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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Duet, by A. Conan Doyle
+(#32 in our series by A. Conan Doyle)
+
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+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
+
+
+Title: A Duet
+
+Author: A. Conan Doyle
+
+Release Date: March, 2004  [EBook #5260]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on June 18, 2002]
+[Most recently updated: June 18, 2002]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, A DUET ***
+
+
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1899 Grant Richards edition by David Price,
+email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
+
+
+
+
+
+A DUET
+WITH AN OCCASIONAL CHORUS
+
+
+
+
+TO MRS. MAUDE CROSSE
+
+
+
+Dear Maude,--All the little two-oared boats which put out into the
+great ocean have need of some chart which will show them how to lay
+their course.  Each starts full of happiness and confidence, and yet
+we know how many founder, for it is no easy voyage, and there are
+rocks and sandbanks upon the way.  So I give a few pages of your own
+private log, which tell of days of peace, and days of storm--such
+storms as seem very petty from the deck of a high ship, but are
+serious for the two-oared boats.  If your peace should help another
+to peace, or your storm console another who is storm-tossed, then I
+know that you will feel repaid for this intrusion upon your privacy.
+May all your voyage be like the outset, and when at last the oars
+fall from your hands, and those of Frank, may other loving ones be
+ready to take their turn of toil--and so, bon voyage!
+
+Ever your friend,
+THE AUTHOR.
+Jan. 20, 1899.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I--THE OVERTURE--ABOUT THAT DATE
+
+
+
+These are the beginnings of some of the letters which they wrote
+about that time.
+
+Woking, May 20th.
+
+My Dearest Maude,--You know that your mother suggested, and we
+agreed, that we should be married about the beginning of September.
+Don't you think that we might say the 3rd of August?  It is a
+Wednesday, and in every sense suitable.  Do try to change the date,
+for it would in many ways be preferable to the other.  I shall be
+eager to hear from you about it.  And now, dearest Maude . . . (The
+rest is irrelevant.)
+
+St. Albans, May 22nd.
+
+My Dearest Frank,--Mother sees no objection to the 3rd of August, and
+I am ready to do anything which will please you and her.  Of course
+there are the guests to be considered, and the dressmakers and other
+arrangements, but I have no doubt that we shall be able to change the
+date all right.  O Frank . . . (What follows is beside the point.)
+
+Woking, May 25th.
+
+My Dearest Maude,--I have been thinking over that change of date, and
+I see one objection which had not occurred to me when I suggested it.
+August the 1st is Bank holiday, and travelling is not very pleasant
+about that time.  My idea now is that we should bring it off before
+that date.  Fancy, for example, how unpleasant it would be for your
+Uncle Joseph if he had to travel all the way from Edinburgh with a
+Bank-holiday crowd.  It would be selfish of us if we did not fit in
+our plans so as to save our relatives from inconvenience.  I think
+therefore, taking everything into consideration, that the 20th of
+July, a Wednesday, would be the very best day that we could select.
+I do hope that you will strain every nerve, my darling, to get your
+mother to consent to this change.  When I think . . . (A digression
+follows.)
+
+St. Albans, May 27th.
+
+My Dearest Frank,--I think that what you say about the date is very
+reasonable, and it is so sweet and unselfish of you to think about
+Uncle Joseph.  Of course it would be very unpleasant for him to have
+to travel at such a time, and we must strain every nerve to prevent
+it.  There is only one serious objection which my mother can see.
+Uncle Percival (that is my mother's second brother) comes back from
+Rangoon about the end of July, and will miss the wedding (O Frank,
+think of its being OUR wedding!) unless we delay it.  He has always
+been very fond of me, and he might be hurt if we were married so
+immediately before his arrival.  Don't you think it would be as well
+to wait?  Mother leaves it all in your hands, and we shall do exactly
+as you advise.  O Frank . . . (The rest is confidential.)
+
+Woking, May 29th.
+
+My Own Dearest,--I think that it would be unreasonable upon the part
+of your Uncle Percival to think that we ought to have changed the
+date of a matter so important to ourselves, simply in order that he
+should be present.  I am sure that on second thoughts your mother and
+yourself will see the thing in this light.  I must say, however, that
+in one point I think you both show great judgment.  It would
+certainly be invidious to be married IMMEDIATELY before his arrival.
+I really think that he would have some cause for complaint if we did
+that.  To prevent any chance of hurting his feelings, I think that it
+would be far best, if your mother and you agree with me, that we
+should be married upon July 7th.  I see that it is a Thursday, and in
+every way suitable.  When I read your last letter . . . (The
+remainder is unimportant.)
+
+St. Albans, June 1st.
+
+Dearest Frank,--I am sure that you are right in thinking that it
+would be as well not to have the ceremony too near the date of Uncle
+Percival's arrival in England.  We should be so sorry to hurt his
+feelings in any way.  Mother has been down to Madame Mortimer's about
+the dresses, and she thinks that everything could be hurried up so as
+to be ready by July 7th.  She is so obliging, and her skirts DO hang
+so beautifully.  O Frank, it is only a few weeks' time, and then . .
+.
+
+Woking, June 3rd.
+
+My Own Darling Maude,--How good you are--and your mother also--in
+falling in with my suggestions!  Please, please don't bother your
+dear self about dresses.  You only want the one travelling-dress to
+be married in, and the rest we can pick up as we go.  I am sure that
+white dress with the black stripe--the one you were playing tennis
+with at the Arlingtons'--would do splendidly.  You looked simply
+splendid that day.  I am inclined to think that it is my favourite of
+all your dresses, with the exception of the dark one with the light-
+green front.  That shows off your figure so splendidly.  I am very
+fond also of the grey Quaker-like alpaca dress.  What a little dove
+you do look in it!  I think those dresses, and of course your satin
+evening-dress, are my favourites.  On second thoughts, they are the
+only dresses I have ever seen you in.  But I like the grey best,
+because you wore it the first time I ever--you remember!  You must
+NEVER get rid of those dresses.  They are too full of associations.
+I want to see you in them for years, and years, and years.
+
+What I wanted to say was that you have so many charming dresses, that
+we may consider ourselves independent of Madame Mortimer.  If her
+things should be late, they will come in very usefully afterwards.  I
+don't want to be selfish or inconsiderate, my own dearest girlie, but
+it would be rather too much if we allowed my tailor or your
+dressmaker to be obstacles to our union.  I just want you--your
+dainty little self--if you had only your 'wee coatie,' as Burns says.
+Now look here!  I want you to bring your influence to bear upon your
+mother, and so make a small change in our plans.  The earlier we can
+have our honeymoon, the more pleasant the hotels will be.  I do want
+your first experiences with me to be without a shadow of discomfort.
+In July half the world starts for its holiday.  If we could get away
+at the end of this mouth, we should just be ahead of them.  This
+month, this very month!  Oh, do try to manage this, my own dearest
+girl.  The 30th of June is a Tuesday, and in every way suitable.
+They could spare me from the office most excellently.  This would
+just give us time to have the banns three times, beginning with next
+Sunday.  I leave it in your hands, dear.  Do try to work it.
+
+
+St. Albans, June 4th.
+
+My Dearest Frank,--We nearly called in the doctor after your dear old
+preposterous letter.  My mother gasped upon the sofa while I read her
+some extracts.  That I, the daughter of the house, should be married
+in my old black and white tennis-dress, which I wore at the
+Arlingtons' to save my nice one!  Oh, you are simply splendid
+sometimes!  And the learned way in which you alluded to my alpaca.
+As a matter of fact, it's a merino, but that doesn't matter.  Fancy
+your remembering my wardrobe like that!  And wanting me to wear them
+all for years!  So I shall, dear, secretly, when we are quite quite
+alone.  But they are all out of date already, and if in a year or so
+you saw your poor dowdy wife with tight sleeves among a roomful of
+puff-shouldered young ladies, you would not be consoled even by the
+memory that it was in that dress that you first . . . you know!
+
+As a matter of fact, I MUST have my dress to be married in.  I don't
+think mother would regard it as a legal marriage if I hadn't, and if
+you knew how nice it will be, you would not have the heart to
+interfere with it.  Try to picture it, silver-grey--I know how fond
+you are of greys--a little white chiffon at neck and wrists, and the
+prettiest pearl trimming.  Then the hat en suite, pale-grey lisse,
+white feather and brilliant buckle.  All these details are wasted
+upon you, sir, but you will like it when you see it.  It fulfils your
+ideal of tasteful simplicity, which men always imagine to be an
+economical method of dressing, until they have wives and milliners'
+bills of their own.
+
+And now I have kept the biggest news to the last.  Mother has been to
+Madame, and she says that if she works all night, she will have
+everything ready for the 30th.  O Frank, does it not seem incredible!
+Next Tuesday three weeks.  And the banns!  Oh my goodness, I am
+frightened when I think about it!  Dear old boy, you won't tire of
+me, will you?  Whatever should I do if I thought you had tired of me!
+And the worst of it is, that you don't know me a bit.  I have a
+hundred thousand faults, and you arc blinded by your love and cannot
+see them.  But then some day the scales will fall from your eyes, and
+you will perceive the whole hundred thousand at once.  Oh, what a
+reaction there will be!  You will see me as I am, frivolous, wilful,
+idle, petulant, and altogether horrid.  But I do love you, Frank,
+with all my heart, and soul, and mind, and strength, and you'll count
+that on the other side, won't you?  Now I am so glad I have said all
+this, because it is best that you should know what you should expect.
+It will be nice for you to look back and to say, 'She gave me fair
+warning, and she is no worse than she said.'  O Frank, think of the
+30th.
+
+P.S.--I forgot to say that I had a grey silk cape, lined with cream,
+to go with the dress.  It is just sweet!
+
+So that is how they arranged about the date.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II--THE OVERTURE CONTINUED--IN A MINOR KEY
+
+
+
+Woking, June 7th.
+
+My Own Dearest Maude,--How I wish you were here, for I have been
+down, down, down, in the deepest state of despondency all day.  I
+have longed to hear the sound of your voice, or to feel the touch of
+your hand!  How can I be despondent, when in three weeks I shall be
+the husband of the dearest girl in England?  That is what I ask
+myself, and then the answer comes that it is just exactly on that
+account that my wretched conscience is gnawing at me.  I feel that I
+have not used you well; I owe you reparation, and I don't know what
+to do.
+
+In your last dear letter you talk about being frivolous.  YOU have
+never been frivolous.  But I have been frivolous--for ever since I
+have learned to love you, I have been so wrapped up in my love, with
+my happiness gilding everything about me, that I have never really
+faced the prosaic facts of life or discussed with you what our
+marriage will really necessitate.  And now, at this eleventh hour, I
+realise that I have led you on in ignorance to an act which will
+perhaps take a great deal of the sunshine out of your life.  What
+have I to offer you in exchange for the sacrifice which you will make
+for me?  Myself, my love, and all that I have--but how little it all
+amounts to!  You are a girl in a thousand, in ten thousand--bright,
+beautiful, sweet, the dearest lady in all the land.  And I an average
+man--or perhaps hardly that--with little to boast of in the past, and
+vague ambitions for the future.  It is a poor bargain for you, a most
+miserable bargain.  You have still time.  Count the cost, and if it
+be too great, then draw back even now without fear of one word or
+inmost thought of reproach from me.  Your whole life is at stake.
+How can I hold you to a decision which was taken before you realised
+what it meant?  Now I shall place the facts before you, and then,
+come what may, my conscience will be at rest, and I shall be sure
+that you are acting with your eyes open.
+
+You have to compare your life as it is, and as it will be.  Your
+father is rich, or at least comfortably off, and you have been
+accustomed all your life to have whatever you desired.  From what I
+know of your mother's kindness, I should imagine that no wish of
+yours has ever remained ungratified.  You have lived well, dressed
+well, a sweet home, a lovely garden, your collie, your canary, your
+maid.  Above all, you have never had anxiety, never had to worry
+about the morrow.  I can see all your past life so well.  In the
+mornings, your music, your singing, your gardening, your reading.  In
+the afternoons, your social duties, the visit and the visitor.  In
+the evening, tennis, a walk, music again, your father's return from
+the City, the happy family-circle, with occasionally the dinner, the
+dance, and the theatre.  And so smoothly on, month after month, and
+year after year, your own sweet, kindly, joyous nature, and your
+bright face, making every one round you happy, and so reacting upon
+your own happiness.  Why should you bother about money?  That was
+your father's business.  Why should you trouble about housekeeping?
+That was your mother's duty.  You lived like the birds and the
+flowers, and had no need to take heed for the future.  Everything
+which life could offer was yours.
+
+And now you must turn to what is in store for you, if you are still
+content to face the future with me.  Position I have none to offer.
+What is the exact position of the wife of the assistant-accountant of
+the Co-operative Insurance Office?  It is indefinable.  What are my
+prospects?  I may become head-accountant.  If Dinton died--and I hope
+he won't, for he is an excellent fellow--I should probably get his
+berth.  Beyond that I have no career.  I have some aspirations after
+literature--a few critical articles in the monthlies--but I don't
+suppose they will ever lead to anything of consequence.
+
+And my income, 400 pounds a year with a commission on business I
+introduce.  But that amounts to hardly anything.  You have 50 pounds.
+Our total, then, is certainly under 500 pounds.  Have you considered
+what it will mean to leave that charming house at St. Albans--the
+breakfast-room, the billiard-room, the lawn--and to live in the
+little 50 pounds a year house at Woking, with its two sitting-rooms
+and pokey garden?  Have I a right to ask you to do such a thing?  And
+then the housekeeping, the planning, the arranging, the curtailing,
+the keeping up appearances upon a limited income.  I have made myself
+miserable, because I feel that you are marrying me without a
+suspicion of the long weary uphill struggle which lies before you.  O
+Maude, my darling Maude, I feel that you sacrifice too much for me!
+If I were a man I should say to you, 'Forget me--forget it all!  Let
+our relations be a closed chapter in your life.  You can do better.
+I and my cares come like a great cloud-bank to keep the sunshine from
+your young life.  You who are so tender and dainty!  How can I bear
+to see you exposed to the drudgery and sordid everlasting cares of
+such a household!  I think of your graces, your pretty little ways,
+the elegancies of your life, and how charmingly you carry them off.
+You are born and bred for just such an atmosphere as the one which
+you breathe.  And I take advantage of my good-fortune in winning your
+love to drag you down, to take the beauty and charm from your life,
+to fill it with small and vulgar cares, never-ending and soul-
+killing.  Selfish beast that I am, why should I allow you to come
+down into the stress and worry of life, when I found you so high
+above it?  And what can I offer you in exchange?'  These are the
+thoughts which come back and back all day, and leave me in the
+blackest fit of despondency.  I confessed to you that I had dark
+humours, but never one so hopeless as this.  I do not wish my worst
+enemy to be as unhappy as I have been to-day.
+
+Write to me, my own darling Maude, and tell me all you think, your
+very inmost soul, in this matter.  Am I right?  Have I asked too much
+of you?  Does the change frighten you?  You will have this in the
+morning, and I should have my answer by the evening post.  I shall
+meet the postman.  How hard I shall try not to snatch the letter from
+him, or to give myself away.  Wilson has been in worrying me with
+foolish talk, while my thoughts were all of our affairs.  He worked
+me up into a perfectly homicidal frame of mind, but I hope that I
+kept on smiling and was not discourteous to him.  I wonder which is
+right, to be polite but hypocritical, or to be inhospitable but
+honest.
+
+Good-bye, my own dearest sweetheart--all the dearer when I feel that
+I may lose you.--Ever your devoted
+
+FRANK.
+
+St. Albans, June 8th.
+
+Frank, tell me for Heaven's sake what your letter means!  You use
+words of love, and yet you talk of parting.  You speak as if our love
+were a thing which we might change or suppress.  O Frank, you cannot
+take my love away from me.  You don't know what you are to me, my
+heart, my life, my all.  I would give my life for you willingly,
+gladly--every beat of my heart is for you.  You don't know what you
+have become to me.  My every thought is yours, and has been ever
+since that night at the Arlingtons'.  My love is so deep and strong,
+it rules my whole life, my every action from morning to night.  It is
+the very breath and heart of my life--unchangeable.  I could not
+alter my love any more than I could stop my heart from beating.  How
+could you, could you suggest such a thing!  I know that you really
+love me just as much as I love you, or I should not open my heart
+like this.  I should be too proud to give myself away.  But I feel
+that pride is out of place when any mistake or misunderstanding may
+mean lifelong misery to both of us.  I would only say good-bye if I
+thought your love had changed or grown less.  But I know that it has
+not.  O my darling, if you only knew what terrible agony the very
+thought of parting is, you would never have let such an idea even for
+an instant, on any pretext, enter your mind.  The very possibility is
+too awful to think of.  When I read your letter just now up in my
+room, I nearly fainted.  I can't write.  O Frank, don't take my love
+away from me.  I can't bear it.  Oh no, it is my everything.  If I
+could only see you now, I know that you would kiss these heart-
+burning tears away.  I feel so lonely and tired.  I cannot follow all
+your letter.  I only know that you talked of parting, and that I am
+weary and miserable.
+
+MAUDE.
+
+(COPY OF TELEGRAM)
+From Frank Crosse, to Miss Maude Selby,
+The Laurels, St. Albans
+Coming up eight-fifteen, arrive midnight.
+
+June 10th.
+
+How good of you, dear old boy, to come racing across two counties at
+a minute's notice, simply in order to console me and clear away my
+misunderstandings.  Of course it was most ridiculous of me to take
+your letter so much to heart, but when I read any suggestion about
+our parting, it upset me so dreadfully, that I was really incapable
+of reasoning about anything else.  Just that one word PART seemed to
+be written in letters of fire right across the page, to the exclusion
+of everything else.  So then I wrote an absurd letter to my boy, and
+the dear came scampering right across the South of England, and
+arrived at midnight in the most demoralised state.  It was just sweet
+of you to come, dear, and I shall never forget it.
+
+I am so sorry that I have been so foolish, but you must confess, sir,
+that you have been just a little bit foolish also.  The idea of
+supposing that when I love a man my love can be affected by the size
+of his house or the amount of his income.  It makes me smile to think
+of it.  Do you suppose a woman's happiness is affected by whether she
+has a breakfast-room, or a billiard-board, or a collie dog, or any of
+the other luxuries which you enumerated?  But these things are all
+the merest trimmings of life.  They are not the essentials.  YOU and
+your love are the essentials.  Some one who will love me with all his
+heart.  Some one whom I can love with all my heart.  Oh the
+difference it makes in life!  How it changes everything!  It
+glorifies and beautifies everything.  I always felt that I was
+capable of a great love--and now I have it.
+
+Fancy your imagining that you had come into my life in order to
+darken it.  Why, you ARE my life.  If you went out of it, what would
+be left?  You talk about my happiness before I met you--but oh, how
+empty it all was!  I read, and played, and sang as you say, but what
+a void there was!  I did it to please mother, but there really seemed
+no very clear reason why I should continue to do it.  Then you came,
+and everything was changed.  I read because you are fond of reading
+and because I wanted to talk about books with you.  I played because
+you are fond of music.  I sang in the hope that it might please you.
+Whatever I did, you were always in my mind.  I tried and tried to
+become a better and nobler woman, because I wanted to be worthy of
+the love you bore me.  I have changed, and developed, and improved
+more in the last three months than in all my life before.  And then
+you come and tell me that you have darkened my life.  You know better
+now.  My life has become full and rich, for Love fills my life.  It
+is the keynote of my nature, the foundation, the motive power.  It
+inspires me to make the most of any gift or talent that I have.  How
+could I tell you all this if I did not know that your own feeling was
+as deep.  I could not have given the one, great, and only love of my
+life in exchange for a half-hearted affection from you.  But you will
+never again make the mistake of supposing that any material
+consideration can affect our love.
+
+And now we won't be serious any longer.  Dear mother was very much
+astounded by your tumultuous midnight arrival, and equally
+precipitate departure next morning.  Dear old boy, it was so nice of
+you!  But you won't ever have horrid black humours and think
+miserable things any more, will you?  But if you must have dark days,
+now is your time, for I can't possibly permit any after the 30th.--
+Ever your own
+
+MAUDE.
+
+Woking, June 11th.
+
+My Own Dearest Girlie,--How perfectly sweet you are!  I read and re-
+read your letter, and I understand more and more how infinitely your
+nature is above mine.  And your conception of love--how lofty and
+unselfish it is!  How could I lower it by thinking that any worldly
+thing could be weighed for an instant against it!  And yet it was
+just my jealous love for you, and my keenness that you should never
+be the worse through me, which led me to write in that way, so I will
+not blame myself too much.  I am really glad that the cloud came, for
+the sunshine is so much brighter afterwards.  And I seem to know you
+so much better, and to see so much more deeply into your nature.  I
+knew that my own passion for you was the very essence of my soul--oh,
+how hard it is to put the extreme of emotion into the terms of human
+speech!--but I did not dare to hope that your feelings were as deep.
+I hardly ventured to tell even you how I really felt.  Somehow, in
+these days of lawn-tennis and afternoon tea, a strong strong passion,
+such a passion as one reads of in books and poems, seems out of
+place.  I thought that it would surprise, even frighten you, perhaps,
+if I were to tell you all that I felt.  And now you have written me
+two letters, which contain all that I should have said if I had
+spoken from my heart.  It is all my own inmost thought, and there is
+not a feeling that I do not share.  O Maude, I may write lightly and
+speak lightly, perhaps, sometimes, but there never was a woman,
+never, never in all the story of the world, who was loved more
+passionately than you are loved by me.  Come what may, while the
+world lasts and the breath of life is between my lips, you are the
+one woman to me.  If we are together, I care nothing for what the
+future may bring.  If we are not together, all the world cannot fill
+the void.
+
+You say that I have given an impulse to your life:  that you read
+more, study more, take a keener interest in everything.  You could
+not possibly have said a thing which could have given me more
+pleasure than that.  It is splendid!  It justifies me in aspiring to
+you.  It satisfies my conscience over everything which I have done.
+It must be right if that is the effect.  I have felt so happy and
+light-hearted ever since you said it.  It is rather absurd to think
+that _I_ should improve you, but if you in your sweet frankness say
+that it is so, why, I can only marvel and rejoice.
+
+But you must not study and work too hard.  You say that you do it to
+please me, but that would not please me.  I'll tell you an anecdote
+as a dreadful example.  I had a friend who was a great lover of
+Eastern literature, Sanskrit, and so on.  He loved a lady.  The lady
+to please him worked hard at these subjects also.  In a month she had
+shattered her nervous system, and will perhaps never be the same
+again.  It was impossible.  She was not meant for it, and yet she
+made herself a martyr over it.  I don't mean by this parable that it
+will be a strain upon your intellect to keep up with mine.  But I do
+mean that a woman's mind is DIFFERENT from a man's.  A dainty rapier
+is a finer thing than a hatchet, but it is not adapted for cutting
+down trees all the same.
+
+Rupton Hale, the architect, one of the few friends I have down here,
+has some most deplorable views about women.  I played a round of the
+Byfleet Golf Links with him upon Wednesday afternoon, and we
+discussed the question of women's intellects.  He would have it that
+they have never a light of their own, but are always the reflectors
+of some other light which you cannot see.  He would allow that they
+were extraordinarily quick in assimilating another person's views,
+but that was all.  I quoted some very shrewd remarks which a lady had
+made to me at dinner.  'Those are the traces of the last man,' said
+he.  According to his preposterous theory, you could in conversation
+with a woman reconstruct the last man who had made an impression to
+her.  'She will reflect you upon the next person she talks to,' said
+he.  It was ungallant, but it was ingenious.
+
+Dearest sweetheart, before I stop, let me tell you that if I have
+brought any happiness into your life, you have brought far, far more
+into mine.  My soul seemed to come into full being upon the day when
+I loved you.  It was so small, and cramped, and selfish, before--and
+life was so hard, and stupid, and purposeless.  To live, to sleep, to
+eat, for some years, and then to die--it was so trivial and so
+material.  But now the narrow walls seem in an instant to have
+fallen, and a boundless horizon stretches around me.  And everything
+appears beautiful.  London Bridge, King William Street, Abchurch
+Lane, the narrow stair, the office with the almanacs and the shining
+desks, it has all become glorified, tinged with a golden haze.  I am
+stronger:  I step out briskly and breathe more deeply.  And I am a
+better man too.  God knows there was room for it.  But I do try to
+make an ideal, and to live up to it.  I feel such a fraud when I
+think of being put upon a pedestal by you, when some little hole
+where I am out of sight is my true place.  I am like the man in
+Browning who mourned over the spots upon his 'speckled hide,' but
+rejoiced in the swansdown of his lady.  And so, my own dear sweet
+little swansdown lady, good-night to you, with my heart's love now
+and for ever from your true lover,
+
+FRANK.
+
+Saturday!  Saturday!  Saturday! oh, how I am longing for Saturday,
+when I shall see you again!  We will go on Sunday and hear the banns
+together.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III--THE OVERTURE CONCLUDED
+
+
+
+St. Albans, June 14th.
+
+Dearest Frank,--What a dreadful thing it is to have your name shouted
+out in public!  And what a voice the man had!  He simply bellowed
+'Maude Selby of this parish' as if he meant all this parish to know
+about it.  And then he let you off so easily.  I suppose he thought
+that there was no local interest in Frank Crosse of Woking.  But when
+he looked round expectantly, after asking whether there was any known
+cause or just impediment why we should not be joined together, it
+gave me quite a thrill.  I felt as if some one would jump up like a
+Jack-in-the-box and make a scene in the church.  How relieved I was
+when he changed the subject!  I sank my face in my hands, but I know
+that I was blushing all down my neck.  Then I looked at you between
+my fingers, and there you were sitting quite cool and cheerful, as if
+you rather liked it.  I think that we shall go to evening-service
+next week.  Papa has given up going altogether since the new organist
+came.  He says he cannot face the music.
+
+What a sweet time we had together.  I shall never, never forget it!
+O Frank, how good you are to me!  And how I hope you won't regret
+what you are doing.  It is all very well just now, when I am young
+and you think that I am pretty.  I love that you should think so, but
+I am compelled to tell you that it is not really so.  I can't imagine
+how you came to think it!  I suppose it was from seeing me so often
+beside papa.  If you saw me near Nelly Sheridan, or any other REALLY
+pretty girl, you would at once see the difference.  It just happens
+that you like grey eyes and brown hair, and the other things, but
+that does not mean that I am really pretty.  I should be so sorry if
+there were any misunderstanding about this, and you only found out
+when too late.  You ought to keep this letter for reference, as papa
+always says, and then it will be interesting to you afterwards.
+
+I should like you to see me now--or rather I wouldn't have you see me
+for the world.  I am so flushed and untidy, for I have been cooking.
+Is it not absurd, if you come to think of it, that we girls should be
+taught the irregular French verbs, and the geography of China, and
+never to cook the simplest thing?  It really does seem ridiculous.
+
+But it is never too late to mend, so I went into the kitchen this
+morning and made a tart.  You can't imagine what a lot of things one
+needs even for such a simple thing as that.  I thought cook was
+joking when she put them all down in front of me.  It was like a
+conjurer giving his performance.  There was an empty bowl, and a bowl
+full of sliced apples, and a big board, and a rolling-pin, and eggs,
+and butter, and sugar, and cloves, and of course flour.  We broke
+eggs and put them into a bowl--you can't think what a mess an egg
+makes when it misses the bowl.  Then we stirred them up with flour
+and butter and things.  I stirred until I was perfectly exhausted.
+No wonder a cook has usually a great thick arm.  Then when it had
+formed a paste, we rolled it out, and put the apples in the dish, and
+roofed it in, and trimmed the edges, and stuck flat leaves made of
+paste all over it, and the dearest little crown in the middle.  Then
+we put it into the oven until it was brown.  It looked a very nice
+tart, and mamma said that I had made it very solidly.  It certainly
+did feel very heavy for its size.  Mamma would not taste it, because
+she said that she thought Dr. Tristram would not approve of her doing
+so, but I had a piece, and really it was not so bad.  Mamma said the
+servants might have it at dinner, but the servants said that the poor
+window-cleaner had a large family, and so we gave it to him.  It is
+so sweet to feel that one is of any use to any one.
+
+What do you think happened this morning?  Two wedding-presents
+arrived.  The first was a very nice fish slice and fork in a case.
+It was from dear old Mrs. Jones Beyrick, on whom we really had no
+claim whatever.  We all think it so kind of her, and such a nice
+fish-slice.  The other was a beautiful travelling-bag from Uncle
+Arthur.  Stamped in gold upon it were the letters M.C., I said, 'Oh,
+what a pity!  They have put the wrong initials.'  That made mamma
+laugh.  I suppose one soon gets used to it.  Fancy how you would feel
+if it were the other way about, and you changed your name to mine.
+They might call you Selby, but you would continue to feel Crosse.  I
+didn't mean that for a joke, but women make jokes without intending
+it.  The other day the curate drove up in his donkey-cart, and mother
+said, 'Oh, what a nice tandem!'  I think that she meant to say 'turn-
+out'; but papa said it was the neatest thing he had heard for a long
+time, so mamma is very pleased, but I am sure that she does not know
+even now why it should be so funny.
+
+What stupid letters I write!  Doesn't it frighten you when you read
+them and think that is the person with whom I have to spend my life.
+Yet you never seem alarmed about it.  I think it is so BRAVE of you.
+That reminds me that I never finished what I wanted to say at the
+beginning of this letter.  Even supposing that I am pretty (and my
+complexion sometimes is simply awful), you must bear in mind how
+quickly the years slip by, and how soon a woman alters.  Why, we
+shall hardly be married before you will find me full of wrinkles, and
+without a tooth in my head.  Poor boy, how dreadful for you!  Men
+seem to change so little and so slowly.  Besides, it does not matter
+for them, for nobody marries a man because he is pretty.  But you
+must marry me, Frank, not for what I look but for what I am--for my
+inmost, inmost self, so that if I had no body at all, you would love
+me just the same.  That is how I love you, but I do prefer you with
+your body on all the same.  I don't know how I love you, dear.  I
+only know that I am in a dream when you are near me--just a beautiful
+dream.  I live for those moments.--Ever your own little
+
+MAUDE.
+
+P.S.--Papa gave us such a fright, for he came in just now and said
+that the window-cleaner and all his family were very ill.  This was a
+joke, because the coachman had told him about my tart.  Wasn't it
+horrid of him?
+
+
+Woking, June 17th.
+
+My own sweetest Maude,--I do want you to come up to town on Saturday
+morning.  Then I will see you home to St. Albans in the evening, and
+we shall have another dear delightful week end.  I think of nothing
+else, and I count the hours.  Now please to manage it, and don't let
+anything stop you.  You know that you can always get your way.  Oh
+yes, you can, miss!  I know.
+
+We shall meet at the bookstall at Charing Cross railway station at
+one o'clock, but if anything should go wrong, send me a wire to the
+Club.  Then we can do some shopping together, and have some fun also.
+Tell your mother that we shall be back in plenty of time for dinner.
+Make another tart, and I shall eat it.  Things are slack at the
+office just now, and I could be spared for a few days.
+
+So you have had a fish-slice.  It is so strange, because on that very
+day I had my first present, and it was a fish-slice also.  We shall
+have fish at each end when we give a dinner.  If we get another fish-
+slice, then we shall give a fish-dinner--or keep one of the slices to
+give to your friend Nelly Sheridan when SHE gets married.  They will
+always come in useful.  And I have had two more presents.  One is a
+Tantalus spirit-stand from my friends in the office.  The other is a
+pair of bronzes from the cricket club.  They got it up without my
+knowing anything about it, and I was amazed when a deputation came up
+to my rooms with them last night.  'May your innings be long and your
+partnership unbroken until you each make a hundred not out.'  That
+was the inscription upon a card.
+
+I have something very grave to tell you.  I've been going over my
+bills and things, and I owe ever so much more than I thought.  I have
+always been so careless, and never known exactly how I stood.  It did
+not matter when one was a bachelor, for one always felt that one
+could live quite simply for a few months, and so set matters
+straight.  But now it is more serious.  The bills come to more than a
+hundred pounds; the biggest one is forty-two pounds to Snell and
+Walker, the Conduit Street tailors.  However, I am ordering my
+marriage-suit from them, and that will keep them quiet.  I have
+enough on hand to pay most of the others.  But we must not run short
+upon our honeymoon--what an awful idea!  Perhaps there may be some
+cheques among our presents.  We will hope for the best.
+
+But there is a more serious thing upon which I want to consult you.
+You asked me never to have any secrets from you, or else I should not
+bother you about such things.  I should have kept it for Saturday
+when we meet, but I want you to have time to think about it, so that
+we may come to some decision then.
+
+I am surety to a man for an indefinite sum of money.  It sounds
+rather dreadful, does it not?  But it is not so bad as it sounds, for
+there is no harm done yet.  But the question is what we should do in
+the future about it, and the answer is not a very easy one.  He is a
+very pleasant fellow, an insurance agent, and he got into some
+trouble about his accounts last year.  The office would have
+dismissed him, but as I knew his wife and his family, I became surety
+that he should not go wrong again, and so I saved him from losing his
+situation.  His name is Farintosh.  He is one of those amiable, weak,
+good fellows whom you cannot help loving, although you never can
+trust them.  Of course we could give notice that we should not be
+responsible any longer, but it would be a thunderbolt to this poor
+family, and the man would certainly be ruined.  We don't want to
+begin our own happiness by making any one else unhappy, do we?  But
+we shall talk it over, and I shall do what you advise.  You
+understand that we are only liable in case he defaults, and surely it
+is very unlikely that he will do so after the lesson that he has
+already had.
+
+I think the house will do splendidly.  The Lindens is the name, and
+it is on the Maybury Road, not more than a quarter of a mile from the
+station.  If your mother and you could come down on Tuesday or
+Wednesday, I should get a half-day off, and you would be able to
+inspect it.  Such a nice little lawn in front, and garden behind.  A
+conservatory, if you please, dining-room and drawing-room.  You can
+never assemble more than four or five guests.  On your at-home days,
+we shall put up little placards as they do outside the theatres,
+'Drawing-room full,' 'Dining-room full,' 'Room in the Conservatory.'
+There are two good bedrooms, one large maid's room, and a lumber-
+room.  One cook and one housemaid could run it beautifully.  Rent 50
+pounds on a three years' lease--with taxes, about 62 pounds.  I think
+it was just built for us.  Rupton Hale says that we must be careful
+not to brush against the walls, and that it would be safer to go
+outside to sneeze--but that is only his fun.
+
+What a dull, stupid letter!  I do hope that I shall be in good form
+on Saturday.  I am a man of moods--worse luck! and they come quite
+regardless of how I wish to be, or even of how I have cause to be.  I
+do hope that I shall make your day bright for you--the last day that
+we shall have together before THE day.  There have been times when I
+have been such bad company to you, just when I wished to be at my
+best.  But you are always so sweet and patient and soothing.  Until
+Saturday, then, my own darling.--Ever your lover, FRANK.
+
+P.S.--I open this to tell you that such a gorgeous fish-knife, with
+our monograms upon it, has just arrived from Mrs. Preston, my
+father's old friend.  I went to the Goldsmith's Company in Regent
+Street yesterday afternoon, and I bought--what do you think?  It
+looks so beautiful upon its snow-white cotton wadding.  I like them
+very broad and rather flat.  I do hope you will think it all right.
+It fills me with the strangest feelings when I look at it.  Come what
+may, foul weather or fair, sorrow or joy, that little strip of gold
+will still be with us--we shall see it until we can see no more.
+
+P.P.S.--Saturday!  Saturday!!  Saturday!!!
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV--THE TWO SOLOS
+
+
+
+Their tryst was at the Charing Cross bookstall at one o'clock, and so
+Mr. Frank Crosse was there at quarter-past twelve, striding
+impatiently up and down, and stopping dead whenever a woman emerged
+from the entrance, like a pointer dog before a partridge.  Before he
+came he had been haunted by the idea that possibly Maude might have
+an impulse to come early--and what if she were to arrive and not find
+him there!  Every second of her company was so dear to him, that when
+driving to meet her he had sometimes changed from one cab to another
+upon the way, because the second seemed to have the faster horse.
+But now that he was on the ground he realised that she was very exact
+to her word, and that she would neither be early nor late.  And yet,
+in the illogical fashion of a lover, he soon forgot that it was he
+who was too soon, and he chafed and chafed as the minutes passed,
+until at about quarter to one he was striding gloomily about with
+despondent features and melancholy forebodings, imagining a thousand
+miserable reasons for her inexplicable delay.  A good many people
+stared at him as they passed, and we may do so among the number.
+
+In person Frank Crosse was neither tall nor short, five feet eight
+and a half to be exact, with the well-knit frame and springy step of
+a young man who had been an athlete from his boyhood.  He was slim,
+but wiry, and carried his head with a half-defiant backward slant
+which told of pluck and breed.  His face was tanned brown, in spite
+of his City hours, but his hair and slight moustache were flaxen, and
+his eyes, which were his best features, were of a delicate blue, and
+could vary in expression from something very tender to something
+particularly hard.  He was an orphan, and had inherited nothing from
+his parents save a dash of the artist from his mother.  It was not
+enough to help him to earn a living, but it transformed itself into a
+keen appreciation and some ambitions in literature, and it gave a
+light and shade to his character which made him rather complex, and
+therefore interesting.  His best friends could not deny the shade,
+and yet it was but the shadow thrown by the light.  Strength,
+virility, emotional force, power of deep feeling--these are traits
+which have to be paid for.  There was sometimes just a touch of the
+savage, or at least there were indications of the possibility of a
+touch of the savage, in Frank Crosse.  His intense love of the open
+air and of physical exercise was a sign of it.  He left upon women
+the impression, not altogether unwelcome, that there were unexplored
+recesses of his nature to which the most intimate of them had never
+penetrated.  In those dark corners of the spirit either a saint or a
+sinner might be lurking, and there was a pleasurable excitement in
+peering into them, and wondering which it was.  No woman ever found
+him dull.  Perhaps it would have been better for him if they had, for
+his impulsive nature had never been long content with a chilly
+friendship.  He was, as we may see, a man with a past, but it WAS a
+past, now that Maude Selby had come like an angel of light across the
+shadowed path of his life.  In age he was nearly twenty-seven.
+
+There are one or two things which might be said for him which he
+would not have said for himself.  He was an only child and an orphan,
+but he had adopted his grandparents, who had been left penniless
+through his father's death, and through all his struggles he had
+managed to keep them happy and comfortable in a little cottage in
+Worcestershire.  Nor did he ever tell them that he had a struggle--
+fearing lest it should make their position painful; and so when their
+quarterly cheque arrived, they took it as a kindly but not remarkable
+act of duty upon the part of their wealthy grandson in the City, with
+no suspicion as to the difference which their allowance was making to
+him.  Nor did he himself look upon his action as a virtuous one, but
+simply as a thing which must obviously be done.  In the meantime, he
+had stuck closely to his work, had won rapid promotion in the
+Insurance Office in which he had started as junior clerk, had gained
+the goodwill of his superiors through his frank, unaffected ways, and
+had been asked to play for the second Surrey eleven at cricket.  So
+without going the length of saying that he was worthy of Maude Selby,
+one might perhaps claim--if it could be done without endangering that
+natural modesty which was one of his charms--that he was as worthy as
+any other young man who was available.
+
+That unfortunate artistic soul of his, which had been in the tropics
+of expectation, and was now in the arctic of reaction, had just
+finally settled down to black despair, with a grim recognition of the
+fact that Maude had certainly and absolutely given him up, when one
+boomed from the station clock, and on the very stroke she hurried on
+to the platform.  How could he have strained his eyes after other
+women, as if a second glance were ever needed when it was really she!
+The perfectly graceful figure, the trimness and neatness of it, the
+beautiful womanly poise of the head, the quick elastic step, he could
+have sworn to her among ten thousand.  His heart gave a bound at the
+sight of her, but he had the English aversion to giving himself away,
+and so he walked quickly forward to meet her with an impassive face,
+but with a look in his eyes which was all that she wanted.
+
+'How are you?'
+
+'How do you do?'
+
+He stood for a few moments looking at her in silence.  She had on the
+dress which he loved so much, a silver-grey merino skirt and jacket,
+with a blouse of white pongee silk showing in front.  Some lighter
+coloured trimming fringed the cloth.  She wore a grey toque, with a
+dash of white at the side, and a white veil which softened without
+concealing the dark brown curls and fresh girlish face beneath it.
+Her gloves were of grey suede, and the two little pointed tan shoes
+peeping from the edge of her skirt were the only touches of a darker
+tint in her attire.  Crosse had the hereditary artist's eye, and he
+could only stand and stare and enjoy it.  He was filled with
+admiration, with reverence, and with wonder that this perfect thing
+should really proclaim itself to be all his own.  Whatever had he
+done, or could he do, to deserve it?
+
+She looked up at him in a roguish sidelong way, with the bright
+mischievous smile which was one of her charms.
+
+'Well, sir, do you approve?'
+
+'By Jove, it is splendid--beautiful!'
+
+'So glad!  I hoped you would, since you are so fond of greys.
+Besides, it is cooler in this weather.  I hope you have not been
+waiting.'
+
+'Oh no, that's all right.'
+
+'You looked so solemn when first I saw you.'
+
+'Did I?'
+
+'And then you just jumped.'
+
+'Did I?  I'm sorry.'
+
+'Why?'
+
+'I don't know.  I like our feelings to be our very very own, and
+never to show them to any one else at all.  I dare say it is absurd,
+but that is my instinct.'
+
+'Never mind, dear, it wasn't such a big jump as all that.  Where are
+we going?'
+
+'Come here, Maude, into the waiting-room.'
+
+She followed him into the gloomy, smoky, dingy room.  Bare yellow
+benches framed an empty square of brown linoleum.  A labouring man
+with his wife and a child sat waiting with the stolid patience of the
+poor in one corner.  They were starting on some Saturday afternoon
+excursion, and had mistimed their train.  Maude Selby and Frank
+Crosse took the other corner.  He drew a jeweller's box from his
+pocket and removed the lid.  Something sparkled among the wadding.
+
+'O Frank!  Is that really it?'
+
+'Do you like it?'
+
+'What a broad one it is!  Mother's is quite thin.'
+
+'They wear thin in time.'
+
+'It is beautiful.  Shall I try it on?'
+
+'No, don't.  There is some superstition about it.'
+
+'But suppose it won't fit?'
+
+'That is quite safe.  I measured it with your sapphire ring.'
+
+'I haven't half scolded you enough about that sapphire ring.  How
+could you go and give twenty-two guineas for a ring?--oh yes, sir,
+that was the price, for I saw a duplicate yesterday in the
+Goldsmith's Company.  You dear extravagant old boy!'
+
+'I had saved the money.'
+
+'But not for that!'
+
+'For nothing half or quarter as important.  But I had the other to
+the same size, so it is sure to fit.'
+
+Maude had pushed up her veil, and sat with the little golden circlet
+in her hand, looking down at it, while the dim watery London sunlight
+poured through the window, and tagged all her wandering curls with a
+coppery gleam.  It was a face beautiful in itself, but more beautiful
+for its expression--sensitive, refined, womanly, full of innocent
+archness and girlish mischief, but with a depth of expression in the
+eyes, and a tender delicacy about the mouth, which spoke of a great
+spirit with all its capacities for suffering and devotion within.
+The gross admirer of merely physical charms might have passed her
+over unnoticed.  So might the man who is attracted only by outward
+and obvious signs of character.  But to the man who could see, to the
+man whose own soul had enough of spirituality to respond to hers, and
+whose eye could appreciate the subtlety of a beauty which is of the
+mind as well as of the body, there was not in all wide London upon
+that midsummer day a sweeter girl than Maude Selby, as she sat in her
+grey merino dress with the London sun tagging her brown curls with
+that coppery glimmer.
+
+She handed back the ring, and a graver expression passed over her
+mobile face.
+
+'I feel as you said in your letter, Frank.  There IS something tragic
+in it.  It will be with me for ever.  All the future will arrange
+itself round that little ring.'
+
+'Are you afraid of it?'
+
+'Afraid!' her grey glove rested for an instant upon the back of his
+hand.  'I COULDN'T be afraid of anything if you were with me.  It is
+really extraordinary, for by nature I am so easily frightened.  But
+if I were with you in a railway accident or anywhere, it would be
+just the same.  You see I become for the time part of you, as it
+were, and you are brave enough for two.'
+
+'I don't profess to be so brave as all that,' said Frank.  'I expect
+I have as many nerves as my neighbours.'
+
+Maude's grey toque nodded up and down.  'I know all about that,' said
+she.
+
+'You have such a false idea of me.  It makes me happy at the time and
+miserable afterwards, for I feel such a rank impostor.  You imagine
+me to be a hero, and a genius, and all sorts of things, while I KNOW
+that I am about as ordinary a young fellow as walks the streets of
+London, and no more worthy of you than--well, than any one else is.'
+
+She laughed with shining eyes.
+
+'I like to hear you talk like that,' said she.  'That is just what is
+so beautiful about you.'
+
+It is hopeless to prove that you are not a hero when your disclaimers
+are themselves taken as a proof of heroism.  Frank shrugged his
+shoulders.
+
+'I only hope you'll find me out gradually and not suddenly,' said he.
+'Now, Maude, we have all day and all London before us.  What shall we
+do?  I want you to choose.'
+
+'I am quite happy whatever we do.  I am content to sit here with you
+until evening.'
+
+Her idea of a happy holiday set them both laughing.
+
+'Come along,' said he, 'we shall discuss it as we go.'
+
+The workman's family was still waiting, and Maude handed the child a
+shilling as she went out.  She was so happy herself that she wanted
+every one else to be happy also.  The people turned to look at her as
+she passed.  With the slight flush upon her cheeks and the light in
+her eyes, she seemed the personification of youth, and life, and
+love.  One tall old gentleman started as he looked, and watched her
+with a rapt face until she disappeared.  Some cheek had flushed and
+some eye had brightened at his words once, and sweet old days had for
+an instant lived again.
+
+'Shall we have a cab?'
+
+'O Frank, we must learn to be economical.  Let us walk.'
+
+'I can't and won't be economical to-day.'
+
+'There now!  See what a bad influence I have upon you.'
+
+'Most demoralising!  But we have not settled yet where we are to go
+to.'
+
+'What DOES it matter, if we are together?'
+
+'There is a good match at the Oval, the Australians against Surrey.
+Would you care to see that?'
+
+'Yes, dear, if you would.'
+
+'And there are matinees at all the theatres.'
+
+'You would rather be in the open air.'
+
+'All I want is that you should enjoy yourself.'
+
+'Never fear.  I shall do that.'
+
+'Well, then, first of all I vote that we go and have some lunch.'
+
+They started across the station yard, and passed the beautiful old
+stone cross.  Among the hansoms and the four-wheelers, the hurrying
+travellers, and the lounging cabmen, there rose that lovely
+reconstruction of mediaevalism, the pious memorial of a great
+Plantagenet king to his beloved wife.
+
+'Six hundred years ago,' said Frank, as they paused and looked up,
+'that old stone cross was completed, with heralds and armoured
+knights around it to honour her whose memory was honoured by the
+king.  Now the corduroyed porters stand where the knights stood, and
+the engines whistle where the heralds trumpeted, but the old cross is
+the same as ever in the same old place.  It is a little thing of that
+sort which makes one realise the unbroken history of our country.'
+
+Maude insisted upon hearing about Queen Eleanor, and Frank imparted
+the little that he knew as they walked out into the crowded Strand.
+
+'She was Edward the First's wife, and a splendid woman.  It was she,
+you remember, who sucked the wound when he was stabbed with a
+poisoned dagger.  She died somewhere in the north, and he had the
+body carried south to bury it in Westminster Abbey.  Wherever it
+rested for a night he built a cross, and so you have a line of
+crosses all down England to show where that sad journey was broken.'
+
+They had turned down Whitehall, and passed the big cuirassiers upon
+their black chargers at the gate of the Horse Guards.  Frank pointed
+to one of the windows of the old banqueting-hall.
+
+'You've seen a memorial of a queen of England,' said he.  'That
+window is the memorial of a king.'
+
+'Why so, Frank?'
+
+'I believe that it was through that window that Charles the First
+passed out to the scaffold when his head was cut off.  It was the
+first time that the people had ever shown that they claimed authority
+over their king.'
+
+'Poor fellow!' said Maude.  'He was so handsome, and such a good
+husband and father.'
+
+'It is the good kings who may be the dangerous ones.'
+
+'O Frank!'
+
+'If a king thinks only of pleasure, then he does not interfere with
+matters of state.  But if he is conscientious, he tries to do what he
+imagines to be his duty, and so he causes trouble.  Look at Charles,
+for example.  He was a very good man, and yet he caused a civil war.
+George the Third was a most exemplary character, but his stupidity
+lost us America, and nearly lost us Ireland.  They were each
+succeeded by thoroughly bad men, who did far less harm.'
+
+They had reached the end of Whitehall, and the splendid panorama of
+Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament lay before them.  The
+most stately of ancient English buildings was contrasted with the
+most beautiful of modern ones.  How anything so graceful came to be
+built by this tasteless and utilitarian nation must remain a marvel
+to the traveller.  The sun was shining upon the gold-work of the
+roof, and the grand towers sprang up amid the light London haze, like
+some gorgeous palace in a dream.  It was a fit centre for the rule to
+whose mild sway one-fifth of the human race acquiesces--a rule upheld
+by so small a force that only the consent of the governed can sustain
+it.
+
+Frank and Maude stood together looking up at it.
+
+'How beautiful it is!' she cried.  'How the gilding lights up the
+whole building!'
+
+'And how absurd it is not to employ it more in our gloomy London
+architecture!' said Frank.  'Imagine how grand a gilded dome of St.
+Paul's would look, hanging like a rising sun over the City.  But here
+is our restaurant, Maude, and Big Ben says that it is a quarter to
+two.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V--IN BRITAIN'S VALHALLA
+
+
+
+They had discussed the rooms in their new house, and the bridesmaids'
+dresses, and Maude's cooking, and marriage-presents, and the merits
+of Brighton, and the nature of love, and volleying at tennis (Maude
+was the lady-champion of a tennis club), and season tickets, and the
+destiny of the universe--to say nothing of a small bottle of Perrier
+Jouet.  It was reprehensibly extravagant, but this would be their
+last unmarried excursion, and so they drank to the dear days of the
+past, and the dearer ones of the future.  Good comrades as well as
+lovers, they talked freely, and with pleasure.  Frank never made the
+common mistake of talking down, and Maude justified his confidence by
+eagerly keeping up.  To both of them silence was preferable to
+conventional small talk.
+
+'We'll just get down there after lunch,' said Frank, as he paid his
+bill.  'You have not seen the Australians, have you?'
+
+'Yes, dear, I saw them at Clifton four years ago.'
+
+'But this is a new lot.  There are nine of the present team who have
+never played in England before.'
+
+'They are very good, are they not?'
+
+'Very good indeed.  And the dry summer has helped them.  It is the
+sticky English wickets which put them off.  The wickets are very fast
+over there.  Giffen is their best all-round man, but Darling and
+Iredale and young Hill are good enough for anything.  Well, then--O
+Lord, what a pity!'
+
+He had turned towards the window as he rose, and saw one of those
+little surprises by which Nature relieves the monotony of life in
+these islands.  The sun had gone, a ragged slate-coloured cloud was
+drifting up from over the river, and the rain was falling with a soft
+persistency which is more fatal than the most boisterous shower.
+There would be no more cricket that day.
+
+'Two coffees and two benedictines,' cried Frank, and they relapsed
+into their chairs.  But a half-hour passed and the grey cloud was
+thicker and the rain more heavy.  The cheerless leaden river flowed
+slowly under drifting skies.  Beyond an expanse of shining pavement
+the great black Abbey towered amidst the storm.
+
+'Have you ever done the Abbey, Maude?'
+
+'No, Frank; I should love to.'
+
+'I have only been once--more shame to me to say so!  Is it not a sin
+that we young Englishmen should be familiar with every music-hall in
+London and should know so little of this which is the centre of the
+British race, the most august and tremendous monument that ever a
+nation owned.  Six hundred years ago the English looked upon it as
+their holiest and most national shrine, and since then our kings and
+our warriors and our thinkers and our poets have all been laid there,
+until there is such an accumulation that the huge Abbey has hardly
+space for another monument.  Let us spend an hour inside it.'
+
+They made for Solomon's porch, since it was the nearest and they had
+but the one umbrella.  Under its shelter they brushed themselves dry
+before they entered.
+
+'Whom does the Abbey belong to, Frank?'
+
+'To you and me!'
+
+'Now you are joking!'
+
+'Not at all.  It belongs in the long-run to the British taxpayer.
+You have heard the story of the Scotch visitor who came on board one
+of our battleships and asked to see the captain.  "Who shall I say?"
+said the sentry.  "One of the proprietors," said the Scotchman.
+That's OUR position towards the Abbey.  Let us inspect our property.'
+
+They were smiling as they entered, but the smile faded from their
+lips as the door closed behind them.  In this holy of holies, this
+inner sanctuary of the race, there was a sense of serene and
+dignified solemnity which would have imposed itself upon the most
+thoughtless.  Frank and Maude stood in mute reverence.  The high
+arches shot up in long rows upon either side of them, straight and
+slim as beautiful trees, until they curved off far up near the
+clerestory and joined their sister curves to form the lightest, most
+delicate tracery of stone.  In front of them a great rose-window of
+stained glass, splendid with rich purples and crimsons, shone through
+a subdued and reverent gloom.  Here and there in the aisles a few
+spectators moved among the shadows, but all round along the walls two
+and three deep were ranged the illustrious dead, the perishable body
+within, the lasting marble without, and the more lasting name
+beneath.  It was very silent in the home of the great dead--only a
+distant footfall or a subdued murmur here and there.  Maude knelt
+down and sank her face in her hands.  Frank prayed also with that
+prayer which is a feeling rather than an utterance.
+
+Then they began to move round the short transept in which they found
+themselves--a part of the Abbey reserved for the great statesmen.
+Frank tried to quote the passage in which Macaulay talks about the
+men worn out by the stress and struggle of the neighbouring
+parliament-hall, and coming hither for peace and rest.  Here were the
+men who had been strong enough to grasp the helm, and who, sometimes
+wisely, sometimes foolishly, but always honestly, had tried to keep
+the old ship before the wind.  Canning and Peel were there, with
+Pitt, Fox, Grattan and Beaconsfield.  Governments and oppositions
+moulder behind the walls.  Beaconsfield alone among all the statues
+showed the hard-lined face of the self-made man.  These others look
+so plump and smooth one can hardly realise how strong they were, but
+they sprang from those ruling castes to whom strength came by easy
+inheritance.  Frank told Maude the little which he knew of each of
+them--of Grattan, the noblest Irishman of them all, of Castlereagh,
+whose coffin was pursued to the gates of the Abbey by a raging mob
+who wished to tear out his corpse, of Fox the libertine philosopher,
+of Palmerston the gallant sportsman, who rode long after he could
+walk.  They marvelled together at the realism of the sculptor who had
+pitted Admiral Warren with the smallpox, and at the absurdity of that
+other one who had clad Robert Peel in a Roman toga.
+
+Then turning to the right at the end of the Statesmen's Transept,
+they wandered aimlessly down the huge nave.  It was overwhelming, the
+grandeur of the roof above and of the contents below.  Any one of
+hundreds of these tombs was worth a devout pilgrimage, but how could
+one raise his soul to the appreciation of them all.  Here was Darwin
+who revolutionised zoology, and here was Isaac Newton who gave a new
+direction to astronomy.  Here were old Ben Jonson, and Stephenson the
+father of railways, and Livingstone of Africa, and Wordsworth, and
+Kingsley, and Arnold.  Here were the soldiers of the mutiny--Clyde
+and Outram and Lawrence,--and painters, and authors, and surgeons,
+and all the good sons who in their several degrees had done loyal
+service to the old mother.  And when their service was done the old
+mother had stretched out that long arm of hers and had brought them
+home, and always for every good son brought home she had sent another
+forth, and her loins were ever fruitful, and her children loving and
+true.  Go into the Abbey and think, and as the nation's past is borne
+in upon you, you will have no fear for its future.
+
+Frank was delighted with some of the monuments and horrified by
+others, and he communicated both his joy and his anger to Maude.
+They noticed together how the moderns and the Elizabethans had much
+in common in their types of face, their way of wearing the hair, and
+their taste in monuments, while between them lie the intolerable
+affectations--which culminated towards the end of last century.
+
+'It all rings false--statue, inscription, everything,' said Frank.
+'These insufferable allegorical groups sprawling round a dead hero
+are of the same class as the pompous and turgid prose of Doctor
+Johnson.  The greatest effects are the simplest effects, and so it
+always was and so it always will be.  But that little bit of Latin is
+effective, I confess.'
+
+It was a very much defaced inscription underneath a battered
+Elizabethan effigy, whose feet had been knocked off, and whose
+features were blurred into nothing.  Two words of the inscription had
+caught Frank's eye.
+
+'Moestissima uxor!  It was his "most sad wife" who erected it!  Look
+at it now!  The poor battered monument of a woman's love.  Now,
+Maude, come with me, and we shall visit the famous Poets' Corner.'
+
+What an assembly it would be if at some supreme day each man might
+stand forth from the portals of his tomb.  Tennyson, the last and
+almost the greatest of that illustrious line, lay under the white
+slab upon the floor.  Maude and Frank stood reverently beside it.
+
+
+'"Sunset and evening Star
+And one clear call for me."'
+
+
+Frank quoted.  'What lines for a very old man to write!  I should put
+him second only to Shakespeare had I the marshalling of them.'
+
+'I have read so little,' said Maude.
+
+'We will read it all together after next week.  But it makes your
+reading so much more real and intimate when you have stood at the
+grave of the man who wrote.  That's Chaucer, the big tomb there.  He
+is the father of British poetry.  Here is Browning beside Tennyson--
+united in life and in death.  He was the more profound thinker, but
+music and form are essential also.'
+
+'What a splendid face!' cried Maude.
+
+'It is a bust to Longfellow, the American.'  They read the
+inscription.  'This bust was placed among the memorials of the poets
+of England by English admirers of an American poet.'
+
+'I am so glad to have seen that.  I know his poems so well,' said
+Maude.
+
+'I believe he is more read than any poet in England.'
+
+'Who is that standing figure?'
+
+'It is Dryden.  What a clever face, and what a modern type.  Here is
+Walter Scott beside the door.  How kindly and humorous his expression
+was!  And see how high his head was from the ear to the crown.  It
+was a great brain.  There is Burns, the other famous Scot.  Don't you
+think there is a resemblance between the faces?  And here are
+Dickens, and Thackeray, and Macaulay.  I wonder whether, when
+Macaulay was writing his essays, he had a premonition that he would
+be buried in Westminster Abbey.  He is continually alluding to the
+Abbey and its graves.  I always think that we have a vague intuition
+as to what will occur to us in life.'
+
+'We can guess what is probable.'
+
+'It amounts to more than that.  I had an intuition that I should
+marry you from the first day that I saw you, and yet it did not seem
+probable.  But deep down in my soul I knew that I should marry you.'
+
+'I knew that I should marry you, Frank, or else that I should never
+marry at all.'
+
+'There now!  We both had it.  Well, that IS really wonderful!'
+
+They stood among the memorials of all those great people, marvelling
+at the mysteries of their own small lives.  A voice at their elbows
+brought them back to the present.
+
+'This way, if you please, for the kings,' said the voice.  'They are
+now starting for the kings.'
+
+'They' proved to be a curiously mixed little group of people who were
+waiting at the entrance through the enclosure for the arrival of the
+official guide.  There were a tall red-bearded man with a very Scotch
+accent and a small gentle wife, also an American father with his two
+bright and enthusiastic daughters, a petty-officer of the navy in his
+uniform, two young men whose attention was cruelly distracted from
+the monuments by the American girls, and a dozen other travellers of
+various sexes and ages.  Just as Maude and Frank joined them the
+guide, a young fresh-faced fellow, came striding up, and they passed
+through the opening into the royal burying-ground.
+
+'This way, ladies and gentlemen,' cried the hurrying guide, and they
+all clattered over the stone pavement.  He stopped beside a tomb upon
+which a lady with a sad worn face was lying.  'Mary, Queen of Scots,'
+said he, 'the greatest beauty of her day.  This monument was erected
+by her son, James the First.'
+
+'Isn't she just perfectly sweet?' said one of the American girls.
+
+'Well, I don't know.  I expected more of her than that,' the other
+answered.
+
+'I reckon,' remarked the father, 'that if any one went through as
+much as that lady did, it would not tend to improve her beauty.  Now
+what age might the lady be, sir?'
+
+'Forty-four years of age at the time of her execution,' said the
+guide.
+
+'Ah weel, she's young for her years,' muttered the Scotchman, and the
+party moved on.  Frank and Maude lingered to have a further look at
+the unfortunate princess, the bright French butterfly, who wandered
+from the light and warmth into that grim country, a land of blood and
+of psalms.
+
+'She was as hard as nails under all her gentle grace,' said Frank.
+'She rode eighty miles and hardly drew rein after the battle of
+Langside.'
+
+'She looks as if she were tired, poor dear!' said Maude; 'I don't
+think that she was sorry to be at rest.'
+
+The guide was narrating the names of the owners of the tombs at the
+further end of the chapel.  'Queen Anne is here, and Mary the wife of
+William the Third is beside her.  And here is William himself.  The
+king was very short and the queen very tall, so in the sculptures the
+king is depicted standing upon a stool so as to bring their heads
+level.  In the vaults beyond there are thirty-eight Stuarts.'
+
+Thirty-eight Stuarts!  Princes, bishops, generals, once the salt of
+the earth, the mightiest of men, and now lumped carelessly together
+as thirty-eight Stuarts.  So Death the Republican and Time the
+Radical can drag down the highest from his throne.
+
+They had followed the guide into another small chapel, which bore the
+name of Henry VII. upon the door.  Surely they were great builders
+and great designers in those days!  Had stone been as pliable as wax
+it could not have been twisted and curved into more exquisite spirals
+and curls, so light, so delicate, so beautiful, twining and turning
+along the walls, and drooping from the ceiling.  Never did the hand
+of man construct anything more elaborately ornate, nor the brain of
+man think out a design more absolutely harmonious and lovely.  In the
+centre, with all the pomp of mediaeval heraldry, starred and spangled
+with the Tudor badges, the two bronze figures of Henry and his wife
+lay side by side upon their tomb.  The guide read out the quaint
+directions in the king's will, by which they were to be buried 'with
+some respect to their Royal dignity, but avoiding damnable pomp and
+outrageous superfluities!'  There was, as Frank remarked, a fine
+touch of the hot Tudor blood in the adjectives.  One could guess
+where Henry the Eighth got his masterful temper.  Yet it was an
+ascetic and priest-like face which looked upwards from the tomb.
+
+They passed the rifled tombs of Cromwell, Blake, and Ireton--the
+despicable revenge of the men who did not dare to face them in the
+field,--and they marked the grave of James the First, who erected no
+monument to himself, and so justified in death the reputation for
+philosophy which he had aimed at in his life.  Then they inspected
+the great tomb of Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, as surprising and as
+magnificent as his history, cast a glance at the covering of plucky
+little George the Second, the last English king to lead his own army
+into battle, and so onwards to see the corner of the Innocents, where
+rest the slender bones of the poor children murdered in the Tower.
+
+But now the guide had collected his little flock around him again,
+with the air of one who has something which is not to be missed.
+'You will stand upon the step to see the profile,' said he, as he
+indicated a female figure upon a tomb.  'It is the great Queen
+Elizabeth.'
+
+It was a profile and a face worth seeing--the face of a queen who was
+worthy of her Shakespeares upon the land and her Drakes upon the sea.
+Had the Spanish king seen her, he would have understood that she was
+not safe to attack--this grim old lady with the eagle nose and the
+iron lips.  You could understand her grip upon her cash-box, you
+could explain her harshness to her lovers, you could realise the
+confidence of her people, you could read it all in that wonderful
+face.
+
+'She's splendid,' said Frank.
+
+'She's terrible,' said Maude.
+
+'Did I understand you to say, sir,' asked the American, 'that it was
+this lady who beheaded the other lady, Queen of Scotland, whom we saw
+'way back in the other compartment?'
+
+'Yes, sir, she did.'
+
+'Well, I guess if there was any beheading to be done, this was the
+lady to see that it was put through with promptness and despatch.
+Not a married lady, I gather?'
+
+'No, sir.'
+
+'And a fortunate thing for somebody.  That woman's husband would have
+a mean time of it, sir, in my opinion.'
+
+'Hush, poppa,' said the two daughters, and the procession moved on.
+They were entering the inner chapel of all, the oldest and the
+holiest, in which, amid the ancient Plantagenet kings, there lies
+that one old Saxon monarch, confessor and saint, the holy Edward,
+round whose honoured body the whole of this great shrine has
+gradually risen.  A singular erection once covered with mosaic work,
+but now bare and gaunt, stood in the centre.
+
+'The body of Edward the Confessor is in a case up at the top,' said
+the guide.  'This hollow place below was filled with precious relics,
+and the pilgrims used to kneel in these niches, which are just large
+enough to hold a man upon his knees.  The mosaic work has been picked
+out by the pilgrims.'
+
+'What is the date of the shrine?' asked Frank.
+
+'About 1250, sir.  The early kings were all buried as near to it as
+they could get, for it was their belief in those days that the devil
+might carry off the body, and so the nearer they got to the shrine
+the safer they felt.  Henry the Fifth, who won the battle of
+Agincourt, is there.  Those are the actual helmet, shield, and saddle
+which he used in the battle upon the crossbeam yonder.  That king
+with the grave face and the beard is Edward the Third, the father of
+the Black Prince.  The Black Prince never lived to ascend the throne,
+but he was the father of the unfortunate Richard the Second, who lies
+here--this clean-shaven king with the sharp features.  Now, ladies
+and gentlemen, if you will turn this way, I will show you one of the
+most remarkable objects in the Abbey.'
+
+The object in question proved to be nothing more singular than a
+square block of stone placed under an old chair.  And yet as the
+guide continued to speak, they felt that he had justified his words.
+
+'This is the sacred stone of Scone upon which the kings of Scotland
+have been crowned from time immemorial.  When Edward the First
+overran Scotland 600 years ago, he had it brought here, and since
+then every monarch of England has also sat upon it when crowned.'
+
+'The present Queen?' asked some one.
+
+'Yes, she also.  The legend was that it was the stone upon which
+Jacob rested his head when he dreamed, but the geologists have proved
+that it is red sandstone of Scotland.'
+
+'Then I understand, sir, that this other throne is the Scottish
+throne,' said the American gentleman.
+
+'No, sir, the Scottish throne and the English throne are the same
+throne.  But at the time of William and Mary it was necessary to
+crown her as well as him, and so a second throne was needed.  But
+that of course was modern.'
+
+'Only a couple of hundred years ago.  I wonder they let it in.  But I
+guess they might have taken better care of it.  Some one has carved
+his name upon it.'
+
+'A Westminster boy bet his schoolfellows that he would sleep among
+the tombs, and to prove that he had done it, he carved his name upon
+the throne.'
+
+'You don't say!' cried the American.  'Well, I guess that boy ended
+pretty high up.'
+
+'As high as the gallows, perhaps,' said Frank, and every one
+tittered, but the guide hurried on with a grave face, for the dignity
+of the Abbey was in his keeping.
+
+'This tomb is that of Queen Eleanor,' said he.
+
+Frank twitched Maude by the sleeve.  'Eleanor of Charing Cross,' said
+he.  'See how one little bit of knowledge links on with another.'
+
+'And here is the tomb of her husband, Edward the First.  It was he
+who brought the stone from Scone.  At the time of his death the
+conquest of Scotland was nearly done, and he gave orders that his
+burial should be merely temporary until Scotland was thoroughly
+subdued.  He is still, as you perceive, in his temporary tomb.'
+
+The big Scotchman laughed loudly and derisively.  All the others
+looked sadly at him with the pitying gaze which the English use
+towards the more excitable races when their emotion gets the better
+of them.  A stream from a garden hose could not have damped him more.
+
+'They opened the grave last century,' said the guide.  'Inside was an
+inscription, which said, "Here lies the hammer of the Scots."  He was
+a fine man, six feet two inches from crown to sole.'
+
+They wandered out of the old shrine where the great Plantagenet kings
+lie like a bodyguard round the Saxon saint.  Abbots lay on one side
+of them as they passed, and dead crusaders with their legs crossed,
+upon the other.  And then, in an instant, they were back in
+comparatively modern times again.
+
+'This is the tomb of Wolfe, who died upon the Heights of Abraham,'
+said the guide.  'It was due to him and to his soldiers that all
+America belongs to the English-speaking races.  There is a picture of
+his Highlanders going up to the battle along the winding path which
+leads from Wolfe's Cove.  He died in the moment of victory.'
+
+It was bewildering, the way in which they skipped from age to age.
+The history of England appeared to be not merely continuous, but
+simultaneous, as they turned in an instant from the Georgian to the
+Elizabethan, the one monument as well preserved as the other.  They
+passed the stately de Vere, his armour all laid out in fragments upon
+a marble slab, as a proof that he died at peace with all men; and
+they saw the terrible statue of the onslaught of Death, which, viewed
+in the moonlight, made a midnight robber drop his booty and fly
+panic-stricken out of the Abbey.  So awful and yet so fascinating is
+it, that the shuffling feet of the party of sightseers had passed out
+of hearing before Maude and Frank could force themselves away from
+it.
+
+In the base of the statue is an iron door, which has been thrown
+open, and the sculptor's art has succeeded wonderfully in convincing
+you that it has been thrown open violently.  The two leaves of it
+seem still to quiver with the shock, and one could imagine that one
+heard the harsh clang of the metal.  Out of the black opening had
+sprung a dreadful thing, something muffled in a winding-sheet, one
+bony hand clutching the edge of the pedestal, the other upraised to
+hurl a dart at the woman above him.  She, a young bride of twenty-
+seven, has fallen fainting, while her husband, with horror in his
+face, is springing forward, his hand outstretched, to get between his
+wife and her loathsome assailant.
+
+'I shall dream of this,' said Maude.  She had turned pale, as many a
+woman has before this monument.
+
+'It is awful!'  Frank walked backwards, unable to take his eyes from
+it.  'What pluck that sculptor had!  It is an effect which must be
+either ludicrous or great, and he has made it great.'
+
+'Roubillac is his name,' said Maude, reading it from the pedestal.
+
+'A Frenchman, or a man of French descent.  Isn't that characteristic!
+In the whole great Abbey the one monument which has impressed us with
+its genius and imagination is by a foreigner.  We haven't got it in
+us.  We are too much afraid of letting ourselves go and of giving
+ourselves away.  We are heavy-handed and heavy-minded.'
+
+'If we can't produce the monuments, we can produce the men who
+deserve them,' said Maude, and Frank wrote the aphorism down upon his
+shirt-cuff.
+
+'We are too severe both in sculpture and architecture,' said he.
+'More fancy and vigour in our sculptors, more use of gold and more
+ornament in our architects--that is what we want.  But I think it is
+past praying for.  It would be better to subdivide the work of the
+world, according to the capacity of the different nations.  Let Italy
+and France embellish us.  We might do something in exchange--organise
+the French colonies, perhaps, or the Italian exchequer.  That is our
+legitimate work, but we will never do anything at the other.'
+
+The guide had already reached the end of his round, an iron gate
+corresponding to that by which they had entered, and they found him
+waiting impatiently and swinging his keys.  But Maude's smile and
+word of thanks as she passed him brought content into his face once
+more.  A ray of living sunshine is welcome to the man who spends his
+days among the tombs.
+
+They walked down the North Transept and out through Solomon's Porch.
+The rain-cloud had swept over, and the summer sun was shining upon
+the wet streets, turning them all to gold.  This might have been that
+fabled London of which young Whittington dreamed.  In front of them
+lay the lawns of vivid green, with the sunlit raindrops gleaming upon
+the grass.  The air was full of the chirping of the sparrows.  Across
+their vision, from the end of Whitehall to Victoria Street, the black
+ribbon of traffic whirled and circled, one of the great driving-belts
+of the huge city.  Over it all, to their right, towered those
+glorious Houses of Parliament, the very sight of which made Frank
+repent his bitter words about English architecture.  They stood in
+the old porch gazing at the scene.  It was so wonderful to come back
+at one stride from the great country of the past to the greater
+country of the present.  Here was the very thing which these dead men
+lived and died to build.
+
+'It's not much past three,' said Frank.  'What a gloomy place to take
+you to!  Good heavens, we have one day together, and I take you to a
+cemetery!  Shall we go to a matinee to counteract it?'
+
+But Maude laid her hand upon his arm.
+
+'I don't think, Frank, that I was ever more impressed, or learned
+more in so short a time, in my life.  It was a grand hour--an hour
+never to be forgotten.  And you must not think that I am ever with
+you to be amused.  I am with you to accompany you in whatever seems
+to you to be highest and best.  Now before we leave the dear old
+Abbey, promise me that you will always live your own highest and
+never come down to me.'
+
+'I can very safely promise that I will never come down to you,' said
+Frank.  'I may climb all my life, and yet there are parts of your
+soul which will be like snow-peaks in the clouds to me.  But you will
+be now and always my own dear comrade as well as my sweetest wife.
+And now, Maude, what shall it be, the theatre or the Australians?'
+
+'Do you wish to go to either very much?'
+
+'Not unless you do.'
+
+'Well, then, I feel as if either would be a profanation.  Let us walk
+together down to the Embankment, and sit on one of the benches there,
+and watch the river flowing in the sunshine, and talk and think of
+all that we have seen.'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI--TWO SOLOS AND A DUET
+
+
+
+The night before the wedding, Frank Crosse and his best man, Rupton
+Hale, dined at the Raleigh Club with Maude's brother, Jack Selby, who
+was a young lieutenant in a Hussar regiment.  Jack was a horsy,
+slangy young sportsman who cared nothing about Frank's worldly
+prospects, but had given the match his absolute approval from the
+moment that he realised that his future brother had played for the
+Surrey Second.  'What more can you want?' said he.  'You won't
+exactly be a Mrs. W. G., but you will be on the edge of first-class
+cricket.'  And Maude, who rejoiced in his approval, without quite
+understanding the grounds for it, kissed him, and called him the best
+of brothers.
+
+The marriage was to be at eleven o'clock at St. Monica's Church, and
+the Selbys were putting up at the Langham.  Frank stayed at the
+Metropole, and so did Rupton Hale.  They were up early, their heads
+and nerves none the better for Jack Selby's hospitality of the night
+before.
+
+Frank could eat no breakfast, and he shunned publicity in his
+wedding-garments, so they remained in the upstairs sitting-room.  He
+stood by the window, drumming his fingers upon the pane, and looking
+down into Northumberland Avenue.  He had often pictured this day, and
+associated it with sunshine and flowers and every emblem of joy.  But
+Nature had not risen to the occasion.  A thick vapour, half smoke
+half cloud, drifted along the street, and a thin persistent rain was
+falling steadily.  It pit-patted upon the windows, splashed upon the
+sills, and gurgled in the water-pipes.  Far down beneath him on the
+drab-coloured slimy road stood the lines of wet cabs, looking like
+beetles with glistening backs.  Round black umbrellas hurried along
+the shining pavements.  A horse had fallen at the door of the
+Constitutional Club, and an oil-skinned policeman was helping the
+cabman to raise it.  Frank watched it until the harness had been
+refastened, and it had vanished into Trafalgar Square.  Then he
+turned and examined himself in the mirror.  His trim black frock-coat
+and pearl grey trousers set off his alert athletic figure to
+advantage.  His glossy hat, too, his lavender gloves, and dark-blue
+tie, were all absolutely irreproachable.  And yet he was not
+satisfied with himself.  Maude ought to have something better than
+that.  What a fool he had been to take so much wine last night!  On
+this day of all days in their lives she surely had a right to find
+him at his best.  He was restless, and his nerves were all quivering.
+He would have given anything for a cigarette, but he did not wish to
+scent himself with tobacco.  He had cut himself in shaving, and his
+nose was peeling from a hot day on the cricket-field.  What a silly
+thing to expose his nose to the sun before his wedding!  Perhaps when
+Maude saw it she would--well, she could hardly break it off, but at
+least she might be ashamed of him.  He worked himself into a fever
+over that unfortunate nose.
+
+'You are off colour, Crosse,' said his best man.
+
+'I was just thinking that my nose was.  It's very kind of you to come
+and stand by me.'
+
+'That's all right.  We shall see it through together.'
+
+Hale was a despondent man, though the most loyal of friends, and he
+spoke in a despondent way.  His gloomy manner, the London drizzle,
+and the nervousness proper to the occasion, were all combining to
+make Frank more and more wretched.  Fortunately Jack Selby burst like
+a gleam of sunshine into the room.  The sight of his fresh-coloured
+smiling face--or it may have been some reminder of Maude which he
+found in it--brought consolation to the bridegroom.
+
+'How are you, Crosse?  How do, Hale?  Excuse my country manners!  The
+old Christmas-tree in the hall wanted to send for you, but I knew
+your number.  You're looking rather green about the gills, old chap.'
+
+'I feel a little chippy to-day.'
+
+'That's the worst of these cheap champagnes.  Late hours are bad for
+the young.  Have a whisky and soda with me.  No?  Hale, you must buck
+him up, for they'll all be down on you if you don't bring your man up
+to time in the pink of condition.  We certainly did ourselves up to
+the top hole last night.  Couldn't face your breakfast, eh?  Neither
+could I.  A strawberry and a bucket of soda-water.'
+
+'How are they all at the Langham?' asked Frank eagerly.
+
+'Oh, splendid!  At least I haven't seen Maude.  She's been getting
+into parade order.  But mother is full of beans.  We had to take her
+up one link in the curb, or there would have been no holding her.'
+
+Frank's eyes kept turning to the slow-moving minute-hand.  It was not
+ten o'clock yet.
+
+'Don't you think that I might go round to the Langham and see them?'
+
+'Good Lord, no!  Clean against regulations.  Stand by his head, Hale!
+Wo, boy, steady!'
+
+'It won't do, Crosse, it really won't!' said Hale solemnly.
+
+'What rot it is!  Here am I doing nothing, and I might be of some use
+or encouragement to her.  Let's get a cab!'
+
+'Wo, laddie, wo then, boy!  Keep him in hand, Hale!  Get to his
+head.'
+
+Frank flung himself down into an armchair, and muttered about absurd
+conventions.
+
+'It can't be helped, my boy.  It is correct.'
+
+'Buck up, Crosse, buck up!  We'll make the thing go with a buzz when
+we do begin.  Two of our Johnnies are coming, regular fizzers, and
+full of blood both of them.  We'll paint the Langham a fine bright
+solferino, when the church parade is over.'
+
+Frank sat rather sulkily watching the slow minute-hand, and listening
+to the light-hearted chatter of the boy-lieutenant, and the more
+deliberate answers of his best man.  At last he jumped up and seized
+his hat and gloves.
+
+'Half-past,' said he.  'Come on.  I can't wait any longer.  I must do
+SOMETHING.  It is time we went to the church.'
+
+'Fall in for the church!' cried Jack.  'Wait a bit!  I know this
+game, for I was best man myself last month.  Inspect his kit, Hale.
+See that he's according to regulations.  Ring?  All right.  Parson's
+money?  Right oh!  Small change?  Good!  By the right, quick march!'
+
+Frank soon recovered his spirits now that he had something to do.
+Even that drive through the streaming streets, with the rain
+pattering upon the top of their four-wheeler, could not depress him
+any longer.  He rose to the level of Jack Selby, and they chattered
+gaily together.
+
+'Ain't we bringing him up fighting fit?' cried Jack exultingly.
+'Shows that all the care we have taken of him in the last twenty-four
+hours has not been wasted.  That's the sort I like--game as a pebble!
+You can't buy 'em, you have to breed 'em.  A regular fizzer HE is,
+and full of blood.  And here we are on the ground.'
+
+It was a low, old-fashioned, grey church, with a Gothic entrance and
+two niches on either side, which spoke of pre-Lutheran days.  Cheap
+modern shops, which banked it in, showed up the quaint dignity of the
+ancient front.  The side-door was open, and they passed into its dim-
+lit interior, with high carved pews, and rich, old, stained glass.
+Huge black oak beams curved over their heads, and dim inscriptions of
+mediaeval Latin curled and writhed upon the walls.  A single step
+seemed to have taken them from the atmosphere of the nineteenth to
+that of the fifteenth century.
+
+'What a ripping old church!' Jack whispered.
+
+'You can't buy 'em.  But it's as festive as an ice-house.  There's a
+friendly native coming down the aisle.  He's your man, Hale, if you
+want the news.'
+
+The verger was not in the best of tempers.  'It's at a quarter to
+four,' said he, as Hale met him.
+
+'No, no, at eleven.'
+
+'Quarter to four, I tell you.  The vicar says so.'
+
+'Why, it's not possible.'
+
+'We have them at all hours.'
+
+'Have what?'
+
+'Buryin's.'
+
+'But this is a marriage.'
+
+'I'm sure I beg your pardon, sir.  I thought when I looked at you as
+you was the party about the child's funeral.'
+
+'Good heavens, no.'
+
+'It was something in your expression, sir, but now that I can see the
+colour of your clothes, why of course I know better.  There's three
+marriages--which was it?'
+
+'Crosse and Selby are the names.'
+
+The verger consulted an old crumpled notebook.
+
+'Yes, sir, I have it here.  Mr. or Miss Crosse to Mr. or Miss Selby.
+Eleven o'clock, sir, SHARP.  The vicar's a terrible punctual man, and
+I should advise you to take your places.'
+
+'Any hitch?' asked Frank nervously, as Hale returned.
+
+'No, no.'
+
+'What was he talking about?'
+
+'Oh, nothing.  Some little confusion of ideas.'
+
+'Shall we go up?'
+
+'Yes, I think that we had better.'
+
+Their steps clattered and reverberated through the empty church as
+they passed up the aisle.  They stood in an aimless way before the
+altar rails.  Frank fidgeted about, and made sure that the ring was
+in his ticket-pocket.  He also took a five-pound note and placed it
+where he knew he could lay his hands upon it easily.  Then he sprang
+round with a flush upon his cheeks, for one of the side-doors had
+been flung open with a great bustle and clanging.  A stout charwoman
+entered with a tin pail and a mop.
+
+'Put up the wrong bird that time,' whispered Jack, and sniggered at
+Frank's change of expression.
+
+But almost at the same instant, the Selbys entered the church at the
+further end.  Mr. Selby, with his red face and fluffy side-whiskers,
+had Maude upon his arm.  She looked very pale and very sweet, with
+downcast eyes and solemn mouth, while behind her walked her younger
+sister Mary and her pretty friend Nelly Sheridan, both in pink
+dresses with broad pink hats and white curling feathers.  The bride
+was herself in the grey travelling-dress with which Frank was already
+familiar by its description in her letter.  Its gentle tint and her
+tenderly grave expression made a charming effect.  Behind them was
+the mother, still young and elegant, with something of Maude's grace
+in her figure and carriage.  As the party came up the aisle, Frank
+was to be restrained no longer.  'Get to his head!' cried Jack to
+Hale in an excited whisper, but their man was already hurrying to
+shake hands with Maude.  He walked up on her right, and they took
+their position in two little groups, the happy couple in the centre.
+At the same moment the clang of the church-clock sounded above them,
+and the vicar, shrugging his shoulders to get his white surplice into
+position, came bustling out of the vestry.  To him it was all the
+most usual, commonplace, and unimportant thing in the world, and both
+Frank and Maude were filled with amazement at the nonchalant way in
+which he whipped out a prayer-book, and began to rapidly perform the
+ceremony.  It was all so new and solemn and all-important to them,
+that they had expected something mystic and overpowering in the
+function, and yet here was this brisk little man, with an obvious
+cold in his head, tying them up in as business-like a fashion as a
+grocer uniting two parcels.  After all, he had to do it a thousand
+times a year, and so he could not be extravagant in his emotions.
+
+The singular service was read out to them, the exhortations, and the
+explanations, sometimes stately, sometimes beautiful, sometimes
+odious.  Then the little vicar turned upon Frank--'Wilt thou have
+this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance
+in the holy estate of matrimony?  Wilt thou love her, comfort her,
+honour her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all other, keep
+thee only unto her as long as ye both shall live?'
+
+'I will,' cried Frank, with conviction.
+
+'And wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together
+after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?  Wilt thou
+obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him, in sickness and
+in health, and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him so long
+as ye both shall live?'
+
+'I will,' said Maude, from her heart.
+
+'Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?'
+
+'I do.  Mr. John Selby--her father, you know.'
+
+And then in turn they repeated the fateful words--'I take thee to
+have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for
+richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and
+obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance, and
+thereto I give thee my troth.'
+
+'Ring!  Ring!' said Hale.
+
+'Ring, you Juggins!' whispered Jack Selby.
+
+Frank thrust his hands frantically into all his pockets.  The ring
+was in the last one which he attempted.  But the bank-note was not to
+be found.  He remembered that he had put it in some safe place.
+Where could it have been?  Was it in his boot, or in the lining of
+his hat?  No, surely he could not have done anything so infatuated.
+Again he took his pockets two at a time, while a dreadful pause came
+in the ceremony.
+
+'Vestry--afterwards,' whispered the clergyman.
+
+'Here you are!' gasped Frank.  He had come upon it in a last
+desperate dive into his watch-pocket, in which he never by any chance
+kept anything.  Of course it was for that very reason, that it might
+be alone and accessible, that he had placed it there.  Ring and note
+were handed to the vicar, who deftly concealed the one and returned
+the other.  Then Maude's little white hand was outstretched, and over
+the third finger Frank slipped the circlet of gold.
+
+'With this ring I thee wed,' said Frank, 'and with my body I thee
+worship (he paused, and made a mental emendation of 'with my soul
+also'), and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.'
+
+There was a prayer, and then the vicar joined the two hands, the
+muscular sunburned one and the dainty white one, with the new ring
+gleaming upon it.
+
+'Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder,' said
+he.  'Forasmuch as Francis Crosse and Maude Selby have consented
+together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and
+this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth, either
+to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a
+ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife
+together.'
+
+There now, it was done!  They were one, never more to part until the
+coffin-lid closed over one or the other.  They were kneeling together
+now, and the vicar was rapidly repeating some psalms and prayers.
+But Frank's mind was not with the ritual.  He looked slantwise at the
+graceful, girlish figure by his side.  Her hair hung beautifully over
+her white neck, and the reverent droop of her head was lovely to his
+eyes.  So gentle, so humble, so good, so beautiful, and all his, his
+sworn life-companion for ever!  A gush of tenderness flowed through
+his heart for her.  His love had always been passionate, but, for the
+instant, it was heroic, tremendous in its unselfishness.  Might he
+bring her happiness, the highest which woman could wish for!  God
+grant that he might do so!  But if he were to make her unhappy, or to
+take anything from her beauty and her goodness, then he prayed that
+he might die now, at this supreme moment, kneeling at her side before
+the altar rails.  So intense was his prayer that he looked up
+expectantly at the altar, as if in the presence of an imminent
+catastrophe.  But every one had risen to their feet, and the service
+was at an end.  The vicar led the way, and they all followed him,
+into the vestry.  There was a general murmur all round them of
+congratulation and approval.
+
+'Heartiest congratulations, Crosse!' said Hale.
+
+'Bravo, Maude, you looked ripping!' cried Jack, kissing his sister.
+'By Jove, it simply went with a buzz from the word "go."'
+
+'You sign it here and here,' said the vicar, 'and the witnesses here
+and here.  Thank you very much.  I am sure that I wish you every
+happiness.  I need not detain you by any further formality.'
+
+And so, with a curious dream-like feeling, Frank Crosse and Maude
+found themselves walking down the aisle, he very proud and erect, she
+very gentle and shy, while the organ thundered the wedding-march.
+Carriages were waiting:  he handed in his wife, stepped in after her,
+and they drove off, amidst a murmur of sympathy from a little knot of
+idlers who had gathered in the porch, partly from curiosity, and
+partly to escape the rain.
+
+Maude had often driven alone with Frank before, but now she felt
+suddenly constrained and shy.  The marriage-service, with all its
+half-understood allusions and exhortations, had depressed and
+frightened her.  She hardly dared to glance at her husband.  But he
+soon led her out of her graver humour.
+
+'Name, please?' said he.
+
+'O Frank!'
+
+'Name, if YOU please?'
+
+'Why, you know.'
+
+'Say it.'
+
+'Maude.'
+
+'That all?'
+
+'Maude Crosse--O Frank!'
+
+'You blessing!  How grand it sounds!  O Maude, what a jolly old world
+it is!  Isn't it pretty to see the rain falling?  And aren't the
+shining pavements lovely?  And isn't everything splendid, and am I
+not the luckiest--the most incredibly lucky of men.  Dear girlie,
+give me your hand!  I can feel IT under the glove.  Now, sweetheart,
+you are not frightened, are you?'
+
+'Not now.'
+
+'You were?'
+
+'Yes, I was a little.  O Frank, you won't tire of me, will you?  I
+should break my heart if you did.'
+
+'Tire of you!  Good heavens!  Now you'll never guess what I was doing
+while the parson was telling us about what Saint Paul said to the
+Colossians, and all the rest of it.'
+
+'I know perfectly well what you were doing.  And you shouldn't have
+done it.'
+
+'What was I doing, then?'
+
+'You were staring at me.'
+
+'Oh, you saw that, did you?'
+
+'I felt it.'
+
+'Well, I was.  But I was praying also.'
+
+'Were you, Frank?'
+
+'When I saw you kneeling there, so sweet and pure and good, I seemed
+to realise how you had been given into my keeping for life, and I
+prayed with all my heart that if I should ever injure you in thought,
+or word, or deed, I might drop dead now before I had time to do it.'
+
+'O Frank, what a dreadful prayer!'
+
+'But I felt it and I wished it, and I could not help it.  My own
+darling, there you are just a living angel, the gentlest, most
+sensitive, and beautiful living creature that walks the earth, and
+please God I shall keep you so, and ever higher and higher if such a
+thing is possible, and if ever I say a word or do a deed that seems
+to lower you, then remind me of this moment, and send me back to try
+to live up to our highest ideal again.  And I for my part will try to
+improve myself and to live up to you, and to bridge more and more the
+gap that is between us, that I may feel myself not altogether
+unworthy of our love.  And so we shall act and re-act upon each
+other, ever growing better and wiser, and dating what is best and
+brightest in our minds and souls from the day that we were married.
+And that's MY idea of a marriage-service, and here endeth the first
+lesson, and the windows are blurred with rain, and hang the coachman,
+and it's hard lines if a man may not kiss his own wife--you
+blessing!'
+
+A broad-brimmed hat with a curling feather is not a good shape for
+driving with an ardent young bridegroom in a discreetly rain-blurred
+carriage.  Frank demonstrated the fact, and it took them all the way
+to the Langham to get those pins driven home again.  And then after
+an abnormal meal, which was either a very late breakfast or a very
+early lunch, they drove on to Victoria Station, from which they were
+to start for Brighton.  Jack Selby and the two regimental fizzers,
+who had secured immortality for the young couple, if the deep and
+constant drinking of healths could have done it, had provided
+themselves with packages of rice, old slippers, and other time-
+honoured missiles.  On a hint from Maude, however, that she would
+prefer a quiet departure, Frank coaxed the three back into the
+luncheon-room with a perfectly guileless face, and then locking the
+door on the outside, handed the key and a half-sovereign to the head-
+waiter, with instructions to release the prisoners when the carriage
+had gone--an incident which in itself would cause the judicious
+observer to think that, given the opportunity, Mister Frank Crosse
+had it in him to go pretty far in life.  And so, quietly and soberly,
+they rolled away upon their first journey--the journey which was the
+opening of that life's journey, the goal of which no man may see.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII--KEEPING UP APPEARANCES
+
+
+
+It was in the roomy dining-room of the Hotel Metropole at Brighton.
+Maude and Frank were seated at the favourite small round table near
+the window, where they always lunched.  Their immediate view was a
+snowy-white tablecloth with a shining centre dish of foppish little
+cutlets, each with a wisp of ornamental paper, and a surrounding bank
+of mashed potatoes.  Beyond, from the very base of the window, as it
+seemed, there stretched the huge expanse of the deep blue sea, its
+soothing mass of colour broken only by a few white leaning sails upon
+the furthest horizon.  Along the sky-line the white clouds lay in
+carelessly piled cumuli, like snow thrown up from a clearing.  It was
+restful and beautiful, that distant view, but just at the moment it
+was the near one which interested them most.  Though they lose from
+this moment onwards the sympathy of every sentimental reader, the
+truth must be told that they were thoroughly enjoying their lunch.
+
+With the wonderful adaptability of women--a hereditary faculty, which
+depends upon the fact that from the beginning of time the sex has
+been continually employed in making the best of situations which were
+not of their own choosing--Maude carried off her new character easily
+and gracefully.  In her trim blue serge dress and sailor hat, with
+the warm tint of yesterday's sun upon her cheeks, she was the very
+picture of happy and healthy womanhood.  Frank was also in a blue
+serge boating-suit, which was appropriate enough, for they spent most
+of their time upon the water, as a glance at his hands would tell.
+Their conversation was unhappily upon a very much lower plane than
+when we overheard them last.
+
+'I've got such an appetite!'
+
+'So have I, Frank.'
+
+'Capital.  Have another cutlet.'
+
+'Thank you, dear.'
+
+'Potatoes?'
+
+'Please.'
+
+'I always thought that people on their honeymoon lived on love.'
+
+'Yes, isn't it dreadful, Frank?  We must be so material.'
+
+'Good old mother Nature!  Cling on to her skirt and you never lose
+your way.  One wants a healthy physical basis for a healthy spiritual
+emotion.  Might I trouble you for the pickles?'
+
+'Are you happy, Frank?'
+
+'Absolutely and completely.'
+
+'Quite, QUITE sure?'
+
+'I never was quite so sure of anything.'
+
+'It makes me so happy to hear you say so.'
+
+'And you?'
+
+'O Frank, I am just floating upon golden clouds in a dream.  But your
+poor hands!  Oh, how they must pain you!'
+
+'Not a bit.'
+
+'It was that heavy oar.'
+
+'I get no practice at rowing.  There is no place to row in at Woking,
+unless one used the canal.  But it was worth a blister or two.  By
+Jove, wasn't it splendid, coming back in the moonlight with that
+silver lane flickering on the water in front of us?  We were so
+completely alone.  We might have been up in the interstellar spaces,
+you and I, travelling from Sirius to Arcturus in one of those
+profound gulfs of the void which Hardy talks about.  It was
+overpowering.'
+
+'I can never forget it.'
+
+'We'll go again to-night.'
+
+'But the blisters!'
+
+'Hang the blisters!  And we'll take some bait with us and try to
+catch something.'
+
+'What fun!'
+
+'And we'll drive to Rottingdean this afternoon, if you feel inclined.
+Have this last cutlet, dear!'
+
+'No, thank you.'
+
+'Well, it seems a pity to waste it.  Here goes!  By the way, Maude, I
+must speak very severely to you.  I can't if you look at me like
+that.  But really, joking apart, you must be more careful before the
+waiters.'
+
+'Why, dear?'
+
+'Well, we have carried it off splendidly so far.  No one has found us
+out yet, and no one will if we are reasonably careful.  The fat
+waiter is convinced that we are veterans.  But last night at dinner
+you very nearly gave the thing away.'
+
+'Did I, Frank?'
+
+'Don't look so sweetly penitent, you blessing.  The fact is that you
+make a shocking bad conspirator.  Now I have a kind of talent for
+that, as I have for every other sort of depravity, so it will be
+pretty safe in my hands.  You are as straight as a line by nature,
+and you can't be crooked when you try.'
+
+'But what did I say?  Oh, I AM so sorry!  I tried to be so careful.'
+
+'Well, about the curry, you know.  It was an error of judgment to ask
+if I took chutnee.  And then . . . '
+
+'Something else?'
+
+'About the boots.  Did I get them in London or Woking.'
+
+'Oh dear, dear!'
+
+'And then . . . '
+
+'Not another!  O Frank!'
+
+'Well, the use of the word "my."  You must give that word up.  It
+should be "our."'
+
+'I know, I know.  It was when I said that the salt water had taken
+the curl out of the feather in my--no, in our--well, in THE hat.'
+
+'That was all right.  But it is OUR luggage, you know, and OUR room,
+and so on.'
+
+'Of course it is.  How foolish I am!  Then the waiter knows!  O
+Frank, what shall we do?'
+
+'Not he.  He knows nothing.  I am sure of it.  He is a dull sort of
+person.  I had my eye on him all the time.  Besides, I threw in a few
+remarks just to set the thing right.'
+
+'That was when you spoke about our travels in the Tyrol?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'O Frank, how COULD you?  And you said how lonely it was when we were
+the only visitors at the Swiss hotel.'
+
+'That was an inspiration.  That finished him.'
+
+'And about the closeness of the Atlantic staterooms.  I blushed to
+hear you.'
+
+'But he listened eagerly to it all.  I could see it.'
+
+'I wonder if he really believed it.  I have noticed that the maids
+and the waiters seem to look at us with a certain interest.'
+
+'My dear girlie, you will find as you go through life that every man
+will always look at you with a certain interest.'
+
+Maude smiled, but was unconvinced.
+
+'Cheese, dear?'
+
+'A little butter, please.'
+
+'Some butter, waiter, and the Stilton.  You know the real fact is,
+that we make the mistake of being much too nice to each other in
+public.  Veterans don't do that.  They take the small courtesies for
+granted--which is all wrong, but it shows that they ARE veterans.
+That is where we give ourselves away.'
+
+'That never occurred to me.'
+
+'If you want to settle that waiter for ever, and remove the last
+lingering doubt from his mind, the thing is for you to be rude to
+me.'
+
+'Or you to me, Frank.'
+
+'Sure you won't mind?'
+
+'Not a bit.'
+
+'Oh, hang it, I can't--not even for so good an object.'
+
+'Well, then, I can't either.'
+
+'But this is absurd.  It is only acting.'
+
+'Quite so.  It is only fun.'
+
+'Then why won't you do it?'
+
+'Why won't you?'
+
+'He'll be back before we settle it.  Look here!  I've a shilling
+under my hand.  Heads or tails, and the loser has to be rude.  Do you
+agree?'
+
+'Very well.'
+
+'Your call.'
+
+'Heads.'
+
+'It's tails.'
+
+'Oh goodness!'
+
+'You've got to be rude.  Now mind you are.  Here he comes.'
+
+The waiter had come up the room bearing the pride of the hotel, the
+grand green Stilton with the beautiful autumn leaf heart shading away
+to rich plum-coloured cavities.  He placed it on the table with a
+solemn air.
+
+'It's a beautiful Stilton,' Frank remarked.
+
+Maude tried desperately to be rude.
+
+'Well, dear, I don't think it is so very beautiful,' was the best
+that she could do.
+
+It was not much, but it had a surprising effect upon the waiter.  He
+turned and hurried away.
+
+'There now, you've shocked him?' cried Frank.
+
+'Where HAS he gone, Frank?'
+
+'To complain to the management about your language.'
+
+'No, Frank.  Please tell me!  Oh, I wish I hadn't been so rude.  Here
+he is again.'
+
+'All right.  Sit tight,' said Frank.
+
+A sort of procession was streaming up the hall.  There was their fat
+waiter in front with a large covered cheese-dish.  Behind him was
+another with two smaller ones, and a third with some yellow powder
+upon a plate was bringing up the rear.
+
+'This is Gorgonzola, main,' said the waiter, with a severe manner.
+'And there's Camembert and Gruyere behind, and powdered Parmesan as
+well.  I'm sorry that the Stilton don't give satisfaction.'
+
+Maude helped herself to Gorgonzola and looked very guilty and
+uncomfortable.  Frank began to laugh.
+
+'I meant you to be rude to ME, not to the cheese,' said he, when the
+procession had withdrawn.
+
+'I did my best, Frank.  I contradicted you.'
+
+'Oh, it was a shocking display of temper.'
+
+'And I hurt the poor waiter's feelings.'
+
+'Yes, you'll have to apologise to his Stilton before he will forgive
+you.'
+
+'And I don't believe he is a bit more convinced that we are veterans
+than he was before.'
+
+'All right, dear; leave him to me.  Those reminiscences of mine must
+have settled him.  If they didn't, then I feel it is hopeless.'
+
+It was as well for his peace of mind that Frank could not hear the
+conversation between the fat waiter and their chambermaid, for whom
+he nourished a plethoric attachment.  They had half an hour off in
+the afternoon, and were comparing notes.
+
+'Nice-lookin' couple, ain't they, John?' said the maid, with the air
+of an expert.  'I don't know as we've 'ad a better since the spring
+weddin's.'
+
+'I don't know as I'd go as far as that,' said the fat waiter
+critically.  ''E'd pass all right.  'E's an upstandin' young man with
+a good sperrit in 'im.'
+
+'What's wrong with 'er, then?'
+
+'It's a matter of opinion,' said the waiter.  'I likes 'em a bit more
+full-flavoured myself.  And as to 'er taste, why there, if you 'ad
+seen 'er turn up 'er nose at the Stilton at lunch.'
+
+'Turn up 'er nose, did she?  Well, she seemed to me a very soft-
+spoken, obligin' young lady.'
+
+'So she may be, but they're a queer couple, I tell you.  It's as well
+they are married at last.'
+
+'Why?'
+
+'Because they 'ave been goin' on most owdacious before'and.  I 'ave
+it from their own lips, and it fairly made me blush to listen to it.
+Awful, it was, AWFUL!'
+
+'You don't say that, John!'
+
+'I tell you, Jane, I couldn't 'ardly believe my ears.  They was
+married on Tuesday last, as we know well, and to-day's Times to prove
+it, and yet if you'll believe me, they was talkin' about 'ow they 'ad
+travelled alone abroad--'
+
+'Never, John!'
+
+'And alone in a Swiss 'otel!'
+
+'My goodness!'
+
+'And a steamer too.'
+
+'Well, there!  I'll never trust any one again.'
+
+'Oh, a perfec' pair of scorchers.  But I'll let 'im see as I knows
+it.  I'll put that Times before 'im to-night at dinner as sure as my
+name's John.'
+
+'And a good lesson to them, too!  If you didn't say you'd 'eard it
+from their own lips, John, I never could 'ave believed it.  It's
+things like that as shakes your trust in 'uman nature.'
+
+Maude and Frank were lingering at the table d'hote over their walnuts
+and a glass of port wine, when their waiter came softly behind them.
+
+'Beg pardon, sir, but did you see it in the Times?'
+
+'See what?'
+
+'THAT, sir.  I thought that it might be of interest to you and to
+your good lady to see it.'
+
+He had laid one page of the paper before them, with his forefinger
+upon an item in the left-hand top corner.  Then he discreetly
+withdrew.  Frank stared at it in horror.
+
+'Maude, your people have gone and put it in.'
+
+'Our marriage!'
+
+'Here it is!  Listen!  "Crosse--Selby.  30th June, at St. Monica's
+Church, by the Rev. John Tudwell, M.A., Vicar of St. Monica's, Frank
+Crosse, of Maybury Road, Woking, to Maude Selby, eldest daughter of
+Robert Selby, Esq., of St. Albans."  Great Scot, Maude! what shall we
+do?'
+
+'Well, dear, does it matter?'
+
+'Matter!  It's simply awful!'
+
+'I don't mind much if they do know.'
+
+'But my reminiscences, Maude!  The travels in the Tyrol!  The Swiss
+Hotel!  The Stateroom!  Great goodness, how I have put my foot into
+it.'
+
+Maude burst out laughing.
+
+'You old dear!' she cried, 'I don't believe you are a bit better as a
+conspirator than I am.  There's only one thing you can do.  Give the
+waiter half a crown, tell him the truth, and don't conspire any
+more.'
+
+And so ignominiously ended the attempt which so many have made, and
+at which so many have failed.  Take warning, gentle reader, and you
+also, gentler reader still, when your own turn comes.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII--THE HOME-COMING
+
+
+
+The days of holiday were over, and for each of them the duties of
+life were waiting.  For him it was his work, and for her, her
+housekeeping.  They both welcomed the change, for there was a rush
+and a want of privacy about the hotel life which had been amusing at
+first, but was now becoming irksome.  It was pleasant, as they rolled
+out of Waterloo Station that summer night, to know that their cosy
+little home was awaiting them just five-and-twenty miles down the
+line.  They had a first-class carriage to themselves--it is
+astonishing how easy it is for two people to fit into one of those
+armchair partitions,--and they talked all the way down about their
+plans for the future.  Golden visions of youth, how they can glorify
+even a suburban villa and four hundred a year!  They exulted together
+over the endless vista of happy days which stretched before them.
+
+Mrs. Watson, Frank's trusty housekeeper, had been left in charge of
+The Lindens, and he had sent her a telegram the evening before to
+tell her that they were coming.  She had already engaged the two
+servants, so everything would be ready for them.  They pictured her
+waiting at the door, the neat little rooms with all their useful
+marriage-presents in their proper places, the lamplight and the snowy
+cloth laid for supper in the dining-room.  It would be ten o'clock
+before they got there, and that supper would be a welcome sight.  It
+was all delightful to look forward to, and this last journey was the
+happiest of all their wanderings.  Maude wanted to see her kitchen.
+Frank wanted to see his books.  Both were eager for the fight.
+
+But they found a small annoyance waiting for them at Woking.  A
+crowded train had preceded them, and there was not a single cab left
+at the station.  Some would be back soon, but nobody could tell when.
+
+'You don't mind walking, Maude?'
+
+'I should prefer it.'
+
+So a friendly porter took charge of their trunks, and promised to
+send them up when a conveyance had arrived.  In the meantime they
+started off together down an ill-lit and ill-kept road, which opened
+into that more important thoroughfare in which their own villa was
+situated.  They walked quickly, full of eager anticipations.
+
+'It's just past the third lamp-post on the right,' said Frank.  'Now
+it's only the second lamp-post.  You see it will not be far from the
+station.  Those windows among the trees are where Hale lives--my best
+man, you know!  Now it is only one lamp-post!'  They quickened their
+pace almost to a run, and so arrived at the gate of The Lindens.
+
+It was a white gate leading into a short path--'carriage sweep' the
+house-agent called it,--and so to a low but comfortable-looking
+little house.  The night was so dark that one could only see its
+outline.  To their surprise, there was no sign of a light either
+above the door or at any of the windows.
+
+'Well, I'm blessed!' cried Frank.
+
+'Never mind, dear.  They live at the back, no doubt.'
+
+'But I gave them the hour.  This is too bad.  I am so sorry.'
+
+'It will be all the more cosy inside.  What a dear little gate this
+is!  The whole place is perfectly charming.'
+
+But in spite of her brave attempts at making the best of it, it could
+not be denied that this black house was not what they had pictured in
+their dreams.  Frank strode angrily up the path and pulled at the
+bell.  There was no answer, so he knocked violently.  Then he knocked
+with one hand while he rang with the other, but no sound save that of
+the clanging bell came from the gloomy house.  As they stood
+forlornly in front of their own hall-door, a soft rain began to
+rustle amidst the bushes.  At this climax of their troubles Maude
+burst into such a quiet, hearty, irresistible fit of laughter, that
+the angry Frank was forced to laugh also.
+
+'My word, it will be no laughing matter for Mrs. Watson if she cannot
+give a good reason for it,' said he.
+
+'Perhaps the poor woman is ill.'
+
+'But there should be two other people, the cook and the housemaid.
+It is just as well that we did not bring up our trunks, or we should
+have had to dump them down in the front garden.  You wait here, dear,
+under the shelter of the porch, and I will walk round and see if I
+can burgle it.'
+
+He tried the back, but it was as dark as the front, and the kitchen-
+door was locked.  Then he prowled unhappily in the rain from window
+to window.  They were all fastened.  He came back to the kitchen-
+door, poked his stick through the glass which formed the upper panel,
+and then putting his hand through the hole, he turned the key, and so
+stumbled into the obscurity of his own hall.  He passed through it,
+unlocked the front door, and received Maude into his open arms.
+
+'Welcome to your home, my own darling girl.  May you never have one
+sad hour under this roof!  What a dismal home-coming!  What can I do
+to make amends?  But good comes out of evil, you see, for in no other
+possible way could I have been inside to welcome you when you
+entered.'
+
+They stayed in the hall in the dark some time, these wet and foolish
+young people.  Then Frank struck a match, and tried to light the
+hall-lamp.  There was no oil in it.  He muttered something vigorous,
+and carried his burning vesta into the dining-room.  Two candles were
+standing on the sideboard.  He lit them both, and things began to
+look a little more cheerful.  They took a candle each and began to
+explore their own deserted house.
+
+The dining-room was excellent--small, but very snug.  The Tantalus
+spirit-stand--stood upon the walnut sideboard, and the bronzes from
+the cricket-club looked splendid upon each side of the mantelpiece.
+Beside the clock in the centre lay an open telegram.  Frank seized it
+eagerly.
+
+'There now!' he cried.  'Listen to this.  "Expect us on Thursday
+evening about ten."  It was TUESDAY evening, I said.  That's the
+telegraphic clerk.  We've come two days before our time.'
+
+It was good to have any sort of explanation, although it left a great
+deal unexplained.  They passed through the hall with its shining
+linoleum, and into the drawing-room.  It was not a very good room,
+too square for elegance, but they were in no humour for criticism,
+and it was charming to see all the old knick-knacks, and the
+photographs of friends in their frames.  A big wrought-iron and
+brass-work standing lamp towered up near the fireplace, but again
+there was no oil.
+
+'I think that Mrs. Watson has arranged it all splendidly,' said
+Maude, whose active fingers were already beginning to reconstruct.
+'But where can she be?'
+
+'She must be out, for, of course, she lives in the house.  But it is
+the absence of the servants which amazes me, for I understood that
+they had arrived.  What would you like to do?'
+
+'Aren't you hungry, Frank?'
+
+'Simply starving.'
+
+'So am I.'
+
+'Well, then, let us forage and see if we cannot find something to
+eat.'
+
+So hand in hand, and each with a candle in the other hand, like a
+pair of young penitents, they continued their explorations with more
+purpose than before.  The kitchen, into which they penetrated, had
+clearly been much used of late, for there were dirty dishes scattered
+about, and the fire had been lighted, though it was now out.  In one
+corner was what seemed to be a pile of drab-coloured curtains.  In
+the other, an armchair lay upon its side with legs projecting.  A
+singular disorder, very alien to Mrs. Watson's habits, pervaded the
+apartment.  A dresser with a cupboard over it claimed the first
+attention of the hungry pair.  With a cheer from Frank and hand-
+clapping from Maude, they brought out a new loaf of bread, some
+butter, some cheese, a tin of cocoa, and a bowl full of eggs.  Maude
+tied an apron over her pretty russet dress, seized some sticks and
+paper, and had a fire crackling in a very few minutes.
+
+'Put some water in the kettle, Frank.'
+
+'Here you are!  Anything else?'
+
+'Some in the small saucepan for the eggs.'
+
+'I believe they are "cookers,"' said he, sniffing at them
+suspiciously.
+
+'Hold them up to the light, sir.  There, they are quite bright and
+nice.  In with them!  Now, if you will cut some bread and butter it,
+we shall soon have our supper ready.'
+
+'It's too new to cut,' cried Frank, sawing away upon the kitchen
+table.  'Besides, new bread is better in chunks.  Here are some
+cloths and knives and forks in the dresser drawer.  I will go and lay
+the table.'
+
+'And leave me here alone.  No please, Frank, if I am cook, you must
+be scullery-maid.  Get the cups down and put the cocoa in them.  What
+fun it all is!  I think it is simply SPLENDID to be mistress of a
+house.'
+
+'With one scullery-maid.'
+
+'And she perfectly incompetent, and much given to embracing her
+mistress.  I must take my hat off.  Get the sugar for the cocoa out
+of the cupboard.  The kettle is singing, so it won't be long.  Do you
+know, Frank'--she paused, listening, with the egg-saucepan in her
+hands.  'There's a dog or something in the room.'
+
+They had both become aware of a sort of sibilant breathing, and they
+looked round them in bewilderment.
+
+'Where is it?' asked Maude.  'Frank, I believe it's a mouse.'
+
+'Hope for the best.  Don't frighten yourself unnecessarily.  I fancy
+it comes from under these curtains.'  He approached them with his
+candle, and was suddenly aware of a boot which was projecting from
+them.  'Great Scot!' he cried, 'there's a woman here asleep.'
+
+Reassured as to the mouse, Maude approached with her saucepan still
+clutched in her hand.  There could be no doubt either as to the woman
+or the sleep.  She lay in an untidy heap, her head under the table,
+and her figure sprawling.  She appeared to be a very large woman.
+
+'Hullo!' cried Frank, shaking her by the shoulder.  'Hullo, you
+there!'
+
+But the woman slumbered peacefully on.
+
+'Heh, wake up, wake up!' he shouted, and pulled her up into a sitting
+position.  But she slept as soundly sitting as lying.
+
+'The poor thing must be ill,' said Maude.  'O Frank, shall I run for
+a doctor?'
+
+'Wake up, woman, wake up!' Frank yelled, and danced her up and down.
+She flopped about like a sawdust doll, with her arms swinging in
+front of her.  He panted with his exertions, but she was serenely
+unconscious.  At last he had to lower her on to the floor again,
+putting a footstool under her head.
+
+'It's no go,' said he.  'I can make nothing of her.  She will sleep
+it off.'
+
+'You don't mean to say, Frank, that she is--'
+
+'Indeed I do.'
+
+'How horrible!'
+
+'That kettle is boiling now.  Suppose we have our supper.'
+
+'Dear Frank, I could not enjoy my supper with that unfortunate woman
+lying there.  O Frank, I know that you could not either.'
+
+'Bless her!' said Frank bitterly, as he gazed at the inert lump.  'I
+really don't see why we should put ourselves out for her.  She is
+quite comfortable.'
+
+'Oh I couldn't, Frank.  It would seem inhuman.'
+
+'What are we to do, then?'
+
+'We must put her to bed.'
+
+'Great heavens!'
+
+'Yes, dear, it is our duty to put her to bed.'
+
+'But look here, my dear girl, we must be practical.  The woman weighs
+half a ton, and the bedrooms are at the top of the house.  It's
+simply impossible.'
+
+'Don't you think, Frank, that if you took her head and I took her
+feet, we might get her up?'
+
+'Not up the stair, dear.  She is enormous.'
+
+'Well, then, on to the drawing-room sofa,' said Maude.  'I could have
+my supper, if I knew that she was safe upon the sofa.'
+
+So Frank, seeing that there was no help for it, seized her under the
+arms, and Maude took her ankles, and they bore her, bulging but
+serene, down the passage.  They staggered exhausted into the drawing-
+room, and the new sofa groaned beneath the weight.  It was a curious
+and unsavoury inaugural ceremony.  Maude put a rug over the prostrate
+form, and they returned to their boiling kettle and their uncooked
+eggs.  Then they laid the table, and served the supper, and enjoyed
+this picnic meal of their own creating as no conventional meal could
+ever have been enjoyed.  Everything seemed beautiful to the young
+wife--the wall-paper, the pictures, the carpet, the rug; but to him,
+she was so beautiful in mind, and soul, and body, that her presence
+turned the little room into an enchanted chamber.  They sat long
+together, and marvelled at their own happiness--that pure serene
+happiness of mere companionship, which is so much more intimate and
+deeper than all the transports of passion.
+
+But suddenly he sprang from his chair.  There was the sound of steps,
+of several steps, outside upon the gravel path.  Then a key clicked,
+and a burst of cold air told them that the door was open.
+
+'It's agin' the law for me to enter,' said a gruff voice.
+
+'I tell you she's very strong and violent,' said a second voice,
+which Frank recognised as that of Mrs. Watson.  'She chased the maid
+out of the house, and I can do nothing with her.'
+
+'Very sorry, mum, but it's clean agin' the law of England.  Give me a
+warrant, and in I come.  If you will bring her to the doorstep, I
+will be answerable for her removal.'
+
+'She's in the dining-room.  I can see the lights,' said Mrs. Watson;
+and then, 'Good Lord, Mr. Crosse, what a fright you gave me!  Oh dear
+me, that you should have come when I was out, and I not expecting you
+for another two days yet.  Well, now, I shall never forgive myself
+for this.'
+
+But all the mistakes and misfortunes were very quickly explained.
+The telegram was the root of the evil.  And then the new cook had
+proved to be a violent, intermittent drunkard.  She had chased the
+other maid out of the house, and then, while Mrs. Watson rushed for
+the police, she had drunk herself into the stupor in which she had
+been found.  But now, in the nick of time, the station cab came up
+with the luggage, and so the still placidly slumbering culprit was
+carried out to it, and sent off in the charge of the policeman.  Such
+was the first entry of Mr. and Mrs. Crosse into their home at The
+Lindens.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX--LAYING A COURSE
+
+
+
+Frank Crosse was a methodical young man--his enemies might sometimes
+have called him pedantic,--and he loved to reduce his life to rule
+and order.  It was one of his peculiarities.  But how about this new
+life into which he was entering?  It took two to draw up the rules
+for that.  The little two-oared craft who put out upon that voyage
+have to lay their own course, each for itself; and all round them, as
+they go, they see the floating timbers and broken keels of other
+little boats, which had once started out full of hope and confidence.
+There are currents and eddies, low sand-banks and sunken reefs, and
+happy the crews who see them ahead, and trim their course to avoid
+them.  Frank brooded over it all.  He had seen something of life, for
+his years.  He was observant and reflective.  He had watched his
+friends who were happy, and he had watched his friends who were not.
+And now, as a result of all this wise cogitation, he sat down at a
+table one evening, with a solemn face, and a sheet of foolscap.
+
+'Now, Maude,' said he, 'I want to have a serious talk.'
+
+Maude looked up in surprise from the linen which she was marking.
+
+'Oh dear!' she cried.
+
+'Why "oh dear"?'
+
+'There's something wrong?'
+
+'Nothing in the world.'
+
+'You looked so solemn, Frank.  I thought you had been looking at the
+tradesman's books.  What is it, dear?'
+
+'Well, Maude, I have been thinking of married life in general.  Don't
+you think it would be a good thing if we were to make some
+resolutions as to how it should be conducted--some fundamental
+principles, as it were?'
+
+'Oh do, dear, do!  What fun it will be!'
+
+'But it's serious, Maude.'
+
+'Yes, dear, I am quite serious.'
+
+'It seemed to me, that if we could reduce it to certain rules, then,
+whatever came upon us in the future, we should always know exactly
+how to act.'
+
+'What are the rules, dear?'
+
+'Well, we can only arrive at them by talking it over between
+ourselves.  I could not draw up a set of rules, and ask you to submit
+to them.  That is not my idea of a partnership.  But if we found that
+we were agreed upon certain points, then we could both adopt them by
+mutual consent.'
+
+'How charming, Frank!  Do please tell me some of the points.'
+
+'I have a few in my mind, and I should like to hear any which you may
+have--any ideas, you know, how to get the very highest and best out
+of our life.  Now, first of all, there is the subject of
+quarrelling.'
+
+'O Frank, how horrid!'
+
+'Dear girl, we must look into the future.  We are going to live all
+our lives together.  We must foresee and prepare for all the chances
+of life.'
+
+'But that is absurd.'
+
+'You can't live all your life and never be in a bad temper!'
+
+'But not with YOU, Frank.'
+
+'Oh, I can be very aggravating sometimes.  Now, my idea is this.
+Ill-humour passes and hurts nobody.  But if two people are ill-
+humoured, then each excites the other, and they say ever so much more
+than they mean.  Let us make a compact never both to be ill-humoured
+at the same time.  If YOU are cross, then it is your turn, and I
+stand clear.  If _I_ am cross, you let me work it off.  When either
+hoists the danger-signal, the other is on guard.  What do you think
+of that?'
+
+'I think you are the funniest old boy--'
+
+'Do you agree?'
+
+'Yes, dear, of course I agree.'
+
+'Article number one,' said Frank, and scribbled upon his paper.
+
+'Your turn, now.'
+
+'No, dear, I have not thought of anything.'
+
+'Well, then, here is another point.  Never take each other for
+granted.'
+
+'What do you mean by that?'
+
+'Never relax those attentions which one lover shows to another.  Some
+husbands seem to forget that their wives are ladies.  Some wives
+speak to their husbands with less courtesy and consideration than to
+any casual male visitor.  They mean no harm, but they get into a
+slack way.  We must not do that.'
+
+'I don't think we are likely to.'
+
+'People get into it unconsciously.  Pull me up sharply at the first
+sign.'
+
+'Yes, sir, I will.'
+
+'The next point that I have noted is an extension of the last.  Let
+each strive to be worthy of the love of the other.  People get
+slovenly and slipshoddy, as if it didn't matter now that they were
+married.  If each were very keen to please the other, that would not
+be so.  How many women neglect their music after marriage.'
+
+'My goodness, I haven't practised for a week!' cried Maude.
+
+'And their dress and their hair'--Maude's hand flew up to her curls.
+'My darling, yours is just perfect.  But you know how often a woman
+grows careless.  "He will love me anyhow," she says to herself, and
+perhaps she is right, but still it is not as it should be.'
+
+'Why, Frank, I had no idea you knew so much.'
+
+'I have heard my friends' experiences.--And the man too:  he should
+consider his wife's feelings as much as he did his sweetheart's.  If
+she dislikes smoke, he should not smoke.  He should not yawn in her
+presence.  He should keep himself well-groomed and attractive.  Look
+at that dirty cuff!  I have no business to have it.'
+
+'As if it could make any difference to me.'
+
+'There now!  That is what is so demoralising.  You should stand out
+for the highest.  When I came to you at St Albans, I had not dirty
+cuffs.'
+
+'You forgive me the music, Frank, and I'll forgive you the cuff.  But
+I agree to all you say.  I think it is so wise and good.  Now I've
+got something to add.'
+
+'Good.  What is it?'
+
+'Each should take an interest in the other's department.'
+
+'Why, of course they should.'
+
+'But it is not done.'
+
+'Why naturally, dear, you take an interest in my City work.'
+
+'Yes, sir, but do you take as keen an interest in my housekeeping?'
+
+'Perhaps I have been a little thoughtless.'
+
+'No, no, dear, you haven't.  You are always full of consideration.
+But I have noticed it with mother, and with others also.  The husband
+pulls out his cheque-book at the end of the week or month, and he
+says, "Well, this is rather more than we can afford," or "This is
+less than I expected," but he never really takes any interest in his
+wife's efforts to keep things nice on a little.  He does not see it
+with her eyes and try to realise her difficulties.  Oh, I wish I
+could express myself better, but I know that the interest is one-
+sided.'
+
+'I think what you say is quite right.  I'll try to remember that.
+How shall we enter it upon our list?'
+
+'That Interests should be mutual.'
+
+'Quite right.  I have it down.  Well, any more points?'
+
+'It is your turn.'
+
+'Well, there is this, and I feel that it is just the holiest thing in
+matrimony, and its greatest justification--that love should never
+degenerate into softness, that each should consciously stimulate the
+better part of the other and discourage the worse, that there should
+be a discipline in our life, and that we should brace each other up
+to a higher ideal.  The love that says, "I know it is wrong, but I
+love him or her so much that I can't refuse," is a poor sort of love
+for the permanent use of married life.  The self-respect which
+refuses to let the most lofty ideal of love down by an inch is a far
+nobler thing, and it wears better too.'
+
+'How will you express all that?'
+
+'Mutual respect is necessary for mutual love.'
+
+'Yes, I am sure that that is right.'
+
+'It sounds obvious, but the very intensity of love makes love soft
+and blind.  Now I have another, which I am convinced that you will
+not agree with.'
+
+'Let me hear it.'
+
+'I have put it in this way, "The tight cord is the easiest to snap."'
+
+'What do you mean?'
+
+'Well, I mean that married couples should give each other a certain
+latitude and freedom.  If they don't, one or other will sooner or
+later chafe at the restriction.  It is only human nature, which is an
+older and more venerable thing than marriage.'
+
+'I don't like that at all, Frank.'
+
+'I feared you wouldn't, dear, but I believe you'll see it with me
+when I explain what I mean.  If you don't, then I must try to see it
+with you.  When one talks of freedom in married life, it means, as a
+rule, freedom only for the man.  He does what he likes, but still
+claims to be a strict critic of his wife.  That, I am sure, is wrong.
+To take an obvious example of what I mean, has a husband a right to
+read his wife's letters?  Certainly not, any more than she has a
+right to read his without his permission.  To read them as a matter
+of course would be stretching the chain too tight.'
+
+'Chain is a horrid word, Frank.'
+
+'Well, it is only a metaphor.  Or take the subject of friendships.
+Is a married man to be debarred from all friendship and intimacy with
+another woman?'
+
+Maude looked doubtful.
+
+'I should like to see the woman first,' she said.
+
+'Or is a married woman to form no friendship with another man who
+might interest or improve her?  There is such a want of mutual
+confidence in such a view.  People who are sure of each other should
+give each other every freedom in that.  If they don't, they are again
+stretching it tight.'
+
+'If they do, it may become so slack that it might as well not be
+there at all.'
+
+'I felt sure that we should have an argument over this.  But I have
+seen examples.  Look at the Wardrops.  THERE were a couple who were
+never apart.  It was their boast that everything was in common with
+them.  If he was not in, she opened his letters, and he hers.  And
+then there came a most almighty smash.  The tight cord had snapped.
+Now, I believe that for some people, it is a most excellent thing
+that they should take their holidays at different times.'
+
+'O Frank!'
+
+'Yes, I do.  No, not for us, by Jove!  I am generalising now.  But
+for some couples, I am sure that it is right.  They reconsider each
+other from a distance, and they like each other the better.'
+
+'Yes, but these rules are for our guidance, not for that of other
+people.'
+
+'Quite right, dear.  I was off the rails.  "As you were," as your
+brother Jack would say.  But I am afraid that I am not going to
+convince you over this point.'
+
+Maude looked charmingly mutinous.
+
+'No, Frank, you are not.  I don't think marriage can be too close.  I
+believe that every hope, and thought, and aspiration should be in
+common.  I could never get as near to your heart and soul as I should
+wish to do.  I want every year to draw me closer and closer, until we
+really are as nearly the same person as it is possible to be upon
+earth.'
+
+When you have to surrender, it is well to do so gracefully.  Frank
+stooped down and kissed his wife's hand, and apologised.  'The wisdom
+of the heart is greater than the wisdom of the brain,' said he.  But
+the love of man comes from the brain, far more than the love of
+woman, and so it is that there will always be some points upon which
+they will never quite see alike.
+
+'Then we scratch out that item.'
+
+'No, dear.  'Put "The cord which is held tight is the easiest to
+snap."  That will be all right.  The cord of which I speak is never
+held at all.  The moment it is necessary to hold it, it is of no
+value.  It must be voluntary, natural, unavoidable.'
+
+So Frank amended his aphorism.
+
+'Anything more, dear?'
+
+'Yes, I have thought of one other,' said she.  'It is that if ever
+you had to find fault with me about anything, it should be when we
+are alone.'
+
+'And the same in your case with me.  That is excellent.  What can be
+more vulgar and degrading than a public difference of opinion?
+People do it half in fun sometimes, but it is wrong all the same.
+Duly entered upon the minutes.  Anything else?'
+
+'Only material things.'
+
+'Yes, but they count also.  Now, in the matter of money, I feel that
+every husband should allow his wife a yearly sum of her own, to be
+paid over to her, and kept by her, so that she may make her own
+arrangements for herself.  It is degrading to a woman to have to
+apply to her husband every time she wants a sovereign.  On the other
+hand, if the wife has any money, she should have the spending of it.
+If she chooses to spend part of it in helping the establishment, that
+is all right, but I am sure that she should have her own separate
+account, and her own control of it.'
+
+'If a woman really loves a man, Frank, how can she grudge him
+everything she has?  If my little income would take one worry from
+your mind, what a joy it would be to me to feel that you were using
+it!'
+
+'Yes, but the man has his self-respect to think of.  In a great
+crisis one might fall back upon one's wife--since our interests are
+the same, but only that could justify it.  So much for the wife's
+money.  Now for the question of housekeeping.'
+
+'That terrible question!'
+
+'It is only hard because people try to do so much upon a little.  Why
+should they try to do so much?  The best pleasures of life are
+absolutely inexpensive.  Books, music, pleasant intimate evenings,
+the walk among the heather, the delightful routine of domestic life,
+my cricket and my golf--these things cost very little.'
+
+'But you must eat and drink, Frank.  And as to Jemima and the cook,
+it is really extraordinary the amount which they consume.'
+
+'But the tendency is for meals to become much too elaborate.  Why
+that second vegetable?'
+
+'There now!  I knew that you were going to say something against that
+poor vegetable.  It costs so little.'
+
+'On an average, I have no doubt that it costs threepence a day.  Come
+now, confess that it does.  Do you know what threepence a day comes
+to in a year?  There is no use in having an accountant for a husband,
+if you can't get at figures easily.  It is four pounds eleven
+shillings and threepence.'
+
+'It does not seem very much.'
+
+'But for that money, and less, one could become a member of the
+London Library, with the right to take out fifteen books at a time,
+and all the world's literature to draw from.  Now just picture it:
+on one side, all the books in the world, all the words of the wise,
+and great, and witty; on the other side, a lot of cauliflowers and
+vegetable-marrows and French beans.  Which is the better bargain?'
+
+'Good gracious, we shall never have a second vegetable again!'
+
+'And pudding?'
+
+'My dear, you always eat the pudding.'
+
+'I know I do.  It seems an obvious thing to do when the pudding is
+there in front of me.  But if it were not there, I should neither eat
+it nor miss it, and I know that you care nothing about it.  There
+would be another five or six pounds a year.'
+
+'We'll have a compromise, dear.  Second vegetable one day, pudding
+the next.'
+
+'Very good.'
+
+'I notice that it is always after you have had a substantial meal
+that you discuss economy in food.  I wonder if you will feel the same
+when you come back starving from the City to-morrow?  Now, sir, any
+other economy?'
+
+'I don't think money causes happiness.  But debt causes unhappiness.
+And so we must cut down every expense until we have a reserve fund to
+meet any unexpected call.  If you see any way in which I could save,
+or any money I spend which you think is unjustifiable, I do wish that
+you would tell me.  I got into careless ways in my bachelor days.'
+
+'That red golfing-coat.'
+
+'I know.  It was idiotic of me.'
+
+'Never mind, dear.  You look very nice in it.  After all, it was only
+thirty shillings.  Can you show me any extravagance of mine?'
+
+'Well, dear, I looked at that dressmaker's bill yesterday.'
+
+'O Frank, it is such a pretty dress, and you said you liked it, and
+you have to pay for a good cut, and you said yourself that a wife
+must not become dowdy after marriage, and it would have cost double
+as much in Regent Street.'
+
+'I didn't think the dress dear.'
+
+'What was it, then?'
+
+'The silk lining of the skirt.'
+
+'You funny boy!'
+
+'It cost thirty shillings extra.  Now, what can it matter if it is
+lined with silk or not?'
+
+'Oh, doesn't it?  Just you try one and see.'
+
+'But no one can know that it is lined with silk.'
+
+'When I rustle into a room, dear, every woman in it knows that my
+skirt is lined with silk.'
+
+Frank felt that he had ventured out of his depth, so he struck out
+for land again.
+
+'There's only one economy which I don't think is justifiable,' said
+he, 'and that is, to cut down your subscriptions to charities.  It is
+such a very cheap way of doing things.  Not that I do much in that
+line--too little, perhaps.  But to say that because WE want to
+economise, therefore some poor people are to suffer, is a very poor
+argument.  We must save at our own expense.'
+
+So now Frank, in his methodical fashion, had all his results
+tabulated upon his sheet of foolscap.  It was not a very brilliant
+production, but it might serve as a chart for the little two-oared
+boats until a better one is forthcoming.  It ran in this way -
+
+
+Maxims for the Married
+
+1.  Since you ARE married, you may as well make the best of it.
+
+2.  So make some maxims and try to live up to them.
+
+3.  And don't be discouraged if you fail.  You WILL fail, but perhaps
+you won't always fail.
+
+4.  Never both be cross at the same time.  Wait your turn.
+
+5.  Never cease to be lovers.  If you cease, some one else may begin.
+
+6.  You were gentleman and lady before you were husband and wife.
+Don't forget it.
+
+7.  Keep yourself at your best.  It is a compliment to your partner.
+
+8.  Keep your ideal high.  You may miss it, but it is better to miss
+a high one than to hit a low one.
+
+9.  A blind love is a foolish love.  Encourage the best in each
+other's nature.
+
+10.  Permanent mutual respect is necessary for a permanent mutual
+love.  A woman can love without respect, but a man cannot.
+
+11.  The tight cord is the easiest to snap.
+
+12.  Let there be one law for both.
+
+13.  There is only one thing worse than quarrels in public.  That is
+caresses.
+
+14.  Money is not essential to happiness, but happy people usually
+have enough.
+
+15.  So save some.
+
+16.  The easiest way of saving is to do without things.
+
+17.  If you can't, then you had better do without a wife.
+
+18.  The man who respects his wife does not turn her into a
+mendicant.  Give her a purse of her own.
+
+19.  If you save, save at your own expense.
+
+20.  In all matters of money, prepare always for the worst and hope
+for the best.
+
+
+Such was their course as far as this ambitious young couple could lay
+it.  They may correct it by experience, and improve it by use, but it
+is good enough to guide them safely out to sea.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X--CONFESSIONS
+
+
+
+'Tell me, Frank, did you ever love any one before me?'
+
+'How badly trimmed the lamp is to-night!' said he.  It was so bad
+that he went off instantly into the dining-room to get another.  It
+was some time before he returned.
+
+She waited inexorably until he had settled down again.
+
+'Did you, Frank?' she asked.
+
+'Did I what?'
+
+'Ever love any one else?'
+
+'My dear Maude, what IS the use of asking questions like that?'
+
+'You said that there were no secrets between us.'
+
+'No, but there are some things better left alone.'
+
+'That is what I should call a secret.'
+
+'Of course, if you make a point of it--'
+
+'I do.'
+
+'Well, then, I am ready to answer anything that you ask.  But you
+must not blame me if you do not like my answers.'
+
+'Who was she, Frank?'
+
+'Which?'
+
+'O Frank, more than one!'
+
+'I told you that you would not like it.'
+
+'Oh, I wish I had not asked you!'
+
+'Then do let us drop it.'
+
+'No, I can't drop it now, Frank.  You have gone too far.  You must
+tell me everything.'
+
+'Everything?'
+
+'Yes, everything, Frank.'
+
+'I am not sure that I can.'
+
+'Is it so dreadful as that?'
+
+'No, there is another reason.'
+
+'Do tell me, Frank.'
+
+'There is a good deal of it.  You know how a modern poet excused
+himself to his wife for all his pre-matrimonial experiences.  He said
+that he was looking for her.'
+
+'Well, I do like that!' she cried indignantly.
+
+'I was looking for you.'
+
+'You seem to have looked a good deal.'
+
+'But I found you at last.'
+
+'I had rather you had found me at first, Frank.'  He said something
+about supper, but she was not to be turned.
+
+'How many did you really love?' she asked.  'Please don't joke about
+it, Frank.  I really want to know.'
+
+'If I choose to tell you a lie--'
+
+'But you won't!'
+
+'No, I won't.  I could never feel the same again.'
+
+'Well, then, how many did you love?'
+
+'Don't exaggerate what I say, Maude, or take it to heart.  You see it
+depends upon what you mean by love.  There are all sorts and degrees
+of love, some just the whim of a moment, and others the passion of a
+lifetime; some are founded on mere physical passion, and some on
+intellectual sympathy, and some on spiritual affinity.'
+
+'Which do you love me with?'
+
+'All three.'
+
+'Sure?'
+
+'Perfectly sure.'
+
+She came over and the cross-examination was interrupted.  But in a
+few minutes she had settled down to it again.
+
+'Well, now--the first?' said she.
+
+'Oh, I can't, Maude--don't.'
+
+'Come, sir--her name?'
+
+'No, no, Maude, that is going a little too far.  Even to you, I
+should never mention another woman's name.'
+
+'Who was she, then?'
+
+'Please don't let us go into details.  It is perfectly HORRIBLE.  Let
+me tell things in my own way.'
+
+She made a little grimace.
+
+'You are wriggling, sir.  But I won't be hard upon you.  Tell it your
+own way.'
+
+'Well, in a word, Maude, I was always in love with some one.'
+
+Her face clouded over.
+
+'Your love must be very cheap,' said she.
+
+'It's almost a necessity of existence for a healthy young man who has
+imagination and a warm heart.  It was all--or nearly all--quite
+superficial.'
+
+'I should think all your love was superficial, if it can come so
+easily.'
+
+'Don't be cross, Maude.  I had never seen you at the time.  I owed no
+duty to you.'
+
+'You owed a duty to your own self-respect.'
+
+'There, I knew we should have trouble over it.  What do you want to
+ask such questions for?  I dare say I am a fool to be so frank.'
+
+She sat for a little with her face quite cold and set.  In his inmost
+heart Frank was glad that she should be jealous, and he watched her
+out of the corner of his eye.
+
+'Well!' said she at last.
+
+'Must I go on?'
+
+'Yes, I may as well hear it.'
+
+'You'll only be cross.'
+
+'We've gone too far to stop.  And I'm not cross, Frank.  Only pained
+a little.  But I do appreciate your frankness.  I had no idea you
+were such a--such a Mormon.'  She began to laugh.
+
+'I used to take an interest in every woman.'
+
+'"Take an interest" is good.'
+
+'That was how it began.  And then if circumstances were favourable
+the interest deepened, until at last, naturally--well, you can
+understand.'
+
+'How many did you take an interest in?'
+
+'Well, in pretty nearly all of them.'
+
+'And how many deepened?'
+
+'Oh, I don't know.'
+
+'Twenty?'
+
+'Well--rather more than that, I think.'
+
+'Thirty?'
+
+'Quite thirty.'
+
+'Forty?'
+
+'Not more than forty, I think.'
+
+Maude sat aghast at the depths of his depravity.
+
+'Let me see:  you are twenty-seven now, so you have loved four women
+a year since you were seventeen.'
+
+'If you reckon it that way,' said Frank, 'I am afraid that it must
+have been more than forty.'
+
+'It's dreadful,' said Maude, and began to cry.
+
+Frank knelt down in front of her and kissed her hands.  She had sweet
+little plump hands, very soft and velvety.
+
+'You make me feel such a brute,' said he.  'Anyhow, I love you now
+with all my heart and mind and soul.'
+
+'Forty-firstly and lastly,' she sobbed, half laughing and half
+crying.  Then she pulled his hair to reassure him.
+
+'I can't be angry with you,' said she.  'Besides, it would be
+ungenerous to be angry when you tell me things of your own free will.
+You are not forced to tell me.  It is very honourable of you.  But I
+do wish you had taken an interest in me first.'
+
+'Well, it was not so fated.  I suppose there are some men who are
+quite good when they are bachelors.  But I don't believe they are the
+best men.  They are either archangels upon earth--young Gladstones
+and Newmans--or else they are cold, calculating, timid, un-virile
+creatures, who will never do any good.  The first class must be
+splendid.  I never met one except in memoirs.  The others I don't
+want to meet.'
+
+Women are not interested in generalities.
+
+'Were they nicer than me?' she asked.
+
+'Who?'
+
+'Those forty women.'
+
+'No, dear, of course not.  Why are you laughing?'
+
+'Well, it came into my head how funny it would be, if the forty were
+all gathered into one room, and you were turned loose in the middle
+of them.'
+
+'Funny!' Frank ejaculated.  Women have such extraordinary ideas of
+humour.  Maude laughed until she was quite tired.
+
+'It doesn't strike you as comic?' she cried at last.
+
+'No, it doesn't,' he answered coldly.
+
+'Of course it wouldn't,' said she, and went off into another ripple
+of pretty contralto laughter.  There is a soft, deep, rich laugh,
+which some women have, that is the sweetest sound in Nature.
+
+'When you have quite finished,' said he huffily.  Her jealousy was
+much more complimentary than her ridicule.
+
+'All right now.  Don't be cross.  If I didn't laugh I should cry.
+I'm so sorry if I have annoyed you.'  He had gone back to his chair,
+so she paid him a flying visit.  'Satisfied?'
+
+'Not quite.'
+
+'Now?'
+
+'All right.  I forgive you.'
+
+'That's funny too.  Fancy YOU forgiving ME after all these
+confessions.  But you never loved one of them all as you love me.'
+
+'Never.'
+
+'Swear it.'
+
+'I do swear it.'
+
+'Morally, and what do you call it, and the other?'
+
+'Not one of them.'
+
+'And never will again?'
+
+'Never.'
+
+'Good boy for ever and ever?'
+
+'For ever and ever.'
+
+'And the forty were horrid?'
+
+'No, hang it, Maude, I can't say that.'
+
+She pouted and hung her head.
+
+'You do like them better, then?'
+
+'How absurd you are, Maude!  If I had liked one better, I should have
+married her.'
+
+'Well, yes, I suppose you would.  You must have taken a deeper
+interest in me than in the others, since you married me.  I hadn't
+thought of that.'
+
+'Silly old girl!  Of course I liked you best.  Let us drop the thing,
+and never talk about it any more.'
+
+'Have you their photographs?'
+
+'No.'
+
+'None of them?'
+
+'No.'
+
+'What did you do with them?'
+
+'I never had most of them.'
+
+'And the others?'
+
+'I destroyed some when I married.'
+
+'That was nice of you.  Aren't you sorry?'
+
+'No, I thought it was only right.'
+
+'Were you fondest of dark women or fair?'
+
+'Oh, I don't know.  _I_ was never pernickety in MY tastes.  You know
+those lines I read you from Henley:  "Handsome, ugly--all are women."
+That's a bachelor's sentiment.'
+
+'But do you mean to say, sir--now, you are speaking on your honour,
+that out of all these forty, there was not one who was prettier than
+I am?'
+
+'Do let us talk of something else.'
+
+'And not one as clever?'
+
+'How absurd you are to-night, Maude!'
+
+'Come, answer me.'
+
+'I've answered you already.'
+
+'I did not hear you.'
+
+'Oh yes, you did.  I said that I had married you, and that shows that
+I liked you best.  I don't compare you quality for quality against
+every one in the world.  That would be absurd.  What I say is that
+your combination of qualities is the one which is most dear to me.'
+
+'Oh, I see,' said Maude dubiously.  'How nice and frank you are!'
+
+'Now I've hurt you!'
+
+'Oh no, not in the least.  I like you to be frank.  I should hate to
+think that there was anything you did not dare to tell me.'
+
+'And you, Maude--would you be equally frank with me?'
+
+'Yes, dear, I will.  I feel that I owe it to you after your
+confidence in me.  I have had my little experiences too.'
+
+'You!'
+
+'Perhaps you would rather that I said nothing about them.  What good
+can there be in raking up these old stories?'
+
+'No, I had rather you told me.'
+
+'You won't be hurt?'
+
+'No, no--certainly not.'
+
+'You may take it from me, Frank, that if any married woman ever tells
+her husband that until she saw him she never felt any emotion at the
+sight of another man, it is simple nonsense.  There may be women of
+that sort about, but I never met them.  I don't think I should like
+them, for they must be dry, cold, unsympathetic, unemotional,
+unwomanly creatures.'
+
+'Maude, you have loved some one else!'
+
+'I won't deny that I have been interested deeply interested in
+several men.'
+
+'Several!'
+
+'It was before I had met you, dear.  I owed you no duty.'
+
+'You have loved several men.'
+
+'The feeling was for the most part quite superficial.  There are many
+different sorts and degrees of love.'
+
+'Good God, Maude!  How many men inspired this feeling in you?'
+
+'The truth is, Frank, that a healthy young woman who has imagination
+and a warm heart is attracted by every young man.  I know that you
+wish me to be frank and to return your confidence.  But there is a
+certain kind of young man with whom I always felt my interest
+deepen.'
+
+'Oh, you did discriminate?'
+
+'Now you are getting bitter.  I will say no more.'
+
+'You have said too much.  You must go on now.'
+
+'Well, I was only going to say that dark men always had a peculiar
+fascination for me.  I don't know what it is, but the feeling is
+quite overpowering.'
+
+'Is that why you married a man with flaxen hair?'
+
+'Well, I couldn't expect to find every quality in my husband, could
+I?  It would not be reasonable.  I assure you, dear, that taking your
+tout ensemble, I like you far the best of all.  You may not be the
+handsomest, and you may not be the cleverest--one cannot expect one's
+absolute ideal,--but I love you far, far the best of any.  I do hope
+I haven't hurt you by anything I have said.'
+
+'I am sorry I am not your ideal, Maude.  It would be absurd to
+suppose myself anybody's ideal, but I hoped always that the eyes of
+love transfigured an object and made it seem all right.  My hair is
+past praying for, but if you can point out anything that I can mend--
+'
+
+'No, no, I want you just as you are.  If I hadn't liked you best, I
+shouldn't have married you, Frank, should I?'
+
+'But those other experiences?'
+
+'Oh, we had better drop them.  What good can it possibly do to
+discuss my old experiences?  It will only annoy you.'
+
+'Not at all.  I honour you for your frankness in speaking out,
+although I acknowledge that it is a little unexpected.  Go on.'
+
+'I forget where I was.'
+
+'You had just remarked that before your marriage you had love-affairs
+with a number of men.'
+
+'How horrid it sounds, doesn't it?'
+
+'Well, it did strike me in that way.'
+
+'But that's because you exaggerate what I said.  I said that I had
+been attracted by several men.'
+
+'And that dark men thrilled you.'
+
+'Exactly.'
+
+'I had hoped that I was the first.'
+
+'It was not fated to be so.  I could easily tell you a lie, Frank,
+and say that you were, but I should never forgive myself if I were to
+do such a thing.  You see I left school at seventeen, and I was
+twenty-three when I became engaged to you.  There are six years.
+Imagine all the dances, picnics, parties, visitings of six years.  I
+could not help meeting young men continually.  A good many were
+interested in me, and I--'
+
+'You were interested in them.'
+
+'It was natural, Frank.'
+
+'Oh yes, perfectly natural.  And then I understand that the interest
+deepened.'
+
+'Sometimes.  When you met a young man who was interested several
+times running, at a dance, then in the street, then in the garden,
+then a walk home at night--of course your interest began to deepen.'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'And then--'
+
+'Well, what was the next stage?'
+
+'Sure you're not angry?'
+
+'No, no, not at all.  Why don't you keep the key in the spirit-
+stand?'
+
+'It might tempt Jemima.  Shall I get it?'
+
+'No, no, go on!  The next stage was?'
+
+'Well, when you have been deeply interested some time, then you begin
+to have experiences.'
+
+'Ah!'
+
+'Don't shout, Frank.'
+
+'Did I shout?  Never mind.  Go on!  You had experiences.'
+
+'Why go into details?'
+
+'You must go on.  You have said too much to stop.  I insist upon
+hearing the experiences.'
+
+'Not if you ask for them in that way, Frank.'  Maude had a fine
+dignity of her own when she liked.
+
+'Well, I don't insist.  I beg you to have confidence in me, and tell
+me some of your experiences.'
+
+She leaned back in her armchair with her eyes half closed, and a
+quiet retrospective smile upon her face.
+
+'Well, if you would really like to hear, Frank, as a proof of my
+confidence and trust, I will tell you.  You will remember that I had
+not seen you at the time.'
+
+'I will make every excuse.'
+
+'I will tell you a single experience.  It was my first of the sort,
+and stands out very clearly in my memory.  It all came through my
+being left alone with a gentleman who was visiting my mother.'
+
+'Yes!'
+
+'Well, we were alone in the room, you understand.'
+
+'Yes, yes, go on!'
+
+'And he paid me many little compliments:  kept saying how pretty I
+was, and that he had never seen a sweeter girl, and so on.  You know
+what gentlemen would say?'
+
+'And you?'
+
+'Oh, I hardly answered him, but of course I was young and
+inexperienced, and I could not help being flattered and pleased at
+his words.  I may have shown him what I felt, for he suddenly--'
+
+'Kissed you!'
+
+'Exactly.  He kissed me.  Don't walk up and down the room, dear.  It
+fidgets me.'
+
+'All right.  Go on.  Don't stop.  After this outrage what happened
+next?'
+
+'You really want to know?'
+
+'I must know.  What did you do?'
+
+'I am so sorry that I ever began, for I can see that it is exciting
+you.  Light your pipe, dear, and let us talk of something else.  It
+will only make you cross if I tell you the truth.'
+
+'I won't be cross.  Go on.  What did you do?'
+
+'Well, Frank, since you insist--I kissed him back.'
+
+'You--you kissed him back!'
+
+'You'll have Jemima up if you go on like that.'
+
+'You kissed him back!'
+
+'Yes, dear; it may be wrong, but I did.'
+
+'Good God! why did you do that?'
+
+'Well, I liked him.'
+
+'A dark man?'
+
+'Yes, he was dark.'
+
+'O Maude!  Maude!  Well, don't stop.  What then?'
+
+'Then he kissed me several times.'
+
+'Of course he would, if you kissed him.  What else could you expect?
+And then?'
+
+'O Frank, I can't.'
+
+'Go on.  I am ready for anything!'
+
+'Well, do sit down, and don't run about the room.  I am only
+agitating you.'
+
+'There, I am sitting.  You can see that I am not agitated.  For
+Heaven's sake, go on!'
+
+'He asked me if I would sit upon his knee.'
+
+'Yek!'
+
+Maude began to laugh.
+
+'Why, Frank, you are croaking like a frog.'
+
+'I am glad you think it a laughing matter.  Go on!  Go on!  You
+yielded to his very moderate and natural request.  You sat upon his
+knee.'
+
+'Well, Frank, I did.'
+
+'Good heavens!'
+
+'Don't be so excitable, dear.  It was long before I ever saw you.'
+
+'You mean to sit there and tell me in cold blood that you sat upon
+this ruffian's knee!'
+
+'What else could I do?'
+
+'What could you do?  You could have screamed, you could have rung the
+bell, you could have struck him--you could have risen in the dignity
+of your insulted womanhood and walked out of the room.'
+
+'It was not so easy for me to walk out of the room.'
+
+'He held you?'
+
+'Yes, he held me.'
+
+'Oh, if I had been there!'
+
+'And there was another reason.'
+
+'What was that?'
+
+'Well, I wasn't very good at walking at that time.  You see, I was
+only three years old.'
+
+Frank sat for a few minutes absorbing it.
+
+'You little wretch!' he said at last.
+
+'Oh you dear old goose!  I feel so much better.'
+
+'You horror!'
+
+'I had to get level with you over my forty predecessors.  You old
+Bluebeard!  But I did harrow you a little--didn't I?'
+
+'Harrow me!  I'm raw all over.  It's a nightmare.  O Maude, how could
+you have the heart?'
+
+'Oh, it was lovely--beautiful!'
+
+'It was dreadful.'
+
+'And how jealous you were!  Oh, I AM so glad!'
+
+'I don't think,' said Frank, as he put his arms round her, 'that I
+ever quite realised before--'
+
+And just then Jemima came in with the tray.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI--CONCERNING MRS. BEETON
+
+
+
+Frank Crosse had only been married some months when he first had
+occasion to suspect that his wife had some secret sorrow.  There was
+a sadness and depression about her at times, for which he was unable
+to account.  One Saturday afternoon he happened to come home earlier
+than he was expected, and entering her bedroom suddenly, he found her
+seated in the basket-chair in the window, with a large book upon her
+knees.  Her face, as she looked up at him with a mixed expression of
+joy and of confusion, was stained by recent tears.  She put the book
+hastily down upon the dressing-stand.
+
+'Maude, you've been crying.'
+
+'No, Frank, no!'
+
+'O Maude, you fibber!  Remove those tears instantly.'  He knelt down
+beside her and helped.  'Better now?'
+
+'Yes, dearest, I am quite happy.'
+
+'Tears all gone?'
+
+'Quite gone.'
+
+'Well, then, explain!'
+
+'I didn't mean to tell you, Frank!'  She gave the prettiest, most
+provocative little wriggles as her secret was drawn from her.  'I
+wanted to do it without your knowing.  I thought it would be a
+surprise for you.  But I begin to understand now that my ambition was
+much too high.  I am not clever enough for it.  But it is
+disappointing all the same.'
+
+Frank took the bulky book off the table.  It was Mrs. Beeton's Book
+of Household Management.  The open page was headed, 'General
+Observations on the Common Hog,' and underneath was a single large
+tear-drop.  It had fallen upon a woodcut of the Common Hog, in spite
+of which Frank solemnly kissed it, and turned Maude's trouble into
+laughter.
+
+'Now you are all right again.  I do hate to see you crying, though
+you never look more pretty.  But tell me, dear, what was your
+ambition?'
+
+'To know as much as any woman in England about housekeeping.  To know
+as much as Mrs. Beeton.  I wanted to master every page of it, from
+the first to the last.'
+
+'There are 1641 of them,' said Frank, turning them over.
+
+'I know.  I felt that I should be quite old before I had finished.
+But the last part, you see, is all about wills, and bequests, and
+homeopathy, and things of that kind.  We could do it later.  It is
+the early part that I want to learn now--but it IS so hard.'
+
+'But why do you wish to do it, Maude?'
+
+'Because I want you to be as happy as Mr. Beeton.'
+
+'I'll bet I am.'
+
+'No, no, you can't be, Frank.  It says somewhere here that the
+happiness and comfort of the husband depend upon the housekeeping of
+the wife.  Mrs. Beeton must have been the finest housekeeper in the
+world.  Therefore, Mr. Beeton must have been the happiest and most
+comfortable man.  But why should Mr. Beeton be happier and more
+comfortable than my Frank?  From the hour I read that I determined
+that he shouldn't be--and he won't be.'
+
+'And he isn't.'
+
+'Oh, you think so.  But then you know nothing about it.  You think it
+right because I do it.  But if you were visiting Mrs. Beeton, you
+would soon see the difference.'
+
+'What an awkward trick you have of always sitting in a window,' said
+Frank, after an interval.  'I'll swear that the wise Mrs. Beeton
+never advocates that--with half a dozen other windows within point-
+blank range.'
+
+'Well, then, you shouldn't do it.'
+
+'Well, then, you shouldn't be so nice.'
+
+'You really still think that I am nice?'
+
+'Fishing!'
+
+'After all these months?'
+
+'Nicer and nicer every day.'
+
+'Not a bit tired?'
+
+'You blessing!  When I am tired of you, I shall be tired of life.'
+
+'How wonderful it all seems!'
+
+'Does it not?'
+
+'To think of that first day at the tennis-party.  "I hope you are not
+a very good player, Mr. Crosse!"--"No, Miss Selby, but I shall be
+happy to make one in a set."  That's how we began.  And now!'
+
+'Yes, it is wonderful.'
+
+'And at dinner afterwards.  "Do you like Irving's acting?"--"Yes, I
+think that he is a great genius."  How formal and precise we were!
+And now I sit curling your hair in a bedroom window.'
+
+'It DOES seem funny.  But I suppose, if you come to think of it,
+something of the same kind must have happened to one or two people
+before.'
+
+'But never quite like us.'
+
+'Oh no, never quite like us.  But with a kind of family resemblance,
+you know.  Married people do usually end by knowing each other a
+little better than on the first day they met.'
+
+'What DID you think of me, Frank?'
+
+'I've told you often.'
+
+'Well, tell me again.'
+
+'What's the use when you know?'
+
+'But I like to hear.'
+
+'Well, it's just spoiling you.'
+
+'I love to be spoiled.'
+
+'Well, then, I thought to myself--If I can only have that woman for
+my own, I believe I will do something in life yet.  And I also
+thought--If I don't get that woman for my own, I will never, never be
+the same man again.'
+
+'Really, Frank, the very first day you saw me?'
+
+'Yes, the very first day.'
+
+'And then?'
+
+'And then, day by day, and week by week, that feeling grew deeper and
+stronger, until at last you swallowed up all my other hopes, and
+ambitions, and interests.  I hardly dare think, Maude, what would
+have happened to me if you had refused me.'
+
+She laughed aloud with delight.
+
+'How sweet it is to hear you say so!  And the wonderful thing is that
+you have never seemed disappointed.  I always expected that some day
+after marriage--not immediately, perhaps, but at the end of a week or
+so--you would suddenly give a start, like those poor people who are
+hypnotised, and you would say, "Why, I used to think that she was
+pretty!  I used to think that she was sweet!  How could I be so
+infatuated over a little, insignificant, ignorant, selfish,
+uninteresting--"  O Frank, the neighbours will see you?'
+
+'Well, then, you mustn't provoke me.'
+
+'What WILL Mrs. Potter think?'
+
+'You should pull down the blinds before you make speeches of that
+sort.'
+
+'Now do sit quiet and be a good boy.'
+
+'Well, then, tell me what you thought.'
+
+'I thought you were a very good tennis-player.'
+
+'Anything else?'
+
+'And you talked nicely.'
+
+'Did I?  I never felt such a stick in my life.  I was as nervous as a
+cat.'
+
+'That was so delightful.  I do hate people who are very cool and
+assured.  I saw that you were disturbed, and I even thought--'
+
+'Yes?'
+
+'Well, I thought that perhaps it was I who disturbed you.'
+
+'And you liked me?'
+
+'I was very interested in you.'
+
+'Well, that is the blessed miracle which I can never get over.  You,
+with your beauty, and your grace, and your rich father, and every
+young man at your feet, and I, a fellow with neither good looks, nor
+learning, nor prospects, nor--'
+
+'Be quiet, sir!  Yes, you shall!  Now?'
+
+'By Jove, there IS old Mrs. Potter at the window!  We've done it this
+time.  Let us get back to serious conversation again.'
+
+'How did we leave it?'
+
+'It was that hog, I believe.  And then Mr. Beeton.  But where does
+the hog come in?  Why should you weep over him?  And what are the
+Lady's Observations on the Common Hog?'
+
+'Read them for yourself.'
+
+Frank read out aloud:  '"The hog belongs to the order Mammalia, the
+genus sus scrofa, and the species pachydermata, or thick-skinned.
+Its generic characters are a long, flexible snout, forty-two teeth,
+cloven feet, furnished with four toes, and a tail, which is small,
+short, and twisted, while, in some varieties, this appendage is
+altogether wanting." --But what on earth has all this to do with
+housekeeping?'
+
+'That's what _I_ want to know.  It is so disheartening to have to
+remember such things.  What does it matter if the hog HAS forty-two
+toes.  And yet, if Mrs. Beeton knew it, one feels that one ought to
+know it also.  If once I began to skip, there would be no end to it.
+But it really is such a splendid book in other ways.  It doesn't
+matter what you want, you will find it here.  Take the index
+anywhere.  Cream.  If you want cream, it's all there.  Croup.  If you
+want--I mean, if you don't want croup, it will teach you how not to
+get it.  Crumpets--all about them.  Crullers--I'm sure you don't know
+what a cruller is, Frank.'
+
+'No, I don't.'
+
+'Neither do I.  But I could look it up and learn.  Here it is--
+paragraph 2847.  It is a sort of pancake, you see.  That's how you
+learn things.'
+
+Frank Crosse took the book and dropped it.  It fell with a sulky thud
+upon the floor.
+
+'Nothing that it can teach you, dear, can ever make up to me if it
+makes you cry, and bothers you.--You bloated, pedantic thing!' he
+cried, in sudden fury, aiming a kick at the squat volume.  'It is to
+you I owe all those sad, tired looks which I have seen upon my wife's
+face.  I know my enemy now.  You pompous, fussy old humbug, I'll kick
+the red cover off you!'
+
+But Maude snatched it up, and gathered it to her bosom.  'No, no,
+Frank, I don't know what I should do without it.  You have no idea
+what a wise old book it is.  Now, sit there on the footstool at my
+feet, and I will read to you.'
+
+'Do, dear; it's delightful.'
+
+'Sit quiet, then, and be good.  Now listen to this pearl of wisdom:
+"As with the commander of an army, so it is with the mistress of a
+house.  Her spirit will be seen through the whole establishment, and,
+just in proportion as she performs her duties thoroughly, so will her
+domestics follow in her path."'
+
+'From which it follows,' said her husband, 'that Jemima must be a
+perfect paragon.'
+
+'On the contrary, it explains all Jemima's shortcomings.  Listen to
+this:  "Early rising is one of the most essential qualities.  When a
+mistress is an early riser, it is almost certain that her house will
+be orderly and well managed."'
+
+'Well, you are down at nine--what more do you want?'
+
+'At nine!  I am sure that Mrs. Beeton was always up at six.'
+
+'I have my doubts about Mrs. B.  Methinks the lady doth protest too
+much.  I should not be very much surprised to learn that she had
+breakfast in bed every morning.'
+
+'O Frank!  You have no reverence for anything.'
+
+'Let us have some more wisdom.'
+
+'"Frugality and Economy are home virtues without which no household
+can prosper.  Dr. Johnson says, 'Frugality may be termed--'"
+
+'Oh, bother Dr. Johnson!  Who cares for a man's opinion.  Now, if it
+had been Mrs. Johnson--!'
+
+'Johnson kept house for himself for years--and a queer job he made of
+it.'
+
+'So I should think.'  Maude tossed her pretty curls.  'Mrs. Beeton is
+all right, but I will not be lectured by Dr. Johnson.  Where was I?
+Oh yes--"'We must always remember that to manage a little well, is a
+great merit in housekeeping."'
+
+'Hurrah!  Down with the second vegetable!  No pudding on fish days.
+Vive la biere de Pilsen!'
+
+'What a noisy boy you are!'
+
+'This book excites me.  Anything more?'
+
+"Friendships should not be hastily formed, nor the heart given at
+once to every newcomer--"'
+
+'Well, I should hope not!  Don't let me catch you at it!  You don't
+mind my cigarette?  Has Mrs. Beeton a paragraph about smoking in
+bedrooms?'
+
+'Such an enormity never occurred to her as a remote possibility.  If
+she had known you, dear, she would have had to write an appendix to
+her book to meet all the new problems which you would suggest.  Shall
+I go on?'
+
+'Please do!'
+
+'She next treats conversation.  "In conversation, trifling
+occurrences such as small disappointments, petty annoyances, and
+other everyday incidents, should never be mentioned to friends.  If
+the mistress be a wife, never let a word in connection with her
+husband's failings pass her lips--"'
+
+'By Jove, this book has more wisdom to the square inch than any work
+of man,' cried Frank, in enthusiasm.
+
+'I thought that would please you.  "Good temper should be cultivated
+by every mistress, as upon it the welfare of the household may be
+said to turn."'
+
+'Excellent!'
+
+'"In starting a household, it is always best in the long-run to get
+the very best articles of their kind."'
+
+'That is why I got you, Maude.'
+
+'Thank you, sir.  We have a dissertation then upon dress and fashion,
+another upon engaging domestics, another about daily duties, another
+about visiting, another about fresh air and exercise--'
+
+'The most essential of any,' cried Frank, jumping up, and pulling his
+wife by the arms out of her low wicker-chair.  'There is just time
+for nine holes at golf before it is dark, if you wilt come exactly as
+you are.  But listen to this, young lady.  If ever again I see you
+fretting or troubling yourself about your household affairs--'
+
+'No, no, Frank, I won't!'
+
+'Well, if you do, Mrs. Beeton goes into the kitchen-fire.  Now
+remember?'
+
+'You are sure you don't envy Mr. Beeton?'
+
+'I don't envy a man upon earth.'
+
+'Then why should I try to be Mrs. Beeton?'
+
+'Why indeed?'
+
+'O Frank, what a load off my mind!  Those sixteen hundred pages have
+just lain upon it for months.  Dear old boy! come on!'
+
+And they clattered downstairs for their golf-clubs.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII--MR. SAMUEL PEPYS
+
+
+
+There were few things which Maude liked so much as a long winter
+evening when Frank and she dined together, and then sat beside the
+fire and made good cheer.  It would be an exaggeration to say that
+she preferred it to a dance, but next to that supreme joy, and higher
+even than the theatre in her scale of pleasures, were those serene
+and intimate evenings when they talked at their will, and were silent
+at their will, within their home brightened by those little jokes and
+endearments and allusions which make up that inner domestic masonry
+which is close-tiled for ever to the outsider.  Five or six evenings
+a week, she with her sewing and Frank with his book, settled down to
+such enjoyment as men go to the ends of the earth to seek, while it
+awaits them, if they will but atune their souls to sympathy, beside
+their own hearthstones.  Now and again their sweet calm would be
+broken by a ring at the bell, when some friend of Frank's would come
+round to pay them an evening visit.  At the sound Maude would say
+'bother,' and Frank something shorter and stronger, but, as the
+intruder appeared, they would both break into, 'Well, really now it
+WAS good of you to drop in upon us in this homely way.'  Without such
+hypocrisy, the world would be a hard place to live in.
+
+I may have mentioned somewhere that Frank had a catholic taste in
+literature.  Upon a shelf in their bedroom--a relic of his bachelor
+days--there stood a small line of his intimate books, the books which
+filled all the chinks of his life when no new books were forthcoming.
+They were all volumes which he had read in his youth, and many times
+since, until they had become the very tie-beams of his mind.  His
+tastes were healthy and obvious without being fine.  Macaulay's
+Essays, Holmes' Autocrat, Gibbons' History, Jefferies' Story of my
+Heart, Carlyle's Life, Pepys' Diary, and Borrow's Lavengro were among
+his inner circle of literary friends.  The sturdy East Anglian, half
+prize-fighter, half missionary, was a particular favourite of his,
+and so was the garrulous Secretary of the Navy.  One day it struck
+him that it would be a pleasant thing to induce his wife to share his
+enthusiasms, and he suggested that the evenings should be spent in
+reading selections from these old friends of his.  Maude was
+delighted.  If he had proposed to read the rig-vedas in the original
+Sanskrit, Maude would have listened with a smiling face.  It is in
+such trifles that a woman's love is more than a man's.
+
+That night Frank came downstairs with a thick well-thumbed volume in
+his hand.
+
+'This is Mr. Pepys,' said he solemnly.
+
+'What a funny name!' cried Maude.  'It makes me think of indigestion.
+Why?  Oh yes, pepsine, of course.'
+
+'We shall take a dose of him every night after dinner to complete the
+resemblance.  But seriously, dear, I think that now that we have
+taken up a course of reading, we should try to approach it in a grave
+spirit, and endeavour to realise--Oh, I say, don't!'
+
+'I AM so sorry, dear!  I do hope I didn't hurt, you!'
+
+'You did--considerably.'
+
+'It all came from my having the needle in my hand at the time--and
+you looked so solemn--and--well, I couldn't help it.'
+
+'Little wretch--!'
+
+'No, dear; Jemima may come in any moment with the coffee.  Now, do
+sit down and read about Mr Pepys to me.  And first of all, would you
+mind explaining all about the gentleman, from the beginning, and
+taking nothing for granted, just as if I had never heard of him
+before.'
+
+'I don't believe--'
+
+'Never mind, sir!  Be a good boy and do exactly what you are told.
+Now begin!'
+
+'Well, Maude, Mr. Pepys was born--'
+
+'What was his first name?'
+
+'Samuel.'
+
+'Oh dear, I'm sure I should not have liked him.'
+
+'Well, it's too late to change that.  He was born--I could see by
+looking, but it really doesn't matter, does it?  He was born
+somewhere in sixteen hundred and something or other, and I forget
+what his father was.'
+
+'I must try to remember what you tell me.'
+
+'Well, it all amounts to this, that he got on very well in the world,
+that he became at last a high official of the navy in the time of
+Charles the Second, and that he died in fairly good circumstances,
+and left his library, which was a fine one, to one of the
+universities, I can't remember which.'
+
+'There is an accuracy about your information, Frank--'
+
+'I know, dear, but it really does not matter.  All this has nothing
+to do with the main question.'
+
+'Go on, then!'
+
+'Well, this library was left as a kind of dust-catcher, as such
+libraries are, until one day, more than a hundred years after the old
+boy's death, some enterprising person seems to have examined his
+books, and he found a number of volumes of writing which were all in
+cipher, so that no one could make head or tail of them.'
+
+'Dear me, how very interesting!'
+
+'Yes, it naturally excited curiosity.  Why should a man write volumes
+of cipher?  Imagine the labour of it!  So some one set to work to
+solve the cipher.  This was about the year 1820.  After three years
+they succeeded.'
+
+'How in the world did they do it?'
+
+'Well, they say that human ingenuity never yet invented a cipher
+which human ingenuity could not also solve.  Anyhow, they did
+succeed.  And when they had done so, and copied it all out clean,
+they found they had got hold of such a book as was never heard of
+before in the whole history of literature.'
+
+Maude laid her sewing on her lap, and looked across with her lips
+parted and her eyebrows raised.
+
+'They found that it was an inner Diary of the life of this man, with
+all his impressions, and all his doings, and all his thoughts--not
+his ought-to-be thoughts, but his real, real thoughts, just as he
+thought then at the back of his soul.  You see this man, and you know
+him very much better than his own wife knew him.  It is not only that
+he tells of his daily doings, and gives us such an intimate picture
+of life in those days, as could by no other means have been conveyed,
+but it is as a piece of psychology that the thing is so valuable.
+Remember the dignity of the man, a high government official, an
+orator, a writer, a patron of learning, and here you have the other
+side, the little thoughts, the mean ideas which may lurk under a
+bewigged head, and behind a solemn countenance.  Not that he is worse
+than any of us.  Not a bit.  But he is frank.  And that is why the
+book is really a consoling one, for every sinner who reads it can say
+to himself, "Well, if this man who did so well, and was so esteemed,
+felt like this, it is no very great wonder that I do."'
+
+Maude looked at the fat brown book with curiosity.  'Is it really all
+there?' she asked.
+
+'No, dear, it will never all be published.  A good deal of it is, I
+believe, quite impossible.  And when he came to the impossible
+places, he doubled and trebled his cipher, so as to make sure that it
+should never be made out.  But all that is usually published is
+here.'  Frank turned over the leaves, which were marked here and
+there with pencilings.
+
+'Why are you smiling, Frank?'
+
+'Only at his way of referring to his wife.'
+
+'Oh, he was married?'
+
+'Yes, to a very charming girl.  She must have been a sweet creature.
+He married her at fifteen on account of her beauty.  He had a keen
+eye for beauty had old Pepys.'
+
+'Were they happy?'
+
+'Oh yes, fairly so.  She was only twenty-nine when she died!'
+
+'Poor girl!'
+
+'She was happy in her life--though he DID blacken her eye once.'
+
+'Not really?'
+
+'Yes, he did.  And kicked the housemaid.'
+
+'Oh, the brute!'
+
+'But on the whole he was a good husband.  He had a few very good
+points about him.'
+
+'But how does he allude to his wife?'
+
+'He has a trick of saying, "my wife, poor wretch!"'
+
+'Impertinent!  Frank, you said to-night that other men think what
+this odious Mr. Pepys says.  Yes, you did!  Don't deny it!  Does that
+mean that you always think of me as "poor wretch"?'
+
+'We have come along a little since then.  But how these passages take
+you back to the homely life of those days!'
+
+'Do read some.'
+
+'Well, listen to this, "And then to bed without prayers, to-morrow
+being washing-day."  Fancy such a detail coming down to us through
+two centuries.'
+
+'Why no prayers?'
+
+'I don't know.  I suppose they had to get up early on washing-days,
+and so they wanted to go to sleep soon.'
+
+'I'm afraid, dear, you do the same without as good an excuse.  Read
+another!'
+
+'He goes to dine with some one--his uncle, I think.  He says, "An
+excellent dinner, but the venison pasty was palpable beef, which was
+not handsome."'
+
+'How beautiful!  Mrs. Hunt Mortimer's sole last week was palpable
+plaice.  Mr. Pepys is right.  It was not handsome.'
+
+'Here's another grand entry:  "Talked with my wife of the poorness
+and meanness of all that the people about us do, compared with what
+we do."  I dare say he was right, for they did things very well.
+When he dined out, he says that his host gave him "the meanest dinner
+of beef, shoulder and umbles of venison, and a few pigeons, and all
+in the meanest manner that ever I did see, to the basest degree."
+
+'What are umbles, dear?'
+
+'I have no idea.'
+
+'Well, whatever they are, it sounds to me a very good dinner.  People
+must have lived very well in those days.'
+
+'They habitually over-ate and over-drank themselves.  But Pepys gives
+us the menu of one of his own entertainments.  I've marked it
+somewhere.  Yes, here it is.  "Fricassee of rabbits and chickens, a
+leg of mutton boiled, three carps in a dish, a great dish of a side
+of lamb, a dish of roasted pigeons, a dish of four lobsters, three
+tarts, a lamprey pie (a most rare pie!), a dish of anchovies, good
+wine of several sorts, and all things mighty noble and to my great
+content."'
+
+'Good gracious!  I told you that I associated him with indigestion.'
+
+'He did them pretty well that time.'
+
+'Who cooked all this?'
+
+'The wife helped in those days.'
+
+'No wonder she died at twenty-nine.  Poor dear!  What a splendid
+kitchen-range they must have had!  I never understood before why they
+had such enormous grates in the old days.  Naturally, if you have six
+pigeons, and a lamprey, and a lobster, and a side of lamb, and a leg
+of mutton, and all these other things cooking at the same time, you
+would need a huge fire.'
+
+'The wonderful thing about Pepys,' said Frank, looking thoughtfully
+over the pages, 'is that he is capable of noting down the mean little
+impulses of human nature, which most men would be so ashamed of, that
+they would hasten to put them out of their mind.  His occasional
+shabbiness in money matters, his jealousies, his envies, all his
+petty faults, which are despicable on account of their pettiness.
+Fancy any man writing this.  He is describing how he visited a friend
+and was reading a book from his library.  "A very good book," says
+he, "especially one letter of advice to a courtier, most true and
+good, which made me once resolve to tear out the two leaves that it
+was writ in, but I forbore it."  Imagine recording such a vile
+thought.'
+
+'But what you have never explained to me yet, dear, or if you did, I
+didn't understand--you don't mind my being a little stupid, do you?--
+is, what object Mr. Pepys had in putting down all this in such a form
+that no one could read it.'
+
+'Well, you must bear in mind, dear, that he could read it himself.
+Besides he was a fellow with a singularly methodical side to his
+mind.  He was, for example, continually adding up how much money he
+had, or cataloguing and indexing his library, and so on.  He liked to
+have everything shipshape.  And so with his life, it pleased him to
+have an exact record which he could turn to.  And yet, after all, I
+don't know that that is a sufficient explanation.'
+
+'No, indeed, it is not.  My experience of man--'
+
+'YOUR experience, indeed!'
+
+'Yes, sir, my experience of men--how rude you are, Frank!--tells me
+that they have funny little tricks and vanities which take the
+queerest shapes.'
+
+'Indeed!  Have I any?'
+
+'You--you are compounded of them.  Not vanity--no, I don't mean that.
+But pride--you are as proud as Lucifer, and much too proud to show
+it.  That is the most subtle form of pride.  Oh yes, I know perfectly
+well what I mean.  But in this man's case, it took the form of
+wishing to make a sensation after his death.  He could not publish
+such a thing when he lived, could he?'
+
+'Rather not.'
+
+'Well, then, he had to do it after his death.  He had to write it in
+cipher, or else some one would have found him out during his
+lifetime.  But, very likely, he left a key to the cipher, so that
+every one might read it when he was gone, but the key and his
+directions were in some way lost.'
+
+'Well, it is very probable.'
+
+The fire had died down, so Maude shipped off her chair, and sat on
+the black fur rug, with her back against Frank's knees.  'Now, dear,
+read away!' said she.
+
+But the lamp shone down upon her dainty head, and it gleamed upon her
+white neck, and upon the fluffy, capricious, untidy, adorable, little
+curlets, which broke out along the edges of the gathered strands of
+her chestnut hair.  And so, after the fashion of men, his thoughts
+flew away from Mr. Pepys and the seventeenth century, and all that is
+lofty and instructive, and could fix upon nothing except those dear
+little wandering tendrils, and the white column on which they twined.
+Alas, that so small a thing can bring the human mind from its
+empyrean flights!  Alas, that vague emotions can drag down the
+sovereign intellect!  Alas, that even for an hour, a man should
+prefer the material to the spiritual!
+
+But the man who doesn't misses a good deal.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII--A VISIT TO MR. SAMUEL PEPYS
+
+
+
+There are several unjustifiable extravagances which every normal man
+commits.  There are also several unjustifiable economies.  Among
+others, there is that absurd eagerness to save the striking of a
+second match, which occasions so many burned fingers, and such
+picturesque language.  And again, there is the desire to compress a
+telegraphic message into the minimum sixpennyworth, and so send an
+ambiguous and cryptic sentence, when sevenpence would have made it as
+clear as light.  We all tend to be stylists in our telegrams.
+
+A week after the conversation about Mr. Pepys, when some progress had
+been made with the reading of the Diary, Maude received the following
+wire from Frank -
+
+
+'Mrs. Crosse.  Woking.--Pepys buttered toast suede gloves four
+Monument wait late.'
+
+As a sixpennyworth it was a success, but as a message it seemed to
+leave something to be desired.  Maude puzzled over it, and tried
+every possible combination of the words.  The nearest approach to
+sense was when it was divided in this way--Pepys--buttered toast--
+suede gloves--four--Monument, wait late.
+
+She wrote it out in this form, and took it section by section.
+'Pepys,' that was unintelligible.  'Buttered toast,' no sense in
+that.  'Suede gloves,' yes, she had told Frank that when she came to
+town, she would buy some suede gloves at a certain shop in the City,
+where she could get for three and threepence a pair which would cost
+her three and ninepence in Woking.  Maude was so conscientiously
+economical, that she was always prepared to spend two shillings in
+railway fares to reach a spot where a sixpence was to be saved, and
+to lavish her nerve and energy freely in the venture.  Here, then, in
+the suede gloves, was a central point of light.  And then her heart
+bounded with joy, as she realised that the last part could only mean
+that she was to meet Frank at the Monument at four, and that she was
+to wait for him if he were late.
+
+So, now, returning to the opening of the message, with the light
+which shone from the ending, she realised that buttered toast might
+refer to a queer little City hostel, remarkable for that luxury,
+where Frank had already taken her twice to tea.  And so leaving Mr.
+Pepys to explain himself later, Maude gave hurried orders to Jemima
+and the cook, and dashed upstairs to put on her new fawn-coloured
+walking-dress--a garment which filled her with an extraordinary
+mixture of delight and remorse, for it was very smart, cost seven
+guineas, and had not yet been paid for.
+
+The rendezvous was evidently a sudden thought upon the part of Frank,
+for he had left very little time for her to reach the trysting-place.
+However, she was fortunate in catching a train to Waterloo, and
+another thence to the City, and so reached the Monument at five
+minutes to four.  The hour was just striking when Frank, with his
+well-brushed top-hat and immaculate business frock-coat, came rushing
+from the direction of King William Street.  Maude held out her hand
+and he shook it, and then they both laughed at the formality.
+
+'I am so glad you were able to come, dearest.  How you do brighten up
+the old City!'
+
+'Do I?  I felt quite lonely until you came.  Nothing but droves of
+men--and all staring.'
+
+'It's your dress.'
+
+'Oh, thank you, sir!'
+
+'Entirely that pretty brown--'
+
+'Brown!  Fawn colour.'
+
+'Well, that's brown.  Anyhow, it looks charming.  And so do you--by
+Jove you do, Maude!  Come this way!'
+
+'Where are we going?'
+
+'By underground.  Here we are.--Two second singles, Mark Lane,
+please!--No, that's for the west-end trains.  Down here!  Next train,
+the man says.'
+
+They were in the mephitic cellar, with the two long wooden platforms
+where the subterranean trains land or load their freights.  A
+strangling gas tickled their throats and set them coughing.  It was
+all dank and dark and gloomy.  But little youth and love care for
+that!  They were bubbling over with the happiness of this abnormal
+meeting.  Both talked together in their delight, and Maude patted
+Frank's sleeve with every remark.  They could even illuminate all
+that was around them, by the beauty and brightness of their own love.
+It went the length of open praise for their abominable surroundings.
+
+'Isn't it grand and solemn?' said Maude.  'Look at the black
+shadows.'
+
+'When they come to excavate all this some thousands of years hence,
+they will think it was constructed by a race of giants,' Frank
+answered.
+
+'The modern works for the benefit of the community are really far
+greater than those which sprang from the caprice of kings.  The
+London and North-Western Railway is an infinitely grander thing than
+the pyramids.  Look at the two headlights in the dark!'
+
+Two sullen crimson discs glowed in the black arch of the tunnel.
+With a menacing and sinister speed, they grew and grew until roaring
+they sprang out of the darkness, and the long, dingy train, with a
+whining of brakes, drew up at the platform.
+
+'Here's one nearly empty,' said Frank, with his hand on the handle.
+
+'Don't you think--' said Maude.
+
+'Yes, I do,' cried Frank.
+
+And they got into one which was quite empty.  For the underground
+railway is blessed as regards privacy above all other lines, and
+where could a loving couple be more happy, who have been torn apart
+by cruel fate for seven long hours or so?  It was with a groan that
+Frank remarked that they had reached Mark Lane.
+
+'Bother!' said Maude, and wondered if there were any shop near where
+she could buy hairpins.  As every lady knows, or will know, there is
+a very intimate connection between hairpins and a loving husband.
+
+'Now, Frank, about your telegram.'
+
+'All right, dear.  Come along where I lead you, and you will
+understand all about it.'
+
+They passed out of Mark Lane Station and down a steep and narrow
+street to the right.  At the bottom lay an old smoke-stained church
+with a square tower, and a small open churchyard beside it.
+
+'That's the church of Saint Olave,' said Frank.  'We are going into
+it.'
+
+He pushed open a folding oaken door, and they found themselves inside
+it.  Rows of modern seats filled the body of it, but the walls and
+windows gave an impression of great antiquity.  The stained glass--
+especially that which surmounted the altar--contained those rich
+satisfying purples and deep deep crimsons which only go with age.  It
+was a bright and yet a mellow light, falling in patches of vivid
+colour upon the brown woodwork and the grey floors.  Here and there
+upon the walls were marble inscriptions in the Latin tongue, with
+pompous allegorical figures with trumpets, for our ancestors blew
+them in stone as well as in epitaphs over their tombs.  They loved to
+die, as they had lived, with dignity and with affectation.  White
+statues glimmered in the shadows of the corners.  As Frank and his
+wife passed down the side-aisle, their steps clanged through the
+empty and silent church.
+
+'Here he is!' said Frank, and faced to the wall.
+
+He was looking up at the modern representation of a gentleman in a
+full and curly wig.  It was a well-rounded and comely face, with
+shrewd eyes and a sensitive mouth.  The face of a man of affairs, and
+a good fellow, with just that saving touch of sensuality about it
+which makes an expression human and lovable.  Underneath was printed
+-
+
+
+SAMUEL PEPYS
+Erected by public subscription
+1883.
+
+
+'Oh, isn't he nice?' said Maude.
+
+'He's not a bad-looking chap, is he?'
+
+'I don't believe that man ever could have struck his wife or kicked
+the maid.'
+
+'That's calling him a liar.'
+
+'Oh dear, I forgot that he said so himself.  Then I suppose he must
+have done it.  What a pity it seems.'
+
+'Cheer up!  We must say what the old heathen lady said when they read
+the gospels to her.'
+
+'What did she say?'
+
+'She said, "Well, it was a long time ago, and we'll hope that it
+wasn't true!"'
+
+'O Frank, how can you tell such stories in a church.  Do you really
+suppose that Mr. Pepys is in that wall?'
+
+'I presume that the monument marks the grave.'
+
+'There's a little bit of plaster loose.  Do you think I might take
+it?'
+
+'It isn't quite the thing.'
+
+'But it can't matter, and it isn't wrong, and we are quite alone.'
+She picked off the little flake of plaster, and her heart sprang into
+her mouth as she did so, for there came an indignant snort from her
+very elbow, and there was a queer little smoke-dried, black-dressed
+person who seemed to have risen, like the Eastern genii or a modern
+genius, in a single instant.  A pair of black list slippers explained
+the silence of his approach.
+
+'Put that back, young lady,' said he severely.
+
+Poor Maude held out her guilty relic on the palm of her hand.  'I am
+so sorry,' said she.  'I am afraid I cannot put it back.'
+
+'We'll 'ave the 'ole church picked to pieces at this rate,' said the
+clerk.  'You shouldn't 'ave done it, and it was very wrong.'  He
+snorted and shook his head.
+
+'It's of no consequence,' said Frank.  'The plaster was hanging, and
+must have fallen in any case.  Don't make a fuss about a trifle.'
+
+The clerk looked at the young gentleman and saw defiance in one of
+his eyes and half a crown in the other.
+
+'Well, well!' he grumbled.  'It shows as the young lady takes an
+interest, and that's more than most.  Why, sir, if you'll believe me,
+there's not one in a hundred that comes to this church that ever
+'eard of Pepys.  "Pepys!" says they.  "'Oo's Pepys?"  "The Diarist,"
+says I.  "Diarist!" says they, "wot's a Diarist?"  I could sit down
+sometimes an' cry.  But maybe, miss, you thought as you were picking
+that plaster off 'is grave?'
+
+'Yes, I thought so.'
+
+The clerk chuckled.
+
+'Well, it ain't so.  I'll tell you where 'e really lies, if you'll
+promise you won't pick another chunk off that.  Well, then, it's
+there--beside the communion.  I saw 'im lyin' there with these very
+eyes, and 'is wife in the coffin beneath 'im.'
+
+'You saw him?'
+
+'Yes, sir, I saw 'im, an' that's more than any livin' man could say,
+for there were only four of us, and the other three are as dead as
+Pepys by now.'
+
+'Oh do tell us about it!' cried Maude.
+
+'Well, it was like this, miss.  We 'ad to examine to see 'ow much
+room there was down there, and so we came upon them.'
+
+'And what did you see?'
+
+'Well, miss, 'is coffin lay above, and 'is wife's below, as might be
+expected, seeing that she died thirty years or so before 'im.  The
+coffins was very much broken, an' we could see 'im as clear us I can
+see you.  When we first looked in I saw 'im lying quite plain--a
+short thick figure of a man--with 'is 'ands across 'is chest.  And
+then, just as we looked at 'im, 'e crumbled in, as you might say,
+across 'is breast bone, an' just quietly settled down into a 'uddle
+of dust.  It's a way they 'as when the fresh air strikes 'em.  An'
+she the same, an' 'is dust just fell through the chinks o' the wood
+and mixed itself with 'ers.'
+
+'O Frank!'  Maude's ready tears sprang to her eyes.  She put her hand
+upon her husband's and was surprised to find how cold it was.  Women
+never realise that the male sex is the more sensitive.  He had not
+said, 'O Maude!' because he could not.
+
+'They used some powder like pepper for embalmin' in those days,' said
+the clerk.  'And the vicar--it was in old Bellamy's time--'e took a
+sniff into the grave, an' 'e sneezed an' sneezed till we thought we
+should 'ave to fetch a doctor.  'Ave you seen Mrs. Pepys' tomb?'
+
+'No, we have only just come.'
+
+'That's it on the left of the common.'
+
+'With the woman leaning forward?'
+
+'Yes, sir.  That's Mrs. Pepys herself.'
+
+It was an arch laughing face, the face of a quite young woman; the
+sculptor had depicted her as leaning forward in an animated and
+natural attitude.  Below was engraved -
+
+
+Obiit
+Xo Novembris
+AEtatis 29
+Conjugii 15
+Anno Domini 1669.
+
+
+'Poor dear!' whispered Maude.
+
+'It was hard that she should die just as her husband was becoming
+famous and successful,' said Frank.  'She who had washed his shirts,
+and made up the coal fires, when they lived in a garret together.
+What a pity that she could not have a good time!'
+
+'Ah well, if she loved him, dear, she had a good time in the garret.'
+
+Maude was leaning forward with her face raised to look at the bust of
+the dead woman, which also leaned forward as if to look down upon
+her.  A pair of marble skulls flanked the lady's grave.  A red glow
+from the evening sun struck through a side-window and bathed the
+whole group in its ruddy light.  As Frank, standing back in the
+shadow, ran his eyes from the face of the dead young wife to that of
+his own sweet, girlish bride, with those sinister skulls between,
+there came over him like a wave, a realisation of the horror which
+lies in things, the grim close of the passing pageant, the black
+gloom, which swallows up the never-ending stream of life.  Will the
+spirit wear better than the body; and if not, what infernal practical
+joke is this to which we are subjected!
+
+'It will.  It must,' he said.
+
+'WHY, Frank--Frank dear, what is the matter?  You are quite pale.'
+
+'Come out into the air, Maude.  I have had enough of this stuffy old
+church.'
+
+'Stuffy!' said the clerk.  'Well, we've 'ad the Lord Mayor 'ere at
+least once a year, an' 'e never found it stuffy.  A cleaner, fresher
+church you won't find in the city of London.  It's 'ad its day, I'll
+allow.  There was a time--and I can remember it--when folk used to
+spend their money where they made it, and the plate would be full of
+paper and gold, where now we find it 'ard enough to get coppers.
+That was fifty year ago, when I was a young clerk.  You might not
+think it, but I've seen a Lord Mayor, a past Lord Mayor, and a Lord
+Mayor elect of the city of London, all sitting on one bench in this
+very church.  And YOU call it stuffy!'
+
+Frank soothed the wounded feelings of the old clerk, and explained
+that by stuffy he meant interesting.  He also shook hands with him in
+a peculiar way as he held his palm upturned in the small of his back.
+Then Maude and he retraced their steps up the narrow street which is
+called Seething Lane.
+
+'Poor old boy!  What was it, then?' asked Maude, looking up with her
+sympathetic eyes.  It is at such moments that a man realises what the
+companionship of women means.  The clouds melted before the sun.
+
+'What an ass I was!  I began to think of all sorts of horrible
+things.  Never mind, Maude!  We are out for a holiday.  Hang the
+future!  Let us live in the present.'
+
+'I always do,' said Maude, and she spoke for her sex.
+
+'Well, what now?  Buttered toast or suede gloves?'
+
+'Business first!' said Maude primly, and so proceeded to save her
+sixpence on the gloves.  As she was tempted, however ('such a civil
+obliging shopman, Frank!'), to buy four yards of so-called Astrakhan
+trimming, a frill of torchon lace, six dear little festooned
+handkerchiefs, and four pairs of open-work stockings--none of which
+were contemplated when she entered the shop--her sixpenny saving was
+not as brilliant a piece of finance as she imagined.
+
+And then they finished their excursion in the dark, wainscotted, low-
+ceilinged coffee-room of an old-fashioned inn, once the mother of
+many coaches, and now barren and deserted, but with a strange cunning
+in the matter of buttered toast which had come down from more
+prosperous days.  It was a new waiter who served them, and he
+imagined them to be lovers and scented an intrigue; but when they
+called for a second plate of toast and a jug of boiling water, he
+recognised the healthy appetite of the married.  And then, instead of
+going home like a good little couple, Maude suddenly got it into her
+head that it would cheer away the last traces of Frank's gloom if
+they went to see 'Charley's Aunt' at the Globe.  So they loitered and
+shopped for a couple of hours, and then squeezed into the back of the
+pit; and wedged in among honest, hearty folk who were not ashamed to
+show their emotions, they laughed until they were tired.  And so
+home, as their friend Pepys would have said, after such a day as
+comes into the memory, shining golden among the drab, when old folk
+look back, and think of the dear dead past.  May you and I, reader,
+if ever we also come to sit in our final armchairs in the chimney
+corners, have many such to which our minds may turn, sweet and
+innocent and fragrant, to cheer us in those darksome hours to come.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV--TROUBLE
+
+
+
+One evening Frank came home with a clouded face.  His wife said
+nothing, but after dinner she sat on a footstool beside his chair and
+waited.  She knew that if it were for the best, he would tell her
+everything, and she had confidence enough in his judgment to
+acquiesce in his silence if he thought it best to be silent.  As a
+matter of fact, it was just this telling her which made his trouble
+hard to bear.  And yet he thought it wiser to tell.
+
+'I've had something to worry me, dear.'
+
+'Poor old boy, I know you have.  What was it?'
+
+'Why should I bother you with it?'
+
+'A nice wife I should be, if I shared all your joys and none of your
+sorrows!  Anyhow, I had rather share sorrow with you than joy within
+any one else.'  She snuggled her head up against his knee.  'Tell me
+about it, Frank.'
+
+'You remember my telling you just before our marriage that I was
+surety for a man?'
+
+'I remember perfectly well.'
+
+'His name was Farintosh.  He was an insurance-agent, and I became
+surety for him in order to save his situation.'
+
+'Yes, dear, it was so noble of you.'
+
+'Well, Maude, he was on the platform this morning, and when he saw
+me, he turned on his heel and hurried out of the station.  I read
+guilt in his eyes.  I am sure that his accounts are wrong again.'
+
+'Oh, what an ungrateful wretch!'
+
+'Poor devil, I dare say he has had a bad time.  But I was a fool not
+to draw out of that.  It was all very well when I was a bachelor.
+But here I am as a married man faced with an indefinite liability and
+nothing to meet it with.  I don't know what is to become of us,
+Maude.'
+
+'How much is it, dearest?'
+
+'I don't know.  That is the worst of it.'
+
+'But surely your own office would not be so hard upon you?'
+
+'It is not my own office.  It is another office--the Hotspur.'
+
+'Oh dear!  What have you done about it, Frank?'
+
+'I called at their office in my lunch-hour, and I requested them to
+send down an accountant to examine Farintosh's books.  He will be
+here to-morrow morning, and I have leave of absence for the day.'
+
+And so they were to spend an evening and a night without knowing
+whether they were merely crippled or absolutely ruined.  Frank's
+nature was really a very proud one, and the thought of failing in his
+engagements wounded his self-respect most deeply.  His nerves winced
+and quivered before it.  But her sweet, strong soul rose high above
+all fear, and bore him up with her, into the serenity of love and
+trust and confidence.  The really precious things, the things of the
+spirit, were permanent, and could not be lost.  What matter if they
+lived in an eight-roomed villa, or in a tent out on the heath?  What
+matter if they had two servants, or if she worked for him herself?
+All this was the merest trifle, the outside of life.  But the
+intimate things, their love, their trust, their pleasures of mind and
+soul, these could not be taken away from them while they had life to
+enjoy them.  And so she soothed Frank with sweet caresses and gentle
+words, until this night of gloom had turned to the most beautiful of
+all his life, and he had learned to bless the misfortune which had
+taught him to know the serene courage and the wholehearted devotion
+which can only be felt, like the scent of a fragrant leaf, when Fate
+gives us a crush between its iron fingers.
+
+Shortly after breakfast Mr. Wingfield, the accountant from London,
+arrived--a tall, gentlemanly man, with a formal manner.
+
+'I'm sorry about this business, Mr. Crosse,' said he.
+
+Frank made a grimace.  'It can't be helped.'
+
+'We will hope that the amount is not very serious.  We have warned
+Mr. Farintosh that his books will be inspected to-day.  When you are
+ready we shall go round.'
+
+The agent lived in a side-street not far off.  A brass plate, outside
+a small brick house, marked it out from the line of other small brick
+houses.  A sad-faced woman opened the door, and Farintosh himself,
+haggard and white, was seated among his ledgers in the little front
+room.  A glance at the man's helpless face turned all Frank's
+resentment to pity.
+
+They sat down at the table, the accountant in the centre, Farintosh
+on the right, and Frank on the left.  There was no talk save an
+occasional abrupt question and answer.  For two hours the swish and
+rustle of the great blue pages of the ledgers were the chief sound,
+with the scratching of Mr. Wingfield's pen as he totalled up long
+columns of figures.  Frank's heart turned to water as he saw the huge
+sums which had passed through this man's hands.  How much had
+remained there?  His whole future depended upon the answer to that
+question.  How prosaic and undramatic are the moments in which a
+modern career is made or marred!  In this obscure battlefield, the
+squire no longer receives his accolade in public for his work well
+done, nor do we see the butcher's cleaver as it hacks off the
+knightly spurs, but failure and success come strangely and
+stealthily, determined by trifles, and devoid of dignity.  Here was
+the crisis of Frank's young life, in this mean front room, amongst
+the almanacs and the account-books.
+
+'Can I rely upon these figures?' asked Wingfield at last.
+
+'You can, sir.'
+
+'In that case I congratulate you, Mr. Crosse.  I can only find a
+deficiency of fifty pounds.'
+
+Only enough to swallow the whole of their little savings, which they
+had carefully invested!  However, it was good news, and Frank shook
+the proffered hand of the accountant.
+
+'I will stay for another hour to check these figures,' said
+Wingfield.  'But there is no need to detain you.'
+
+'You will come round and lunch with us?'
+
+'With pleasure.'
+
+'Au revoir, then.'  Frank ran all the way home, and burst in upon his
+wife.  'It is not so very bad, dear--only fifty pounds.'  They danced
+about in their joy like two children.
+
+But Wingfield came to his lunch within a solemn face.
+
+'I am very sorry to disappoint you,' he said, 'but the matter is more
+serious than I thought.  We have entered some sums as unpaid which he
+has really received, but the receipts for which he has held back.
+They amount to another hundred pounds.'
+
+Maude felt inclined to cry as she glanced at Frank, and saw his
+resolute effort to look unconcerned.
+
+'Then it's a hundred and fifty.'
+
+'Certainly not less.  I have marked the items down upon this paper
+for your inspection.'
+
+Frank glanced his practised eyes over the results of the accountant's
+morning's work.
+
+'You have credited him within a hundred and twenty pounds in the
+bank, I see.'
+
+'Yes, his bank-book shows a balance of that amount.'
+
+'When was it made out?'
+
+'Last Saturday.'
+
+'He may have drawn it since them.'
+
+'It is certainly possible.'
+
+'We might go round after lunch and make sure.'
+
+'Very good.'
+
+'And in any case, as it is the Company's money, don't you think we
+had better take it out of his hands?'
+
+'Yes, I think you are right.'
+
+It was a miserable meal, and they were all glad when it was finished.
+Maude drew Frank into the other room before he started.
+
+'I could not let you go without THAT, dearest.  Keep a brave heart,
+my own laddie, for I know so well that we shall come through it all
+right.'
+
+So Frank set out with a higher courage, and they both returned to the
+agent's house.  His white face turned a shade whiter when he
+understood their errand.
+
+'Is this necessary, Mr. Wingfield?' he pleaded.  'Won't you take my
+word for this money?'
+
+'I am sorry to have to say it, sir, but we have trusted in your word
+too often.'
+
+'But the money is there, I swear it.'
+
+'It is the Company's money, and we must have it.'
+
+'It will ruin my credit locally if I draw out my whole account under
+compulsion.'
+
+'Then let him keep ten pounds in,' said Frank.  Farintosh agreed with
+an ill grace to the compromise, and they all started off for the
+bank.  When they reached the door the agent turned upon them with an
+appealing face.
+
+'Don't come in with me, gentlemen.  I could never hold up my head
+again.'
+
+'It is for Mr. Crosse to decide.'
+
+'I don't want to be unreasonable, Farintosh.  Go in alone and draw
+the money.'
+
+They could never understand why he begged for that extra five
+minutes.  Perhaps it was that he had some mad hope of persuading the
+bank manager to allow him to overdraw to that amount.  If so, the
+refusal was a curt one, for he reappeared with a ghastly face and
+walked up to Frank.
+
+'I may as well confess to you, Mr. Crosse, I have nothing in the
+bank.'
+
+Frank whistled and turned upon his heel.  He could not by reproaches
+add to the wretched man's humiliation.  After all, he had himself to
+blame.  He had incurred a risk with his eyes open, and he was not the
+man to whine now that the thing had gone against him.  Wingfield
+walked home with him and murmured some words of sympathy.  At the
+gate the accountant left him and went on to the station.
+
+So their liability had risen from fifty to two hundred and seventy
+pounds.  Even Maude was for an instant daunted by the sum.  The sale
+of their furniture would hardly meet it.  It was the blackest hour of
+their lives, and yet, always a strange sweet undercurrent of joy was
+running through it, for it is only sorrow, fairly shared and bravely
+borne, which can weld two human souls together.
+
+Dinner was over when there came a ring at the bell.
+
+'If you please, sir, Mr. Farintosh would like to see you,' said the
+maid Jemima.
+
+'Show him in here.'
+
+'Don't you think, Frank, that I had better go?'
+
+'No, I don't.  I never asked him to come.  If he comes, let him face
+us both.  I have not made much of my dealings with him alone.'
+
+He was shown in, downcast, shifty-eyed, and ill at ease.  He laid his
+hat upon the floor, and crept humbly towards the chair which Frank
+pushed towards him.
+
+'Well, Farintosh?'
+
+'Well, Mr. Crosse, I have come round to tell you, and you too,
+missus, the sorrow I feel that I have brought this trouble upon you.
+I hoped all would have gone right after that last time, but I've had
+to pay up back debts, and that's what has put me wrong.  I've never
+had what one may call a fair chance.  But I'm really sorry, sir, that
+you who have, as one might say, befriended me, should have to suffer
+for it in this way.'
+
+'Words won't mend it, Farintosh.  I only blame you for not coming to
+me when first things began to go wrong.'
+
+'Well, sir, I was always hoping that I could turn them right again,
+so as you wouldn't need to be troubled at all.  And so it went from
+bad to worse until we find ourselves here.  But what I wanted to ask
+you, Mr. Crosse, was what you meant to do about it?'
+
+Frank writhed before this home question.
+
+'Well, I suppose I am responsible,' said he.
+
+'You mean to pay the money, sir?'
+
+'Well, somebody must pay it.'
+
+'Do you remember the wording of the bond, Mr. Crosse?'
+
+'Not the exact wording.'
+
+'Well, sir, I should advise you to get your lawyer to read it.  In my
+opinion, sir, you are not liable at all.'
+
+'Not liable!'  Frank felt as if his heart had turned suddenly from a
+round-shot to an air-balloon.  'Why not liable?'
+
+'You were a little slapdashy, if one might say so, in matters of
+business, sir, and perhaps you read that bond less carefully than I
+did.  There was a clause in it by which the Company agreed frequently
+and periodically to audit my accounts, so as to prevent your
+liability being at any time a very high one.'
+
+'So there was!' cried Frank.  'Well, didn't they?'
+
+'No, sir, they didn't.'
+
+'By Jove--Maude, do you hear that?--if that is right, they brought
+their own misfortunes upon themselves.  Do you mean to say they never
+audited you?'
+
+'Yes, sir, they did so four times.'
+
+'In how long?'
+
+'In fourteen months.'
+
+The air-balloon was gone and the cannon-ball back in its place once
+more.
+
+'That will be held to exonerate them.'
+
+'No, sir, I think not.  "Frequently and periodically" does not mean
+four times in fourteen months.'
+
+'A jury might take it so.'
+
+'Consider, sir, that the object was that your liability should be
+limited.  Thousands of pounds were passing through my hands in that
+time, and therefore these four audits were, as one might say,
+insufficient for the object of the bond.'
+
+'So I think,' cried Maude, with conviction.  'Frank, we'll have the
+best advice upon the subject to-morrow.'
+
+'And meanwhile, Mr. Crosse,' said Farintosh, rising from his chair,
+'I am your witness, whether the Company prosecutes me or not.  And I
+hope that this will be some humble atonement for the trouble that I
+have brought you.'
+
+And so a first rift of light began to shine in the dark place.  But
+it was not broadened by the letter which he found waiting upon his
+breakfast-table -
+
+
+Re Farintosh's Accounts.
+
+HOTSPUR INSURANCE OFFICE.
+
+Dear Sir,--On arriving in London I came here at once, and checked
+Farintosh's accounts from the books of the head office.  I am sorry
+to say that I find a further discrepancy of seventy pounds.  I am
+able, however, to assure you that we have now touched bottom.  The
+total amount is three hundred and forty pounds, and a cheque for that
+sum at your early convenience would oblige us, as we are anxious to
+bring so unpleasant a business to a conclusion.--Yours truly,
+
+JAMES WINGFIELD.
+
+
+To which Frank and Maude in collaboration -
+
+
+Dear Sir,--I note your claim for 340 pounds on account of the affairs
+of your agent Farintosh.  I am advised, however, that there have been
+certain irregularities in the matter, about which I must make some
+investigation before paying the claim.--Yours truly,
+
+Frank Crosse.
+
+
+To which the Hotspur Insurance Office -
+
+
+Sir,--Had your letter been a plea for more time to fulfil your
+engagement, we should have been content to wait; but since you appear
+disposed to dispute your liability, we have no alternative but to
+take immediate steps to enforce payment. -
+
+Yours truly, JOHN WATERS, Secretary.
+
+
+To which Frank and Maude -
+
+
+Sir,--My solicitor, A. C. R. Owen, of 14 Shirley Lane, E.C., will be
+happy to accept service.
+
+
+Which is the correct legal English for 'You may go to the devil!'
+
+But this is an anticipation.  In the meantime, having received the
+original letter and answered it, Frank went up to town as usual,
+while Maude played the more difficult part of waiting quietly at
+home.  In his lunch-hour Frank went to see his friend and solicitor,
+who in turn obtained leave to see the bond, and came back with a
+grave face.
+
+'You have a case,' said he, 'but by no means a certainty.  It all
+depends upon how the judge might read the document.  I think that it
+would strengthen our case very materially if we had counsel's
+opinion.  I'll copy the bond and show it to Manners, and have his
+opinion before you go back to-night.'
+
+So Frank went round again after office-hours, and found Owen waiting
+in very low spirits, for their relations were closer than those of
+mere solicitor and client.
+
+'Very sorry,' said he.
+
+'Opinion against us.'
+
+'Dead against us.'
+
+Frank tried to look as if he didn't mind.
+
+'Let me see it.'
+
+It was a long blue document with the heading, 'The Hotspur Insurance
+Company, Limited, v. Frank Crosse.'
+
+'I have perused the case submitted to me, and the papers accompanying
+the same,' said the learned counsel, 'and in my opinion the Hotspur
+Insurance Company, Limited, are entitled to recover from Mr. Crosse
+under his guarantee, the sum of 340 pounds, being monies received by
+Mr. Farintosh, and not paid over by him to the said Company.'  There
+was a great deal more, but it was anticlimax.
+
+'Well, what shall we do?' asked Frank helplessly.  The British law
+makes one feel so.
+
+'Well, I should stand out, if I were you.  There is certainly a
+chance.'
+
+'Look here, old chap,' said Frank, 'I may as well be honest with you.
+If this thing goes against me, I am stony broke.  I don't know where
+your costs are coming from.'
+
+'Don't bother about that,' said Owen kindly.  'After all, Manners is
+not infallible.  Let us have Holland, and see what he can make of
+it.'
+
+So twenty-four hours later Frank found Owen radiant with another
+opinion in his hand.
+
+'Dead for us this time.  Look here!'
+
+And he read out, 'I have carefully considered the case submitted to
+me for my opinion, and the documents sent therewith.  In my opinion
+the Hotspur Insurance Company, Limited, are not entitled to recover
+against Mr. Crosse the sum claimed by them or any part thereof, as
+there has been a breach on their part of an essential condition of
+the guarantee.'  'He reads "frequently and periodically" as we do,'
+continued Owen, glancing over the long document, 'and he is very
+clear as to our case.'
+
+'Suppose we have another, and try the best of three,' said Frank.
+
+'It's too expensive a game.  No, Holland is a sound man, and his
+opinion would weigh with any judge.  I think we have enough to go on
+with.'
+
+'And you think it is safe?'
+
+'No, no, nothing is ever safe in the law.  But we can make a fight of
+it now.'
+
+And now Frank was to learn what it meant to be entangled in an
+intricate clumsy old machine, incredibly cumbrous and at the same
+time incredibly powerful, jolting along with its absurd forms and
+abominable English towards an end which might or might not be just,
+but was most certainly ruinously expensive.  The game began by a
+direct letter from the Queen, of all people, an honour which Frank
+had never aspired to before, and certainly never did again.
+
+Victoria, by the grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain
+and Ireland, Queen, Defender of the Faith, remarked abruptly to Frank
+Crosse of Woking, in the county of Surrey, 'We command you that
+within eight days of the service of this writ on you, inclusive of
+the day of such service, you cause an appearance to be entered for
+you in an action at the suit of the Hotspur Insurance Company,
+Limited.'  If he didn't do so, Her Majesty remarked that several very
+unpleasant things might occur, and Hardinge Stanley, Earl of
+Halsbury, corroborated Her Majesty.  Maude was frightened to death
+when she saw the document, and felt as if unawares they must have
+butted up against the British Constitution, but Owen explained that
+it was only a little legal firework, which meant that there might be
+some trouble later.
+
+'Well, at any rate,' said Frank, 'it means that in eight days it will
+all be over.'
+
+Owen laughed heartily at the remark.
+
+'It means,' said he, 'that in eight days we must promise that at some
+future date we will begin to make preparations for something to
+happen in the future.  That is about the meaning of it.  All you can
+do now is to be perfectly philosophic, and leave the rest to me.'
+
+But how is a man with a capital of fifty pounds going to be
+philosophic when he is fighting an opponent whose assets, as a
+certain hoarding near Clapham Junction told him every morning,
+exceeded three millions of pounds.  He treated it lightly to Maude,
+and she to him, but each suffered horribly, and each was well aware
+of the other's real feelings.  Sometimes there was a lull, and they
+could almost believe that the whole thing was over.  And then the old
+machine gave a creak, and the rusty cog-wheels took one more turn,
+and they both felt the horrid thing which held them.
+
+First of all, they had to enter appearances, which meant that they
+would dispute the action.  Then the other side had to make an
+affidavit verifying their claim.  Then a Master had to pronounce
+whether the action should be treated offhand, or whether he would
+listen to what they had to say about it.  He decided to listen to
+what was to be said.  Then each side claimed to see the other's
+documents, 'discovery' they called it, as if the documents were
+concealed, and they had to hunt for them stealthily with lanterns.
+Then each made remarks about the other's documents, and claimed to
+see the remarks so made.  Then the lawyers of the Company made a
+statement of their claim, and when she read it Maude burst into
+tears, and said that it was all over, and they must make the best of
+it, and she should never forgive herself for that new dress in the
+spring.  And then Frank's lawyer drew up a defence, and when Frank
+heard it, he said, 'Why, what a silly business it seems!  They have
+not got a leg to stand upon.'  And so, after all these flourishes and
+prancings, the two parties did actually begin to show signs of coming
+to a hearing after all, and a day was fixed for the trial.  By a
+coincidence it was Frank's birthday.  'There's a good omen!' cried
+Maude.
+
+The first herald of the approaching conflict was a seedy person, who
+thrust a paper into Frank's hand as he emerged from The Lindens in
+the morning.  It was another letter from Her Majesty, in which sub
+poena (Her Majesty has not a gracious way of putting things in these
+documents), Mr. Frank Crosse had 'to attend at the Royal Courts of
+Justice, Strand, at the sittings of the Queen's Bench Division of our
+High Court of Justice, to give evidence on behalf of the Hotspur
+Company.'
+
+This seemed to Frank to be a most unexpected and fearsome stroke, but
+Owen simply laughed.
+
+'That is mere bluff,' said he.  'It makes me think that they are
+weakening.  They want to frighten you.'
+
+'They did,' said Frank.
+
+'Two can play at that game.  We must keep a bold front.'
+
+'What do you mean to do?'
+
+'To subpoena all their crowd.'
+
+'Capital!' cried Frank.  So a clerk was sent across to the Hotspur
+office with a whole bundle of subpoenas, and served them liberally
+out.  And in two days' time was the day of battle.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV--A RESCUE
+
+
+
+As the day fixed for the hearing drew near, Ruin lived with them by
+day and slept with them by night.  Its dark shadow covered their
+lives, and they moved in the gloom of its presence.  If the trial
+went against them, and Owen in his most hopeful moods did not
+disguise from them that it might, they would have to pay the double
+costs as well as the original claim.  All that they possessed would
+not cover it.  On the other hand, if they won, this rich Company
+might carry the matter to a higher Appeal Court, and so involve them
+in a fresh succession of anxieties and expenses.  Do what they would,
+there was always danger.  Frank said little, and he slept little
+also.
+
+One night, just before the trial, Wingfield, the accountant of the
+Society, came down to Woking.  He had managed the case all through
+for the directors.  His visit was a sort of ultimatum.
+
+'We are still ready to pay our own law-costs,' said he, 'if you will
+allow the original claim.'
+
+'I can't do that,' said Frank doggedly.
+
+'The costs are piling up at a furious rate, and some one will have to
+pay them.'
+
+'I hope that it will be you.'
+
+'Well, don't say afterwards that I did not warn you.  My dear Crosse,
+I assure you that you are being misled, and that you have not really
+got a leg to stand upon.'
+
+'That's what the trial is about,' said Frank.
+
+He kept a bold face to the enemy, but after Wingfield's departure,
+Maude saw that his confidence was greatly shaken.
+
+'He seemed very sure of their case,' said he.  'He would not speak
+like that if he did not know.'
+
+But Maude took quite another view.
+
+'If they know that they can recover their money in court, why should
+they send Mr. Wingfield down in this way.'
+
+'He is such a good chap--he wants to save us expense.'
+
+Maude was less trusting.
+
+'He is doing the best for his own side,' said she.  'It is his duty,
+and we can't blame him.  But if he thought it best to get behind his
+own lawyers and come down here, then he must have some doubts about
+going into court.  Perhaps he would be willing to consider some
+compromise.'
+
+But Frank only shook his head.
+
+'We have drawn the cork, and we must drink the wine,' said he.  'We
+have gone too far to stop.  Any compromise which they would accept
+would be as much out of our power to pay as the whole sum would be,
+and so we may just as well see it through.'  But for once Maude did
+not take his opinion as final, but lay awake all night and thought it
+over.  She had determined to begin acting upon her own account, and
+she was so eager to try what she could do that she lay longing for
+the morning to break.  When she came down to breakfast, her plan of
+campaign was formed.
+
+'I am coming up to town with you, Frank.'
+
+'Delighted to hear it, dear.'  When she had shopping to do, she
+frequently went up with him, so it did not surprise him.  What would
+have surprised him was to know that she had despatched three
+telegrams, by means of Jemima, before he was up.
+
+
+'To John Selby, 53 Fenchurch Street, E.C.  Will call eleven o'clock.
+Important business. -
+MAUDE.'
+
+'To Lieutenant Selby, the Depot, Canterbury.  Please come up next
+train, meet me Fenchurch Street, eleven thirty.  Important. -
+MAUDE.'
+
+'To Owen, 14 Shirley Lane, E.C.  Will call twelve o'clock.
+Important.--MRS. CROSSE.'
+
+
+So she had opened her campaign.
+
+'By the way, Frank,' said she, as they travelled up together, 'to-
+morrow is your birthday.'
+
+'Yes, dear, it is,' he answered lugubriously.
+
+'Dear me!  What shall I give my boy for a birthday present?  Nothing
+you particularly want?'
+
+'I have all I want,' said he, looking at her.
+
+'Oh, but I think I could find something.  I must look round when I am
+in town.'
+
+She began her looking round by a visit to her father in Fenchurch
+Street.  It was something new for him to get telegrams from Maude
+upon business, and he was very much surprised.
+
+'Looking remarkably well, my dear.  Your appearance is a certificate
+of character to your husband.  Well, and how is all at Woking?  I
+hope the second cook proved to be a success.'
+
+But Maude was not there for small talk.  'Dear dad,' said she, 'I
+want you to stand by me, for I am in trouble.  Now, my dear good dad,
+please see things from my point of view, and don't make objections,
+and do exactly what I ask you.'  She threw her arms round his neck
+and gave him a hearty squeeze.
+
+'Now I call that exerting undue pressure,' said he, extricating his
+white head.  'If this sort of thing is allowed in the city of London,
+there is an end of all business.'  However, his eyes twinkled and
+looked as if he liked it.  'Now madame, what can I do for you?'
+
+'I'm going to be perfectly business-like,' said she, and gave him
+another squeeze before sitting down.  'Look here, dad.  You give me
+an income of fifty pounds a year, don't you?'
+
+'My dear girl, I can't raise it.  Jack's expenses in the Hussars--'
+
+'I don't want you to raise it.'
+
+'What do you want?'
+
+'I seem to remember, dad, that you told me that this fifty pounds was
+the interest on a thousand pounds which was invested for me.'
+
+'So it is--five per cent. debentures.'
+
+'Well, dad, if I were content with an income of twenty-five pounds a
+year instead of fifty pounds, then I could take five hundred pounds
+out of my money, and nobody would be the worse.'
+
+'Except yourself.'
+
+Maude laughed at that.
+
+'I want the use of the money just for one day.  I certainly won't
+need it all.  I just want to feel that I have as much as that in case
+I need it.  Now, my dear old daddy, do please not ask any questions,
+but be very nice and good, and tell me how I can get these five
+hundred pounds.'
+
+'And you won't tell me why you want them?'
+
+'I had rather not--but I will if you insist.'
+
+Old Selby looked into the brave, clear eyes of his daughter, and he
+did not insist.
+
+'Look here!  You've got your own little banking account, have you
+not?'
+
+'Yes, dad.'
+
+'That's right.  Never mix it up with your husband's.'  He scribbled a
+cheque.  'Pay that in!  It is for five hundred pounds.  I will sell
+half your debentures and charge you with brokerage.  I believe in
+strict business between relatives.  When you pay back the five
+hundred pounds, your allowance will be fifty a year once more.'
+
+Maude then and there endorsed the cheque and posted it to her bank.
+Then with a final embrace to her father, she hastened out to further
+victories.  Jack Selby was smoking a cigarette upon the doorstep.
+
+'Hullo, Maude!  Calling up the reserves?  What's the matter?  Jolly
+lucky it wasn't my day on duty.  You girls think a soldier has
+nothing to do.  It was so once, but we are all scientific blokes now.
+No, thank you, I won't see the dad!  He'd think I had come for money,
+and it would upset him for the day.'
+
+Maude took her brother in the cab with her, and told him the whole
+story of Frank's misfortune, with some account of her own intentions.
+Jack was vastly interested.
+
+'What did dad say about it?'
+
+'I didn't tell him.  I thought Frank would rather not.'
+
+'Quite right.  He won't mind me.  He knows I'm a bit of a business
+man myself.  Only signed a paper once in my life, and quite a small
+paper too, and I haven't heard the last of it yet.  The thing wasn't
+much bigger than a postcard, but the fuss those people made
+afterwards!  I suppose they've been worrying Frank.'
+
+'We have had no peace for months.'
+
+'Worry is bad for the young.  But he should not mind.  He should go
+on fizzing like I did.  Now we'll put this thing through together,
+Maude.  I see your line, and I'll ride it with you.'
+
+They found Mr. Owen at home, and Maude did the talking.
+
+'I am convinced, Mr. Owen, that they don't want to go into court.
+Mr. Wingfield coming down like that proves it.  My husband is too
+proud to bargain with them, but I have no scruples.  Don't you think
+that I might go to Mr. Wingfield myself, and pay the three hundred
+and forty pounds, and so have done with the worry for ever?'
+
+'Speaking as a lawyer,' said Owen, 'I think that it is very
+irregular.  Speaking as a man, I think no harm could come of it.  But
+I should not like you to offer the whole sum.  Simply say that you
+are prepared for a reasonable compromise, and ask them to suggest
+what is the lowest sum which the office would accept to close the
+business.'
+
+'You leave it with me,' said Jack, winking at the lawyer.  'I am
+seeing her through.  I'll keep her on the rails.  I am Number 1,
+Class A, at business.  We'll take 'em up one link in the curb if they
+try any games with us!  Come on, Maude, and get it over.'
+
+He was an excellent companion for her, for his buoyancy turned the
+whole thing into fun.  She could not take it too seriously in his
+company.  They called at the Hotspur office and asked to see Mr.
+Wingfield.  He was engaged, but Mr. Waters, the secretary, a very
+fat, pompous man, came in to them.
+
+'I am very sorry,' said he, 'very sorry, indeed, Mrs. Crosse, but it
+is too late for any compromise of the sort.  We have our costs to
+consider, and there is no alternative but for the case to go into
+court.'
+
+Poor Maude nearly burst into tears.
+
+'But suppose that we were to offer--'
+
+'To give you an hour to think it over,' cried Jack.
+
+Mr. Waters shook, his head despondently.
+
+'I do not think that we should alter our decision.  However, Mr.
+Wingfield will be here presently, and he will, of course, listen to
+any representations which you may have to make.  In the meantime you
+must excuse me, as I have matters of importance to attend to.'
+
+'Why, Maude, you little Juggins,' cried Jack, when the door was shut,
+'you were just going to offer to pay their costs.  I only just headed
+you off in time.'
+
+'Well, I was going to inquire about it.'
+
+'Great Scot, it's lucky you've got a business man at your elbow.  I
+couldn't stand that chap at any price.  A bit too hairy in the
+fetlocks for my taste.  Couldn't you see that he was only bluffing?'
+
+'How do you know, Jack?'
+
+'It was shining all over him.  Do you suppose a man has bought as
+many hairies as I have, and can't tell when a dealer is bluffing?  He
+was piling it on so that when the next Christmas-tree comes along, he
+may find a soft job waiting for him.  I tell you you want a friendly
+native, like me, when you get into this kind of country.  Now ride
+this one on the curb, and don't let him have his head for a moment.'
+
+Mr. Wingfield had entered, and his manner was very different to that
+of the secretary.  He had great sympathy with the Crosses, and no
+desire to wash the Company's dirty linen in public.  He was,
+therefore, more anxious than he dared to show to come to some
+arrangement.
+
+'It is rather irregular for me to see you.  I should refer you to our
+solicitors,' said he.
+
+'Well, we saw you when you came to Woking,' said Maude.  'I believe
+that we are much more likely to come to an arrangement if we talk it
+over ourselves.'
+
+'I am sure I earnestly hope so,' Wingfield answered.  'I shall be
+delighted to listen to anything which you may suggest.  Do you, in
+the first place, admit your liability?'
+
+'To some extent,' said Maude, 'if the Company will admit that they
+are in the wrong also.'
+
+'Well, we may go so far as to say that we wish the books had been
+inspected more often, and that we regret our misplaced confidence in
+our agent.  That should satisfy you, Mrs. Crosse.  And now that you
+admit SOME liability, that is a great step in advance.  We have no
+desire to be unreasonable, but as long as no liability was admitted,
+we had no course open to us but litigation.  We now come to the
+crucial point, which is, how much liability should fall upon you.  My
+own idea is, that each should pay their own costs, and that you
+should, in addition, pay over to the Company--'
+
+'Forty pounds,' said Jack firmly.
+
+Maude expected Mr. Wingfield to rise up and leave the room.  As he
+did not do so, nor show any signs of violence, she said, 'Yes, forty
+pounds.'
+
+He shook his head.
+
+'Dear me, Mrs. Crosse, this is a very small sum.'
+
+'Forty pounds is our offer,' said Jack.
+
+'But on what is this offer based?'
+
+'We have worked it out,' said Jack, 'and we find that forty pounds is
+right.'
+
+Mr. Wingfield rose from his chair.
+
+'Well,' said he, 'of course any offer is better than no offer.  I
+cannot say what view the directors may take of this proposal, but
+they will hold a board meeting this afternoon, and I will lay it
+before them.'
+
+'And when shall we know?'
+
+'I could send you round a line by hand to your solicitor.'
+
+'No hurry about it!  Quite at your own convenience!' said Jack.  When
+he got outside, in the privacy of their hansom, he was convulsed with
+the sense of his own achievements.
+
+'Class A, Number 1, and mentioned at the Agricultural Hall,' he
+cried, hugging himself in his delight.  His sister hugged him also,
+so he was a much-embraced young man.  'Am I not a man of business,
+Maude?  You can't buy 'em--you must breed 'em.  One shilling with the
+basket.  I shook him in the first round, and he never rallied after.'
+
+'You are a dear good boy.  You did splendidly.'
+
+'That's the way to handle 'em.  He saw that I was a real fizzer and
+full of blood.  One business man can tell another at a glance.'
+
+Maude laughed, for Jack, with his cavalry swagger and a white weal
+all round his sunburned face to show where his chin-strap hung,
+looked the most unbusiness-like of mortals.
+
+'Why did you offer forty pounds?' she asked.
+
+'Well, you have to begin somewhere.'
+
+'But why forty?'
+
+'Because it is what we offer when we are buying the hairies--
+trooper's chargers, you know.  It's a great thing to have a fixed
+rule in business.  I never go higher than forty--rule one, section
+one, and no exceptions in the margin.'
+
+They lunched together at the Holborn, and Jack took Maude afterwards
+to what he called 'a real instructive show,' which proved to be a
+horse-sale at Tattersall's.  They then drove back to the lawyer's,
+and there they found a letter waiting addressed to Mrs. Crosse.
+Maude tore it open.
+
+'Dear Mrs. Crosse,' said this delightful note, 'I am happy to be able
+to inform you that the directors have decided to stop the legal
+proceedings, and to accept your offer of forty pounds in full
+satisfaction of all claims due against your husband.'
+
+Maude, Jack, and the good Owen performed a triumphant pas de trois.
+
+'You have done splendidly, Mrs. Crosse, splendidly!' cried Owen.  'I
+never heard a better day's work in my life.  Now, if you will give me
+your cheque and wait here, I will go over and settle everything.'
+
+'And please bring the bond back with you,' said Maude.
+
+
+So it was that Frank, coming down upon the morning of his birthday,
+perceived a pretty silver cigarette-box laid in front of his plate.
+
+'Is this for me, my darling?'
+
+'Yes, Frank, a wee present from your wife.'
+
+'How sweet of you!  I never saw such a lovely case.  Why, there's
+something inside it.'
+
+'Cigarettes, I suppose.
+
+'No, it is a paper of some kind.  "Hotspur Insurance Company."  Good
+Lord, I never seem for one instant to be able to shake that infernal
+thing off!  How on earth did it get in there?  What's this?--"I
+hereby guarantee to you--"  What's this?  Maude, Maude, what have you
+been doing?'
+
+'Dear old boy,' she cried, as she put her arms round him.  'Dear old
+boy!  Oh, I DO feel so happy!'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI--THE BROWNING SOCIETY
+
+
+
+It all began by Mrs. Hunt Mortimer, the smart little up-to-date wife
+of the solicitor, saying to Mrs. Beecher, the young bride of the
+banker, that in a place like Woking it was very hard to get any
+mental friction, or to escape from the same eternal grooves of
+thought and conversation.  The same idea, it seemed, had occurred to
+Mrs. Beecher, fortified by a remark from the Lady's Journal that an
+internal intellectual life was the surest method by which a woman
+could preserve her youth.  She turned up the article--for the
+conversation occurred in her drawing-room--and she read extracts from
+it.  'Shakespeare as a Cosmetic' was the title.  Maude was very much
+struck, and before they separated they had formed themselves into a
+Literary Society which should meet and discuss classical authors
+every Wednesday afternoon at each other's houses.  That one hour of
+concentrated thought and lofty impulse should give a dignity and a
+tone to the whole dull provincial week.
+
+What should they read?  It was well that they should decide it before
+they separated, so as to start fair upon the next Wednesday.  Maude
+suggested Shakespeare, but Mrs. Hunt Mortimer thought that a good
+deal of it was improper.
+
+'Does it matter?' said Mrs. Beecher.  'We are all married.'
+
+'Still I don't think it would be quite nice,' said Mrs. Hunt
+Mortimer.  She belonged to the extreme right on matters of propriety.
+
+'But surely Mr. Bowdler made Shakespeare quite respectable,' Mrs.
+Beecher argued.
+
+'He did his work very carelessly.  He left in much that might be
+dispensed with, and he omitted a good deal which was quite innocent.'
+
+'How do you know?'
+
+'Because I once got two copies and read all the omissions.'
+
+'Why did you do that?' asked Maude mischievously.
+
+'Because I wanted to make sure that they HAD been omitted,' said Mrs.
+Hunt Mortimer severely.
+
+Mrs. Beecher stooped and picked an invisible hairpin out of the rug.
+Mrs. Hunt Mortimer continued.
+
+'There is Byron, of course.  But he is so very suggestive.  There are
+passages in his works--'
+
+'I could never see any harm in them,' said Mrs. Beecher.
+
+'That is because you did not know where to look,' said Mrs. Hunt
+Mortimer.  'If you have a copy in the house, Mrs. Beecher, I will
+undertake to make it abundantly clear to you that he is to be
+eschewed by those who wish to keep their thoughts unsullied.  Not?  I
+fancy that even quoting from memory I could convince you that it is
+better to avoid him.'
+
+'Pass Byron,' said Mrs. Beecher, who was a very pretty little
+kittenish person, with no apparent need of any cosmetics, literary or
+otherwise.  'How about Shelley?'
+
+'Frank raves about Shelley,' observed Maude.
+
+Mrs. Hunt Mortimer shook her head.
+
+'His work has some dreadful tendencies.  He was, I am informed,
+either a theist or an atheist, I cannot for the moment recall which--
+I think that we should make our little course as improving as
+possible.'
+
+'Tennyson,' Maude suggested.
+
+'I have been told that his meaning is too clear to entitle him to
+rank among the great thinkers of our race.  The lofty thought is
+necessarily obscure.  There is no merit in following a poem which is
+perfectly intelligible.  Which leads us to--'
+
+'Browning!' cried the other ladies.
+
+'Exactly.  We might form a little Browning Society of our own.'
+
+'Charming!  Charming!'
+
+And so it was agreed.
+
+There was only one other point to be settled at this their inaugural
+meeting, which was, to choose the other ladies who should be admitted
+into their literary circle.  There were to be no men.
+
+'They do distract one so,' said Mrs. Hunt Mortimer.
+
+The great thing was to admit no one save those earnest spirits who
+would aspire to get the full benefit from their studies.  Mrs.
+Fortescue could not be thought of, she was much too talkative.  And
+Mrs. Jones had such a frivolous mind.  Mrs. Charles could think and
+talk of nothing but her servants.  And Mrs. Patt-Beatson always
+wanted to lay down the law.  Perhaps on the whole it would be better
+to start the society quietly among themselves, and then gradually to
+increase it.  The first meeting should be next Wednesday, at Mrs.
+Crosse's house, and Mrs. Hunt Mortimer would bring her complete two-
+volume edition with her.  Mrs. Beecher thought that one volume would
+be enough just at first, but Mrs. Hunt Mortimer said that it was
+better to have a wide choice.  Maude went home and told Frank in the
+evening.  He was pleased, but rather sceptical.
+
+'You must begin with the simpler things first,' said he.  'I should
+recommend Herve Riel and Gold Hair.'
+
+But Maude put on the charming air of displeasure which became her so
+well.
+
+'We are serious students, sir,' said she.  'We want the very hardest
+poem in the book.  I assure you, Frank, that one of your little
+faults is that you always underrate a woman's intelligence.  Mrs.
+Hunt Mortimer says that though we may be less original than men, we
+are more assim--more assmun--'
+
+'Assimulative.'
+
+'That's what I say--assimulative.  Now, you always talk as if--oh
+yes, you do!  No, you mustn't!  How absurd you are, Frank!  Whenever
+I try to speak seriously to you, you always do that and spoil
+everything.  How would you like to discuss Browning if at the end of
+every sentence somebody came and kissed you?  You wouldn't mind!  No,
+I dare say not.  But you would feel that you were not being taken
+seriously.  Wait till the next time YOU are in earnest about
+anything--you'll see!'
+
+
+The meeting was to be at three o'clock, and at ten minutes to the
+hour Mrs. Hunt Mortimer arrived with two large brown volumes under
+her arm.  She had come early, she said, because there was to be a
+rehearsal of the amateur theatricals at the Dixons' at a quarter-past
+four.  Mrs. Beecher did not appear until five minutes after the hour.
+Her cook had quarrelled with the housemaid, and given instantaneous
+notice, with five people coming to dinner on Saturday.  It had upset
+the lady very much, and she explained that she would not have come if
+she had not promised.  It was so difficult to follow poetry when you
+were thinking about the entree all the time.
+
+'Why the entree?' asked Mrs. Hunt Mortimer, looking up from the book
+which she held open in front of her.
+
+'My dear,' said Mrs. Beecher, who had the art of saying the most
+simple things as if they were profoundly confidential secrets,--'My
+dear, my parlourmaid is really an excellent cook, and I shall rely
+upon her if Martha really goes.  But she is limited, very limited,
+and entrees and savouries are the two things in which I cannot
+entirely trust her.  I must, therefore, find some dish which is well
+within her capacity.'
+
+Mrs. Hunt Mortimer prided herself upon her housekeeping, so the
+problem interested her.  Maude also began to feel the meeting less
+dull than she had expected.
+
+'Of course there are many things to be considered,' said Mrs. Hunt
+Mortimer, with the air of a Q.C. giving an opinion.  'Oyster patties
+or oyster vol-au-vents--'
+
+'Oysters are out of season,' said Maude.
+
+'I was about to say,' Mrs. Hunt Mortimer continued, with admirable
+presence of mind, 'that these entrees of oysters are inadmissible
+because they are out of season.  Now curried prawns--'
+
+'My husband loathes them.'
+
+'Well, well!  What do you say to sweetbreads en caisse?  All you want
+are chopped mushrooms, shalots, parsley, nutmeg, pepper, salt,
+breadcrumb, bacon fat--'
+
+'No, no,' cried Mrs. Beecher despairingly.  'Anne would never
+remember all that.'
+
+'Cutlets a la Constance,' said Mrs. Hunt Mortimer.  'I am sure that
+they are simple enough.  Cutlets, butter, fowls' livers, cocks'
+combs, mushrooms--'
+
+'My dear, my dear, remember that she is only a parlourmaid.  It is
+unreasonable.'
+
+'Ragout of fowl, chicken patties, croquettes of veal with a little
+browning--'
+
+'We've got back to Browning after all,' cried Maude.
+
+'Dear me,' said Mrs. Beecher, 'it is all my fault, and I am so sorry.
+Now, Mrs. Hunt Mortimer, do please read us a little of that
+delightful poetry.'
+
+'You can always get small entrees sent down from the Stores,' cried
+Maude, as a happy thought.
+
+'You dear, good girl, how sweet of you to think of it.  Of course one
+can.  That is really an admirable idea.  There now, we may consider
+the entree as being removed, so we proceed to--'
+
+'The piece de resistance,' said Mrs. Hunt Mortimer solemnly, glancing
+down the index of the first volume.  'I confess that my acquaintance
+with the poet has up to now been rather superficial.  Our ambition
+must be to so master him that he becomes from this time forward part
+and parcel of ourselves.  I fancy that the difficulties in
+understanding him have been very much exaggerated, and that with
+goodwill and perseverance we shall manage to overcome them.'
+
+It was a relief to Mrs. Beecher and to Maude to realise that Mrs.
+Hunt Mortimer knew no more about the matter than themselves.  They
+both ventured upon a less diffident air now that it was clear that it
+might be done in safety.  Maude frowned thoughtfully, and Mrs.
+Beecher cast up her pretty brown eyes at the curtain-rod, as if she
+were running over in her memory the whole long catalogue of the
+poet's works.
+
+'I will tell you what we should do,' said she.  'We must make a vow
+that we shall never pass a line until we understand it.  We will go
+over it again and again until we grasp its meaning.'
+
+'What an excellent idea!' cried Maude, with one of her little bursts
+of enthusiasm.  'Now that is really splendid, Mrs. Beecher.'
+
+'My friends always call me Nellie,' said the little brunette.
+
+'How nice of you to say so!  I should love to call you so, if you
+don't mind.  It is such a pretty name too.  Only you must call me
+Maude.'
+
+'You look like a Maude,' said Mrs. Beecher.  'I always picture a
+Maude as bright and pretty and blonde.  Isn't it strange how names
+associate themselves with characters.  Mary is always domestic, and
+Rose is a flirt, and Elizabeth is dutiful, and Evelyn is dashing, and
+Alice is colourless, and Helen is masterful--'
+
+'And Matilda is impatient,' said Mrs. Hunt Mortimer, laughing.
+'Matilda has reason to be, seated here with an index in front of her
+while you two are exchanging compliments.'
+
+'Why, we were waiting for you to begin,' said Mrs. Beecher
+reproachfully.  'Do let us have something, for really the time is
+slipping away.'
+
+'It would be a pity to begin at the beginning, because that
+represents his immature genius,' remarked Mrs. Hunt Mortimer.  'I
+think that on this the opening day of the Society, we should have the
+poet at his best.'
+
+'How are we to know which IS his best?' Maude asked.
+
+'I should be inclined to choose something with a title which suggests
+profundity--"A Pretty Woman," "Love in a Life," "Any Wife to any
+Husband"--'
+
+'Oh, what DID she say to him?' cried Maude.
+
+'Well, I was about to say that all these subjects rather suggested
+frivolity.'
+
+'Besides, it really is a very absurd title,' remarked Mrs. Beecher,
+who was fond of generalising from her six months' experience of
+matrimony.  '_A_ husband to _A_ wife' would be intelligible, but how
+can you know what ANY husband would say to ANY wife?  No one can
+really foretell what a man will do.  They really are such
+extraordinary creatures.'
+
+But Mrs. Hunt Mortimer had been married for five years, and felt as
+competent to lay down the law about husbands as about entrees.
+
+'When you have had a larger experience of them, dear, you will find
+that there is usually a reason, or at least a primitive instinct of
+some sort, at the root of their actions.  But, seriously, we must
+really concentrate our attention upon the poet, for my other
+engagement will call me away at four, which only leaves me ten
+minutes to reach Maybury.'
+
+Mrs. Beecher and Maude settled down with anxious attention upon their
+faces.
+
+'Do please go on!' they cried.
+
+'Here is "The Pied Piper of Hamelin."'
+
+'Now that interests me more than I can tell,' cried Maude, with her
+eyes shining with pleasure.  'Do please read us everything there is
+about that dear piper.'
+
+'Why so?' asked her two companions.
+
+'Well, the fact is,' said Maude, 'Frank--my husband, you know--came
+to a fancy-dress at St. Albans as the Pied Piper.  I had no idea that
+it came from Browning.'
+
+'How did he dress for it?' asked Mrs. Beecher.  'We are invited to
+the Aston's dress ball, and I want something suitable for George.'
+
+'It was a most charming dress.  Red and black all over, something
+like Mephistopheles, you know, and a peaked hat with a bell at the
+top.  Then he had a flute, of course, and a thin wire from his waist
+with a stuffed rat at the end of it.'
+
+'A rat!  How horrid!'
+
+'Well, that was the story, you know.  The rats all followed the Pied
+Piper, and so this rat followed Frank.  He put it in his pocket when
+he danced, but once he forgot, and so it got stood upon, and the
+sawdust came out all over the floor.'
+
+Mrs. Hunt Mortimer was also invited to the dress ball, and her
+thoughts flew away from the book in front of her.
+
+'How did you go, Mrs. Crosse?' she asked.
+
+'I went as "Night."'
+
+'What! you with your brown hair!'
+
+'Well, father said that I was not a very dark night.  I was in black,
+you know, just my ordinary black silk dinner-dress.  Then I had a
+silver half-moon over my head, and black veils round my hair, and
+stars all over my bodice and skirt, with a long comet right across
+the front.  Father upset a cup of milk over me at supper, and said
+afterwards that it was the milky way.'
+
+'It is simply maddening how men WILL make jokes about the most
+important subjects,' said Mrs. Hunt Mortimer.  'But I have no doubt,
+dear, that your dress was an exceedingly effective one.  Now, for my
+own part, I had some idea of going as the "Duchess of Devonshire."'
+
+'Charming!' cried Mrs. Beecher and Maude.
+
+'It is not a very difficult costume, you know.  I have some old Point
+d'Alencon lace which has been in the family for a century.  I make it
+the starting-point of my costume.  The gown need not be very
+elaborate--'
+
+'Silk?' asked Mrs. Beecher.
+
+'Well, I thought that perhaps a white-flowered brocade--'
+
+'Oh yes, with pearl trimming.'
+
+'No, no, dear, with my lace for trimming.'
+
+'Of course.  You said so.'
+
+'And then a muslin fichu coming over here.'
+
+'How perfectly sweet!' cried Maude.
+
+'And the waist cut high, and ruffles at the sleeves.  And, of course,
+a picture hat--you know what I mean--with a curling ostrich feather.'
+
+'Powdered hair, of course?' said Mrs. Beecher.
+
+'Powdered in ringlets.'
+
+'It will suit you admirably--beautifully.  You are tall enough to
+carry it off, and you have the figure also.  How I wish I was equally
+certain about my own!'
+
+'What had you thought of, dear?'
+
+'Well, I had some idea about "Ophelia."  Do you think that it would
+do?'
+
+'Certainly.  Had you worked it out at all?'
+
+'Well, my dear,' said Mrs. Beecher, relapsing into her pleasant
+confidential manner.  'I had some views, but, of course, I should be
+so glad to have your opinion about it.  I only saw Hamlet once, and
+the lady was dressed in white, with a gauzy light nun's-veiling over
+it.  I thought that with white pongee silk as an under-dress, and
+then some sort of delicate--'
+
+'Crepe de Chine,' Maude suggested.
+
+'But in Ophelia's day such a thing had never been heard of,' said
+Mrs. Hunt Mortimer.  'A net of silver thread--'
+
+'Exactly,' cried Mrs. Beecher, 'with some sort of jewelling upon it.
+That was just what I had imagined.  Of course it should be cut
+classically and draped--my dressmaker is such a treasure--and I
+should have a gold embroidery upon the white silk.'
+
+'Crewel work,' said Maude.
+
+'Or a plain cross-stitch pattern.  Then a tiara of pearls on the
+head.  Shakespeare--'
+
+At the name of the poet their three consciences pricked
+simultaneously.  They looked at each other and then at the clock with
+dismay.
+
+'We must--we really MUST go on with our reading,' cried Mrs. Hunt
+Mortimer.  'How did we get talking about these dresses?'
+
+'It was my fault,' said Mrs. Beecher, looking contrite.
+
+'No, dear, it was mine,' said Maude.  'You remember it all came from
+my saying that Frank had gone to the ball as the Pied Piper.'
+
+'I am going to read the very first poem that I open,' said Mrs. Hunt
+Mortimer remorselessly.  'I am afraid that it is almost time that I
+started, but we may still be able to skim over a few pages.  Now
+then!  There!  Setebos!  What a funny name!'
+
+'What DOES it mean?' asked Maude.
+
+'We shall find out, no doubt, as we proceed,' said Mrs. Hunt
+Mortimer.  'We shall take it line by line and draw the full meaning
+from it.  The first line is -
+
+
+'Will sprawl now that the heat of day is best--'
+
+
+'Who will?' asked Mrs. Beecher.
+
+'I don't know.  That's what it says.'
+
+'The next line will explain, no doubt.'
+
+
+'Flat on his--'
+
+
+'Dear me, I had no idea that Browning was like this!'
+
+'Do read it, dear.'
+
+'I couldn't possibly think of doing so.  With your permission we will
+pass on to the next paragraph.'
+
+'But we vowed not to skip.'
+
+'But why read what cannot instruct or elevate us.  Let us begin this
+next stanza, and hope for something better.  The first line is--I
+wonder if it really can be as it is written.'
+
+'Do please read it!'
+
+
+'Setebos and Setebos and Setebos.'
+
+
+The three students looked sadly at each other.  'This is worse than
+anything I could have imagined,' said the reader.
+
+'We mast skip that line.'
+
+'But we are skipping everything.'
+
+'It's a person's name,' said Mrs. Beecher.
+
+'Or three persons.'
+
+'No, only one, I think.'
+
+'But why should he repeat it three times?'
+
+'For emphasis!'
+
+'Perhaps,' said Mrs. Beecher, 'it was Mr. Setebos, and Mrs. Setebos,
+and a little Setebos.'
+
+'Now, if you are going to make fun, I won't read.  But I think we
+were wrong to say that we would take it line by line.  It would be
+easier sentence by sentence.'
+
+'Quite so.'
+
+'Then we will include the next line, which finishes the sentence.  It
+is, "thinketh he dwelleth in the cold of the moon."'
+
+'Then it WAS only one Setebos!' cried Maude.
+
+'So it appears.  It is easy to understand if one will only put it
+into ordinary language.  This person Setebos was under the impression
+that his life was spent in the moonlight.'
+
+'But what nonsense it is!' cried Mrs. Beecher.  Mrs. Hunt Mortimer
+looked at her reproachfully.  'It is very easy to call everything
+which we do not understand "nonsense,"' said she.  'I have no doubt
+that Browning had a profound meaning in this.'
+
+'What was it, then?'
+
+Mrs. Hunt Mortimer looked at the clock.
+
+'I am very sorry to have to go,' said she, 'but really I have no
+choice in the matter.  Just as we were getting on so nicely--it is
+really most vexatious.  You'll come to my house next Wednesday, Mrs.
+Crosse, won't you?  And you also, Mrs. Beecher.  Good-bye, and thanks
+for SUCH a pleasant afternoon!'
+
+But her skirts had hardly ceased to rustle in the passage before the
+Browning Society had been dissolved by a two-thirds' vote of the
+total membership.
+
+'What is the use?' cried Mrs. Beecher.  'Two lines have positively
+made my head ache, and there are two volumes.'
+
+'We must change our poet.'
+
+'His verbosity!' cried Mrs. Beecher.
+
+'His Setebosity!' cried Maude.
+
+'And dear Mrs. Hunt Mortimer pretending to like him!  Shall we
+propose Tennyson next week?'
+
+'It would be far better.'
+
+'But Tennyson is quite simple, is he not?'
+
+'Perfectly.'
+
+'Then why should we meet to discuss him if there is nothing to
+discuss?'
+
+'You mean that we might as well each read him for herself.'
+
+'I think it would be easier.'
+
+'Why, of course it would.'
+
+And so after one hour of precarious life, Mrs. Hunt Mortimer's Mutual
+Improvement Society for the elucidation of Browning came to an
+untimely end.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII--AN INVESTMENT
+
+
+
+'I want your advice, Maude.'
+
+She was looking very sweet and fresh in the morning sunlight.  She
+wore a flowered, French print blouse--little sprigs of roses on a
+white background--and a lace frill round her pretty, white, smooth
+throat.  The buckle of her brown leather belt just gleamed over the
+edge of the table-cloth.  In front of her were a litter of
+correspondence, a white cup of coffee, and two empty eggshells--for
+she was a perfectly healthy young animal with an excellent appetite.
+
+'Well, dear, what is it?'
+
+'I shall take the later train.  Then I need not hurry, and can walk
+down at my ease.'
+
+'How nice of you!'
+
+'I am not sure that Dinton will think so.'
+
+'Only one little hour of difference--what can it matter?'
+
+'They don't run offices on those lines.  An hour means a good deal in
+the City of London.'
+
+'Oh, I do hate the City of London!  It is the only thing which ever
+comes between us.'
+
+'I suppose that it separates a good many loving couples every
+morning.'
+
+He had come across and an egg-cup had been upset.  Then he had been
+scolded, and they sat together laughing upon the sofa.  When he had
+finished admiring her little, shining, patent-leather, Louis shoes
+and the two charming curves of open-work black stocking, she reminded
+him that he had asked for her advice.
+
+'Yes, dear, what was it?'  She knitted her brows and tried to look as
+her father did when he considered a matter of business.  But then her
+father was not hampered by having a young man's arm round his neck.
+It is so hard to be business-like when any one is curling one's hair
+round his finger.
+
+'I have some money to invest.'
+
+'O Frank, how clever of you!'
+
+'It is only fifty pounds.'
+
+'Never mind, dear, it is a beginning.'
+
+'That is what I feel.  It is the foundation-stone of our fortunes.
+And so I want Her Majesty to lay it--mustn't wrinkle your brow
+though--that is not allowed.'
+
+'But it is a great responsibility, Frank.'
+
+'Yes, we must not lose it.'
+
+'No, dear, we must not lose it.  Suppose we invest it in one of those
+modern fifty-guinea pianos.  Our dear old Broadwood was an excellent
+piano when I was a girl, but it is getting so squeaky in the upper
+notes.  Perhaps they would allow us something for it.'
+
+He shook his head.
+
+'I know that we want one very badly, dear.  And such a musician as
+you are should have the best instrument that money can buy.  I
+promise you that when we have a little to turn round on, you shall
+have a beauty.  But in the meantime we must not buy anything with
+this money--I mean nothing for ourselves--we must invest it.  We
+cannot tell what might happen.  I might fall ill.  I might die.'
+
+'O Frank, how horrid you are this morning!'
+
+'Well, we have to be ready for anything.  So I want to put this where
+we can get it on an emergency, and where in the meantime it will
+bring us some interest.  Now what shall we buy?'
+
+'Papa always bought a house.'
+
+'But we have not enough.'
+
+'Not a little house?'
+
+'No, not the smallest.'
+
+'A mortgage, then?'
+
+'The sum is too small.'
+
+'Government stock, Frank--if you think it is safe.'
+
+'Oh, it is safe enough.  But the interest is so low.'
+
+'How much should we get?'
+
+'Well, I suppose the fifty pounds would bring us in about thirty
+shillings a year.'
+
+'Thirty shillings!  O Frank!'
+
+'Rather less than more.'
+
+'Fancy a great rich nation like ours taking our fifty pounds and
+treating us like that.  How MEAN of them!  Don't let them have it,
+Frank.'
+
+'No, I won't.'
+
+'If they want it, they can make us a fair offer for it.'
+
+'I think we'll try something else.'
+
+'Well, they have only themselves to thank.  But you have some plan in
+your head, Frank.  What is it?'
+
+He brought the morning paper over from the table.  Then he folded it
+so as to bring the financial columns to the top.
+
+'I saw a fellow in the City yesterday who knows a great deal about
+gold-mining.  I only had a few minutes' talk, but he strongly advised
+me to have some shares in the El Dorado Proprietary Gold Mine.'
+
+'What a nice name!  I wonder if they would let us have any?'
+
+'Oh yes, they are to be bought in the open market.  It is like this,
+Maude.  The mine was a very good one, and paid handsome dividends.
+Then it had some misfortunes.  First, there was no water, and then
+there was too much water, and the workings were flooded.  So, of
+course, the price of the shares fell.  Now they are getting the mine
+all right again, but the shares are still low.  It certainly seems a
+very good chance to pick a few of them up.'
+
+'Are they very dear, Frank?'
+
+'I looked them up in the Mining Register before I came home
+yesterday.  The original price of each share was ten shillings, but
+as they have had these misfortunes, one would expect to find them
+rather lower.'
+
+'Ten shillings!  It does not seem much to pay for a share in a thing
+with a name like that.'
+
+'Here it is,' said he, pointing with a pencil to one name in a long
+printed list.  'This one, between the Royal Bonanza and the Alabaster
+Consols.  You see--El Dorado Proprietary!  Then after it you have
+printed, 4.75--4.875.  I don't profess to know much about these
+things, but that of course means the price.'
+
+'Yes, dear, it is printed at the top of the column--"Yesterday's
+prices."'
+
+'Quito so.  Well, we know that the original price of each share was
+ten shillings, and of course they must have dropped with a flood in
+the mine, so that these figures must mean that the price yesterday
+was four shillings and nine-pence, or thereabouts.'
+
+'What a clear head for business you have, dear!'
+
+'I think we can't do wrong in buying at that price.  You see, with
+our fifty pounds we could buy two hundred of them, and then if they
+went up again we could sell, and take our profit.'
+
+'How delightful!  But suppose they don't go up.'
+
+'Well, they can't go down.  I should not think that a share at four
+shillings and ninepence COULD go down very much.  There is no room.
+But it may go up to any extent.'
+
+'Besides, your friend said that they would go up.'
+
+'Yes, he seemed quite confident about it.  Well, what do you think,
+Maude?  Is it good enough or not?'
+
+'O Frank, I hardly dare advise you.  Just imagine if we were to lose
+it all.  Do you think it would be wiser to get a hundred shares, and
+then we could buy twenty-five pounds' worth of Royal Bonanza as well.
+It would be impossible for them both to go wrong.'
+
+'The Royal Bonanza shares are dear, and then we have had no
+information about it.  I think we had better back our own opinion.'
+
+'All right, Frank.'
+
+'Then that is settled.  I have a telegraph-form here.'
+
+'Could you not buy them yourself when you are in town?'
+
+'No, you can't buy things yourself.  You have to do it through a
+broker.'
+
+'I always thought a broker was a horrid man, who came and took your
+furniture away.'
+
+'Ah, that's another kind of broker.  He comes afterwards.  I promised
+Harrison that he should have any business which I could put in his
+way, so here goes.  How is that?' -
+
+
+'Harrison, 13a Throgmorton Street, E.C.--Buy two hundred El Dorado
+Proprietaries.
+
+'CROSSE, Woking.'
+
+
+'Doesn't it sound rather peremptory, Frank?'
+
+'No, no, that is mere business.'
+
+'I hope he won't be offended.'
+
+'I think I can answer for that.'
+
+'You have not said the price.'
+
+'One cannot say the price because one does not know it.  You see, it
+is always going up and down.  By this time it may be a little higher
+or a little lower than yesterday.  There cannot be much change, that
+is certain.  Great Scot, Maude, it is ten-fifteen.  Three and a half
+minutes for a quarter of a mile.  Good-bye, darling!  I just love you
+in that bodice.  O Lord--good-bye!'
+
+
+'Well, has anything happened?'
+
+'Yes, you have come back.  Oh I am so glad to see you, you dear old
+boy!'
+
+'Take care of that window, darling!'
+
+'Oh, my goodness, I hope he didn't see.  No, it's all right.  He was
+looking the other way.  We have the gold shares all right.'
+
+'Harrison has telegraphed?'
+
+'Yes, here it is.' -
+
+
+'Crosse, The Lindens, Woking.--Bought two hundred El Dorados at 4.75.
+
+HARRISON.'
+
+
+'That is capital.  I rather expected to see Harrison in the train.  I
+shouldn't be surprised if he calls on his way from the station.  He
+has to pass our door, you know, on his way to Maybury.'
+
+'He is sure to call.'
+
+'What are you holding there?'
+
+'It's a paper.'
+
+'What paper?'
+
+'Who is it who talks about woman's curiosity?'
+
+'Let me see it.'
+
+'Well, sir, if you must know, it is the Financial Whisper.'
+
+'Where in the world did you get it?'
+
+'I knew that the Montresors took a financial paper.  I remember Mrs.
+Montresor saying once how dreadfully dry it was.  So when you were
+gone I sent Jemima round and borrowed it, and I have read it right
+through to see if there was anything about our mine in it--OUR mine,
+Frank; does it not sound splendid?'
+
+'Well, is there anything?'
+
+She clapped her hands with delight.
+
+'Yes, there is.  "This prosperous mine--" that is what it says.  Look
+here, it is under the heading of Australian Notes,' she held out the
+paper and pointed, but his face fell as he looked.
+
+'O Maude, it's preposterous.'
+
+'What is preposterous?'
+
+'The word is preposterous and not prosperous--"this preposterous
+mine."'
+
+'Frank!'  She turned her face away.
+
+'Never mind, dear!  What's the odds?'
+
+'O Frank, our first investment--our fifty pounds!  And to think that
+I should have kept the paper as a surprise for you!'
+
+'Well, the print is a little slurred, and it was a very natural
+mistake.  After all, the paper may be wrong.  Oh don't, Maude, please
+don't!  It's not worth it--all the gold on the earth is not worth it.
+There's a sweet girlie!  Now, are you better?  Oh, damn those open
+curtains!'
+
+A tall and brisk young man with a glossy hat was coming through the
+garden.  An instant later Jemima had ushered him in.
+
+'Hullo, Harrison!'
+
+'How do you do, Crosse?  How are you, Mrs. Crosse?'
+
+'How do you do?  I'll just order tea if you will excuse me.'
+
+Ordering tea seemed to involve a good deal of splashing water.  Maude
+came back with a merrier face.
+
+'Is this a good paper, Mr. Harrison?'
+
+'What is it?  Financial Whisper!  No, the most venal rag in the
+city.'
+
+'Oh, I am so glad!'
+
+'Why?'
+
+'Well, you know, we bought some shares to-day, and it calls our mine
+a preposterous one.'
+
+'Oh, is that all.  Who cares what the Financial Whisper says!  It
+would call the Bank of England a preposterous institution if it
+thought it could bear Consols by doing so.  Its opinion is not worth
+a halfpenny.  By the way, Crosse, it was about those shares that I
+called.'
+
+'I thought you might.  I have only just got back myself, and I saw by
+your wire that you had bought them all right.'
+
+'Yes, I thought I had better let you have your contract at once.
+Settling day is on Monday, you know.'
+
+'All right.  Thank you.  I will let you have a cheque.  What--what's
+this?'
+
+The contract had been laid face upwards upon the table.  Frank
+Crosse's face grew whiter and his eyes larger as he stared at it.  It
+ran in this way -
+
+
+13a THROGMORTON STREET.
+
+Bought for Francis Crosse, Esq.
+
+(Subject to the Specific Rules and Regulations of the Stock
+Exchange.)                           Pounds
+200 El Dorado Proprietaries at 4.75    950   0   0
+Stamps and Fees                          4  17   6
+Commission                               7  10   0
+                                       962   7   6
+
+For the 7th inst.
+
+
+'I fancy there is some mistake here, Harrison,' said he, speaking
+with a very dry pair of lips.
+
+'A mistake!'
+
+'Yes, this is not at all what I expected.'
+
+'O Frank!  Nearly a thousand pounds!' gasped Maude.
+
+Harrison glanced from one of them to the other.  He saw that the
+matter was serious.
+
+'I am very sorry if there has been any mistake.  I tried to obey your
+instructions.  You wanted two hundred El Dorados, did you not?'
+
+'Yes, at four and ninepence.'
+
+'Four and ninepence!  They are four pound fifteen each.'
+
+'But I read that they were only ten shillings originally, and that
+they had been falling.'
+
+'Yes, they have been falling for months.  But they were as high as
+ten pounds once.  They are down at four pound fifteen now.'
+
+'Why on earth could the paper not say so?'
+
+'When a fraction is used, it always means a fraction of a pound.'
+
+'Good heavens!  And I have to find this sum before Monday.'
+
+'Monday is settling day.'
+
+'I can't do it, Harrison.  It is impossible.'
+
+'Then there is the obvious alternative.'
+
+'No, I had rather die.  I will never go bankrupt--never!'
+
+Harrison began to laugh, and then turned stonily solemn as he met a
+pair of reproachful grey eyes.
+
+'It strikes me that you have not done much at this game, Crosse.'
+
+'Never before--and by Heaven, never again!'
+
+'You take it much too hard.  When I spoke of an alternative, I never
+dreamed of bankruptcy.  All you have to do is to sell your stock to-
+morrow morning, and pay the difference.'
+
+'Can I do that?'
+
+'Rather.  Why not?'
+
+'What would the difference be?'
+
+Harrison took an evening paper from his pocket.  'We deal in rails
+chiefly, and I don't profess to keep in touch with the mining market.
+We'll find the quotation here.  By Jove!'  He whistled between his
+teeth.
+
+'Well!' said Frank, and felt his wife's little warm palm fall upon
+his hand under the table.
+
+'The difference is in your favour.'
+
+'In my favour?'
+
+'Yes, listen to this.  "The mining markets, both the South African
+and the Australian, opened dull, but grew more animated as the day
+proceeded, prices closing at the best.  Out crops upon the Rand mark
+a general advance of one-sixteenth to one-eighth.  The chief feature
+in the Australian section was a sharp advance of five-eighths in El
+Dorados, upon a telegram that the workings had been pumped dry."
+Crosse, I congratulate you.'
+
+'I can really sell them for more than I gave?'
+
+'I should think so.  You have two hundred of them, and a profit of
+ten shillings on each.'
+
+'Maude, we'll have the whisky and the soda.  Harrison, you must have
+a drink.  Why, that's a hundred pounds.'
+
+'More than a hundred.'
+
+'Without my paying anything?'
+
+'Not a penny.'
+
+'When does the Exchange open to-morrow?'
+
+'The rattle goes at eleven.'
+
+'Well, be there at eleven, Harrison.  Sell them at once.'
+
+'You won't hold on and watch the market?'
+
+'No, no--I won't have an easy moment until they are sold.'
+
+'All right, my boy.  You can rely upon me.  You will get a cheque for
+your balance on Tuesday or Wednesday.  Good evening!  I am so glad
+that it has all ended well.'
+
+'And the joke of it is, Maude,' said her husband, after they had
+talked over the whole adventure from the beginning.  'The joke of it
+is that we have still to find an investment for our original fifty
+pounds.  I am inclined to put it into Consols after all.'
+
+'Well,' said Maude, 'perhaps it would be the patriotic thing to do.'
+
+Two days later the poor old Broadwood with the squeaky treble and the
+wheezy bass was banished for ever from The Lindens, and there arrived
+in its place a ninety-five-guinea cottage grand, all dark walnut and
+gilding, with notes in it so deep and rich and resonant that Maude
+could sit before it by the hour and find music enough in simply
+touching one here and one there, and listening to the soft, sweet,
+reverberant tones which came swelling from its depths.  Her El Dorado
+piano, she called it, and tried to explain to lady visitors how her
+husband had been so clever at business that he had earned it in a
+single day.  As she was never very clear in her own mind how the
+thing had occurred, she never succeeded in explaining it to any one
+else, but a vague and solemn impression became gradually diffused
+abroad that young Mr. Frank Crosse was a very remarkable man, and
+that he had done something exceedingly clever in the matter of an
+Australian mine.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII--A THUNDERCLOUD
+
+
+
+Blue skies and shining sun, but far down on the horizon one dark
+cloud gathers and drifts slowly upwards unobserved.  Frank Crosse was
+aware of its shadow when coming down to breakfast he saw an envelope
+with a well-remembered handwriting beside his plate.  How he had
+loved that writing once, how his heart had warmed and quickened at
+the sight of it, how eagerly he had read it--and now a viper coiled
+upon the white table-cloth would hardly have given him a greater
+shock.  Contradictory, incalculable, whimsical life!  A year ago how
+scornfully he would have laughed, what contemptuous unbelief would
+have filled his soul, if he had been told that any letter of hers
+could have struck him cold with the vague apprehension of coming
+misfortune.  He tore off the envelope and threw it into the fire.
+But before he could glance at the letter there was the quick patter
+of his wife's feet upon the stair, and she burst, full of girlish
+health and high spirits, into the little room.  She wore a pink
+crepon dressing-gown, with cream guipure lace at the neck and wrists.
+Pink ribbon outlined her trim waist.  The morning sun shone upon her,
+and she seemed to him to be the daintiest, sweetest tiling upon
+earth.  He had thrust his letter into his pocket as she entered.
+
+'You will excuse the dressing-gown, Frank.'
+
+'I just love you in it.  No, you mustn't pass.  Now you can go.'
+
+'I was so afraid that you would breakfast without me that I had no
+time to dress.  I shall have the whole day to finish in when you are
+gone.  There now--Jemima has forgotten to warm the plates again!  And
+your coffee is cold.  I wish you had not waited.'
+
+'Better cold coffee with Maude's society.'
+
+'I always thought men gave up complimenting their wives after they
+married them.  I am so glad you don't.  I think on the whole that
+women's ideas of men are unfair and severe.  The reason is that the
+women who have met unpleasant men run about and make a noise, but the
+women who are happy just keep quiet and enjoy themselves.  For
+example, I have not time to write a book explaining to every one how
+nice Frank Crosse is; but if he were nasty my life would be empty,
+and so of course I should write my book.'
+
+'I feel such a fraud when you talk like that.'
+
+'That is part of your niceness.'
+
+'Oh don't, Maude!  It really hurts me.'
+
+'Why, Frank, what is the matter with you to-day?'
+
+'Nothing, dear.'
+
+'Oh yes, there is.  I can tell easily.'
+
+'Perhaps I am not quite myself.'
+
+'No, I am sure that you are not.  I believe that you have a cold
+coming on.  O Frank, do take some ammoniated quinine.'
+
+'Good heavens, no!'
+
+'Please!  Please!'
+
+'My dear girlie, there is nothing the matter with me.'
+
+'But it is such splendid stuff.'
+
+'Yes, I know.  But really I don't want it.'
+
+'Have you had any letters, Frank?'
+
+'Yes, one.'
+
+'Anything important?'
+
+'I have hardly glanced at it yet.'
+
+'Glance at it now.'
+
+'Oh, I will keep it for the train.  Good-bye, dearest.  It is time
+that I was off.'
+
+'If you would only take the ammoniated quinine.  You men are so proud
+and obstinate.  Good-bye, darling.  Eight hours, and then I shall
+begin to live again.'
+
+He had a quiet corner of a carriage to himself, so he unfolded his
+letter and read it.  Then he read it again with frowning brows and
+compressed lips.  It ran in this way -
+
+
+My Dearest Frankie,--I suppose that I should not address you like
+this now that you are a good little married man, but the force of
+custom is strong, and, after all, I knew you long before she did.  I
+don't suppose you were aware of it, but there was a time when I could
+very easily have made you marry me, in spite of all you may know
+about my trivial life and adventures, but I thought it all over very
+carefully, and I came to the conclusion that it was not good enough.
+You were always a dear good chap yourself, but your prospects were
+not quite dashing enough for your festive Violet.  I believe in a
+merry time even if it is a short one.  But if I had really wanted to
+settle down in a humdrum sort of way, you are the man whom I should
+have chosen out of the whole batch of them.  I hope what I say won't
+make you conceited, for one of your best points used to be your
+modesty.
+
+But for all that, my dear Frankie, I by no means give you up
+altogether, and don't you make any mistake about that.  It was only
+yesterday that I saw Charlie Scott, and he told me all about you, and
+gave me your address.  Don't you bless him?  And yet I don't know.
+Perhaps you have still a kindly thought of your old friend, and would
+like to see her.
+
+But you are going to see her whether you like or not, my dear boy, so
+make up your mind to that.  You know how you used to chaff me about
+my whims.  Well, I've got a whim now, and I'll have my way as usual.
+I am going to see you to-morrow, and if you won't see me under my
+conditions in London, I shall call at Woking in the evening.  Oh my
+goodness, what a bombshell!  But you know that I am always as good as
+my word.  So look out!
+
+Now I'll give you your orders for the day, and don't you forget them.
+To-morrow (Thursday, 14th, no excuses about the date) you will leave
+your office at 3.30.  I know that you can when you like.  You will
+drive to Mariani's, and you will find me at the door.  We shall go up
+to our old private room, and we shall have tea together, and a dear
+old chat about all sorts of things.  So come!  But if you don't,
+there is a train which leaves Waterloo at 6.10 and reaches Woking at
+7.  I will come by it and be just in time for dinner.  What a joke it
+will be!
+
+Good-bye, old boy!  I hope your wife does not read your letters, or
+this will rather give her fits.
+
+- Yours as ever, VIOLET WRIGHT.
+
+
+At the first reading this letter filled him with anger.  To be wooed
+by a very pretty woman is pleasant even to the most austere of
+married men (and never again trust the one who denies it), but to be
+wooed with a very dangerous threat mixed up with the wooing is no
+such pleasant experience.  And it was no empty threat.  Violet was a
+woman who prided herself upon being as good as her word.  She had
+laughingly said with her accustomed frankness upon one occasion that
+it was her sole remaining virtue.  If he did not go to Mariani's, she
+would certainly come to Woking.  He shuddered to think of Maude being
+annoyed by her.  It was one thing to speak in a general way to his
+wife of prematrimonial experiences, and it was another to have this
+woman forcing herself upon her and making a scene.  The idea was so
+vulgar.  The sweet, pure atmosphere of The Lindens would never be the
+same again.
+
+No, there was no getting out of it.  He must go to Mariani's.  He was
+sufficiently master of himself to know that no harm could come of
+that.  His absolute love for his wife shielded him from all danger.
+The very thought of infidelity nauseated him.  And then, as the idea
+became more familiar to him, other emotions succeeded that of anger.
+There was an audacity about his old flame, a spirit and devilment,
+which appealed to his sporting instincts.  Besides, it was
+complimentary to him, and flattering to his masculine vanity, that
+she should not give him up without a struggle.  Merely as a friend it
+would not be disagreeable to see her again.  Before he had reached
+Clapham Junction his anger had departed, and by the time that he
+arrived at Waterloo he was surprised to find himself looking forward
+to the interview.
+
+Mariani's is a quiet restaurant, famous for its lachryma christi
+spumante, and situated in the network of sombre streets between Drury
+Lane and Covent Garden.  The fact of its being in a by-street was not
+unfavourable to its particular class of business.  Its customers were
+very free from the modern vice of self-advertisement, and would even
+take some trouble to avoid publicity.  Nor were they gregarious or
+luxurious in their tastes.  A small, simple apartment was usually
+more to their taste than a crowded salon, and they were even prepared
+to pay a higher sum for it.
+
+It was five minutes to four when Frank arrived, and the lady had not
+yet appeared.  He stood near the door and waited.  Presently a hansom
+rattled into the narrow street, and there she sat framed in its
+concavity.  A pretty woman never looks prettier than in a hansom,
+with the shadows behind to give their Rembrandt effect to the face in
+front.  She raised a yellow kid hand, and flashed a smile at him.
+
+'Just the same as ever,' said she, as he handed her down.
+
+'So are you.'
+
+'So glad you think so.  I am afraid I can't quite agree with you.
+Thirty-four yesterday.  It's simply awful.  Thank you, I have some
+change.  All right, cabby.  Well, have you got a room?'
+
+'No.'
+
+'But you'll come?'
+
+'Oh yes, I should like to have a chat.'
+
+The clean-shaven, round-faced manager, a man of suave voice and
+diplomatic manner, was standing in the passage.  His strange life was
+spent in standing in the passage.  He remembered the pair at once,
+and smiled paternally.
+
+'Not seen you for some time, sir!'
+
+'No, I have been engaged.'
+
+'Married,' said the lady.
+
+'Dear me!' said the proprietor.  'Tea, sir?'
+
+'And muffins.  You used to like the muffins.'
+
+'Oh yes, muffins by all means.'
+
+'Number ten,' said the proprietor, and a waiter showed them upstairs.
+'All meals nine shillings each,' he whispered, as Frank passed him at
+the door.  He was a new waiter, and so mistook every one for a new
+customer, which is an error which runs through life.
+
+It was a dingy little room with a round table covered by a soiled
+cloth in the middle.  Two windows, discreetly blinded, let in a dim
+London light.  An armchair stood at each side of the empty fireplace,
+and an uncomfortable, old-fashioned, horsehair sofa lined the
+opposite wall.  There were pink vases upon the mantelpiece, and a
+portrait of Garibaldi above it.
+
+The lady sat down and took off her gloves.  Frank stood by the window
+and smoked a cigarette.  The waiter rattled and banged and jingled
+with the final effect of producing a tea-tray and a hot-water dish.
+'You'll ring if you want me, sir,' said he, and shut the door with
+ostentatious completeness.
+
+'Now we can talk,' said Frank, throwing his cigarette into the
+fireplace.  'That waiter was getting on my nerves.'
+
+'I say, I hope you're not angry.'
+
+'What at?'
+
+'Well, my saying I should come down to Woking, and all that.'
+
+'I should have been angry if I thought you had meant it.'
+
+'Oh, I meant it right enough.'
+
+'But with what object?'
+
+'Just to get level with you, Frankie, if you threw me over too
+completely.  Hang it all, she has three hundred and sixty-five days
+in the year!  Am I to be grudged a single hour?'
+
+'Well, Violet, we won't quarrel about it.  You see I came all right.
+Pull up your chair and have some tea.'
+
+'You haven't even looked at me yet.  I won't take any tea until you
+do.'
+
+She stood up in front of him, and pushed up her veil.  It was a face
+and a figure worth looking at.  Hazel eyes, dark chestnut hair, a
+warm flush of pink in her cheeks, the features and outline of an old
+Grecian goddess, but with more of Juno than of Venus, for she might
+perhaps err a little upon the side of opulence.  There was a
+challenge and defiance dancing in those dark devil-may-care eyes of
+hers which might have roused a more cold-blooded man than her
+companion.  Her dress was simple and dark, but admirably cut.  She
+was clever enough to know that a pretty woman should concentrate
+attention upon herself, and a plain one divert it to her adornments.
+
+'Well?'
+
+'By Jove, Violet, you look splendid.'
+
+'Well?'
+
+'The muffins are getting cold.'
+
+'Frankie, what IS the matter with you?'
+
+'Nothing is the matter.'
+
+'Well?'
+
+She put out her two hands and took hold of his.  That well-remembered
+sweet, subtle scent of hers rose to his nostrils.  There is nothing
+more insidious than a scent which carries suggestions and
+associations.  'Frankie, you have not kissed me yet.'
+
+She turned her smiling face upwards and sideways, and for an instant
+he leaned forward towards it.  But he had himself in hand again in a
+moment.  It gave him confidence to find how quickly and completely he
+could do it.  With a laugh, still holding her two hands, he pushed
+her back into the chair by the table.
+
+'There's a good girl!' said he.  'Now we'll have some tea, and I'll
+give you a small lecture while we do so.'
+
+'You are a nice one to give lectures.'
+
+'Oh, there's no such preacher as a converted sinner.'
+
+'You really are converted then?'
+
+'Rather.  Two lumps, if I remember right.  You ought to do this, not
+I.  No milk, and very strong--how you keep your complexion I can't
+imagine.  But you do keep it; my word, you do!  Now please don't look
+so crossly at me.'
+
+Her flushed cheeks and resentful eyes had drawn forth the
+remonstrance.
+
+'You ARE changed,' she said, with surprise as well as anger in her
+voice.
+
+'Why, of course I am.  I am married.'
+
+'For that matter Charlie Scott is married.'
+
+'Don't give Charlie Scott away.'
+
+'I think I give myself away.  So you have lost all your love for me.
+I thought it was to last for ever.'
+
+'Now, do be sensible, Violet.'
+
+'Sensible!  How I loathe that word!  A man only uses it when he is
+going to do something cold-blooded and mean.  It is always the
+beginning of the end.'
+
+'What do you want me to do?'
+
+'I want you to be my own Frankie--just the same as before.  Ah do,
+Franck--don't leave me!  You know I would give any of them up for
+you.  And you have a good influence over me--you have really!  You
+call't think how hard I am with other people.  Ask Charlie Scott.  He
+will tell you.  I've been so different since I have lost sight of
+you.  Now, Frankie, don't be horrid to me!  Kiss and be nice!'  Again
+her soft warm hand was upon his, and the faint sweet smell of violets
+went to his blood like wine.  He jumped up, lit another cigarette,
+and paced about the room.
+
+'You shan't have a cigarette, Frankie.'
+
+'Why not?'
+
+'Because you said once it helped you to control yourself.  I don't
+want you to control yourself.  I want you to feel as I feel.'
+
+'Do sit down, like a good girl!'
+
+'Cigarette out!'
+
+'Don't be absurd, Violet!'
+
+'Come, out with it, sir.'
+
+'No, no, leave it alone!'
+
+She had snatched it from his lips and thrown it into the grate.
+
+'What is the use of that?  I have a case full.'
+
+'They shall all follow the first.'
+
+'Well, then, I won't smoke.'
+
+'I'll see that you don't.'
+
+'Well, what the better are you for that?'
+
+'Now, be nice.'
+
+'Go back to your chair and have some more tea.'
+
+'Oh, bother the tea!'
+
+'Well, I won't speak to you unless you sit down and behave yourself.'
+
+'There now!  Speak away.'
+
+'Look here, dear Violet, you must not talk about this any more.  Some
+things are possible and some are impossible.  This is absolutely,
+finally impossible.  We can never go back upon the past.  It is
+finished and done with.'
+
+'Then what did you come here for?'
+
+'To bid you good-bye.'
+
+'A Platonic good-bye.'
+
+'Of course.'
+
+'In a private room at Mariani's.'
+
+'Why not?'
+
+She laughed bitterly.
+
+'You were always a little mad, Frankie.'
+
+He leaned earnestly over the table.
+
+'Look here, Violet, the chances are that we shall never meet again.'
+
+'It takes two to say that.'
+
+'Well, I mean that after to-day I should not meet you again.  If you
+were not quite what you are it would be easier.  But as it is I find
+it a little too much of a test.  No, don't mistake me or think that I
+am weakening.  That is impossible.  But all the same I don't want to
+go through it again.'
+
+'So sorry if I have upset you.'
+
+He disregarded her irony.
+
+'We have been very good friends, Violet.  Why should we part as
+enemies?'
+
+'Why should we part at all?'
+
+'We won't go back over that.  Now do please look facts in the face
+and help me to do the right thing, for it would be so much easier if
+you would help me.  If you were a very good and kind girl you would
+shake my hand, like any other old pal, and wish me joy of my
+marriage.  You know that I should do so if I knew that you were going
+to be married.'
+
+But the lady was not to be so easily appeased.  She took her tea in
+silence or answered his remarks with monosyllables, while the
+occasional flash of her dark eyes as she raised them was like the
+distant lightning which heralds the storm.  Suddenly, with a swift
+rustle of skirts, she was between the door and his chair.
+
+'Now, Frankie, we have had about enough of this nonsense,' said she.
+'Don't imagine that you are going to get out of this thing so easily.
+I've got you, and I'll keep you.'
+
+He faced round in his chair and looked helplessly at her with a hand
+upon each knee.
+
+'O Lord!  Don't begin it all over again,' said he.
+
+'No, I won't,' she answered with an angry laugh.  'I'll try another
+line this time, Master Frank.  I'm not the sort of woman who lets a
+thing go easily when once I have set my heart upon it.  I won't try
+coaxing any longer--'
+
+'So glad,' he murmured.
+
+'You may say what you like, but you can't do it, my boy.  I knew you
+before she did, and I'll keep you, or else I'll make such a row that
+you will be sorry that you ever put my back up.  It's all very fine
+to sit there and preach, but it won't do, Frankie.  You can't slip
+out of things as easily as all that.'
+
+'Why should you turn nasty like this, Violet?  What do you think you
+will gain by it?'
+
+'I mean to gain YOU.  I like you, Frankie.  I'm not sure that I don't
+really love you--real, real love, you know.  Any way, I don't intend
+to let you go, and if you go against my will I give you my word that
+I shall make it pretty sultry for you down at Woking.'
+
+He stared moodily into his teacup.
+
+'Besides, what rot it all is!' she continued, laying her hand upon
+his shoulder.  'When did you begin to ride the high moral horse?  You
+were just as cheerful as the rest of them when last I saw you.  You
+speak as if a man ceased to live just because he is married.  What
+has changed you?'
+
+'I'll tell you what has changed me,' said he, looking up.  'My wife
+has changed me.'
+
+'Oh, bother your wife!'
+
+A look which was new to her came over his face.
+
+'Stop that!' said he sharply.
+
+'Oh, no harm!  How has your wife made this wonderful change?'
+
+His mood softened as his thoughts flew back to Woking.
+
+'By her own goodness--the atmosphere that she makes round her.  If
+you knew how wholesome she was, how delicate in her most intimate
+thoughts, how fresh and how sweet and how pure, you would understand
+that the thought of being false to her is horrible.  When I think of
+her as she sat at breakfast this morning, so loving and so innocent--
+'
+
+He would have been more discreet if he had been less eloquent.  The
+lady's temper suddenly overflowed.
+
+'Innocent!' she cried.  'As innocent as I am.'
+
+He sprang to his feet with eyes which were more angry than her own.
+
+'Hold your tongue!  How dare you talk against my wife!  You are not
+fit to mention her name.'
+
+'I'll go to Woking,' she gasped.
+
+'You can go to the devil!' said he, and rang the bell for his bill.
+She stared at him with a surprise which had eclipsed her anger, while
+she pulled on her gloves with little sharp twitches.  This was a new
+Frank Crosse to her.  As long as a woman gets on very well with a
+man, she is apt, at the back of her soul, to suspect him of weakness.
+It is only when she differs from him that she can see the other side,
+and it always comes as a surprise.  She liked him better than ever
+for the revelation.
+
+'I'm not joking,' she whispered, as they went down the stair.  'I'll
+go, as sure as fate.'
+
+He took no notice, but passed on down the street without a word of
+farewell.  When he came to the turning he looked back.  She was
+standing by the curb, with her proud head high in the air, while the
+manager screamed loudly upon a whistle.  A cab swung round a distant
+corner.  Crosse reached her before it did.
+
+'I hope I haven't hurt your feelings,' said he.  'I spoke too
+roughly.'
+
+'Trying to coax me away from Woking,' she sneered.  'I'm coming all
+the same.'
+
+'That's your affair,' said he, as he handed her into the cab.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX--DANGER
+
+
+
+Again the bright little dining-room, with the morning sun gleaming
+upon the high silver coffee pot and the electro-plated toast-rack--
+everything the same, down to the plates which Jemima had once again
+forgotten to warm.  Maude, with the golden light playing upon the
+fringes of her curls, and throwing two little epaulettes of the
+daintiest pink across her shoulders, sat in silence, glancing across
+from time to time with interrogative eyes at her husband.  He ate his
+breakfast moodily, for he was very ill at ease.  There was a struggle
+within him, for his conscience was pulling him one way and his
+instincts the other.  Instincts are a fine old conservative force,
+while conscience is a thing of yesterday, so it is usually safe to
+prophesy which will sway the other.
+
+The matter at issue was whether he should tell Maude about Violet
+Wright.  If she were going to carry out her threat, then certainly it
+would be better to prepare her.  But after all, his arguments of
+yesterday might prevail with her when her first impetuous fit of
+passion was over.  Why should he go half-way to meet danger?  If it
+came, nothing which he could say would ward it off.  If it did not
+come, there was no need for saying anything.  Conscience told him
+that it would be better to be perfectly straight with his wife.
+Instinct told him that though she would probably be sweet and
+sympathetic over it, yet it would rankle in her mind and poison her
+thoughts.  And perhaps for once, Instinct may have been better than
+Conscience.  Do not ask too many questions, you young wife!  Do not
+be too free with your reminiscences, you young husband.  There are
+things which can be forgiven, but never, never, can they be
+forgotten.  That highest thing on earth, the heart of a loving woman,
+is too tender, too sacred, to be bruised by a wanton confidence.  You
+are hers.  She is yours.  The future lies with both of you.  It is
+wiser to leave the past alone.  The couples who boast that they have
+never had a secret are sometimes happy because the boast is sometimes
+untrue.
+
+'You won't be late to-day, Frank,' said Maude at last, peeping round
+the tall coffee-pot.
+
+'No, dear, I won't.'
+
+'You were yesterday, you know.'
+
+'Yes, I know I was.'
+
+'Were you kept at the office?'
+
+'No, I had tea with a friend.'
+
+'At his house?'
+
+'No, no, at a restaurant.  Where has Jemima put my boots?  I wonder
+if she has cleaned them.  I can never tell by looking.  Here they
+are.  And my coat?  Anything I can get you in town?  Well, good-bye,
+dear, good-bye!'  Maude had never seen him make so hurried an exit.
+
+It is always a mystery to the City man how his wife puts in the seven
+hours a day of loneliness while the E.C. has claimed him for its own.
+She cannot explain it to him, for she can hardly explain it to
+herself.  It is frittered away in a thousand little tasks, each
+trivial in itself, and yet making in their sum the difference between
+a well-ordered and a neglected household.  Under the illustrious
+guidance of the omniscient Mrs. Beeton there is the usual routine to
+be gone through.  The cook has to be seen, the larder examined, the
+remains cunningly transformed into new and attractive shapes, the
+dinner to be ordered (anything will do for lunch), and the new
+supplies to be got in.  The husband accepts the excellent little
+dinner, the fried sole, the ris de veau en caisse, the lemon pudding,
+as if they had grown automatically out of the table-cloth.  He knows
+nothing of the care, the judgment, the prevision which ring the
+changes with every season, which never relax and never mistake.  He
+enjoys the fruits, but he ignores the work which raised them.  And
+yet the work goes cheerfully and uncomplainingly on.
+
+Then when every preparation has been made for the dinner--that solemn
+climax of the British day, there is plenty for Maude to do.  There is
+the white chiffon to be taken out of the neck of that dress, and the
+pink to be put in.  Amateur dressmaking is always going on at The
+Lindens, and Frank has become more careful in his caresses since he
+found one evening that his wife had a row of pins between her lips--
+which is not a pleasant discovery to make with your own.  Then there
+are drawers to be tidied, and silver to be cleaned, and the leaves of
+the gutta-percha plant to be washed, and the feather which was damped
+yesterday to be re-curled before the fire.  That leaves just time
+before lunch to begin the new novel by glancing at the last two pages
+to see what DID happen, and then the three minutes lunch of a lonely
+woman.  So much for business, now for the more trying social duties.
+The pink dressing-gown is shed and a trim little walking dress--
+French grey cloth with white lisse in front and a grey zouave jacket-
+-takes its place.  Visiting strangers is not nearly so hard when you
+are pleased with your dress, and even entertaining becomes more easy
+when your costumiere lives in Regent Street.  On Tuesdays Maude is at
+home.  Every other day she hunts through her plate of cards, and is
+overwhelmed by the sense of her rudeness towards her neighbours.  But
+her task is never finished, though day after day she comes back jaded
+with her exertions.  Strangers still call upon her--'hope it is not
+too late to do the right thing, and to welcome,' etc., etc.--and they
+have to be re-visited.  While she is visiting them, other cards
+appear upon her hall table, and so the foolish and tiresome
+convention continues to exhaust the time and the energies of its
+victim.
+
+Those original receptions were really very difficult.  Jemima
+announced a name which might or might not bear some relation to the
+visitor's.  The lady entered.  Her name might perhaps be Mrs. Baker.
+Maude had no means of knowing who Mrs. Baker might be.  The visitor
+seldom descended to an explanation.  Ten minutes of desultory and
+forced conversation about pinewoods and golf and cremation.  A cup of
+tea and a departure.  Then Maude would rush to the card-tray to try
+to find out whom it was that she had been talking to, and what it was
+all about.
+
+Maude did not intend to go visiting that particular day, and she had
+hoped that no one might visit her.  The hours of danger were almost
+past, and it was close upon four o'clock, when there came a brisk
+pull at the bell.
+
+'Mrs. White,' said Jemima, opening the drawing-room door.
+
+'Wright,' said the visitor, as she walked in--'Mrs. Violet Wright.'
+
+Maude rose with her pleasant smile.  It was a peculiarly sweet and
+kindly smile, for it was inspired by a gentle womanly desire to make
+things pleasant for all who were around her.  Amiability was never
+artificial with her, for she had the true instincts of a lady--those
+instincts so often spoken of, so seldom, so very seldom seen.  Like a
+gentleman, or a Christian, or any other ideal, it is but a poor
+approximation which is commonly attained.
+
+But the visitor did not respond to the pretty gesture of welcome, nor
+did her handsome face return that sympathetic smile.  They stood for
+an instant looking at each other, the one tall, masterful, mature,
+the other sweet, girlish, and self-distrustful, but each beautiful
+and engaging in her own way.  Lucky Master Frank, whose past and
+present could take such a form; but luckier still if he could have
+closed the past when the present opened.  The visitor was silent, but
+her dark eyes looked critically and fixedly at her rival.  Maude,
+setting the silence down to the shyness of a first visit, tried to
+make matters easier.
+
+'Please try this armchair.  No doubt you have had a tiring walk.  It
+is still very warm in the afternoons.  I think it was so kind of you
+to call.'
+
+A faint smile flickered upon the dark face.
+
+'Kind of me to call!' said she.
+
+'Yes; for in a rising place like Woking, with so many new arrivals,
+it must be quite a task for the older inhabitants to welcome them.  I
+have been so surprised by the kindness which every one has shown.'
+
+'Oh, I see,' said her visitor, 'you think that I live here.  I have
+really just come down from London.'
+
+'Indeed,' said Maude, and awaited an explanation.  As none was
+forthcoming, she added, 'You will find Woking a very nice place.'
+
+'A nice place to be buried in, alive or dead,' said her visitor.
+
+There was something peculiarly ungracious in her tone and manner.  It
+seemed to Maude that she had never before been alone with so singular
+a person.  There was, in the first place, her striking and yet rather
+sinister and voluptuous beauty.
+
+Then there was the absolute carelessness of her manner, the quiet
+assumption that she was outside the usual conventionalities of life.
+It is a manner only to be met in English life, among some of the
+highest of the high world, and some of the highest of the half world.
+It was new to Maude, and it made her uncomfortable, while mingled
+with it there was something else which made her feel for the first
+time in her life that she had incurred the hostility of a fellow-
+mortal.  It chilled her, and made her unhappy.
+
+The visitor made no effort to sustain the conversation, but leaned
+back in her chair and stared at her hostess with a very critical and
+searching glance.  Those two questioning dark eyes played eagerly
+over her from her brown curls down to the little shining shoe-tips
+which peeped from under the grey skirt.  Especially they dwelt upon
+her face, reading it and rereading it.  Never had Maude been so
+inspected, and her instinct told her that the inspection was not
+altogether a friendly one.
+
+Violet Wright having examined her rival, proceeded now with the same
+cool attention to take in her surroundings.  She looked round
+deliberately at the furniture of the room, and reconstructed in her
+own mind the life of the people who owned it.  Maude ventured upon
+one or two conventional remarks, but her visitor was not to be
+diverted to the weather or to the slowness of the South-Western train
+service.  She continued her quiet and silent inspection.  Suddenly
+she rose and swept across to the side-table.  A photograph of Frank
+in his volunteer uniform stood upon it.
+
+'This is your husband, Mr. Frank Crosse?'
+
+'Yes, do you know him?'
+
+'Slightly.  We have mutual friends.'  An ambiguous smile played
+across her face as she spoke.  'This must have been taken after I saw
+him.'
+
+'It was taken just after our marriage.'
+
+'Quite so.  He looks like a good little married man.  The photograph
+is flattering.'
+
+'Oh, you think so!' said Maude coldly.  'My own impression is that it
+fails to do him justice.'
+
+Her visitor laughed.  'Of course that WOULD be your impression,' said
+she.
+
+Maude's gentle soul began to rise in anger.
+
+'It is the truth,' she cried.
+
+'It is right that you should think so,' the other answered, with the
+same irritating laugh.
+
+'You must have known him very slightly if you can't see that it is
+the truth.'
+
+'Then I must have known him very slightly.'
+
+Maude was very angry indeed.  She began to find sides to her own
+nature the very existence of which she had never suspected.  She
+tapped her little shoe upon the ground, and she sat with a pale face,
+and compressed lips, and bright eyes, quite prepared to be very rude
+indeed to this eccentric woman who ventured to criticise her Frank in
+so free and easy a style.  Her visitor watched her, and a change had
+come over her expression.  Maude's evident anger seemed to amuse and
+interest her.  Her eyes lost their critical coldness, and softened
+into approval.  She suddenly put her hand upon the other's shoulder
+with so natural and yet masterful a gesture, that Maude found it
+impossible to resent it.
+
+'He is a lucky man to have such a warm little champion,' said she.
+
+Her strong character and greater knowledge of the world gave her an
+ascendency over the girlish wife such as age has over youth.  There
+were not ten years between them, and yet Maude felt that for some
+reason the conversation between them could not quite be upon equal
+terms.  The quiet assurance of her visitor, whatever its cause, made
+resentment or remonstrance difficult.  Besides, they were a pair of
+very kindly as well as of very shrewd eyes which now looked down into
+hers.
+
+'You love him very much, then?'
+
+'Of course I love him.  He is my husband.'
+
+'Does it always follow?'
+
+'You are married yourself.  Don't you love yours?'
+
+'Oh, never mind mine.  HE'S all right.  Did you ever love any one
+else?'
+
+'No, not really.'
+
+Maude was astonished at herself, and yet the questions were so
+frankly put that a frank answer came naturally to them.  It pleased
+her to lose that cold chill of dislike, and to feel that for some
+reason her strange visitor had become more friendly to her.
+
+'You lucky girl, you actually married the one love of your life!'
+
+Maude smiled and nodded.
+
+'What a splendid thing to do!  I thought it only happened in books.
+How happy you must be!'
+
+'I AM very, very happy.'
+
+'Well, I dare say you deserve to be.  Besides, you really are very
+pretty.  If ever you had a rival, I should think that it must be some
+consolation to her to know that it was so charming a person who cut
+her out.'
+
+Maude laughed at the thought.
+
+'I never had a rival,' said she.  'My husband never REALLY loved
+until he met me.'
+
+'Did he--oh yes, quite so!  That is so nice that you should both
+start with a clean sheet!  I thought you were very handsome just now
+when you were angry with me, but you are quite delightful with that
+little flush upon your cheeks.  If I had been a man, your husband
+would certainly have had one rival in his wooing.  And so he really
+never loved any one but you?  I thought that also only happened in
+books.'
+
+There was a hard and ironic tone in the last sentences which jarred
+upon Maude's sensitive nature.  She glanced up quickly and was
+surprised at the look of pain which had come upon her companion's
+face.  It relaxed into a serious serenity.
+
+'That fits in beautifully,' said she.  'But there's one bit of advice
+which I should like to give you, if you won't think it a liberty.
+Don't be selfish in your married life.'
+
+'Selfish!'
+
+'Yes, there is a kind of family selfishness which is every bit as
+bad--I am not sure that it is not worse--than personal selfishness.
+People love each other, and they shut out the world, and have no
+thought for any one else, and the whole universe can slide to
+perdition so long as their love is not disturbed.  That is what I
+call family selfishness.  It's a sin and a shame.'
+
+Maude looked at this strange woman in amazement.  She was speaking
+fast and hotly, like one whose bitter thoughts have been long penned
+up for want of a suitable listener.
+
+'Remember the women who have been less fortunate than you.  Remember
+the thousands who are starving, dying, for want of love, and no love
+comes their way; whose hearts yearn and faint for that which Nature
+owes them, but Nature never pays her debt.  Remember the plain women.
+Remember the lonely women.  Above all, remember your unfortunate
+sisters; they, the most womanly of all, who have been ruined by their
+own kindliness and trust and loving weakness.  It is that family
+selfishness which turns every house in the land into a fort to be
+held against these poor wanderers.  They make them evil, and then
+they revile the very evil which they have made.  When I look back--'
+
+She stopped with a sudden sob.  Her forearm fell upon the
+mantelpiece, and her forehead upon her forearm.  In an instant Maude
+was by her side, the tears running down her cheeks, for the sight of
+grief was always grief to her, and her nerves were weakened by this
+singular interview.
+
+'Dear Mrs. Wright, don't cry!' she whispered, and her little white
+hand passed in a soothing, hesitating gesture over the coil of rich
+chestnut hair.  'Don't cry!  I am afraid you have suffered.  Oh, how
+I wish I could help you!  Do tell me how I can help you.'
+
+But Violet's occasional fits of weakness were never of a very long
+duration.  She dashed her hand impatiently across her eyes,
+straightened her tall figure, and laughed as she glanced at herself
+in the mirror.
+
+'Madame Celandine would be surprised if she could see how I have
+treated one of her masterpieces,' said she, as she straightened her
+crushed hat, and arranged her hair with those quick little deft pats
+of the palm with which women can accomplish so much in so short a
+time.  Rumpled finery sets the hands of every woman within sight of
+it fidgeting, so Maude joined in at the patting and curling and
+forgot all about her tears.
+
+'There, that will have to do,' said Violet at last.  'I am so sorry
+to have made such a fool of myself.  I don't err upon the sentimental
+side as a rule.  I suppose it is about time that I thought of
+catching my train for town.  I have a theatre engagement which I must
+not miss.'
+
+'How strange it is!' said Maude, looking at her own pretty tear-
+marked face in the mirror.  'You have only been here a few minutes,
+as time goes, and yet I feel that in some things I am more intimate
+with you than with any woman I have ever met.  How can it be?  What
+bond can there be to draw us together like this?  And it is the more
+extraordinary, because I felt that you disliked me when you entered
+the room, and I am sure that you won't be offended if I say that when
+you had been here a little I thought that I disliked you.  But I
+don't.  On the contrary, I wish you could come every day.  And I want
+to come and see you also when I am in town.'
+
+Maude, for all her amiability, was not gushing by nature, and this
+long speech caused her great astonishment when she looked back upon
+it.  But at the moment it came so naturally from her heart that she
+never paused to think of its oddity.  Her enthusiasm was a little
+chilled, however, by the way in which her advances were received.
+Violet Wright's eyes were more kindly than ever, but she shook her
+head.
+
+'No, I don't suppose we shall ever meet again.  I don't think I could
+ask you to visit me in London.  I wanted to see you, and I have seen
+you, but that, I fear, must be the end of it.'
+
+Maude's lip trembled in a way which it had when she was hurt.
+
+'Why did you wish to see me, then?' she asked.
+
+'On account of that slight acquaintance with your husband.  I thought
+it would be interesting to see what sort of wife he had chosen.'
+
+'I hope you are not disappointed,' said Maude, making a roguish face.
+
+'He has done very well--better than I expected.'
+
+'You had not much respect for his taste, then?'
+
+'Oh yes, I always thought highly of his taste.'
+
+'You have such a pretty way of putting things.  You know my husband
+very slightly, but still I can see that you know the world very well.
+I often wonder if I am really the best kind of woman that he could
+have married.  Do you think I am, Mrs. Wright?'
+
+Her visitor looked in silence for a little at the gentle grace and
+dainty sympathetic charm of the woman before her.
+
+'Yes,' she said slowly, as one who weighs her words.  'I think you
+are.  You are a lady with a lady's soul in you.  A woman can draw a
+man down very low, or she can make him live at his very highest.
+Don't be soft with him.  Don't give way when you know that your way
+is the higher way.  Pull him up, don't let him ever pull you down.
+Then his respect for you will strengthen his love for you, and the
+two together are so much greater than either one apart.  Your
+instinct would be to do this, and therefore you are the best sort of
+woman for him.'
+
+Her opinion was given with so much thought, and yet so much decision,
+that Maude glowed with pride and with pleasure.  There was knowledge
+and authority behind the words of this unaccountable woman.
+
+'How sweet you are!' she cried.  'I feel that what you say is true.
+I feel that that is what a wife should be to her husband.  Please
+God, I will be so to Frank!'
+
+'And one other piece of advice before I leave you,' said Violet
+Wright.  'Don't ever take your husband for granted.  Don't ever
+accept his kiss or caress as a routine thing.  Don't ever relax those
+little attentions which you showed him in the earliest days.  Don't
+let the freshness go out of love, for the love may soon follow it,
+even when duty keeps the man true.  It is the commonest mistake which
+married women make.  It has caused more unhappiness than any other.
+They do not realise it until it is too late.  Be keenly watchful for
+your husband's wants and comforts.  It is not the comfort but the
+attention which he values.  If it is not there he will say nothing,
+if he is a good fellow, but he notices it all the same.  She has
+changed, he thinks.  And from that moment he will begin to change
+also.  Be on your guard against that.  It is very unselfish of me to
+give you all this wise counsel.'
+
+'It is very good of you, and I feel that it is all so true.  But why
+is it unselfish of you?'
+
+'I only meant that I had no interest in the matter.  What does it
+matter to me whether you keep his love or not.  And yet I don't
+know.'  She suddenly put her arms round Maude, and kissed her upon
+the cheek.  'You are a good little sort, and I hope you will be
+happy.'
+
+
+Frank Crosse had disentangled himself from the rush of City men
+emerging from the Woking station, and he was walking swiftly through
+the gathering gloom along the vile, deeply-rutted road, which formed
+a short cut to The Lindens.  Suddenly, with a sinking heart, he was
+aware of a tall graceful figure which was sweeping towards him.
+There could not be two women of that height, who carried themselves
+in that fashion.
+
+'Violet!'
+
+'Hullo, Frankie!  I thought it might be you, but those tall hats and
+black overcoats make every one alike.  Your wife will be glad to see
+you.'
+
+'Violet!  You have ruined our happiness.  How could you have the
+heart to do it!  It is not for myself I speak, God knows.  But to
+think of her feelings being so abused, her confidence so shaken--'
+
+'All right, Frankie, there is nothing to be tragic about.'
+
+'Haven't you been to my house?'
+
+'Yes, I have.'
+
+'And seen her?'
+
+'Yes.'
+
+'Well then--'
+
+'I didn't give you away, my boy.  I was a model of discretion.  I
+give you my word that it is all right.  And she's a dear little soul,
+Frankie.  You're not worthy to varnish those pretty patent leathers
+of hers.  You know you're not.  And by Jove, Frankie, if you had
+stayed with me yesterday I should never have forgiven you--no, never!
+I'll resign in her favour.  I will.  But in no one else's, and if
+ever I hear of your going wrong, my boy, or doing anything but the
+best with that sweet trusting woman, I'll make you curse the day that
+ever you knew me--I will, by the living Jingo.'
+
+'Do, Violet--you have my leave.'
+
+'All right.  The least said the soonest mended.  Give me a kiss
+before we part.'
+
+She raised her veil, and he kissed her.  He was wearing some withered
+flower in his overcoat, and she took it from him.
+
+'It's a souvenir of our friendship, Frankie, and rather a good emblem
+of it also.  So-long!' said she, as she turned down the weary road
+which leads to the station.  A young golfer, getting in at Byfleet,
+was surprised to see a handsome woman weeping bitterly in the corner
+of a second-class carriage.  'Comm' up from roastin' somebody at that
+damned crematory place,' was his explanation to his companion.
+
+Frank had a long and animated account from Maude of the extraordinary
+visitor whom she had entertained.  'It's such a pity, dear, that you
+don't know her well, for I should really like to hear every detail
+about her.  At first I thought she was mad, and then I thought she
+was odious, and then finally she seemed to be the very wisest and
+kindest woman that I had ever known.  She made me angry, and
+frightened, and grieved, and grateful, and affectionate, one after
+the other, and I never in my life was so taken out of myself by any
+one.  She IS so sensible!'
+
+'Sensible, is she?'
+
+'And she said that I was--oh!  I can't repeat it--everything that is
+nice.'
+
+'Then she IS sensible.'
+
+'And such a high opinion of your taste.'
+
+'Had she indeed.'
+
+'Do you know, Frank, I really believe that in a quiet, secret,
+retiring sort of way she has been fond of you herself.'
+
+'O Maude, what funny ideas you get sometimes!  I say, if we are going
+out for dinner, it is high time that we began to dress.'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX--NO. 5 CHEYNE ROW
+
+
+
+Frank had brought home the Life of Carlyle, and Maude had been
+dipping into it in the few spare half-hours which the many duties of
+a young housekeeper left her.  At first it struck her as dry, but
+from the moment that she understood that this was, among other
+things, an account of the inner life of a husband and a wife, she
+became keenly interested, and a passionate and unreasonable partisan.
+For Frederick and Cromwell and the other great issues her feelings
+were tolerant but lukewarm.  But the great sex-questions of 'How did
+he treat her?' and of 'How did she stand it?' filled her with that
+eternal and personal interest with which they affect every woman.
+Her gentle nature seldom disliked any one, but certainly amongst
+those whom she liked least, the gaunt figure of the Chelsea sage
+began to bulk largely.  One night, as Frank sat reading in front of
+the fire, he suddenly found his wife on her knees upon the rug, and a
+pair of beseeching eyes upon his face.
+
+'Frank, dear, I want you to make me a promise.'
+
+'Well, what is it?'
+
+'Will you grant it?'
+
+'How can I tell you when I have not heard it?'
+
+'How horrid you are, Frank!  A year ago you would have promised first
+and asked afterwards.'
+
+'But I am a shrewd old married man now.  Well, let me hear it.'
+
+'I want you to promise me that you will never be a Carlyle.'
+
+'No, no, never.'
+
+'Really?'
+
+'Really and truly.'
+
+'You swear it?'
+
+'Yes, I do.'
+
+'O Frank, you can't think what a relief that is to me.  That dear,
+good, helpful, little lady--it really made me cry this morning when I
+thought how she had been used.'
+
+'How, then?'
+
+'I have been reading that green-covered book of yours, and he seemed
+so cold and so sarcastic and so unsympathetic.  He never seemed to
+appreciate all that she did for him.  He had no thought for her.  He
+lived in his books and never in her--such a harsh, cruel man!'
+
+Frank went upstairs, and returned with a volume in his hand.
+
+'When you have finished the 'Life,' you must read this, dear.'
+
+'What is it?'
+
+'It is her letters.  They were arranged for publication after her
+death, while her husband was still alive.  You know that--'
+
+'Please take it for granted, darling, that I know nothing.  It is so
+jolly to have some one before whom it is not necessary to keep up
+appearances.  Now, begin at the beginning and go ahead.'  She
+pillowed her head luxuriously against his knees.
+
+'There's nothing to tell--or very little.  As you say, they had their
+troubles in life.  The lady could take particularly good care of
+herself, I believe.  She had a tongue like a lancet when she chose to
+use it.  He, poor chap, was all liver and nerves, porridge-poisoned
+in his youth.  No children to take the angles off them.  Half a dozen
+little buffer states would have kept them at peace.  However, to hark
+back to what I was about to say, he outlived her by fifteen years or
+so.  During that time he collected these letters, and he has
+annotated them.  You can read those notes here, and the man who wrote
+those notes loved his wife and cherished her memory, if ever a man
+did upon earth.'
+
+The graceful head beside his knee shook impatiently.
+
+'What is the use of that to the poor dead woman?  Why could not he
+show his love by kindness and thought for her while she was alive?'
+
+'I tell you, Maude, there were two sides to that.  Don't be so
+prejudiced!  And remember that no one has ever blamed Carlyle as
+bitterly as he has blamed himself.  I could read you bits of these
+notes--'
+
+'Well, do.'
+
+'Here's the first letter, in which she is talking about how they
+first moved into the house at Cheyne Row.  They spent their early
+years in Scotland, you know, and he was a man going on to the forties
+when he came to London.  The success of Sartor Resartus encouraged
+them to the step.  Her letter describes all the incoming.  Here is
+his comment, written after her death:  "In about a week all was swept
+and garnished, fairly habitable; and continued incessantly to get
+itself polished, civilised, and beautified to a degree that surprised
+one.  I have elsewhere alluded to all that, and to my little
+Jeannie's conduct of it; heroic, lovely, pathetic, mournfully
+beautiful as in the light of Eternity that little scene of time now
+looks to me.  From birth upwards she had lived in opulence, and now
+became poor for me--so nobly poor.  No such house for beautiful
+thrift, quiet, spontaneous, nay, as it were, unconscious minimum of
+money reconciled to human comfort and human dignity, have I anywhere
+looked upon where I have been."  Now, Maude, did that man appreciate
+his wife?'
+
+But the obstinate head still shook.
+
+'Words, words,' said she.
+
+'Yes, but words with the ring of truth in them.  Can't you tell real
+feeling from sham?  I don't believe women can, or they would not be
+so often taken in.  Here's the heading of the next letter:
+"Mournfully beautiful is this letter to me, a clear little household
+light shining pure and brilliant in the dark obstructive places of
+the past"--a little later comes the note:  "Oh my poor little woman--
+become poor for me."'
+
+'I like to hear him talk like that.  Yes, I do like him better after
+what you have said, Frank.'
+
+'You must remember two things about him, Maude.  The first, that he
+was a Scotchman, who are of all men the least likely to wear their
+hearts upon their sleeves; the other, that his mind was always
+grappling with some far-away subject which made him forget the
+smaller things close by him.'
+
+'But the smaller things are everything to a woman,' said Maude.  'If
+ever you forget those smaller things, sir, to be as courteous to your
+wife as you would be to any other lady, to be loving and thoughtful
+and sympathetic, it will be no consolation to me to know that you
+have written the grandest book that ever was.  I should just hate
+that book, and I believe that in her inmost heart this poor lady
+hated all the books that had taken her husband away from her.  I
+wonder if their house is still standing.'
+
+'Certainly it is.  Would you like to visit it?'
+
+'I don't think there is anything I should like more.'
+
+'Why, Maude, we are getting quite a distinguished circle of
+acquaintances.  Mr. Pepys last month--and now the Carlyles.  Well, we
+could not spend a Saturday afternoon better, so if you will meet me
+to-morrow at Charing Cross, we shall have a cosy little lunch
+together at Gatti's, and then go down to Chelsea.'
+
+
+Maude was a rigid economist, and so was Frank in his way, for with
+the grand self-respect of the middle classes the thought of debt was
+unendurable to them.  A cab in preference to a 'bus gave both of them
+a feeling of dissipation, but none the less they treated themselves
+to one on the occasion of this, their little holiday.  It is a
+delightful thing to snuggle up in, is a hansom; but in order to be
+really trim and comfortable one has to put one's arm round one's
+companion's waist.  No one can observe it there, for the vehicle is
+built upon intelligent principles.  The cabman, it is true, can
+overlook you through a hole in the roof.  This cabman did so, and
+chuckled in his cravat.  'If that cove's wife could see him--huddup,
+then!' said the cabman.
+
+He was an intelligent cabman too, for having heard Frank say 'Thomas
+Carlyle's house' after giving the address 5 Cheyne Row, he pulled up
+on the Thames Embankment.  Right ahead of them was Chelsea Bridge,
+seen through a dim, soft London haze--monstrous, Cyclopean, giant
+arches springing over a vague river of molten metal, the whole
+daintily blurred, as though out of focus.  The glamour of the London
+haze, what is there upon earth so beautiful?  But it was not to
+admire it that the cabman had halted.
+
+'I beg your pardin', sir,' said he, in the softly insinuating way of
+the Cockney, 'but I thought that maybe the lidy would like to see Mr.
+Carlyle's statue.  That's 'im, sir, a-sittin' in the overcoat with
+the book in 'is 'and.'
+
+Frank and Maude got out and entered the small railed garden, in the
+centre of which the pedestal rose.  It was very simple and plain--an
+old man in a dressing-gown, with homely wornout boots, a book upon
+his knee, his eyes and thoughts far away.  No more simple statue in
+all London, but human to a surprising degree.  They stood for five
+minutes and stared at it.
+
+'Well,' said Frank at last, 'small as it is, I think it is worthy of
+the man.'
+
+'It is so natural.'
+
+'You can see him think.  By Jove, it is splendid!'  Frank had enough
+of the true artist to be able to feel that rush of enthusiasm which
+adequate work should cause.  That old man, with his head shamefully
+defiled by birds, was a positive joy to him.  Among the soulless,
+pompous, unspeakable London statues, here at last there was one over
+which it is pleasant to linger.
+
+'What other one is there?'
+
+'Gordon in Trafalgar Square.'
+
+'Well, Gordon, perhaps.  But our Nelsons and Napiers and Havelocks--
+to think that we could do no better than that for them!  Now, dear,
+we have seen the man--let us look at the house!'
+
+It had evidently been an old-fashioned building when first they came
+to it.  1708 was the date at the corner of the street.  Six or seven
+drab-coloured, flat-chested, dim-windowed houses stood in a line--
+theirs wedged in the middle of them.  A poor medallion with a profile
+head of him had been clumsily let into the wall.  Several worn steps
+led to the thin high door with an old-fashioned fanlight above it.
+Frank rang the bell, and a buxom cheerful matron came at the call.
+
+'Names in this book, sir--AND address, if you please,' said the
+cheery matron.  'One shilling each--thank you, sir.  First door to
+the left, sir!  This was the dining-room, sir--'
+
+But Frank had come to a dead stop in the dim, dull, wood-panelled
+hall.  In front of them rose the stairs with old-fashioned banisters,
+cracked, warped, and dusty.
+
+'It's awful to think of, Maude--awful!  To think that she ran up
+those stairs as a youngish woman--that he took them two at a time as
+an active man, and then that they hobbled and limped down them, old
+and weary and broken, and now both dead and gone for ever, and the
+stairs standing, the very rails, the very treads--I don't know that I
+ever felt so strongly what bubbles of the air we are, so fragile, so
+utterly dissolved when the prick comes.'
+
+'How COULD they be happy in such a house?' said Maude.  'I can feel
+that there have been sorrow and trouble here.  There is an atmosphere
+of gloom.'
+
+The matron-attendant approved of emotion, but in its due order.  One
+should be affected in the dining-room first, and then in the hall.
+And so at her summons they followed her into the long, low, quaint
+room in which this curious couple had lived their everyday life.
+Little of the furniture was left, and the walls were lined with
+collected pictures bearing upon the life of the Carlyles.
+
+'There's the fireplace that he smoked his pipe up,' said Frank.
+
+'Why up the fireplace?'
+
+'She did not like the smell in the room.  He often at night took his
+friends down into the kitchen.'
+
+'Fancy my driving you into the kitchen.'
+
+'Well, the habit of smoking was looked upon much less charitably at
+that time.'
+
+'And besides, he smoked clay pipes,' said the matron.  'This is
+considered a good print of Mrs. Carlyle.'
+
+It was a peaky eager face, with a great spirit looking out of it, and
+possibilities of passion both for good and evil in the keen, alert
+features.  Just beside her was the dour, grim outline of her husband.
+Their life-histories were in those two portraits.
+
+'Poor dear!' said Maude.
+
+'Ay, you may say so,' said the matron, whose accent showed that she
+was from the north of the Tweed.  'He was gey ill to live wi'.  His
+own mither said so.  Now, what think you that room was for?'
+
+It was little larger than a cupboard, without window or skylight,
+opening out of the end of the dining-room.
+
+'I can't imagine.'
+
+'Well, sir, it was the powdering-room in the days when folk wore
+wigs.  The powder made such a mess that they just had a room for
+nothing else.  There was a hole in the door, and the man put his head
+through the hole, and the barber on the other side powdered him out
+of the flour-dredger.'
+
+It was curious to be brought back in this fashion to those far-off
+days, and to suddenly realise how many other people had played their
+tragi-comedies within these walls.  Wigs!  Only the dressy people
+wore wigs.  So people of fashion in the days of the early Georges
+trod these same rooms where Carlyle grumbled and his wife fretted.
+And they too had grumbled and fretted--or worse perhaps.  It was a
+ghostly old house.
+
+'This,' said the matron, when they had passed up the stair, 'used to
+be the drawing-room.  That's their sofa.'
+
+'Not THE sofa,' said Frank.
+
+'Yes, sir, the sofa that is mentioned in the letters.'
+
+'She was so proud of it, Maude.  Gave eighteen shillings for it, and
+covered and stuffed it herself.  And that, I suppose, is THE screen.
+She was a great housekeeper--brought up a spoiled child, according to
+her own account, but a great housekeeper all the same.  What's that
+writing in the case?'
+
+'It is the history that he was at work on when he died--something
+about the kings of Norway, sir.  Those are his corrections in blue.'
+
+'I can't read them.'
+
+'No more could any one else, sir.  Perhaps that's why the book has
+never been published.  Those are the portraits of the kings of
+Prussia, about whom he wrote a book.'
+
+Frank looked with interest at the old engravings, one of the
+schoolmaster face of the great Frederick, the other of the frog-like
+features of Frederick William, the half-mad recruiter of the big
+Potsdam grenadiers.  When he had finished, the matron had gone down
+to open the door, and they were alone.  Maude's hand grasped his.
+
+'Is it not strange, dear?' she said.  'Here they lived, the most
+talented couple in the world, and yet with all their wisdom they
+missed what we have got--what perhaps that good woman who showed us
+round has got--the only thing, as it seems to me, that is really
+worth living for.  What are all the wit and all the learning and all
+the insight into things compared to love.'
+
+'By Jove, little woman, in all this house of wise sayings, no wiser
+or deeper saying has been said than that.  Well, thank God, we have
+that anyhow!'  And he kissed his wife, while six grand electors of
+Brandenburg and kings of Prussia looked fiercely out upon them from
+the wall.
+
+They sat down together in two old chairs in the window, and they
+looked out into the dingy street, and Frank tried to recount all the
+great men--'the other great men, as Maude said, half chaffing and
+half earnest--who had looked through those panes.  Tennyson, Ruskin,
+Emerson, Mill, Froude, Mazzini, Leigh Hunt--he had got so far when
+the matron returned.
+
+There was a case in the corner with some of the wreckage from those
+vanished vessels.  Notes from old Goethe in a singularly neat boyish
+writing inscribed upon little ornamented cards.  Here, too, were
+small inscriptions which had lain upon presents from Carlyle to his
+wife.  It was pleasant among all that jangling of the past to think
+of the love which had written them, and that other love which had so
+carefully preserved them.  On one was written:  'All good attend my
+darling through this gulf of time and through the long ocean it is
+leading to.  Amen.  Amen.  T. C.'  On another, dated 1850, and
+attached evidently to some birthday present, was:  'Many years to my
+poor little Jeannie, and may the worst of them be past.  No good that
+is in me to give her shall ever be wanting while I live.  May God
+bless her.'  How strange that this apostle of reticence should have
+such privacies as these laid open before the curious public within so
+few years of his death!
+
+'This is her bedroom,' said the matron.
+
+'And here is the old red bed,' cried Frank.  It looked bare and gaunt
+and dreary with its uncurtained posts.
+
+'The bed belonged to Mrs. Carlyle's mother,' the matron explained.
+'It's the same bed that Mrs. Carlyle talks about in her letters when
+she says how she pulled it to pieces.'
+
+'Why did she pull it to pieces?' asked Maude.
+
+'Better not inquire, dear.'
+
+'Indeed you're right, sir.  If you get them into these old houses, it
+is very hard to get them out.  A cleaner woman than Mrs. Carlyle
+never came out of Scotland.  This little room behind was his
+dressing-room.  There's his stick in the corner.  Look what's written
+upon the window!'
+
+
+Decidedly it was a ghostly house.  Scratched upon one of the panes
+with a diamond was the following piece of information--'John Harbel
+Knowles cleaned all the windows in this house, and painted part, in
+the eighteenth year of age.  March 7th, 1794.'
+
+
+'Who was HE?' asked Maude.
+
+'Nobody knows, miss!'  It was characteristic of Maude that she was so
+gentle in her bearing that every one always took it for granted that
+she was Miss.  Frank examined the writing carefully.
+
+'He was the son of the house and a young aristocrat who had never
+done a stroke of work before in his life,' said he.
+
+The matron was surprised.
+
+'What makes you say that, sir?'
+
+'What would a workman do with such a name as John Harbel Knowles, or
+with a diamond ring for that matter?  And who would dare to disfigure
+a window so, if he were not of the family?  And why should he be so
+proud of his work, unless work was a new and wondrous thing to him.
+To paint PART of the windows also sounds like the amateur and not the
+workman.  So I repeat that it was the first achievement of the son of
+the house.'
+
+'Well, indeed, I dare say you are right, though I never thought of it
+before,' said the matron.  'Now this, up here, is Carlyle's own room,
+in which he slept for forty-seven years.  In the case is a cast of
+his head taken after death.'
+
+It was strange and rather ghastly to see a plaster head in this room
+where the head of flesh had so often lain.  Maude and Frank stood
+beside it, and gazed long and silently while the matron, half-bored
+and half-sympathetic, waited for them to move on.  It was an aquiline
+face, very different from any picture which they had seen, sunken
+cheeks, an old man's toothless mouth, a hawk nose, a hollow eye--the
+gaunt timbers of what had once been a goodly house.  There was
+repose, and something of surprise also, in the features--also a very
+subtle serenity and dignity.
+
+'The distance from the ear to the forehead is said to be only
+equalled by Napoleon and by Gladstone.  That's what they SAY,' said
+the matron, with Scotch caution.
+
+'It's the face of a noble man when all is said and done,' said Frank.
+'I believe that the true Thomas Carlyle without the dyspepsia, and
+the true Jane Welsh without the nerves, are knowing and loving each
+other in some further life.'
+
+'It is sweet to think so,' cried Maude.  'Oh, I do hope that it is
+so!  How dear death would be if we could only be certain of that!'
+
+The matron smiled complacently in the superior wisdom of the Shorter
+Catechism.  'There is neither marriage nor giving in marriage,' said
+she, shaking her head.  'This is the spare bedroom, sir, where Mr.
+Emerson slept when he was here.  And now if you will step this way I
+will show you the study.'
+
+It was the singular room which Carlyle had constructed in the hopes
+that he could shut out all the noises of the universe, the crowing of
+cocks, and the jingling of a young lady's five-finger exercise in
+particular.  It had cost him a hundred odd pounds, and had ended in
+being unendurably hot in summer, impossibly cold in winter, and so
+constructed acoustically that it reverberated every sound in the
+neighbourhood.  For once even his wild and whirling words could
+hardly match the occasion--not all his kraft sprachen would be too
+much.  For the rest it was at least a roomy and lofty apartment, with
+space for many books, and for an irritable man to wander to and fro.
+Prints there were of many historical notables, and slips of letters
+and of memoranda in a long glass case.
+
+'That is one of his clay pipes,' said the matron.  'He had them all
+sent through to him from Glasgow.  And that is the pen with which he
+wrote Frederick.'
+
+It was a worn, stubby old quill, much the worse for its monstrous
+task.  It at least of all quill pens might rest content with having
+done its work in the world.  Some charred paper beside it caught
+Frank's eye.
+
+'Oh look, Maude,' he cried.  'This is a little bit of the burned
+French Revolution.'
+
+'Oh, I remember.  He lent the only copy to a friend, and it was
+burned by mistake.'
+
+'What a blow!  What a frightful blow!  And to think that his first
+comment to his wife was, "Well, Mill, poor fellow, is very much cut
+up about this."  There is Carlyle at his best.  And here is actually
+a shred of the old manuscript.  How beautifully he wrote in those
+days!'
+
+'Read this, sir,' said the matron.
+
+It was part of a letter from Carlyle to his publisher about his
+ruined work.  'Do not pity me,' said he; 'forward me rather as a
+runner that is tripped but will not lie there, but run and run
+again.'
+
+'See what positive misfortune can do for a man,' said Frank.  'It
+raised him to a hero.  And yet he could not stand the test of a
+crowing cock.  How infinitely complex is the human soul--how
+illimitably great and how pitiably small!  Now, if ever I have a
+study of my own, this is what I want engraved upon the wall.  This
+alone is well worth our pilgrimage to Chelsea.'
+
+It was a short exclamation which had caught his eye.
+
+'Rest!  Rest!  Shall I not have all eternity to rest in!'  That
+serene plaster face down yonder gave force to the brave words.  Frank
+copied them down onto the back of one of Maude's cards.
+
+And now they had finished the rooms, but the matron, catching a glow
+from these enthusiastic pilgrims, had yet other things to show them.
+There was the back garden.  Here was the green pottery seat upon
+which the unphilosophic philosopher had smoked his pipe--a singularly
+cold and uncomfortable perch.  And here was where Mrs. Carlyle had
+tried to build a tent and to imagine herself in the country.  And
+here was the famous walnut tree--or at least the stumpy bole thereof.
+And here was where the dog Nero was buried, best known of small white
+mongrels.
+
+And last of all there was the subterranean and gloomy kitchen, in
+which there had lived that long succession of serving-maids of whom
+we gain shadowy glimpses in the Letters and in the Journal.  Poor
+souls, dwellers in the gloom, working so hard for others, so bitterly
+reviled when by chance some weakness of humanity comes to break, for
+an instant, the routine of their constant labour, so limited in their
+hopes and in their pleasures, they are of all folk upon this planet
+those for whom a man's heart may most justly soften.  So said Frank
+as he gazed around him in the dark-cornered room.  'And never one
+word of sympathy for them, or of anything save scorn in all his
+letters.  His pen upholding human dignity, but where was the dignity
+of these poor girls for whom he has usually one bitter line of
+biography in his notes to his wife's letters?  It's the worst thing I
+have against him.'
+
+'Jemima wouldn't have stood it,' said Maude.
+
+It was pleasant to be out in the open air once more, but they were in
+the pine groves of Woking before Maude had quite shaken off the gloom
+of that dark, ghost-haunted house.  'After all, you are only twenty-
+seven,' she remarked as they walked up from the station.  She had a
+way of occasionally taking a subject by the middle in that way.
+
+'What then, dear?'
+
+'When Carlyle was only twenty-seven I don't suppose he knew he was
+going to do all this.'
+
+'No, I don't suppose so.'
+
+'And his wife--if he were married then--would feel as I do to you.'
+
+'No doubt.'
+
+'Then what guarantee have I that you won't do it after all?'
+
+'Do what?'
+
+'Why, turn out a second Carlyle.'
+
+'Hear me swear!' cried Frank, and they turned laughing into their own
+little gateway at the Lindens.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI--THE LAST NOTE OF THE DUET
+
+
+
+Our young married couples may feel that two is company and three is
+none, but there comes a little noisy intruder to break into their
+sweet intimacy.  The coming of the third is the beginning of a new
+life for them as well as for it--a life which is more useful and more
+permanent, but never so concentrated as before.  That little pink
+thing with the blinking eyes will divert some of the love and some of
+the attention, and the very trouble which its coming has caused will
+set its mother's heart yearning over it.  Not so the man.  Some vague
+resentment mixes with his pride of paternity, and his wife's
+sufferings rankle in his memory when she has herself forgotten them.
+His pity, his fears, his helplessness, and his discomfort, give him a
+share in the domestic tragedy.  It is not without cause that in some
+societies it is the man and not the woman who receives the condolence
+and the sympathy.
+
+There came a time when Maude was bad, and there came months when she
+was better, and then there were indications that a day was
+approaching, the very thought of which was a shadow upon her
+husband's life.  For her part, with the steadfast, gentle courage of
+a woman, she faced the future with a sweet serenity.  But to him it
+was a nightmare--an actual nightmare which brought him up damp and
+quivering in those gray hours of the dawn, when dark shadows fall
+upon the spirit of man.  He had a steady nerve for that which
+affected himself, a nerve which would keep him quiet and motionless
+in a dentist's chair, but what philosophy or hardihood can steel one
+against the pain which those whom we love have to endure.  He fretted
+and chafed, and always with the absurd delusion that his fretting and
+chafing were successfully concealed.  A hundred failures never
+convince a man how impossible it is to deceive a woman who loves him.
+Maude watched him demurely, and made her plans.
+
+'Do you know, dear,' said she, one evening, 'if you can get a week of
+your holidays now, I think it would be a very good thing for you to
+accept that invitation of Mr. Mildmay's, and spend a few days in
+golfing at Norwich.'
+
+Frank stared at her open-eyed.
+
+'What!  Now!'
+
+'Yes, dear, now--at once.'
+
+'But NOW of all times.'
+
+Maude looked at him with that glance of absolute obvious candour
+which a woman never uses unless she has intent to deceive.
+
+'Yes, dear--but only next week.  I thought it would brace you up for-
+-well, for the week afterwards.'
+
+'You think the week afterwards?'
+
+'Yes, dear.  It would help me so, if I knew that you were in your
+best form.'
+
+'_I_!  What can it matter what form _I_ am in.  But in any case, it
+is out of the question.'
+
+'But you could get leave.'
+
+'Oh yes, easily enough.'
+
+'Then do go.'
+
+'And leave you at such a time!'
+
+'No, no, you would be back.'
+
+'You can't be so sure of that.  No, Maude, I should never forgive
+myself.  Such an idea would never enter my head.'
+
+'But for my sake--!'
+
+'That's enough, Maude.  It is settled.'
+
+Master Frank had a heavy foot when he did bring it down, and his wife
+recognised a decisive thud this time.  With a curious double current
+of feeling, she was pleased and disappointed at the same time, but
+more pleased than disappointed, so she kissed the marrer of her
+plots.
+
+'What an obstinate old boy it is!  But of course you know best, and I
+should much rather have you at home.  As you say, one can never be
+certain.'
+
+In a conflict of wits the woman may lose a battle, but the odds are
+that she will win the campaign.  The man dissipates over many things,
+while she concentrates upon the one.  Maude had made up her mind
+absolutely upon one point, and she meant to attain it.  She tried
+here, she tried there, through a friend, through her mother, but
+Frank was still immovable.  The ordeal coming upon herself never
+disturbed her for an instant.  But the thought that Frank would
+suffer was unendurable.  She put herself in his place, and realised
+what it would be to him if he were in the house at such a time.  With
+many cunning devices she tried to lure him off, but still, in his
+stubborn way, he refused to be misled.  And then suddenly she
+realised that it was too late.
+
+It was early one morning that the conviction came home to her, but
+he, at her side, knew nothing of it.  He came up to her before he
+left for the City.
+
+'You have not eaten anything, dear.'
+
+'No, Frank, I am not hungry.'
+
+'Perhaps, after you get up--'
+
+'Well, dear, I thought of staying in bed.'
+
+'You are not--?'
+
+'What nonsense, dear!  I want to keep very quiet until next week,
+when I may need all my strength.'
+
+'Dear girl, I would gladly give ten years of my life to have next
+week past.'
+
+'Silly old boy!  But I do think it would be wiser if I were to keep
+in bed.'
+
+'Yes, yes, do.'
+
+'I have a little headache.  Nothing to speak of, but just a little.'
+
+'Don't you think Dr. Jordan had better give you something for it.'
+
+'Do you think so?  Well, just as you like.  You might call as you
+pass, and tell him to step up.'
+
+And so, upon a false mission, the doctor was summoned to her side,
+but found a very real mission waiting for him when he got there.  She
+had written a note for Frank the moment that he had left the house,
+and he found both it and a conspiracy of silence waiting for him when
+he returned in the late afternoon.  The note was upon the hall-table,
+and he eagerly tore it open.
+
+'My dear boy,' said this mendacious epistle, 'my head is still rather
+bad, and Dr. Jordan thought that it would be wiser if I were to have
+an undisturbed rest, but I will send down to you when I feel better.
+Until then I had best, perhaps, remain alone.  Mr. Harrison sent
+round to say that he would come to help you to pot the bulbs, so that
+will give you something to do.  Don't bother about me, for I only
+want a little rest.--MAUDE.'
+
+It seemed very unnatural to him to come back and not to hear the
+swift rustle of the dress which followed always so quickly upon the
+creak of his latch-key that they might have been the same sound.  The
+hall and dining-room seemed unhomely without the bright welcoming
+face.  He wandered about in a discontented fashion upon his tiptoes,
+and then, looking through the window, he saw Harrison his neighbour
+coming up the path with a straw basket in his hand.  He opened the
+door for him with his finger upon his lips.
+
+'Don't make a row, Harrison,' said he, 'my wife's bad.'
+
+Harrison whistled softly.
+
+'Not--?'
+
+'No, no, not that.  Only a headache, but she is not to be disturbed.
+We expect THAT next week.  Come in here and smoke a pipe with me.  It
+was very kind of you to bring the bulbs.'
+
+'I am going back for some more.'
+
+'Wait a little.  You can go back presently.  Sit down and light your
+pipe.  There is some one moving about upstairs.  It must be that
+heavy-footed Jemima.  I hope she won't wake Maude up.  I suppose one
+must expect such attacks at such a time.'
+
+'Yes, my wife was just the same.  No, thank you, I've just had some
+tea.  You look worried, Crosse.  Don't take things too hard.'
+
+'I can't get the thought of next week out of my head.  If anything
+goes wrong--well there, what can I do?  I never knew how a man's
+nerves may be harrowed before.  And she is such a saint, Harrison--
+such an absolutely unselfish saint!  You'll never guess what she
+tried to do.'
+
+'What, then?'
+
+'She knew what it would mean to me--what it will mean to me--to sit
+here in impotence while she goes through this horrible business.  She
+guessed in some extraordinary way what my secret feelings were about
+it.  And she actually tried to deceive me as to when it was to occur-
+-tried to get me out of the house on one pretext or another until it
+was all over.  That was her plot, and, by Jove, she tried it so
+cleverly that she would have managed it if something had not put me
+on my guard.  She was a little too eager, unnaturally so, and I saw
+through her game.  But think of it, the absolute unselfishness of it.
+To consider ME at such a time, and to face her trouble alone and
+unsupported in order to make it easier for me.  She wanted me to go
+to Norwich and play golf.'
+
+'She must have thought you pretty guileless, Crosse, to be led away
+so easily.'
+
+'Yes, it was a hopeless attempt to deceive me on such a point, or to
+dream for an instant that my instincts would not tell me when she had
+need of me.  But none the less it was beautiful and characteristic.
+You don't mind my talking of these things, Harrison?'
+
+'My dear chap, it is just what you need.  You have been bottling
+things up too much.  Your health will break down under it.  After
+all, it is not so serious as all that.  The danger is very much
+exaggerated.'
+
+'You think so.'
+
+'I've had the experience twice now.  You'll go to the City some fine
+morning, and when you come back the whole thing will be over.'
+
+'Indeed it won't.  I have made arrangements at the office, and from
+the hour that she first seems bad I will never stir from the house.
+For all she may say, I know very well that it gives her strength and
+courage to feel that I am there.'
+
+'You may not know that it is coming on?'
+
+Frank laughed incredulously.
+
+'We'll see about that,' said he.  'And you think from your
+experience, Harrison, that it is not so very bad after all?'
+
+'Oh no.  It soon passes.'
+
+'Soon!  What do you mean by soon?'
+
+'Jordan was there six hours the first time.'
+
+'Good God!  Six hours!'  Frank wiped his forehead.  'They must have
+seemed six years.'
+
+'They WERE rather long.  I kept on working in the garden.  That's the
+tip.  Keep on doing something and it helps you along wonderfully.'
+
+'That's a good suggestion, Harrison.  What a curious smell there is
+in the air!  Do you notice a sort of low, sweetish, spirity kind of
+scent?  Well, perhaps it's my imagination.  I dare say that my nerves
+are a bit strung up these days.  But that is a capital idea of yours
+about having some work to do.  I should like to work madly for those
+hours.  Have everything up out of the back garden and plant it all
+again in the front.'
+
+Harrison laughed.
+
+'I'll tell you something less heroic,' said he; 'you could keep all
+these bulbs, and pot them then.  By the way, I'll go round and get
+the others.  Don't bother about the door.  I shall leave it open, for
+I won't be five minutes.'
+
+'And I'll put these in the greenhouse,' said Frank.  He took the
+basket of bulbs and he laid them all out on the wooden shelf of the
+tiny conservatory which leaned against the back of the house.  When
+he came out there was a kitten making a noise somewhere.  It was a
+low sound, but persistent, coming in burst after burst.  He took the
+rake and jabbed with the handle amongst the laurel bushes under their
+bedroom window.  The beast might waken Maude, and so it was worth
+some trouble to dislodge it.  He could not see it, but when he had
+poked among the bushes and cried 'Skat!' several times, the crying
+died away, and he carried his empty basket into the dining-room.
+There he lit his pipe again, and waited for Harrison's return.
+
+There was that bothersome kitten again.  He could hear it mewing away
+somewhere.  It did not sound so loud as in the garden, so perhaps it
+would not matter.  He felt very much inclined to steal upstairs upon
+tiptoe and see if Maude were stirring yet.  After all, if Jemima, or
+whoever it was, could go clumping about in heavy boots over his head,
+there was no fear that he could do any harm.  And yet she had said
+that she would ring or send word the moment she could see him, and so
+perhaps he had better wait where he was.  He put his head out of the
+window and cried 'Shoo!' into the laurel bushes several times.  Then
+he sat in the armchair with his back to the door.  Steps came heavily
+along the hall, and he saw dimly with the back corner of his eye that
+some one was in the doorway carrying something.  He thought that
+really Harrison might have brought the bulbs in more quietly, and so
+he treated him with some coldness, and did not turn round to him.
+
+'Put it in the out-house,' said he.
+
+'Why the out-house?'
+
+'We keep them there.  But you can put it under the sideboard, or in
+the coal-scuttle, or where you like as long as you don't make any
+more noise.'
+
+'Why, surely, Crosse--'  But Frank suddenly sprang out of his chair.
+
+'I'm blessed if that infernal kitten isn't somewhere in the room!'
+
+And there when he turned was the grim, kindly face of old Doctor
+Jordan facing him.  He carried in the crook of his arm a brown shawl
+with something round and small muffled up in it.  There was one slit
+in front, and through this came a fist about the size of a marble,
+the thumb doubled under the tiny fingers, and the whole limb giving
+circular waves, as if the owner were cheering lustily at his own
+successful arrival.  'Here am I, good people, hurrah! hurrah!
+hurrah!' cried the waving hand.  Then as the slit in the shawl
+widened Frank saw that behind the energetic fist there was a huge
+open mouth, a little button of a nose, and two eyes which were so
+resolutely screwed up that it seemed as if the owner had made a
+resolution never under any circumstances to take the least notice of
+this new world into which it had been transported.  Frank dropped his
+pipe and stood staring at this apparition.
+
+'What!  What's that?'
+
+'The baby!'
+
+'Baby?  Whose baby?'
+
+'Your baby, of course.'
+
+'My baby!  Where--where did you get it?'
+
+Doctor Jordan burst out laughing.
+
+'You are like a man who has just been wakened out of his sleep,' said
+he.  'Why, Crosse, your wife has been bad all day, but she's all
+right now, and here's your son and heir--a finer lad of the age I
+never saw--fighting weight about seven pounds.'
+
+Frank was a very proud man at the roots of his nature.  He did not
+readily give himself away.  Perhaps if he had been quite alone he
+might at that moment, as the great wave of joy washed through his
+soul, bearing all his fears and forebodings away upon its crest, have
+dropped upon his knees in prayer.  But prayer comes not from the knee
+but from the heart, and the whole strength of his nature breathed
+itself out in silent thanks to that great Fate which goes its way
+regardless either of thanks or reproaches.  The doctor saw a pale
+self-contained young man before him, and thought him strangely
+wanting in emotion.
+
+'Well!' said he, impatiently.  'Is she all right?'
+
+'Yes.  Won't you take your son?'
+
+'Could she see me?'
+
+'I don't suppose five minutes would do any harm.'
+
+Dr. Jordan said afterwards that it was three steps which took Frank
+up the fifteen stairs.  The nurse who met him at the corner looks
+back on it as the escape of her lifetime.  Maude lay in bed with a
+face as pale as the pillow which framed it.  Her lips were bloodless
+but smiling.
+
+'Frank!'
+
+'My own dear sweet girlie!'
+
+'You never knew.  Did you, Frank?  Tell me that you never knew.'
+
+And at that anxious question the foolish pride which keeps the
+emotions of the strong man buried down in his soul as though they
+were the least honourable part of his nature, fell suddenly to
+nothing, and Frank dropped with his head beside the white face upon
+the pillow, and lay with his arm across the woman whom he loved, and
+sobbed as he had not sobbed since his childhood.  Her cheek was wet
+with his tears.  He never saw the doctor until he came beside him and
+touched him on the shoulder.
+
+'I think you had better go now,' said he.
+
+'Sorry to be a fool, doctor,' said Frank, blushing hotly in his
+clumsy English fashion.  'It's just more than I can stand.'
+
+'Sir,' the doctor answered, 'I owe you an apology, for I had done you
+an injustice.  Meanwhile your son is about to be dressed, and there
+is hardly room for three men in one bedroom.'
+
+So Frank went down into the darkening room below, and mechanically
+lighting his pipe, he sat with his elbows upon his knees and stared
+out into the gathering gloom where one bright evening star twinkled
+in a violet sky.  The gentle hush of the gloaming was around him, and
+some late bird was calling outside amongst the laurels.  Above he
+heard the shuffling of feet, the murmur of voices, and then amid it
+all those thin glutinous cries, HIS voice, the voice of this new man
+with all a man's possibilities for good and for evil, who had taken
+up his dwelling with them.  And as he listened to those cries, a
+gentle sadness was mixed with his joy, for he felt that things were
+now for ever changed--that whatever sweet harmonies of life might
+still be awaiting him, from this hour onwards, they might form
+themselves into the subtlest and loveliest of chords, but it must
+always be as a trio, and never as the dear duet of the past.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII--THE TRIO
+
+
+
+(Extract from a letter to the Author from Mrs. Frank Crosse.)
+
+'It is very singular that you should say with such confidence that
+you know that our baby is a splendid one, and further on you say that
+in some ways it differs from any other baby.  It is so true, but
+neither Frank nor I can imagine how you knew.  We both think it so
+CLEVER of you to have found it out.  When you write to us, do please
+tell us how you discovered it.
+
+'I want to tell you something about baby, since you so kindly ask me,
+but Frank says there is no use my beginning as there is only one
+quire of paper in the house.  As a matter of fact, I shall be quite
+short, which is not because I have not plenty to say--you cannot
+think what a DEAR he is--but because he may wake up at any moment.
+After that happens I can only write with one hand, while I wave a
+feather fan with the other, and it is so difficult then to say
+exactly what you mean.  In any case you know that I have not the
+habit of collecting and writing down my ideas, so please forgive me
+if this seems a stupid letter.  Frank could have done it splendidly.
+But he has so many sweet and quite REMARKABLE ways, that I ought to
+be able to put some of them down for you.
+
+'It will be easier perhaps if I imagine a day of him--and one of his
+days is very much like another.  No one could ever say that he was
+irregular in his habits.  First thing in the morning I go over to his
+cot to see if he is awake yet--though, of course, I know that he
+can't be, for he always lets us know--the darling!  However, I go
+over all the same, and I find everything quiet and nothing visible of
+baby, but a tiny, turned-up nose.  It is so exactly Frank's nose,
+only that his is curved the other way.  Then, as I bend over his cot,
+there is a small sigh, such a soft, comfortable sound!  Then a sort
+of earthquake takes place under the eider down, and a tightly
+clenched fist appears and is waved in the air.  He has such a
+pleasant, cheerful way of waving his fists.  Then one eye is half
+opened, as if he were looking round to see if it were safe to open
+the other one, and then he gives a long, sorrowful wail as he
+realises that his bottle is not where he left it when he went to
+sleep.  In a moment he is in my arms and quite happy again, playing
+with the lace round the neck of my pink dressing-gown.  When he finds
+that his nice warm bath is all ready for him, he becomes quite
+jovial, and laughs and chuckles to himself.  Something awfully funny
+must have happened to him before ever he came into this world at all,
+for nothing that has occurred since could account for the intense
+expression of amusement that one can often see in his eyes.  When he
+laughs, Frank says that he looks like some jolly old clean-shaven
+toothless friar--so chubby and good-humoured.  He takes the greatest
+interest in everything in the room, watches the nurse moving about,
+looks out of the window, and examines my hair and my dress very
+critically.  He loves to see untidy hair and a bright tie, or a
+brooch will often catch his eye, and make him smile.  His smile is
+the most wonderful thing!  As he lies gazing with his great serious
+blue eyes, his whole face suddenly lights up, his mouth turns up at
+one corner in the most irresistible way, and his cheeks all go off
+into dimples.  He looks so sweet and innocent, and at the same time
+so humorous and wicked, that his foolish mother wants to laugh at him
+and to weep over him at the same time.
+
+'Then comes his bath, and there is a sad display of want of faith
+upon his part.  He enjoys the process, but he is convinced that only
+his own exertions keep him from drowning, so his little fists are
+desperately clenched, his legs kick up and down the whole time, and
+he watches every movement of mother and nurse with suspicion.  He
+enjoys being dressed, and smiles at first, and then he suddenly
+remembers that he has not had his breakfast.  Then the smiles vanish,
+the small round face grows so red and angry, and all covered with
+little wrinkles, and there is a dismal wailing--poor darling!  If the
+bottle is not instantly forthcoming he will howl loudly, and beat the
+air with his fists until he gets it.  He DOES remind me so of his
+father sometimes.  He is always hunting for his bottle, and will
+seize my finger, or a bit of my dress, or anything, and carry it to
+his mouth, and when he finds it isn't what he wants, he throws it
+away very angrily.  When finally he does get the bottle, he becomes
+at once the most contented being in the whole world, and sucks away
+with such great long pulls, and such dear little grunts in between.
+Then afterwards, a well-washed, well-fed atom, he is ready to look
+about him and observe things.  I am sure that he has his father's
+brains, and that he is storing up all sorts of impressions and
+observations for future use, for he notices EVERYTHING.  I used to
+think that babies were stupid and indifferent--and perhaps other
+babies are--but HE is never indifferent.  Sometimes he is pleased and
+amused, and sometimes angry, and sometimes gravely interested, but he
+is always wide awake and taking things in.  When I go into his room,
+he always looks at my head, and if I have my garden hat with the
+flowers, he is so pleased.  He much prefers chiffon to silk.
+
+'Almost the first thing that struck me when I saw him, and it strikes
+me more and more, was, how could any one have got the idea of
+original sin?  The people who believe in it can never have looked
+into a baby's eyes.  I love to watch them, and sometimes fancy I can
+see a faint shade of reminiscence in them, as if he had still some
+memories of another life, and could tell me things if he could only
+speak.  One day as I sat beside his cot--Oh dear!  I hear his Majesty
+calling.  So sorry!  Good-bye.--Yours very truly,
+
+MAUDE CROSSE.'
+
+P.S.--I have not time to read this over, but I may say, in case I
+omitted it before, that he really is a very remarkable baby.'
+
+
+
+
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