huge red and yellow cars were swimming in thunder along Deansgate; +lorries jolted and rattled; the people of Manchester hurried along the +pavements, apparently unconscious that all their doings were vain. +Yesterday he too had been in Deansgate, hungry for life, hating the +idea of death! What a figure he must have made! Her heart dissolved in +pity for him. She dropped the blind. + +"My life has been too terrible!" she thought. "I wish I was dead. I +have been through too much. It is monstrous, and I cannot stand it. I +do not want to die, but I wish I was dead." + +There was a discreet knock on the door. + +"Come in," she said, in a calm, resigned, cheerful voice. The sound had +recalled her with the swiftness of a miracle to the unconquerable +dignity of human pride. + +Mr. Till Boldero entered. + +"I should like you to come downstairs and drink a cup of tea," he said. +He was a marvel of tact and good nature. "My wife is unfortunately not +here, and the house is rather at sixes and sevens; but I have sent out +for some tea." + +She followed him downstairs into the parlour. He poured out a cup of +tea. + +"I was forgetting," she said. "I am forbidden tea. I mustn't drink it." + +She looked at the cup, tremendously tempted. She longed for tea. An +occasional transgression could not harm her. But no! She would not +drink it. + +"Then what can I get you?" + +"If I could have just milk and water," she said meekly. + +Mr. Boldero emptied the cup into the slop basin, and began to fill it +again. + +"Did he tell you anything?" she asked, after a considerable silence. + +"Nothing," said Mr. Boldero in his low, soothing tones. "Nothing except +that he had come from Liverpool. Judging from his shoes I should say he +must have walked a good bit of the way." + +"At his age!" murmured Sophia, touched. + +"Yes," sighed Mr. Boldero. "He must have been in great straits. You +know, he could scarcely talk at all. By the way, here are his clothes. +I have had them put aside." + +Sophia saw a small pile of clothes on a chair. She examined the suit, +which was still damp, and its woeful shabbiness pained her. The linen +collar was nearly black, its stud of bone. As for the boots, she had +noticed such boots on the feet of tramps. She wept now. These were the +clothes of him who had once been a dandy living at the rate of fifty +pounds a week. + +"No luggage or anything, of course?" she muttered. + +"No," said Mr. Boldero. "In the pockets there was nothing whatever but +this." + +He went to the mantelpiece and picked up a cheap, cracked letter case, +which Sophia opened. In it were a visiting card--'Senorita Clemenzia +Borja'--and a bill-head of the Hotel of the Holy Spirit, Concepcion del +Uruguay, on the back of which a lot of figures had been scrawled. + +"One would suppose," said Mr. Boldero, "that he had come from South +America." + +"Nothing else?" + +"Nothing." + +Gerald's soul had not been compelled to abandon much in the haste of +its flight. + +A servant announced that Mrs. Scales's friends were waiting for her +outside in the motor-car. Sophia glanced at Mr. Till Boldero with an +exacerbated anxiety on her face. + +"Surely they don't expect me to go back with them tonight!" she said. +"And look at all there is to be done!" + +Mr. Till Boldero's kindness was then redoubled. "You can do nothing for +HIM now," he said. "Tell me your wishes about the funeral. I will +arrange everything. Go back to your sister to-night. She will be +nervous about you. And return tomorrow or the day after.... No! It's no +trouble, I assure you!" + +She yielded. + +Thus towards eight o'clock, when Sophia had eaten a little under Mr. +Boldero's superintendence, and the pawnshop was shut up, the motor-car +started again for Bursley, Lily Holl being beside her lover and Sophia +alone in the body of the car. Sophia had told them nothing of the +nature of her mission. She was incapable of talking to them. They saw +that she was in a condition of serious mental disturbance. Under cover +of the noise of the car, Lily said to Dick that she was sure Mrs. +Scales was ill, and Dick, putting his lips together, replied that he +meant to be in King Street at nine-thirty at the latest. From time to +time Lily surreptitiously glanced at Sophia--a glance of apprehensive +inspection, or smiled at her silently; and Sophia vaguely responded to +the smile. + +In half an hour they had escaped from the ring of Manchester and were +on the county roads of Cheshire, polished, flat, sinuous. It was the +season of the year when there is no night--only daylight and twilight; +when the last silver of dusk remains obstinately visible for hours. And +in the open country, under the melancholy arch of evening, the sadness +of the earth seemed to possess Sophia anew. Only then did she realize +the intensity of the ordeal through which she was passing. + +To the south of Congleton one of the tyres softened, immediately after +Dick had lighted his lamps. He stopped the car and got down again. They +were two miles from Astbury, the nearest village. He had just, with +the resignation of experience, reached for the tool-bag, when Lily +exclaimed: "Is she asleep, or what?" Sophia was not asleep, but she was +apparently not conscious. + +It was a difficult and a trying situation for two lovers. Their voices +changed momentarily to the tone of alarm and consternation, and then +grew firm again. Sophia showed life but not reason. Lily could feel the +poor old lady's heart. + +"Well, there's nothing for it!" said Dick, briefly, when all their +efforts failed to rouse her. + +"What--shall you do?" + +"Go straight home as quick as I can on three tyres. We must get her +over to this side, and you must hold her. Like that we shall keep the +weight off the other side." + +He pitched back the tool-bag into its box. Lily admired his decision. + +It was in this order, no longer under the spell of the changing beauty +of nocturnal landscapes, that they finished the journey. Constance had +opened the door before the car came to a stop in the gloom of King +Street. The young people considered that she bore the shock well, +though the carrying into the house of Sophia's inert, twitching body, +with its hat forlornly awry, was a sight to harrow a soul sturdier than +Constance. + +When that was done, Dick said curtly: "I'm off. You stay here, of +course." + +"Where are you going?" asked Lily. + +"Doctor!" snapped Dick, hobbling rapidly down the steps. + +IV + +The extraordinary violence of the turn in affairs was what chiefly +struck Constance, though it did not overwhelm her. Less than twelve +hours before--nay, scarcely six hours before--she and Sophia had been +living their placid and monotonous existence, undisturbed by anything +worse than the indisposition or death of dogs, or the perversity of a +servant. And now, the menacing Gerald Scales having reappeared, +Sophia's form lay mysterious and affrightening on the sofa; and she and +Lily Holl, a girl whom she had not met till that day, were staring at +Sophia side by side, intimately sharing the same alarm. Constance rose +to the crisis. She no longer had Sophia's energy and decisive +peremptoriness to depend on, and the Baines in her was awakened. All +her daily troubles sank away to their proper scale of unimportance. +Neither the young woman nor the old one knew what to do. They could +loosen clothes, vainly offer restoratives to the smitten mouth: that +was all. Sophia was not unconscious, as could be judged from her eyes; +but she could not speak, nor make signs; her body was frequently +convulsed. So the two women waited, and the servant waited in the +background. The sight of Sophia had effected an astonishing +transformation in Maud. Maud was a changed girl. Constance could not +recognize, in her eager deferential anxiety to be of use, the pert +naughtiness of the minx. She was altered as a wanton of the middle ages +would have been altered by some miraculous visitation. It might have +been the turning-point in Maud's career! + +Doctor Stirling arrived in less than ten minutes. Dick Povey had had +the wit to look for him at the Federation meeting in the Town Hall. And +the advent of the doctor and Dick, noisily, at breakneck speed in the +car, provided a second sensation. The doctor inquired quickly what had +occurred. Nobody could tell him anything. Constance had already +confided to Lily Holl the reason of the visit to Manchester; but that +was the extent of her knowledge. Not a single person in Bursley, except +Sophia, knew what had happened in Manchester. But Constance conjectured +that Gerald Scales was dead--or Sophia would never have returned so +soon. Then the doctor suggested that on the contrary Gerald Scales +might be out of danger. And all then pictured to themselves this +troubling Gerald Scales, this dark and sinister husband that had caused +such a violent upheaval. + +Meanwhile the doctor was at work. He sent Dick Povey to knock up +Critchlow's, if the shop should be closed, and obtain a drug. Then, +after a time, he lifted Sophia, just as she was, like a bundle on his +shoulder, and carried her single-handed upstairs to the second floor. +He had recently been giving a course of instruction to enthusiasts of +the St. John's Ambulance Association in Bursley. The feat had an air of +the superhuman. Above all else it remained printed on Constance's mind: +the burly doctor treading delicately and carefully on the crooked, +creaking stairs, his precautions against damaging Sophia by brusque +contacts, his stumble at the two steps in the middle of the corridor; +Sophia's horribly limp head and loosened hair; and then the tender +placing of her on the bed, and the doctor's long breath and flourish of +his large handkerchief, all that under the crude lights and shadows of +gas jets! The doctor was nonplussed. Constance gave him a second-hand +account of Sophia's original attack in Paris, roughly as she had heard +it from Sophia. He at once said that it could not have been what the +French doctor had said it was. Constance shrugged her shoulders. She +was not surprised. For her there was necessarily something of the +charlatan about a French doctor. She said she only knew what Sophia had +told her. After a time Dr. Stirling determined to try electricity, and +Dick Povey drove him up to the surgery to fetch his apparatus. The +women were left alone again. Constance was very deeply impressed by +Lily Holl's sensible, sympathetic attitude. "Whatever I should have +done without Miss Lily I don't know!" she used to exclaim afterwards. +Even Maud was beyond praise. It seemed to be the middle of the night +when Dr. Stirling came back, but it was barely eleven o'clock, and +people were only just returning from Hanbridge Theatre and Hanbridge +Music Hall. The use of the electrical apparatus was a dead spectacle. +Sophia's inertness under it was agonizing. They waited, as it were, +breathless for the result. And there was no result. Both injections and +electricity had entirely failed to influence the paralysis of Sophia's +mouth and throat. Everything had failed. "Nothing to do but wait a +bit!" said the doctor quietly. They waited in the chamber. Sophia +seemed to be in a kind of coma. The distortion of her handsome face was +more marked as time passed. The doctor spoke now and then in a low +voice. He said that the attack had ultimately been determined by cold +produced by rapid motion in the automobile. Dick Povey whispered that +he must run over to Hanbridge and let Lily's parents know that there +was no cause for alarm on her account, and that he would return at +once. He was very devoted. On the landing out-side the bedroom, the +doctor murmured to him: "U.P." And Dick nodded. They were great friends. + +At intervals the doctor, who never knew when he was beaten, essayed new +methods of dealing with Sophia's case. New symptoms followed. It was +half-past twelve when, after gazing with prolonged intensity at the +patient, and after having tested her mouth and heart, he rose slowly +and looked at Constance. + +"It's over?" said Constance. + +And he very slightly moved his head. "Come downstairs, please," he +enjoined her, in a pause that ensued. Constance was amazingly +courageous. The doctor was very solemn and very kind; Constance had +never before seen him to such heroic advantage. He led her with +infinite gentleness out of the room. There was nothing to stay for; +Sophia had gone. Constance wanted to stay by Sophia's body; but it was +the rule that the stricken should be led away, the doctor observed this +classic rule, and Constance felt that he was right and that she must +obey. Lily Holl followed. The servant, learning the truth by the +intuition accorded to primitive natures, burst into loud sobs, yelling +that Sophia had been the most excellent mistress that servant ever had. +The doctor angrily told her not to stand blubbering there, but to go +into her kitchen and shut the door if she couldn't control herself. All +his accumulated nervous agitation was discharged on Maud like a +thunderclap. Constance continued to behave wonderfully. She was the +admiration of the doctor and Lily Holl. Then Dick Povey came back. It +was settled that Lily should pass the night with Constance. At last the +doctor and Dick departed together, the doctor undertaking the mortuary +arrangements. Maud was hunted to bed. + +Early in the morning Constance rose up from her own bed. It was five +o'clock, and there had been daylight for two hours already. She moved +noiselessly and peeped over the foot of the bed at the sofa. Lily was +quietly asleep there, breathing with the softness of a child. Lily +would have deemed that she was a very mature woman, who had seen life +and much of it. Yet to Constance her face and attitude had the +exquisite quality of a child's. She was not precisely a pretty girl, +but her features, the candid expression of her disposition, produced an +impression that was akin to that of beauty. Her abandonment was +complete. She had gone through the night unscathed, and was now +renewing herself in calm, oblivious sleep. Her ingenuous girlishness +was apparent then. It seemed as if all her wise and sweet behaviour of +the evening could have been nothing but so many imitative gestures. It +seemed impossible that a being so young and fresh could have really +experienced the mood of which her gestures had been the expression. Her +strong virginal simplicity made Constance vaguely sad for her. + +Creeping out of the room, Constance climbed to the second floor in her +dressing-gown, and entered the other chamber. She was obliged to look +again upon Sophia's body. Incredible swiftness of calamity! Who could +have foreseen it? Constance was less desolated than numbed. She was as +yet only touching the fringe of her bereavement. She had not begun to +think of herself. She was drenched, as she gazed at Sophia's body, not +by pity for herself, but by compassion for the immense disaster of her +sister's life. She perceived fully now for the first time the greatness +of that disaster. Sophia's charm and Sophia's beauty--what profit had +they been to their owner? She saw pictures of Sophia's career, +distorted and grotesque images formed in her untravelled mind from +Sophia's own rare and compressed recitals. What a career! A brief +passion, and then nearly thirty years in a boarding-house! And Sophia +had never had a child; had never known either the joy or the pain of +maternity. She had never even had a true home till, in all her sterile +splendour, she came to Bursley. And she had ended--thus! This was the +piteous, ignominious end of Sophia's wondrous gifts of body and soul. +Hers had not been a life at all. And the reason? It is strange how fate +persists in justifying the harsh generalizations of Puritan morals, of +the morals in which Constance had been brought up by her stern parents! +Sophia had sinned. It was therefore inevitable that she should suffer. +An adventure such as she had in wicked and capricious pride undertaken +with Gerald Scales, could not conclude otherwise than it had concluded. +It could have brought nothing but evil. There was no getting away from +these verities, thought Constance. And she was to be excused for +thinking that all modern progress and cleverness was as naught, and +that the world would be forced to return upon its steps and start again +in the path which it had left. + +Up to within a few days of her death people had been wont to remark +that Mrs. Scales looked as young as ever, and that she was as bright +and as energetic as ever. And truly, regarding Sophia from a little +distance--that handsome oval, that erect carriage of a slim body, that +challenging eye!--no one would have said that she was in her sixtieth +year. But look at her now, with her twisted face, her sightless orbs, +her worn skin--she did not seem sixty, but seventy! She was like +something used, exhausted, and thrown aside! Yes, Constance's heart +melted in an anguished pity for that stormy creature. And mingled with +the pity was a stern recognition of the handiwork of divine justice. To +Constance's lips came the same phrase as had come to the lips of Samuel +Povey on a different occasion: God is not mocked! The ideas of her +parents and her grandparents had survived intact in Constance. It is +true that Constance's father would have shuddered in Heaven could he +have seen Constance solitarily playing cards of a night. But in spite +of cards, and of a son who never went to chapel, Constance, under the +various influences of destiny, had remained essentially what her father +had been. Not in her was the force of evolution manifest. There are +thousands such. + +Lily, awake, and reclothed with that unreal mien of a grown and +comprehending woman, stepped quietly into the room, searching for the +poor old thing, Constance. The layer-out had come. + +By the first post was delivered a letter addressed to Sophia by Mr. +Till Boldero. From its contents the death of Gerald Scales was clear. +There seemed then to be nothing else for Constance to do. What had to +be done was done for her. And stronger wills than hers put her to bed. +Cyril was telegraphed for. Mr. Critchlow called, Mrs. Critchlow +following--a fussy infliction, but useful in certain matters. Mr. +Critchlow was not allowed to see Constance. She could hear his high +grating voice in the corridor. She had to lie calm, and the sudden +tranquillity seemed strange after the feverish violence of the night. +Only twenty-four hours since, and she had been worrying about the death +of a dog! With a body crying for sleep, she dozed off, thoughts of the +mystery of life merging into the incoherence of dreams. + +The news was abroad in the Square before nine o'clock. There were +persons who had witnessed the arrival of the motorcar, and the transfer +of Sophia to the house. Untruthful rumours had spread as to the manner +of Gerald Scales's death. Some said that he had dramatically committed +suicide. But the town, though titillated, was not moved as it would +have been moved by a similar event twenty years, or even ten years +earlier. Times had changed in Bursley. Bursley was more sophisticated +than in the old days. + +Constance was afraid lest Cyril, despite the seriousness of the +occasion, might exhibit his customary tardiness in coming. She had long +since learnt not to rely upon him. But he came the same evening. His +behaviour was in every way perfect. He showed quiet but genuine grief +for the death of his aunt, and he was a model of consideration for his +mother. Further, he at once assumed charge of all the arrangements, in +regard both to Sophia and to her husband. Constance was surprised at +the ease which he displayed in the conduct of practical affairs, and +the assurance with which he gave orders. She had never seen him direct +anything before. He said, indeed, that he had never directed anything +before, but that there appeared to him to be no difficulties. Whereas +Constance had figured a tiresome series of varied complications. As to +the burial of Sophia, Cyril was vigorously in favour of an absolutely +private funeral; that is to say, a funeral at which none but himself +should be present. He seemed to have a passionate objection to any sort +of parade. Constance agreed with him. But she said that it would be +impossible not to invite Mr. Critchlow, Sophia's trustee, and that if +Mr. Critchlow were invited certain others must be invited. Cyril asked: +"Why impossible?" Constance said: "Because it would be impossible. +Because Mr. Critchlow would be hurt." Cyril asked: "What does it matter +if he is hurt?" and suggested that Mr. Critchlow would get over his +damage. Constance grew more serious. The discussion threatened to be +warm. Suddenly Cyril yielded. "All right, Mrs. Plover, all right! It +shall be exactly as you choose," he said, in a gentle, humouring tone. +He had not called her 'Mrs. Plover' for years. She thought the hour +badly chosen for verbal pleasantry, but he was so kind that she made no +complaint. Thus there were six people at Sophia's funeral, including +Mr. Critchlow. No refreshments were offered. The mourners separated at +the church. When both funerals were accomplished Cyril sat down and +played the harmonium softly, and said that it had kept well in tune. He +was extraordinarily soothing. + +He had now reached the age of thirty-three. His habits were as +industrious as ever, his preoccupation with his art as keen. But he had +achieved no fame, no success. He earned nothing, living in comfort on +an allowance from his mother. He seldom spoke of his plans and never of +his hopes. He had in fact settled down into a dilletante, having learnt +gently to scorn the triumphs which he lacked the force to win. He +imagined that industry and a regular existence were sufficient +justification in themselves for any man's life. Constance had dropped +the habit of expecting him to astound the world. He was rather grave +and precise in manner, courteous and tepid, with a touch of +condescension towards his environment; as though he were continually +permitting the perspicacious to discern that he had nothing to +learn--if the truth were known! His humour had assumed a modified form. +He often smiled to himself. He was unexceptionable. + +On the day after Sophia's funeral he set to work to design a simple +stone for his aunt's tomb. He said he could not tolerate the ordinary +gravestone, which always looked, to him, as if the wind might blow it +over, thus negativing the idea of solidity. His mother did not in the +least understand him. She thought the lettering of his tombstone +affected and finicking. But she let it pass without comment, being +secretly very flattered that he should have deigned to design a stone +at all. + +Sophia had left all her money to Cyril, and had made him the sole +executor of her will. This arrangement had been agreed with Constance. +The sisters thought it was the best plan. Cyril ignored Mr. Critchlow +entirely, and went to a young lawyer at Hanbridge, a friend of his and +of Matthew Peel-Swynnerton's. Mr. Critchlow, aged and unaccustomed to +interference, had to render accounts of his trusteeship to this young +man, and was incensed. The estate was proved at over thirty-five +thousand pounds. In the main, Sophia had been careful, and had even +been parsimonious. She had often told Constance that they ought to +spend money much more freely, and she had had a few brief fits of +extravagance. But the habit of stern thrift, begun in 1870 and +practised without any intermission till she came to England in 1897, +had been too strong for her theories. The squandering of money pained +her. And she could not, in her age, devise expensive tastes. + +Cyril showed no emotion whatever on learning himself the inheritor of +thirty-five thousand pounds. He did not seem to care. He spoke of the +sum as a millionaire might have spoken of it. In justice to him it is +to be said that he cared nothing for wealth, except in so far as wealth +could gratify his eye and ear trained to artistic voluptuousness. But, +for his mother's sake, and for the sake of Bursley, he might have +affected a little satisfaction. His mother was somewhat hurt. His +behaviour caused her to revert in meditation again and again to the +futility of Sophia's career, and the waste of her attributes. She had +grown old and hard in joyless years in order to amass this money which +Cyril would spend coldly and ungratefully, never thinking of the +immense effort and endless sacrifice which had gone to its collection. +He would spend it as carelessly as though he had picked it up in the +street. As the days went by and Constance realized her own grief, she +also realized more and more the completeness of the tragedy of Sophia's +life. Headstrong Sophia had deceived her mother, and for the deception +had paid with thirty years of melancholy and the entire frustration of +her proper destiny. + +After haunting Bursley for a fortnight in elegant black, Cyril said, +without any warning, one night: "I must go the day after to-morrow, +mater." And he told her of a journey to Hungary which he had long since +definitely planned with Matthew Peel-Swynnerton, and which could not be +postponed, as it comprised 'business.' He had hitherto breathed no word +of this. He was as secretive as ever. As to her holiday, he suggested +that she should arrange to go away with the Holls and Dick Povey. He +approved of Lily Holl and of Dick Povey. Of Dick Povey he said: "He's +one of the most remarkable chaps in the Five Towns." And he had the air +of having made Dick's reputation. Constance, knowing there was no +appeal, accepted the sentence of loneliness. Her health was singularly +good. + +When he was gone she said to herself: "Scarcely a fortnight and Sophia +was here at this table!" She would remember every now and then, with a +faint shock, that poor, proud, masterful Sophia was dead. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +END OF CONSTANCE + +I + + +When, on a June afternoon about twelve months later, Lily Holl walked +into Mrs. Povey's drawing-room overlooking the Square, she found a +calm, somewhat optimistic old lady--older than her years--which were +little more than sixty--whose chief enemies were sciatica and +rheumatism. The sciatica was a dear enemy of long standing, always +affectionately referred to by the forgiving Constance as 'my sciatica'; +the rheumatism was a new-comer, unprivileged, spoken of by its victim +apprehensively and yet disdainfully as 'this rheumatism.' Constance was +now very stout. She sat in a low easy-chair between the oval table and +the window, arrayed in black silk. As the girl Lily came in, Constance +lifted her head with a bland smile, and Lily kissed her, contentedly. +Lily knew that she was a welcome visitor. These two had become as +intimate as the difference between their ages would permit; of the two, +Constance was the more frank. Lily as well as Constance was in +mourning. A few months previously her aged grandfather, 'Holl, the +grocer,' had died. The second of his two sons, Lily's father, had then +left the business established by the brothers at Hanbridge in order to +manage, for a time, the parent business in St. Luke's Square. Alderman +Holl's death had delayed Lily's marriage. Lily took tea with Constance, +or at any rate paid a call, four or five times a week. She listened to +Constance. + +Everybody considered that Constance had 'come splendidly through' the +dreadful affair of Sophia's death. Indeed, it was observed that she was +more philosophic, more cheerful, more sweet, than she had been for many +years. The truth was that, though her bereavement had been the cause of +a most genuine and durable sorrow, it had been a relief to her. When +Constance was over fifty, the energetic and masterful Sophia had burst +in upon her lethargic tranquillity and very seriously disturbed the +flow of old habits. Certainly Constance had fought Sophia on the main +point, and won; but on a hundred minor points she had either lost or +had not fought. Sophia had been 'too much' for Constance, and it had +been only by a wearying expenditure of nervous force that Constance had +succeeded in holding a small part of her own against the unconscious +domination of Sophia. The death of Mrs. Scales had put an end to all +the strain, and Constance had been once again mistress in Constance's +house. Constance would never have admitted these facts, even to +herself; and no one would ever have dared to suggest them to her. For +with all her temperamental mildness she had her formidable side. + +She was slipping a photograph into a plush-covered photograph album. + +"More photographs?" Lily questioned. She had almost exactly the same +benignant smile that Constance had. She seemed to be the +personification of gentleness--one of those feather-beds that some +capricious men occasionally have the luck to marry. She was capable, +with a touch of honest, simple stupidity. All her character was +displayed in the tone in which she said: "More photographs?" It showed +an eager responsive sympathy with Constance's cult for photographs, +also a slight personal fondness for photographs, also a dim perception +that a cult for photographs might be carried to the ridiculous, and a +kind desire to hide all trace of this perception. The voice was thin, +and matched the pale complexion of her delicate face. + +Constance's eyes had a quizzical gleam behind her spectacles as she +silently held up the photograph for Lily's inspection. + +Lily, sitting down, lowered the corners of her soft lips when she +beheld the photograph, and nodded her head several times, scarce +perceptibly. + +"Her ladyship has just given it to me," whispered Constance. + +"Indeed!" said Lily, with an extraordinary accent. + +'Her ladyship' was the last and best of Constance's servants, a really +excellent creature of thirty, who had known misfortune, and who must +assuredly have been sent to Constance by the old watchful Providence. +They 'got on together' nearly perfectly. Her name was Mary. After ten +years of turmoil, Constance in the matter of servants was now at rest. + +"Yes," said Constance. "She's named it to me several times--about +having her photograph taken, and last week I let her go. I told you, +didn't I? I always consider her in every way, all her little fancies +and everything. And the copies came to-day. I wouldn't hurt her +feelings for anything. You may be sure she'll take a look into the +album next time she cleans the room." + +Constance and Lily exchanged a glance agreeing that Constance had +affably stretched a point in deciding to put the photograph of a +servant between the same covers with photographs of her family and +friends. It was doubtful whether such a thing had ever been done before. + +One photograph usually leads to another, and one photograph album to +another photograph album. + +"Pass me that album on the second shelf of the Canterbury; my dear," +said Constance. + +Lily rose vivaciously, as though to see the album on the second shelf +of the Canterbury had been the ambition of her life. + +They sat side by side at the table, Lily turning over the pages. +Constance, for all her vast bulk, continually made little nervous +movements. Occasionally she would sniff and occasionally a mysterious +noise would occur in her chest; she always pretended that this noise +was a cough, and would support the pretence by emitting a real cough +immediately after it. + +"Why!" exclaimed Lily. "Have I seen that before?" + +"I don't know, my dear," said Constance. "HAVE you?" + +It was a photograph of Sophia taken a few years previously by 'a very +nice gentleman,' whose acquaintance the sisters had made during a +holiday at Harrogate. It portrayed Sophia on a knoll, fronting the +weather. + +"It's Mrs. Scales to the life--I can see that," said Lily. + +"Yes," said Constance. "Whenever there was a wind she always stood like +that, and took long deep breaths of it." + +This recollection of one of Sophia's habits recalled the whole woman to +Constance's memory, and drew a picture of her character for the girl +who had scarcely known her. + +"It's not like ordinary photographs. There's something special about +it," said Lily, enthusiastically. "I don't think I ever saw a +photograph like that." + +"I've got another copy of it in my bedroom," said Constance. "I'll give +you this one." + +"Oh, Mrs. Povey! I couldn't think--!" + +"Yes, yes!" said Constance, removing the photograph from the page. + +"Oh, THANK you!" said Lily. + +"And that reminds me," said Constance, getting up with great difficulty +from her chair. + +"Can I find anything for you?" Lily asked. + +"No, no!" said Constance, leaving the room. + +She returned in a moment with her jewel-box, a receptacle of ebony with +ivory ornamentations. + +"I've always meant to give you this," said Constance, taking from the +box a fine cameo brooch. "I don't seem to fancy wearing it myself. And +I should like to see you wearing it. It was mother's. I believe they're +coming into fashion again. I don't see why you shouldn't wear it while +you're in mourning. They aren't half so strict now about mourning as +they used to be." + +"Truly!" murmured Lily, ecstatically. They kissed. Constance seemed to +breathe out benevolence, as with trembling hands she pinned the brooch +at Lily's neck. She lavished the warm treasure of her heart on Lily, +whom she regarded as an almost perfect girl, and who had become the +idol of her latter years. + +"What a magnificent old watch!" said Lily, as they delved together in +the lower recesses of the box. "AND the chain to it!" + +"That was father's," said Constance. "He always used to swear by it. +When it didn't agree with the Town Hall, he used to say: 'Then th' Town +Hall's wrong.' And it's curious, the Town Hall WAS wrong. You know the +Town Hall clock has never been a good timekeeper. I've been thinking of +giving that watch and chain to Dick." + +"HAVE you?" said Lily. + +"Yes. It's just as good as it was when father wore it. My husband never +would wear it. He preferred his own. He had little fancies like that. +And Cyril takes after his father." She spoke in her 'dry' tone. "I've +almost decided to give it to Dick--that is, if he behaves himself. Is +he still on with this ballooning?" + +Lily Smiled guiltily: "Oh yes!" + +"Well," said Constance, "I never heard the like! If he's been up and +come down safely, that ought to be enough for him. I wonder you let him +do it, my dear." + +"But how can I stop him? I've no control over him." + +"But do you mean to say that he'd still do it if you told him seriously +you didn't want him to?" + +"Yes," said Lily; and added: "So I shan't tell him." + +Constance nodded her head, musing over the secret nature of men. She +remembered too well the cruel obstinacy of Samuel, who had nevertheless +loved her. And Dick Povey was a thousand times more bizarre than +Samuel. She saw him vividly, a little boy, whizzing down King Street on +a boneshaker, and his cap flying off. Afterwards it had been +motor-cars! Now it was balloons! She sighed. She was struck by the +profound instinctive wisdom just enunciated by the girl. + +"Well," she said, "I shall see. I've not made up my mind yet. What's +the young man doing this afternoon, by the way?" + +"He's gone to Birmingham to try to sell two motor-lorries. He won't be +back home till late. He's coming over here to-morrow." + +It was an excellent illustration of Dick Povey's methods that at this +very moment Lily heard in the Square the sound of a motor-car, which +happened to be Dick's car. She sprang up to look. + +"Why!" she cried, flushing. "Here he is now!" + +"Bless us, bless us!" muttered Constance, closing the box. + +When Dick, having left his car in King Street, limped tempestuously +into the drawing-room, galvanizing it by his abundant vitality into a +new life, he cried joyously: "Sold my lorries! Sold my lorries!" And he +explained that by a charming accident he had disposed of them to a +chance buyer in Hanbridge, just before starting for Birmingham. So he +had telephoned to Birmingham that the matter was 'off,' and then, being +'at a loose end,' he had come over to Bursley in search of his +betrothed. At Holl's shop they had told him that she was with Mrs. +Povey. Constance glanced at him, impressed by his jolly air of success. +He seemed exactly like his breezy and self-confident advertisements in +the Signal. He was absolutely pleased with himself. He triumphed over +his limp--that ever-present reminder of a tragedy. Who would dream, to +look at his blond, laughing, scintillating face, astonishingly young +for his years, that he had once passed through such a night as that on +which his father had killed his mother while he lay immovable and +cursing, with a broken knee, in bed? Constance had heard all about that +scene from her husband, and she paused in wonder at the contrasting +hazards of existence. + +Dick Povey brought his hands together with a resounding smack, and then +rubbed them rapidly. + +"AND a good price, too!" he exclaimed blithely. "Mrs. Povey, I don't +mind telling you that I've netted seventy pounds odd this afternoon." + +Lily's eyes expressed her proud joy. + +"I hope pride won't have a fall," said Constance, with a calm smile out +of which peeped a hint of a rebuke. "That's what I hope. I must just go +and see about tea." + +"I can't stay for tea--really," said Dick. + +"Of course you can," said Constance, positively. "Suppose you'd been at +Birmingham? It's weeks since you stayed to tea." + +"Oh, well, thanks!" Dick yielded, rather snubbed. + +"Can't I save you a journey, Mrs. Povey?" Lily asked, eagerly +thoughtful. + +"No, thank you, my dear. There are one or two little things that need +my attention." And Constance departed with her jewel-box. + +Dick, having assured himself that the door was closed, assaulted Lily +with a kiss. + +"Been here long?" he inquired. + +"About an hour and a half." + +"Glad to see me?" + +"Oh, Dick!" she protested. + +"Old lady's in one of her humours, eh?" + +"No, no! Only she was just talking about balloons--you know. She's very +much up in arms." + +"You ought to keep her off balloons. Balloons may be the ruin of her +wedding-present to us, my child." + +"Dick! How can you talk like that? ... It's all very well saying I +ought to keep her off balloons. You try to keep her off balloons when +once she begins, and see!" + +"What started her?" + +"She said she was thinking of giving you old Mr. Baines's gold watch +and chain--if you behaved yourself." + +"Thank you for nothing!" said Dick. "I don't want it." + +"Have you seen it?" + +"Have I seen it? I should say I had seen it. She's mentioned it once or +twice before." + +"Oh! I didn't know." + +"I don't see myself carting that thing about. I much prefer my own. +What do you think of it?" + +"Of course it is rather clumsy," said Lily. "But if she offered it to +you, you couldn't refuse it, and you'd simply have to wear it." + +"Well, then," said Dick, "I must try to behave myself just badly enough +to keep off the watch, but not badly enough to upset her notions about +wedding-presents." + +"Poor old thing!" Lily murmured, compassionately. + +Then Lily put her hand silently to her neck. + +"What's that?" + +"She's just given it to me." + +Dick approached very near to examine the cameo brooch. "Hm!" he +murmured. It was an adverse verdict. And Lily coincided with it by a +lift of the eyebrows. + +"And I suppose you'll have to wear that!" said Dick. + +"She values it as much as anything she's got, poor old thing!" said +Lily. "It belonged to her mother. And she says cameos are coming into +fashion again. It really is rather good, you know." + +"I wonder where she learnt that!" said Dick, drily. "I see you've been +suffering from the photographs again." + +"Well," said Lily, "I much prefer the photographs to helping her to +play Patience. The way she cheats herself--it's too silly! I--" + +She stopped. The door which had after all not been latched, was pushed +open, and the antique Fossette introduced herself painfully into the +room. Fossette had an affection for Dick Povey. + +"Well, Methusaleh!" he greeted the animal loudly. She could scarcely +wag her tail, nor shake the hair out of her dim eyes in order to look +up at him. He stooped to pat her. + +"That dog does smell," said Lily, bluntly. + +"What do you expect? What she wants is the least dose of prussic acid. +She's a burden to herself." + +"It's funny that if you venture to hint to Mrs. Povey that the dog is +offensive she gets quite peppery," said Lily. + +"Well, that's very simple," said Dick. "Don't hint, that's all! Hold +your nose and your tongue too." + +"Dick, I do wish you wouldn't be so absurd." + +Constance returned into the room, cutting short the conversation. + +"Mrs. Povey," said Dick, in a voice full of gratitude, "Lily has just +been showing me her brooch--" + +He noticed that she paid no heed to him, but passed hurriedly to the +window. + +"What's amiss in the Square?" Constance exclaimed. "When I was in the +parlour just now I saw a man running along Wedgwood Street, and I said +to myself, what's amiss?" + +Dick and Lily joined her at the window. + +Several people were hurrying down the Square, and then a man came +running with a doctor from the market-place. All these persons +disappeared from view under the window of Mrs. Povey's drawing-room, +which was over part of Mrs. Critchlow's shop. As the windows of the +shop projected beyond the walls of the house it was impossible, from +the drawing-room window, to see the pavement in front of the shop. + +"It must be something on the pavement--or in the shop!" murmured +Constance. + +"Oh, ma'am!" said a startled voice behind the three. It was Mary, +original of the photograph, who had run unperceived into the +drawing-room. "They say as Mrs. Critchlow has tried to commit suicide!" + +Constance started back. Lily went towards her, with an instinctive +gesture of supporting consolation. + +"Maria Critchlow tried to commit suicide!" Constance muttered. + +"Yes, ma'am! But they say she's not done it." + +"By Jove! I'd better go and see if I can help, hadn't I?" cried Dick +Povey, hobbling off, excited and speedy. "Strange, isn't it?" he +exclaimed afterwards, "how I manage to come in for things? Sheer chance +that I was here to-day! But it's always like that! Somehow something +extraordinary is always happening where I am." And this too ministered +to his satisfaction, and to his zest for life. + +II + +When, in the evening, after all sorts of comings and goings, he finally +returned to the old lady and the young one, in order to report the +upshot, his demeanour was suitably toned to Constance's mood. The old +lady had been very deeply disturbed by the tragedy, which, as she said, +had passed under her very feet while she was calmly talking to Lily. + +The whole truth came out in a short space of time. Mrs. Critchlow was +suffering from melancholia. It appeared that for long she had been +depressed by the failing trade of the shop, which was none of her +fault. The state of the Square had steadily deteriorated. Even the +'Vaults' were not what they once were. Four or five shops had been shut +up, as it were definitely, the landlords having given up hope of +discovering serious tenants. And, of those kept open, the majority were +struggling desperately to make ends meet. Only Holl's and a new upstart +draper, who had widely advertised his dress-making department, were +really flourishing. The confectionery half of Mr. Brindley's business +was disappearing. People would not go to Hanbridge for their bread or +for their groceries, but they would go for their cakes. These electric +trams had simply carried to Hanbridge the cream, and much of the milk, +of Bursley's retail trade. There were unprincipled tradesmen in +Hanbridge ready to pay the car-fares of any customer who spent a crown +in their establishments. Hanbridge was the geographical centre of the +Five Towns, and it was alive to its situation. Useless for Bursley to +compete! If Mrs. Critchlow had been a philosopher, if she had known +that geography had always made history, she would have given up her +enterprise a dozen years ago. But Mrs. Critchlow was merely Maria +Insull. She had seen Baines's in its magnificent prime, when Baines's +almost conferred a favour on customers in serving them. At the time +when she took over the business under the wing of her husband, it was +still a good business. But from that instant the tide had seemed to +turn. She had fought, and she kept on fighting, stupidly. She was not +aware that she was fighting against evolution, not aware that evolution +had chosen her for one of its victims! She could understand that all +the other shops in the Square should fail, but not that Baines's should +fail! She was as industrious as ever, as good a buyer, as good a +seller, as keen for novelties, as economical, as methodical! And yet +the returns dropped and dropped. + +She naturally had no sympathy from Charles, who now took small interest +even in his own business, or what was left of it, and who was coldly +disgusted at the ultimate cost of his marriage. Charles gave her no +money that he could avoid giving her. The crisis had been slowly +approaching for years. The assistants in the shop had said nothing, or +had only whispered among themselves, but now that the crisis had +flowered suddenly in an attempted self-murder, they all spoke at once, +and the evidences were pieced together into a formidable proof of the +strain which Mrs. Critchlow had suffered. It appeared that for many +months she had been depressed and irritable, that sometimes she would +sit down in the midst of work and declare, with every sign of +exhaustion, that she could do no more. Then with equal briskness she +would arise and force herself to labour. She did not sleep for whole +nights. One assistant related how she had complained of having had no +sleep whatever for four nights consecutively. She had noises in the +ears and a chronic headache. Never very plump, she had grown thinner +and thinner. And she was for ever taking pills: this information came +from Charles's manager. She had had several outrageous quarrels with +the redoubtable Charles, to the stupefaction of all who heard or saw +them.... Mrs. Critchlow standing up to her husband! Another strange +thing was that she thought the bills of several of the big Manchester +firms were unpaid, when as a fact they had been paid. Even when shown +the receipts she would not be convinced, though she pretended to be +convinced. She would recommence the next day. All this was sufficiently +disconcerting for female assistants in the drapery. But what could they +do? + +Then Maria Critchlow had gone a step further. She had summoned the +eldest assistant to her corner and had informed her, with all the +solemnity of a confession made to assuage a conscience which has been +tortured too long, that she had on many occasions been guilty of sexual +irregularity with her late employer, Samuel Povey. There was no truth +whatever in this accusation (which everybody, however, took care not to +mention to Constance); it merely indicated, perhaps, the secret +aspirations of Maria Insull, the virgin. The assistant was properly +scandalized, more by the crudity of Mrs. Critchlow's language than by +the alleged sin buried in the past. Goodness knows what the assistant +would have done! But two hours later Maria Critchlow tried to commit +suicide by stabbing herself with a pair of scissors. There was blood in +the shop. + +With as little delay as possible she had been driven away to the +asylum. Charles Critchlow, enveloped safely in the armour of his senile +egotism, had shown no emotion, and very little activity. The shop was +closed. And as a general draper's it never opened again. That was the +end of Baines's. Two assistants found themselves without a livelihood. +The small tumble with the great. + +Constance's emotion was more than pardonable; it was justified. She +could not eat and Lily could not persuade her to eat. In an unhappy +moment Dick Povey mentioned--he never could remember how, +afterwards--the word Federation! And then Constance, from a passive +figure of grief became a menace. She overwhelmed Dick Povey with her +anathema of Federation, for Dick was a citizen of Hanbridge, where this +detestable movement for Federation had had its birth. All the +misfortunes of St. Luke's Square were due to that great, busy, +grasping, unscrupulous neighbour. Had not Hanbridge done enough, +without wanting to merge all the Five Towns into one town, of which of +course itself would be the centre? For Constance, Hanbridge was a +borough of unprincipled adventurers, bent on ruining the ancient +'Mother of the Five Towns' for its own glory and aggrandizement. Let +Constance hear no more of Federation! Her poor sister Sophia had been +dead against Federation, and she had been quite right! All really +respectable people were against it! The attempted suicide of Mrs. +Critchlow sealed the fate of Federation and damned it for ever, in +Constance's mind. Her hatred of the idea of it was intensified into +violent animosity; insomuch that in the result she died a martyr to the +cause of Bursley's municipal independence. + +III + +It was on a muddy day in October that the first great battle for and +against Federation was fought in Bursley. Constance was suffering +severely from sciatica. She was also suffering from disgust with the +modern world. + +Unimaginable things had happened in the Square. For Constance, the +reputation of the Square was eternally ruined. Charles Critchlow, by +that strange good fortune which always put him in the right when fairly +he ought to have been in the wrong, had let the Baines shop and his own +shop and house to the Midland Clothiers Company, which was establishing +branches throughout Staffordshire, Warwickshire, Leicestershire, and +adjacent counties. He had sold his own chemist's stock and gone to live +in a little house at the bottom of Kingstreet. It is doubtful whether +he would have consented to retire had not Alderman Holl died earlier in +the year, thus ending a long rivalry between the old men for the +patriarchate of the Square. Charles Critchlow was as free from +sentiment as any man, but no man is quite free from it, and the ancient +was in a position to indulge sentiment had he chosen. His business was +not a source of loss, and he could still trust his skinny hands and +peering eyes to make up a prescription. However, the offer of the +Midland Clothiers Company tempted him, and as the undisputed 'father' +of the Square he left the Square in triumph. + +The Midland Clothiers Company had no sense of the proprieties of trade. +Their sole idea was to sell goods. Having possessed themselves of one +of the finest sites in a town which, after all was said and done, +comprised nearly forty thousand inhabitants, they set about to make the +best of that site. They threw the two shops into one, and they caused +to be constructed a sign compared to which the spacious old 'Baines' +sign was a postcard. They covered the entire frontage with posters of a +theatrical description--coloured posters! They occupied the front page +of the Signal, and from that pulpit they announced that winter was +approaching, and that they meant to sell ten thousand overcoats at +their new shop in Bursley at the price of twelve and sixpence each. The +tailoring of the world was loudly and coarsely defied to equal the +value of those overcoats. On the day of opening they arranged an +orchestra or artillery of phonographs upon the leads over the window of +that part of the shop which had been Mr. Critchlow's. They also +carpeted the Square with handbills, and flew flags from their upper +storeys. The immense shop proved to be full of overcoats; overcoats +were shown in all the three great windows; in one window an overcoat +was disposed as a receptacle for water, to prove that the Midland +twelve-and-sixpenny overcoats were impermeable by rain. Overcoats +flapped in the two doorways. These devices woke and drew the town, and +the town found itself received by bustling male assistants very +energetic and rapid, instead of by demure anaemic virgins. At moments +towards evening the shop was populous with custom; the number of +overcoats sold was prodigious. On another day the Midland sold trousers +in a like manner, but without the phonographs. Unmistakably the Midland +had shaken the Square and demonstrated that commerce was still possible +to fearless enterprise. + +Nevertheless the Square was not pleased. The Square was conscious of +shame, of dignity departed. Constance was divided between pain and +scornful wrath. For her, what the Midland had done was to desecrate a +shrine. She hated those flags, and those flaring, staring posters on +the honest old brick walls, and the enormous gilded sign, and the +windows all filled with a monotonous repetition of the same article, +and the bustling assistants. As for the phonographs, she regarded them +as a grave insult; they had been within twenty feet of her drawing-room +window! Twelve-and-sixpenny overcoats! It was monstrous, and equally +monstrous was the gullibility of the people. How could an overcoat at +twelve and sixpence be 'good.' She remembered the overcoats made and +sold in the shop in the time of her father and her husband, overcoats +of which the inconvenience was that they would not wear out! The +Midland, for Constance, was not a trading concern, but something +between a cheap-jack and a circus. She could scarcely bear to walk down +the Square, to such a degree did the ignoble frontage of the Midland +offend her eye and outrage her ancestral pride. She even said that she +would give up her house. + +But when, on the twenty-ninth of September, she received six months' +notice, signed in Critchlow's shaky hand, to quit the house--it was +wanted for the Midland's manager, the Midland having taken the premises +on condition that they might eject Constance if they chose--the blow +was an exceedingly severe one. She had sworn to go--but to be turned +out, to be turned out of the house of her birth and out of her father's +home, that was different! Her pride, injured as it was, had a great +deal to support. It became necessary for her to recollect that she was +a Baines. She affected magnificently not to care. But she could not +refrain from telling all her acquaintances that she was being turned +out of her house, and asking them what they thought of THAT; and when +she met Charles Critchlow in the street she seared him with the heat of +her resentment. The enterprise of finding a new house and moving into +it loomed before her gigantic, terrible, the idea of it was alone +sufficient to make her ill. + +Meanwhile, in the matter of Federation, preparations for the pitched +battle had been going forward, especially in the columns of the Signal, +where the scribes of each one of the Five Towns had proved that all the +other towns were in the clutch of unscrupulous gangs of self-seekers. +After months of argument and recrimination, all the towns except +Bursley were either favourable or indifferent to the prospect of +becoming a part of the twelfth largest town in the United Kingdom. But +in Bursley the opposition was strong, and the twelfth largest town in +the United Kingdom could not spring into existence without the consent +of Bursley. The United Kingdom itself was languidly interested in the +possibility of suddenly being endowed with a new town of a quarter of a +million inhabitants. The Five Towns were frequently mentioned in the +London dailies, and London journalists would write such sentences as: +"The Five Towns, which are of course, as everybody knows, Hanbridge, +Bursley, Knype, Longshaw, and Turnhill...." This was renown at last, +for the most maligned district in the country! And then a Cabinet +Minister had visited the Five Towns, and assisted at an official +inquiry, and stated in his hammering style that he meant personally to +do everything possible to accomplish the Federation of the Five Towns: +an incautious remark, which infuriated, while it flattered, the +opponents of Federation in Bursley. Constance, with many other +sensitive persons, asked angrily what right a Cabinet Minister had to +take sides in a purely local affair. But the partiality of the official +world grew flagrant. The Mayor of Bursley openly proclaimed himself a +Federationist, though there was a majority on the Council against him. +Even ministers of religion permitted themselves to think and to express +opinions. Well might the indignant Old Guard imagine that the end of +public decency had come! The Federationists were very ingenious +individuals. They contrived to enrol in their ranks a vast number of +leading men. Then they hired the Covered Market, and put a platform in +it, and put all these leading men on the platform, and made them all +speak eloquently on the advantages of moving with the times. The +meeting was crowded and enthusiastic, and readers of the Signal next +day could not but see that the battle was won in advance, and that +anti-Federation was dead. In the following week, however, the +anti-Federationists held in the Covered Market an exactly similar +meeting (except that the display of leading men was less brilliant), +and demanded of a floor of serried heads whether the old Mother of the +Five Towns was prepared to put herself into the hands of a crew of +highly-paid bureaucrats at Hanbridge, and was answered by a wild +defiant "No," that could be heard on Duck Bank. Readers of the Signal +next day were fain to see that the battle had not been won in advance. +Bursley was lukewarm on the topics of education, slums, water, gas, +electricity. But it meant to fight for that mysterious thing, its +identity. Was the name of Bursley to be lost to the world? To ask the +question was to give the answer. + +Then dawned the day of battle, the day of the Poll, when the burgesses +were to indicate plainly by means of a cross on a voting paper whether +or not they wanted Federation. And on this day Constance was almost +incapacitated by sciatica. It was a heroic day. The walls of the town +were covered with literature, and the streets dotted with motor-cars +and other vehicles at the service of the voters. The greater number of +these vehicles bore large cards with the words, "Federation this time." +And hundreds of men walked briskly about with circular cards tied to +their lapels, as though Bursley had been a race-course, and these cards +too had the words, "Federation this time." (The reference was to a +light poll which had been taken several years before, when no interest +had been aroused and the immature project yet defeated by a six to one +majority.) All partisans of Federation sported a red ribbon; all +Anti-Federationists sported a blue ribbon. The schools were closed and +the Federationists displayed their characteristic lack of scruple in +appropriating the children. The Federationists, with devilish skill, +had hired the Bursley Town Silver Prize Band, an organization of +terrific respectability, and had set it to march playing through the +town followed by wagonettes crammed with children, who sang: + +Vote, vote, vote for Federation, Don't be stupid, old and slow, We are +sure that it will be Good for the communitie, So vote, vote, vote, and +make it go. + +How this performance could affect the decision of grave burgesses at +the polls was not apparent; but the Anti-Federationists feared that it +might, and before noon was come they had engaged two bands and had +composed in committee, the following lyric in reply to the first one: + +Down, down, down, with Federation, As we are we'd rather stay; When the +vote on Saturday's read Federation will be dead, Good old Bursley's +sure to win the day. + +They had also composed another song, entitled "Dear old Bursley," +which, however, they made the fatal error of setting to the music of +"Auld Lang Syne." The effect was that of a dirge, and it perhaps +influenced many voters in favour of the more cheerful party. The +Anti-Federationists, indeed, never regained the mean advantage filched +by unscrupulous Federationists with the help of the Silver Prize Band +and a few hundred infants. The odds were against the +Anti-Federationists. The mayor had actually issued a letter to the +inhabitants accusing the Anti-Federationists of unfair methods! This +was really too much! The impudence of it knocked the breath out of its +victims, and breath is very necessary in a polling contest. The +Federationists, as one of their prominent opponents admitted, 'had it +all their own way,' dominating both the streets and the walls. And +when, early in the afternoon, Mr. Dick Povey sailed over the town in a +balloon that was plainly decorated with the crimson of Federation, it +was felt that the cause of Bursley's separate identity was for ever +lost. Still, Bursley, with the willing aid of the public-houses, +maintained its gaiety. + +IV + +Towards dusk a stout old lady, with grey hair, and a dowdy bonnet, and +an expensive mantle, passed limping, very slowly, along Wedgwood Street +and up the Cock Yard towards the Town Hall. Her wrinkled face had an +anxious look, but it was also very determined. The busy, joyous +Federationists and Anti-Federationists who knew her not saw merely a +stout old lady fussing forth, and those who knew her saw merely Mrs. +Povey and greeted her perfunctorily, a woman of her age and gait being +rather out of place in that feverish altercation of opposed principles. +But it was more than a stout old lady, it was more than Mrs. Povey that +waddled with such painful deliberation through the streets--it was a +miracle. + +In the morning Constance had been partially incapacitated by her +sciatica; so much so, at any rate, that she had perceived the +advisability of remaining on the bedroom floor instead of descending to +the parlour. Therefore Mary had lighted the drawing-room fire, and +Constance had ensconced herself by it, with Fossette in a basket. Lily +Holl had called early, and had been very sympathetic, but rather vague. +The truth was that she was concealing the imminent balloon ascent which +Dick Povey, with his instinct for the picturesque, had somehow +arranged, in conjunction with a well-known Manchester aeronaut, for the +very day of the poll. That was one of various matters that had to be +'kept from' the old lady. Lily herself was much perturbed about the +balloon ascent. She had to run off and see Dick before he started, at +the Football Ground at Bleakridge, and then she had to live through the +hours till she should receive a telegram to the effect that Dick had +come down safely or that Dick had broken his leg in coming down, or +that Dick was dead. It was a trying time for Lily. She had left +Constance after a brief visit, with a preoccupied unusual air, saying +that as the day was a special day, she should come in again 'if she +could.' And she did not forget to assure Constance that Federation +would beyond any question whatever be handsomely beaten at the poll; +for this was another matter as to which it was deemed advisable to keep +the old lady 'in the dark,' lest the foolish old lady should worry and +commit indiscretions. + +After that Constance had been forgotten by the world of Bursley, which +could pay small heed to sciatical old ladies confined to sofas and +firesides. She was in acute pain, as Mary could see when at intervals +she hovered round her. Assuredly it was one of Constance's bad days, +one of those days on which she felt that the tide of life had left her +stranded in utter neglect. The sound of the Bursley Town Silver Prize +Band aroused her from her mournful trance of suffering. Then the high +treble of children's voices startled her. She defied her sciatica, and, +grimacing, went to the window. And at the first glimpse she could see +that the Federation Poll was going to be a much more exciting affair +than she had imagined. The great cards swinging from the wagonettes +showed her that Federation was at all events still sufficiently alive +to make a formidable impression on the eye and the ear. The Square was +transformed by this clamour in favour of Federation; people cheered, +and sang also, as the procession wound down the Square. And she could +distinctly catch the tramping, martial syllables, "Vote, vote, vote." +She was indignant. The pother, once begun, continued. Vehicles flashed +frequently across the Square, most of them in the crimson livery. +Little knots and processions of excited wayfarers were a recurring +feature of the unaccustomed traffic, and the large majority of them +flaunted the colours of Federation. Mary, after some errands of +shopping, came upstairs and reported that 'it was simply "Federation" +everywhere,' and that Mr. Brindley, a strong Federationist, was 'above +a bit above himself'; further, that the interest in the poll was +tremendous and universal. She said there were 'crowds and crowds' round +the Town Hall. Even Mary, generally a little placid and dull, had +caught something of the contagious vivacity. + +Constance remained at the window till dinner, and after dinner she went +to it again. It was fortunate that she did not think of looking up into +the sky when Dick's balloon sailed westwards; she would have guessed +instantly that Dick was in that balloon, and her grievances would have +been multiplied. The vast grievance of the Federation scheme weighed on +her to the extremity of her power to bear. She was not a politician; +she had no general ideas; she did not see the cosmic movement in large +curves. She was incapable of perceiving the absurdity involved in +perpetuating municipal divisions which the growth of the district had +rendered artificial, vexatious, and harmful. She saw nothing but +Bursley, and in Bursley nothing but the Square. She knew nothing except +that the people of Bursley, who once shopped in Bursley, now shopped in +Hanbridge, and that the Square was a desert infested by cheap-jacks. +And there were actually people who wished to bow the neck to Hanbridge, +who were ready to sacrifice the very name of Bursley to the greedy +humour of that pushing Chicago! She could not understand such people. +Did they know that poor Maria Critchlow was in a lunatic asylum because +Hanbridge was so grasping? Ah, poor Maria was al-ready forgotten! Did +they know that, as a further indirect consequence, she, the daughter of +Bursley's chief tradesman, was to be thrown out of the house in which +she was born? She wished, bitterly, as she stood there at the window, +watching the triumph of Federation, that she had bought the house and +shop at the Mericarp sale years ago. She would have shown them, as +owner, what was what! She forgot that the property which she already +owned in Bursley was a continual annoyance to her, and that she was +always resolving to sell it at no matter what loss. + +She said to herself that she had a vote, and that if she had been 'at +all fit to stir out' she would certainly have voted. She said to +herself that it had been her duty to vote. And then by an illusion of +her wrought nerves, tightened minute by minute throughout the day, she +began to fancy that her sciatica was easier. She said: "If only I could +go out!" She might have a cab, of any of the parading vehicles would be +glad to take her to the Town Hall, and, perhaps, as a favour, to bring +her back again. But no! She dared not go out. She was afraid, really +afraid that even the mild Mary might stop her. Otherwise, she could +have sent Mary for a cab. And supposing that Lily returned, and caught +her going out or coming in! She ought not to go out. Yet her sciatica +was strangely better. It was folly to think of going out. Yet...! And +Lily did not come. She was rather hurt that Lily had not paid her a +second visit. Lily was neglecting her.... She would go out. It was not +four minutes' walk for her to the Town Hall, and she was better. And +there had been no shower for a long time, and the wind was drying the +mud in the roadways. Yes, she would go. + +Like a thief she passed into her bedroom and put on her things; and +like a thief she crept downstairs, and so, without a word to Mary, into +the street. It was a desperate adventure. As soon as she was in the +street she felt all her weakness, all the fatigue which the effort had +already cost her. The pain returned. The streets were still wet and +foul, the wind cold, and the sky menacing. She ought to go back. She +ought to admit that she had been a fool to dream of the enterprise. The +Town Hall seemed to be miles off, at the top of a mountain. She went +forward, however, steeled to do her share in the killing of Federation. +Every step caused her a gnashing of her old teeth. She chose the Cock +Yard route, because if she had gone up the Square she would have had to +pass Holl's shop, and Lily might have spied her. + +This was the miracle that breezy politicians witnessed without being +aware that it was a miracle. To have impressed them, Constance ought to +have fainted before recording her vote, and made herself the centre of +a crowd of gapers. But she managed, somehow, to reach home again on her +own tortured feet, and an astounded and protesting Mary opened the door +to her. Rain was descending. She was frightened, then, by the hardihood +of her adventure, and by its atrocious results on her body. An +appalling exhaustion rendered her helpless. But the deed was done. + +V + +The next morning, after a night which she could not have described, +Constance found herself lying flat in bed, with all her limbs stretched +out straight. She was conscious that her face was covered with +perspiration. The bell-rope hung within a foot of her head, but she had +decided that, rather than move in order to pull it, she would prefer to +wait for assistance until Mary came of her own accord. Her experiences +of the night had given her a dread of the slightest movement; anything +was better than movement. She felt vaguely ill, with a kind of subdued +pain, and she was very thirsty and somewhat cold. She knew that her +left arm and leg were extraordinarily tender to the touch. When Mary at +length entered, clean and fresh and pale in all her mildness, she found +the mistress the colour of a duck's egg, with puffed features, and a +strangely anxious expression. + +"Mary," said Constance, "I feel so queer. Perhaps you'd better run up +and tell Miss Holl, and ask her to telephone for Dr. Stirling." + +This was the beginning of Constance's last illness. Mary most +impressively informed Miss Holl that her mistress had been out on the +previous afternoon in spite of her sciatica, and Lily telephoned the +fact to the Doctor. Lily then came down to take charge of Constance. +But she dared not upbraid the invalid. + +"Is the result out?" Constance murmured. + +"Oh yes," said Lily, lightly. "There's a majority of over twelve +hundred against Federation. Great excitement last night! I told you +yesterday morning that Federation was bound to be beaten." + +Lily spoke as though the result throughout had been a certainty; her +tone to Constance indicated: "Surely you don't imagine that I should +have told you untruths yesterday morning merely to cheer you up!" The +truth was, however, that towards the end of the day nearly every one +had believed Federation to be carried. The result had caused great +surprise. Only the profoundest philosophers had not been surprised to +see that the mere blind, deaf, inert forces of reaction, with faulty +organization, and quite deprived of the aid of logic, had proved far +stronger than all the alert enthusiasm arrayed against them. It was a +notable lesson to reformers. + +"Oh!" murmured Constance, startled. She was relieved; but she would +have liked the majority to be smaller. Moreover, her interest in the +question had lessened. It was her limbs that pre-occupied her now. + +"You look tired," she said feebly to Lily. + +"Do I?" said Lily, shortly, hiding the fact that she had spent half the +night in tending Dick Povey, who, in a sensational descent near +Macclesfield, had been dragged through the tops of a row of elm trees +to the detriment of an elbow-joint; the professional aeronaut had +broken a leg. + +Then Dr. Stirling came. + +"I'm afraid my sciatica's worse, Doctor," said Constance, +apologetically. + +"Did you expect it to be better?" said he, gazing at her sternly. She +knew then that some one had saved her the trouble of confessing her +escapade. + +However, her sciatica was not worse. Her sciatica had not behaved +basely. What she was suffering from was the preliminary advances of an +attack of acute rheumatism. She had indeed selected the right month and +weather for her escapade! Fatigued by pain, by nervous agitation, and +by the immense moral and physical effort needed to carry her to the +Town Hall and back, she had caught a chill, and had got her feet damp. +In such a subject as herself it was enough. The doctor used only the +phrase 'acute rheumatism.' Constance did not know that acute rheumatism +was precisely the same thing as that dread disease, rheumatic fever, +and she was not informed. She did not surmise for a considerable period +that her case was desperately serious. The doctor explained the +summoning of two nurses, and the frequency of his own visits, by saying +that his chief anxiety was to minimise the fearful pain as much as +possible, and that this end could only be secured by incessant +watchfulness. The pain was certainly formidable. But then Constance was +well habituated to formidable pain. Sciatica, at its most active, +cannot be surpassed even by rheumatic fever. Constance had been in +nearly continuous pain for years. Her friends, however sympathetic, +could not appreciate the intensity of her torture. They were just as +used to it as she was. And the monotony and particularity of her +complaints (slight though the complaints were in comparison with their +cause) necessarily blunted the edge of compassion. "Mrs. Povey and her +sciatica again! Poor thing, she really is a little tedious!" They were +apt not to realise that sciatica is even more tedious than complaints +about sciatica. + +She asked one day that Dick should come to see her. He came with his +arm in a sling, and told her charily that he had hurt his elbow through +dropping his stick and slipping downstairs. + +"Lily never told me," said Constance, suspiciously. + +"Oh, it's simply nothing!" said Dick. Not even the sick room could +chasten him of his joy in the magnificent balloon adventure. + +"I do hope you won't go running any risks!" said Constance. + +"Never you fear!" said he. "I shall die in my bed." + +And he was absolutely convinced that he would, and not as the result of +any accident, either! The nurse would not allow him to remain in the +room. + +Lily suggested that Constance might like her to write to Cyril. It was +only in order to make sure of Cyril's correct address. He had gone on a +tour through Italy with some friends of whom Constance knew nothing. +The address appeared to be very uncertain; there were several +addresses, poste restante in various towns. Cyril had sent postcards to +his mother. Dick and Lily went to the post-office and telegraphed to +foreign parts. Though Constance was too ill to know how ill she was, +though she had no conception of the domestic confusion caused by her +illness, her brain was often remarkably clear, and she could reflect in +long, sane meditations above the uneasy sea of her pain. In the earlier +hours of the night, after the nurses had been changed, and Mary had +gone to bed exhausted with stair-climbing, and Lily Holl was recounting +the day to Dick up at the grocer's, and the day-nurse was already +asleep, and the night-nurse had arranged the night, then, in the +faintly-lit silence of the chamber, Constance would argue with herself +for an hour at a time. She frequently thought of Sophia. In spite of +the fact that Sophia was dead she still pitied Sophia as a woman whose +life had been wasted. This idea of Sophia's wasted and sterile life, +and of the far-reaching importance of adhering to principles, recurred +to her again and again. "Why did she run away with him? If only she had +not run away!" she would repeat. And yet there had been something so +fine about Sophia! Which made Sophia's case all the more pitiable! +Constance never pitied herself. She did not consider that Fate had +treated her very badly. She was not very discontented with herself. The +invincible commonsense of a sound nature prevented her, in her best +moments, from feebly dissolving in self-pity. She had lived in honesty +and kindliness for a fair number of years, and she had tasted +triumphant hours. She was justly respected, she had a position, she had +dignity, she was well-off. She possessed, after all, a certain amount +of quiet self-conceit. There existed nobody to whom she would 'knuckle +down,' or could be asked to 'knuckle down.' True, she was old! So were +thousands of other people in Bursley. She was in pain. So there were +thousands of other people. With whom would she be willing to exchange +lots? She had many dissatisfactions. But she rose superior to them. +When she surveyed her life, and life in general, she would think, with +a sort of tart but not sour cheerfulness: "Well, that is what life is!" +Despite her habit of complaining about domestic trifles, she was, in +the essence of her character, 'a great body for making the best of +things.' Thus she did not unduly bewail her excursion to the Town Hall +to vote, which the sequel had proved to be ludicrously supererogatory. +"How was I to know?" she said. + +The one matter in which she had gravely to reproach herself was her +indulgent spoiling of Cyril after the death of Samuel Povey. But the +end of her reproaches always was: "I expect I should do the same again! +And probably it wouldn't have made any difference if I hadn't spoiled +him!" And she had paid tenfold for the weakness. She loved Cyril, but +she had no illusions about him; she saw both sides of him. She +remembered all the sadness and all the humiliations which he had caused +her. Still, her affection was unimpaired. A son might be worse than +Cyril was; he had admirable qualities. She did not resent his being +away from England while she lay ill. "If it was serious," she said, "he +would not lose a moment." And Lily and Dick were a treasure to her. In +those two she really had been lucky. She took great pleasure in +contemplating the splendour of the gift with which she would mark her +appreciation of them at their approaching wedding. The secret attitude +of both of them towards her was one of good-natured condescension, +expressed in the tone in which they would say to each other, 'the old +lady.' Perhaps they would have been startled to know that Constance +lovingly looked down on both of them. She had unbounded admiration for +their hearts; but she thought that Dick was a little too brusque, a +little too clownish, to be quite a gentleman. And though Lily was +perfectly ladylike, in Constance's opinion she lacked backbone, or +grit, or independence of spirit. Further, Constance considered that the +disparity of age between them was excessive. It is to be doubted +whether, when all was said, Constance had such a very great deal to +learn from the self-confident wisdom of these young things. + +After a period of self-communion, she would sometimes fall into a +shallow delirium. In all her delirium she was invariably wandering to +and fro, lost, in the long underground passage leading from the +scullery past the coal-cellar and the cinder-cellar to the backyard. +And she was afraid of the vast-obscure of those regions, as she had +been in her infancy. + +It was not acute rheumatism, but a supervening pericarditis that in a +few days killed her. She died in the night, alone with the night-nurse. +By a curious chance the Wesleyan minister, hearing that she was +seriously ill, had called on the previous day. She had not asked for +him; and this pastoral visit, from a man who had always said that the +heavy duties of the circuit rendered pastoral visits almost impossible, +made her think. In the evening she had requested that Fossette should +be brought upstairs. + +Thus she was turned out of her house, but not by the Midland Clothiers +Company. Old people said to one another: "Have you heard that Mrs. +Povey is dead? Eh, dear me! There'll be no one left soon." These old +people were bad prophets. Her friends genuinely regretted her, and +forgot the tediousness of her sciatica. They tried, in their +sympathetic grief, to picture to themselves all that she had been +through in her life. Possibly they imagined that they succeeded in this +imaginative attempt. But they did not succeed. No one but Constance +could realize all that Constance had been through, and all that life +had meant to her. + +Cyril was not at the funeral. He arrived three days later. (As he had +no interest in the love affairs of Dick and Lily, the couple were +robbed of their wedding-present. The will, fifteen years old, was in +Cyril's favour.) But the immortal Charles Critchlow came to the +funeral, full of calm, sardonic glee, and without being asked. Though +fabulously senile, he had preserved and even improved his faculty for +enjoying a catastrophe. He now went to funerals with gusto, contentedly +absorbed in the task of burying his friends one by one. It was he who +said, in his high, trembling, rasping, deliberate voice: "It's a pity +her didn't live long enough to hear as Federation is going on after +all! That would ha' worritted her." (For the unscrupulous advocates of +Federation had discovered a method of setting at naught the decisive +result of the referendum, and that day's Signal was fuller than ever of +Federation.) + +When the short funeral procession started, Mary and the infirm Fossette +(sole relic of the connection between the Baines family and Paris) were +left alone in the house. The tearful servant prepared the dog's dinner +and laid it before her in the customary soup-plate in the customary +corner. Fossette sniffed at it, and then walked away and lay down with +a dog's sigh in front of the kitchen fire. She had been deranged in her +habits that day; she was conscious of neglect, due to events which +passed her comprehension. And she did not like it. She was hurt, and +her appetite was hurt. However, after a few minutes, she began to +reconsider the matter. She glanced at the soup-plate, and, on the +chance that it might after all contain something worth inspection, she +awkwardly balanced herself on her old legs and went to it again. + + + +THE END + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 5247 *** |