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diff --git a/5260-h/5260-h.htm b/5260-h/5260-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..51d639a --- /dev/null +++ b/5260-h/5260-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8698 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>A Duet, by Arthur Conan Doyle</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Duet, by Arthur Conan Doyle + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: A Duet + with an Occasional Chorus + + +Author: Arthur Conan Doyle + + + +Release Date: July 5, 2014 [eBook #5260] +[This file was first posted on June 18, 2002] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DUET*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1899 Grant Richards edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/coverb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" +src="images/covers.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>A DUET<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">WITH AN OCCASIONAL CHORUS</span></h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">BY</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">A. CONAN DOYLE</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic" +title= +"Decorative graphic" +src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON</p> +<p style="text-align: center">GRANT RICHARDS</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">9 HENRIETTA +STREET</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">1899</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pageiv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. iv</span>Edinburgh: T. and A <span +class="smcap">Constable</span>, Printers to Her Majesty</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pagev"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. v</span><span class="GutSmall">TO</span><br /> +MRS. MAUDE CROSSE</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Maude</span>,—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, <i>bon voyage</i>!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Ever your friend,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">The +Author</span>.</p> +<p><i>Jan.</i> 20, 1899.</p> +<h2><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vii</span>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Overture</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Overture Continued</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page9">9</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Overture Concluded</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page24">24</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Two Solos</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">In Britain’s Valhalla</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page48">48</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Two Solos and a Duet</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page71">71</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Keeping up Appearances</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page88">88</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Home-Coming</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Laying a Course</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page112">112</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Confessions</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page128">128</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Concerning Mrs. Beeton</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page146">146</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Mr. Samuel Pepys</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page158">158</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Visit to Mr. Samuel Pepys</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page170">170</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Trouble</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page185">185</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Rescue</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page204">204</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Browning Society</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page218">218</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">An Investment</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page236">236</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Thundercloud</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page251">251</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Danger</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page269">269</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">No. 5 Cheyne Row</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page290">290</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Last Note of the Duet</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page311">311</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Trio</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page326">326</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>THE +OVERTURE<br /> +I<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">ABOUT THAT DATE</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">These</span> are the beginnings of some of +the letters which they wrote about that time.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Woking</i>, <i>May</i> +20<i>th</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dearest Maude</span>,—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.)</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>St. Albans</i>, <i>May</i> +22<i>nd</i>.</p> +<p>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.)</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Woking</i>, <i>May</i> +25<i>th</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dearest Maude</span>,—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.)</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>St. Albans</i>, <i>May</i> +27<i>th</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dearest Frank</span>,—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 <i>our</i> +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.)</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Woking</i>, <i>May</i> +29<i>th</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My own Dearest</span>,—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 +<i>immediately</i> 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.)</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>St. Albans</i>, <i>June</i> +1<i>st</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Frank</span>,—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 <i>do</i> hang so beautifully. O +Frank, it is only a few weeks’ time, and then . . .</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Woking</i>, <i>June</i> +3<i>rd</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My own darling Maude</span>,—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 <i>never</i> get +rid of those dresses. They are too full of +associations. I want to see you in them for years, and +years, and years.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>St. Albans</i>, <i>June</i> +4<i>th</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dearest Frank</span>,—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!</p> +<p>As a matter of fact, I <i>must</i> 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 <i>en suite</i>, +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.</p> +<p>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 are 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> +<p><i>P.S.</i>—I forgot to say that I had a grey silk cape, +lined with cream, to go with the dress. It is just +sweet!</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>So that is how they arranged about the date.</p> +<h2><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>THE +OVERTURE CONTINUED<br /> +II<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">IN A MINOR KEY</span></h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Woking</i>, <i>June</i> +7<i>th</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My own dearest Maude</span>,—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.</p> +<p>In your last dear letter you talk about being frivolous. +<i>You</i> 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>And my income, £400 a year with a commission on business +I introduce. But that amounts to hardly anything. You +have £50. Our total, then, is certainly under +£500. 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 +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Good-bye, my own dearest sweetheart—all the dearer when +I feel that I may lose you.—Ever your devoted</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Frank</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>St. Albans</i>, <i>June</i> +8<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Maude</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">(<span class="smcap">Copy of +Telegram</span>)</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>From Frank Crosse</i>, to +<i>Miss Maude Selby</i>,</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Laurels</i>, <i>St. +Albans</i></p> +<p style="text-align: center">Coming up eight-fifteen, arrive +midnight.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>June</i> 10<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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. <i>You</i> 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.</p> +<p>Fancy your imagining that you had come into my life in order +to darken it. Why, you <i>are</i> 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.</p> +<p>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</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">maude</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Woking</i>, <i>June</i> +11<i>th</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My own dearest Girlie</span>,—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.</p> +<p>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>I</i> should improve you, but if +you in your sweet frankness say that it is so, why, I can only +marvel and rejoice.</p> +<p>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 <i>different</i> 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Frank</span>.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<h2><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>THE +OVERTURE CONCLUDED</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>St. Albans</i>, <i>June</i> +14<i>th</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dearest Frank</span>,—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.</p> +<p>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 <i>really</i> 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 <i>brave</i> 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</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Maude</span>.</p> +<p><i>P.S.</i>—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?</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Woking</i>, <i>June</i> +17<i>th</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My own sweetest Maude</span>,—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>I</i> +know.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 <i>she</i> 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 on a three years’ lease—with taxes, about +£62. 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.</p> +<p>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 <i>the</i> 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Frank</span>.</p> +<p><i>P.S.</i>—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><i>P.P.S.</i>—Saturday! Saturday!! +Saturday!!!</p> +<h2><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>THE +TWO SOLOS</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Their</span> 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.</p> +<p>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 <i>was</i> 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘How are you?’</p> +<p>‘How do you do?’</p> +<p>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 suède, 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?</p> +<p>She looked up at him in a roguish sidelong way, with the +bright mischievous smile which was one of her charms.</p> +<p>‘Well, sir, do you approve?’</p> +<p>‘By Jove, it is splendid—beautiful!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Oh no, that’s all right.’</p> +<p>‘You looked so solemn when first I saw you.’</p> +<p>‘Did I?’</p> +<p>‘And then you just jumped.’</p> +<p>‘Did I? I’m sorry.’</p> +<p>‘Why?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Never mind, dear, it wasn’t such a big jump as +all that. Where are we going?’</p> +<p>‘Come here, Maude, into the waiting-room.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘O Frank! Is that really it?’</p> +<p>‘Do you like it?’</p> +<p>‘What a broad one it is! Mother’s is quite +thin.’</p> +<p>‘They wear thin in time.’</p> +<p>‘It is beautiful. Shall I try it on?’</p> +<p>‘No, don’t. There is some superstition about +it.’</p> +<p>‘But suppose it won’t fit?’</p> +<p>‘That is quite safe. I measured it with your +sapphire ring.’</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>‘I had saved the money.’</p> +<p>‘But not for that!’</p> +<p>‘For nothing half or quarter as important. But I +had the other to the same size, so it is sure to fit.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>She handed back the ring, and a graver expression passed over +her mobile face.</p> +<p>‘I feel as you said in your letter, Frank. There +<i>is</i> something tragic in it. It will be with me for +ever. All the future will arrange itself round that little +ring.’</p> +<p>‘Are you afraid of it?’</p> +<p>‘Afraid!’ her grey glove rested for an instant +upon the back of his hand. ‘I <i>couldn’t</i> +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.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t profess to be so brave as all +that,’ said Frank. ‘I expect I have as many +nerves as my neighbours.’</p> +<p>Maude’s grey toque nodded up and down. ‘I +know all about that,’ said she.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>know</i> 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.’</p> +<p>She laughed with shining eyes.</p> +<p>‘I like to hear you talk like that,’ said +she. ‘That is just what is so beautiful about +you.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I am quite happy whatever we do. I am content to +sit here with you until evening.’</p> +<p>Her idea of a happy holiday set them both laughing.</p> +<p>‘Come along,’ said he, ‘we shall discuss it +as we go.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Shall we have a cab?’</p> +<p>‘O Frank, we must learn to be economical. Let us +walk.’</p> +<p>‘I can’t and won’t be economical +to-day.’</p> +<p>‘There now! See what a bad influence I have upon +you.’</p> +<p>‘Most demoralising! But we have not settled yet +where we are to go to.’</p> +<p>‘What <i>does</i> it matter, if we are +together?’</p> +<p>‘There is a good match at the Oval, the Australians +against Surrey. Would you care to see that?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, dear, if you would.’</p> +<p>‘And there are matinées at all the +theatres.’</p> +<p>‘You would rather be in the open air.’</p> +<p>‘All I want is that you should enjoy +yourself.’</p> +<p>‘Never fear. I shall do that.’</p> +<p>‘Well, then, first of all I vote that we go and have +some lunch.’</p> +<p>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 mediævalism, the pious memorial of +a great Plantagenet king to his beloved wife.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Maude insisted upon hearing about Queen Eleanor, and Frank +imparted the little that he knew as they walked out into the +crowded Strand.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘You’ve seen a memorial of a queen of +England,’ said he. ‘That window is the memorial +of a king.’</p> +<p>‘Why so, Frank?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Poor fellow!’ said Maude. ‘He was so +handsome, and such a good husband and father.’</p> +<p>‘It is the good kings who may be the dangerous +ones.’</p> +<p>‘O Frank!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Frank and Maude stood together looking up at it.</p> +<p>‘How beautiful it is!’ she cried. ‘How +the gilding lights up the whole building!’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<h2><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>IN +BRITAIN’S VALHALLA</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">They</span> 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.</p> +<p>‘We’ll just get down there after lunch,’ +said Frank, as he paid his bill. ‘You have not seen +the Australians, have you?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, dear, I saw them at Clifton four years +ago.’</p> +<p>‘But this is a new lot. There are nine of the +present team who have never played in England before.’</p> +<p>‘They are very good, are they not?’</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Have you ever done the Abbey, Maude?’</p> +<p>‘No, Frank; I should love to.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Whom does the Abbey belong to, Frank?’</p> +<p>‘To you and me!’</p> +<p>‘Now you are joking!’</p> +<p>‘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 <i>our</i> position towards the +Abbey. Let us inspect our property.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘<i>Moestissima uxor</i>! 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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘“Sunset and evening Star<br /> +And one clear call for me.”’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.’</p> +<p>‘I have read so little,’ said Maude.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘What a splendid face!’ cried Maude.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I am so glad to have seen that. I know his poems +so well,’ said Maude.</p> +<p>‘I believe he is more read than any poet in +England.’</p> +<p>‘Who is that standing figure?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘We can guess what is probable.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I knew that I should marry you, Frank, or else that I +should never marry at all.’</p> +<p>‘There now! We both had it. Well, that +<i>is</i> really wonderful!’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘This way, if you please, for the kings,’ said the +voice. ‘They are now starting for the +kings.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Isn’t she just perfectly sweet?’ said one +of the American girls.</p> +<p>‘Well, I don’t know. I expected more of her +than that,’ the other answered.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Forty-four years of age at the time of her +execution,’ said the guide.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘She looks as if she were tired, poor dear!’ said +Maude; ‘I don’t think that she was sorry to be at +rest.’</p> +<p>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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 mediæval 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘She’s splendid,’ said Frank.</p> +<p>‘She’s terrible,’ said Maude.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir, she did.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘No, sir.’</p> +<p>‘And a fortunate thing for somebody. That +woman’s husband would have a mean time of it, sir, in my +opinion.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘What is the date of the shrine?’ asked Frank.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘The present Queen?’ asked some one.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Then I understand, sir, that this other throne is the +Scottish throne,’ said the American gentleman.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘You don’t say!’ cried the American. +‘Well, I guess that boy ended pretty high up.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘This tomb is that of Queen Eleanor,’ said he.</p> +<p>Frank twitched Maude by the sleeve. ‘Eleanor of +Charing Cross,’ said he. ‘See how one little +bit of knowledge links on with another.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘I shall dream of this,’ said Maude. She had +turned pale, as many a woman has before this monument.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Roubillac is his name,’ said Maude, reading it +from the pedestal.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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 matinée to counteract +it?’</p> +<p>But Maude laid her hand upon his arm.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Do you wish to go to either very much?’</p> +<p>‘Not unless you do.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<h2><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>TWO +SOLOS AND A DUET</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘You are off colour, Crosse,’ said his best +man.</p> +<p>‘I was just thinking that my nose was. It’s +very kind of you to come and stand by me.’</p> +<p>‘That’s all right. We shall see it through +together.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I feel a little chippy to-day.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘How are they all at the Langham?’ asked Frank +eagerly.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Frank’s eyes kept turning to the slow-moving +minute-hand. It was not ten o’clock yet.</p> +<p>‘Don’t you think that I might go round to the +Langham and see them?’</p> +<p>‘Good Lord, no! Clean against regulations. +Stand by his head, Hale! Wo, boy, steady!’</p> +<p>‘It won’t do, Crosse, it really +won’t!’ said Hale solemnly.</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>‘Wo, laddie, wo then, boy! Keep him in hand, +Hale! Get to his head.’</p> +<p>Frank flung himself down into an armchair, and muttered about +absurd conventions.</p> +<p>‘It can’t be helped, my boy. It is +correct.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Half-past,’ said he. ‘Come on. +I can’t wait any longer. I must do +<i>something</i>. It is time we went to the +church.’</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>he</i> is, and full of +blood. And here we are on the ground.’</p> +<p>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 +mediæval 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.</p> +<p>‘What a ripping old church!’ Jack whispered.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>The verger was not in the best of tempers. +‘It’s at a quarter to four,’ said he, as Hale +met him.</p> +<p>‘No, no, at eleven.’</p> +<p>‘Quarter to four, I tell you. The vicar says +so.’</p> +<p>‘Why, it’s not possible.’</p> +<p>‘We have them at all hours.’</p> +<p>‘Have what?’</p> +<p>‘Buryin’s.’</p> +<p>‘But this is a marriage.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Good heavens, no.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Crosse and Selby are the names.’</p> +<p>The verger consulted an old crumpled notebook.</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir, I have it here. Mr. or Miss Crosse to +Mr. or Miss Selby. Eleven o’clock, sir, +<i>sharp</i>. The vicar’s a terrible punctual man, +and I should advise you to take your places.’</p> +<p>‘Any hitch?’ asked Frank nervously, as Hale +returned.</p> +<p>‘No, no.’</p> +<p>‘What was he talking about?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, nothing. Some little confusion of +ideas.’</p> +<p>‘Shall we go up?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I think that we had better.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Put up the wrong bird that time,’ whispered Jack, +and sniggered at Frank’s change of expression.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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—‘<i>Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded +wife</i>, <i>to live together after God’s ordinance in the +holy estate of matrimony</i>? <i>Wilt thou love her</i>, +<i>comfort her</i>, <i>honour her</i>, <i>in sickness and in +health</i>, <i>and forsaking all other</i>, <i>keep thee only +unto her as long as ye both shall live</i>?’</p> +<p>‘<i>I will</i>,’ cried Frank, with conviction.</p> +<p>‘<i>And wilt thou have this man to thy wedded +husband</i>, <i>to live together after God’s ordinance in +the holy estate of matrimony</i>? <i>Wilt thou obey +him</i>, <i>and serve him</i>, <i>love</i>, <i>honour</i>, <i>and +keep him</i>, <i>in sickness and in health</i>, <i>and forsaking +all other</i>, <i>keep thee only unto him so long as ye both +shall live</i>?’</p> +<p>‘<i>I will</i>,’ said Maude, from her heart.</p> +<p>‘<i>Who giveth this woman to be married to this +man</i>?’</p> +<p>‘<i>I do</i>. Mr. John Selby—her father, you +know.’</p> +<p>And then in turn they repeated the fateful +words—‘<i>I take thee to have and to hold from this +day forward</i>, <i>for better</i>, <i>for worse</i>, <i>for +richer</i>, <i>for poorer</i>, <i>in sickness and in health</i>, +<i>to love</i>, <i>cherish</i>, <i>and obey</i>, <i>till death us +do part</i>, <i>according to God’s holy ordinance</i>, +<i>and thereto I give thee my troth</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Ring! Ring!’ said Hale.</p> +<p>‘Ring, you Juggins!’ whispered Jack Selby.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Vestry—afterwards,’ whispered the +clergyman.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘<i>With this ring I thee wed</i>,’ said Frank, +‘<i>and with my body I thee worship</i> (he paused, and +made a mental emendation of ‘with my soul also’), +<i>and with all my worldly goods I thee endow</i>.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘<i>Those whom God hath joined together</i>, <i>let no +man put asunder</i>,’ said he. ‘<i>Forasmuch as +Francis Crosse and Maude Selby have consented together in holy +wedlock</i>, <i>and have witnessed the same before God and this +company</i>, <i>and thereto have given and pledged their +troth</i>, <i>either to other</i>, <i>and have declared the same +by giving and receiving of a ring</i>, <i>and by joining of +hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife +together</i>.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Heartiest congratulations, Crosse!’ said +Hale.</p> +<p>‘Bravo, Maude, you looked ripping!’ cried Jack, +kissing his sister. ‘By Jove, it simply went with a +buzz from the word “go.”’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Name, please?’ said he.</p> +<p>‘O Frank!’</p> +<p>‘Name, if <i>you</i> please?’</p> +<p>‘Why, you know.’</p> +<p>‘Say it.’</p> +<p>‘Maude.’</p> +<p>‘That all?’</p> +<p>‘Maude Crosse—O Frank!’</p> +<p>‘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 <i>it</i> under the +glove. Now, sweetheart, you are not frightened, are +you?’</p> +<p>‘Not now.’</p> +<p>‘You were?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I was a little. O Frank, you won’t +tire of me, will you? I should break my heart if you +did.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I know perfectly well what you were doing. And +you shouldn’t have done it.’</p> +<p>‘What was I doing, then?’</p> +<p>‘You were staring at me.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, you saw that, did you?’</p> +<p>‘I felt it.’</p> +<p>‘Well, I was. But I was praying also.’</p> +<p>‘Were you, Frank?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘O Frank, what a dreadful prayer!’</p> +<p>‘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 <i>my</i> 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!’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<h2><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +88</span>KEEPING UP APPEARANCES</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘I’ve got such an appetite!’</p> +<p>‘So have I, Frank.’</p> +<p>‘Capital. Have another cutlet.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you, dear.’</p> +<p>‘Potatoes?’</p> +<p>‘Please.’</p> +<p>‘I always thought that people on their honeymoon lived +on love.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, isn’t it dreadful, Frank? We must be +so material.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Are you happy, Frank?’</p> +<p>‘Absolutely and completely.’</p> +<p>‘Quite, <i>quite</i> sure?’</p> +<p>‘I never was quite so sure of anything.’</p> +<p>‘It makes me so happy to hear you say so.’</p> +<p>‘And you?’</p> +<p>‘O Frank, I am just floating upon golden clouds in a +dream. But your poor hands! Oh, how they must pain +you!’</p> +<p>‘Not a bit.’</p> +<p>‘It was that heavy oar.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I can never forget it.’</p> +<p>‘We’ll go again to-night.’</p> +<p>‘But the blisters!’</p> +<p>‘Hang the blisters! And we’ll take some bait +with us and try to catch something.’</p> +<p>‘What fun!’</p> +<p>‘And we’ll drive to Rottingdean this afternoon, if +you feel inclined. Have this last cutlet, dear!’</p> +<p>‘No, thank you.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Why, dear?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Did I, Frank?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘But what did I say? Oh, I <i>am</i> so +sorry! I tried to be so careful.’</p> +<p>‘Well, about the curry, you know. It was an error +of judgment to ask if I took chutnee. And then . . . +’</p> +<p>‘Something else?’</p> +<p>‘About the boots. Did I get them in London or +Woking.’</p> +<p>‘Oh dear, dear!’</p> +<p>‘And then . . . ’</p> +<p>‘Not another! O Frank!’</p> +<p>‘Well, the use of the word “my.” You +must give that word up. It should be +“our.”’</p> +<p>‘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 <i>the</i> hat.’</p> +<p>‘That was all right. But it is <i>our</i> luggage, +you know, and <i>our</i> room, and so on.’</p> +<p>‘Of course it is. How foolish I am! Then the +waiter knows! O Frank, what shall we do?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘That was when you spoke about our travels in the +Tyrol?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘O Frank, how <i>could</i> you? And you said how +lonely it was when we were the only visitors at the Swiss +hotel.’</p> +<p>‘That was an inspiration. That finished +him.’</p> +<p>‘And about the closeness of the Atlantic +staterooms. I blushed to hear you.’</p> +<p>‘But he listened eagerly to it all. I could see +it.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘My dear girlie, you will find as you go through life +that every man will always look at you with a certain +interest.’</p> +<p>Maude smiled, but was unconvinced.</p> +<p>‘Cheese, dear?’</p> +<p>‘A little butter, please.’</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>are</i> veterans. That is where we give ourselves +away.’</p> +<p>‘That never occurred to me.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Or you to me, Frank.’</p> +<p>‘Sure you won’t mind?’</p> +<p>‘Not a bit.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, hang it, I can’t—not even for so good +an object.’</p> +<p>‘Well, then, I can’t either.’</p> +<p>‘But this is absurd. It is only acting.’</p> +<p>‘Quite so. It is only fun.’</p> +<p>‘Then why won’t you do it?’</p> +<p>‘Why won’t you?’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Very well.’</p> +<p>‘Your call.’</p> +<p>‘Heads.’</p> +<p>‘It’s tails.’</p> +<p>‘Oh goodness!’</p> +<p>‘You’ve got to be rude. Now mind you +are. Here he comes.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘It’s a beautiful Stilton,’ Frank +remarked.</p> +<p>Maude tried desperately to be rude.</p> +<p>‘Well, dear, I don’t think it is so very +beautiful,’ was the best that she could do.</p> +<p>It was not much, but it had a surprising effect upon the +waiter. He turned and hurried away.</p> +<p>‘There now, you’ve shocked him?’ cried +Frank.</p> +<p>‘Where <i>has</i> he gone, Frank?’</p> +<p>‘To complain to the management about your +language.’</p> +<p>‘No, Frank. Please tell me! Oh, I wish I +hadn’t been so rude. Here he is again.’</p> +<p>‘All right. Sit tight,’ said Frank.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘This is Gorgonzola, main,’ said the waiter, with +a severe manner. ‘And there’s Camembert and +Gruyère behind, and powdered Parmesan as well. +I’m sorry that the Stilton don’t give +satisfaction.’</p> +<p>Maude helped herself to Gorgonzola and looked very guilty and +uncomfortable. Frank began to laugh.</p> +<p>‘I meant you to be rude to <i>me</i>, not to the +cheese,’ said he, when the procession had withdrawn.</p> +<p>‘I did my best, Frank. I contradicted +you.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, it was a shocking display of temper.’</p> +<p>‘And I hurt the poor waiter’s feelings.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, you’ll have to apologise to his Stilton +before he will forgive you.’</p> +<p>‘And I don’t believe he is a bit more convinced +that we are veterans than he was before.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘What’s wrong with ’er, then?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Turn up ’er nose, did she? Well, she seemed +to me a very soft-spoken, obligin’ young lady.’</p> +<p>‘So she may be, but they’re a queer couple, I tell +you. It’s as well they are married at +last.’</p> +<p>‘Why?’</p> +<p>‘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, <i>awful</i>!’</p> +<p>‘You don’t say that, John!’</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Times</i> to prove it, and yet if +you’ll believe me, they was talkin’ about ’ow +they ’ad travelled alone abroad—’</p> +<p>‘Never, John!’</p> +<p>‘And alone in a Swiss ’otel!’</p> +<p>‘My goodness!’</p> +<p>‘And a steamer too.’</p> +<p>‘Well, there! I’ll never trust any one +again.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, a perfec’ pair of scorchers. But +I’ll let ’im see as I knows it. I’ll put +that <i>Times</i> before ’im to-night at dinner as sure as +my name’s John.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Maude and Frank were lingering at the <i>table +d’hôte</i> over their walnuts and a glass of port +wine, when their waiter came softly behind them.</p> +<p>‘Beg pardon, sir, but did you see it in the +<i>Times</i>?’</p> +<p>‘See what?’</p> +<p>‘<i>That</i>, sir. I thought that it might be of +interest to you and to your good lady to see it.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Maude, your people have gone and put it in.’</p> +<p>‘Our marriage!’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Well, dear, does it matter?’</p> +<p>‘Matter! It’s simply awful!’</p> +<p>‘I don’t mind much if they do know.’</p> +<p>‘But my reminiscences, Maude! The travels in the +Tyrol! The Swiss Hotel! The Stateroom! Great +goodness, how I have put my foot into it.’</p> +<p>Maude burst out laughing.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<h2><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 100</span>THE +HOME-COMING</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘You don’t mind walking, Maude?’</p> +<p>‘I should prefer it.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Well, I’m blessed!’ cried Frank.</p> +<p>‘Never mind, dear. They live at the back, no +doubt.’</p> +<p>‘But I gave them the hour. This is too bad. +I am so sorry.’</p> +<p>‘It will be all the more cosy inside. What a dear +little gate this is! The whole place is perfectly +charming.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘My word, it will be no laughing matter for Mrs. Watson +if she cannot give a good reason for it,’ said he.</p> +<p>‘Perhaps the poor woman is ill.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘There now!’ he cried. ‘Listen to +this. “Expect us on Thursday evening about +ten.” It was <i>Tuesday</i> evening, I said. +That’s the telegraphic clerk. We’ve come two +days before our time.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Aren’t you hungry, Frank?’</p> +<p>‘Simply starving.’</p> +<p>‘So am I.’</p> +<p>‘Well, then, let us forage and see if we cannot find +something to eat.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Put some water in the kettle, Frank.’</p> +<p>‘Here you are! Anything else?’</p> +<p>‘Some in the small saucepan for the eggs.’</p> +<p>‘I believe they are “cookers,”’ said +he, sniffing at them suspiciously.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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 <i>splendid</i> to be mistress of a house.’</p> +<p>‘With one scullery-maid.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>They had both become aware of a sort of sibilant breathing, +and they looked round them in bewilderment.</p> +<p>‘Where is it?’ asked Maude. ‘Frank, I +believe it’s a mouse.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Hullo!’ cried Frank, shaking her by the +shoulder. ‘Hullo, you there!’</p> +<p>But the woman slumbered peacefully on.</p> +<p>‘Heh, wake up, wake up!’ he shouted, and pulled +her up into a sitting position. But she slept as soundly +sitting as lying.</p> +<p>‘The poor thing must be ill,’ said Maude. +‘O Frank, shall I run for a doctor?’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘It’s no go,’ said he. ‘I can +make nothing of her. She will sleep it off.’</p> +<p>‘You don’t mean to say, Frank, that she +is—’</p> +<p>‘Indeed I do.’</p> +<p>‘How horrible!’</p> +<p>‘That kettle is boiling now. Suppose we have our +supper.’</p> +<p>‘Dear Frank, I could not enjoy my supper with that +unfortunate woman lying there. O Frank, I know that you +could not either.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Oh I couldn’t, Frank. It would seem +inhuman.’</p> +<p>‘What are we to do, then?’</p> +<p>‘We must put her to bed.’</p> +<p>‘Great heavens!’</p> +<p>‘Yes, dear, it is our duty to put her to bed.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Don’t you think, Frank, that if you took her head +and I took her feet, we might get her up?’</p> +<p>‘Not up the stair, dear. She is +enormous.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘It’s agin’ the law for me to enter,’ +said a gruff voice.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<h2><a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +112</span>LAYING A COURSE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Frank Crosse</span> 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.</p> +<p>‘Now, Maude,’ said he, ‘I want to have a +serious talk.’</p> +<p>Maude looked up in surprise from the linen which she was +marking.</p> +<p>‘Oh dear!’ she cried.</p> +<p>‘Why “oh dear”?’</p> +<p>‘There’s something wrong?’</p> +<p>‘Nothing in the world.’</p> +<p>‘You looked so solemn, Frank. I thought you had +been looking at the tradesman’s books. What is it, +dear?’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Oh do, dear, do! What fun it will be!’</p> +<p>‘But it’s serious, Maude.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, dear, I am quite serious.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘What are the rules, dear?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘How charming, Frank! Do please tell me some of +the points.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘O Frank, how horrid!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘But that is absurd.’</p> +<p>‘You can’t live all your life and never be in a +bad temper!’</p> +<p>‘But not with <i>you</i>, Frank.’</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>you</i> are cross, then it is your turn, and I stand +clear. If <i>I</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?’</p> +<p>‘I think you are the funniest old boy—’</p> +<p>‘Do you agree?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, dear, of course I agree.’</p> +<p>‘Article number one,’ said Frank, and scribbled +upon his paper.</p> +<p>‘Your turn, now.’</p> +<p>‘No, dear, I have not thought of anything.’</p> +<p>‘Well, then, here is another point. Never take +each other for granted.’</p> +<p>‘What do you mean by that?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t think we are likely to.’</p> +<p>‘People get into it unconsciously. Pull me up +sharply at the first sign.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir, I will.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘My goodness, I haven’t practised for a +week!’ cried Maude.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Why, Frank, I had no idea you knew so much.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘As if it could make any difference to me.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Good. What is it?’</p> +<p>‘Each should take an interest in the other’s +department.’</p> +<p>‘Why, of course they should.’</p> +<p>‘But it is not done.’</p> +<p>‘Why naturally, dear, you take an interest in my City +work.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir, but do you take as keen an interest in my +housekeeping?’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps I have been a little thoughtless.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I think what you say is quite right. I’ll +try to remember that. How shall we enter it upon our +list?’</p> +<p>‘That Interests should be mutual.’</p> +<p>‘Quite right. I have it down. Well, any more +points?’</p> +<p>‘It is your turn.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘How will you express all that?’</p> +<p>‘Mutual respect is necessary for mutual love.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I am sure that that is right.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Let me hear it.’</p> +<p>‘I have put it in this way, “The tight cord is the +easiest to snap.”’</p> +<p>‘What do you mean?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t like that at all, Frank.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Chain is a horrid word, Frank.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>Maude looked doubtful.</p> +<p>‘I should like to see the woman first,’ she +said.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘If they do, it may become so slack that it might as +well not be there at all.’</p> +<p>‘I felt sure that we should have an argument over +this. But I have seen examples. Look at the +Wardrops. <i>There</i> 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.’</p> +<p>‘O Frank!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, but these rules are for our guidance, not for that +of other people.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Maude looked charmingly mutinous.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Then we scratch out that item.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>So Frank amended his aphorism.</p> +<p>‘Anything more, dear?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Only material things.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘That terrible question!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘But you must eat and drink, Frank. And as to +Jemima and the cook, it is really extraordinary the amount which +they consume.’</p> +<p>‘But the tendency is for meals to become much too +elaborate. Why that second vegetable?’</p> +<p>‘There now! I knew that you were going to say +something against that poor vegetable. It costs so +little.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘It does not seem very much.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Good gracious, we shall never have a second vegetable +again!’</p> +<p>‘And pudding?’</p> +<p>‘My dear, you always eat the pudding.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘We’ll have a compromise, dear. Second +vegetable one day, pudding the next.’</p> +<p>‘Very good.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘That red golfing-coat.’</p> +<p>‘I know. It was idiotic of me.’</p> +<p>‘Never mind, dear. You look very nice in it. +After all, it was only thirty shillings. Can you show me +any extravagance of mine?’</p> +<p>‘Well, dear, I looked at that dressmaker’s bill +yesterday.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I didn’t think the dress dear.’</p> +<p>‘What was it, then?’</p> +<p>‘The silk lining of the skirt.’</p> +<p>‘You funny boy!’</p> +<p>‘It cost thirty shillings extra. Now, what can it +matter if it is lined with silk or not?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, doesn’t it? Just you try one and +see.’</p> +<p>‘But no one can know that it is lined with +silk.’</p> +<p>‘When I rustle into a room, dear, every woman in it +knows that my skirt is lined with silk.’</p> +<p>Frank felt that he had ventured out of his depth, so he struck +out for land again.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>we</i> want to economise, therefore some poor people are to +suffer, is a very poor argument. We must save at our own +expense.’</p> +<p>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—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><i>Maxims for the +Married</i></p> +<p>1. Since you are married, you may as well make the best +of it.</p> +<p>2. So make some maxims and try to live up to them.</p> +<p>3. And don’t be discouraged if you fail. You +will fail, but perhaps you won’t always fail.</p> +<p>4. Never both be cross at the same time. Wait your +turn.</p> +<p>5. Never cease to be lovers. If you cease, some +one else may begin.</p> +<p>6. You were gentleman and lady before you were husband +and wife. Don’t forget it.</p> +<p>7. Keep yourself at your best. It is a compliment +to your partner.</p> +<p>8. Keep your ideal high. You may miss it, but it +is better to miss a high one than to hit a low one.</p> +<p>9. A blind love is a foolish love. Encourage the +best in each other’s nature.</p> +<p>10. Permanent mutual respect is necessary for a +permanent mutual love. A woman can love without respect, +but a man cannot.</p> +<p>11. The tight cord is the easiest to snap.</p> +<p>12. Let there be one law for both.</p> +<p>13. There is only one thing worse than quarrels in +public. That is caresses.</p> +<p>14. Money is not essential to happiness, but happy +people usually have enough.</p> +<p>15. So save some.</p> +<p>16. The easiest way of saving is to do without +things.</p> +<p>17. If you can’t, then you had better do without a +wife.</p> +<p>18. The man who respects his wife does not turn her into +a mendicant. Give her a purse of her own.</p> +<p>19. If you save, save at your own expense.</p> +<p>20. In all matters of money, prepare always for the +worst and hope for the best.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<h2><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +128</span>CONFESSIONS</h2> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Tell</span> me, Frank, did you ever +love any one before me?’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>She waited inexorably until he had settled down again.</p> +<p>‘Did you, Frank?’ she asked.</p> +<p>‘Did I what?’</p> +<p>‘Ever love any one else?’</p> +<p>‘My dear Maude, what <i>is</i> the use of asking +questions like that?’</p> +<p>‘You said that there were no secrets between +us.’</p> +<p>‘No, but there are some things better left +alone.’</p> +<p>‘That is what I should call a secret.’</p> +<p>‘Of course, if you make a point of it—’</p> +<p>‘I do.’</p> +<p>‘Well, then, I am ready to answer anything that you +ask. But you must not blame me if you do not like my +answers.’</p> +<p>‘Who was she, Frank?’</p> +<p>‘Which?’</p> +<p>‘O Frank, more than one!’</p> +<p>‘I told you that you would not like it.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, I wish I had not asked you!’</p> +<p>‘Then do let us drop it.’</p> +<p>‘No, I can’t drop it now, Frank. You have +gone too far. You must tell me everything.’</p> +<p>‘Everything?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, everything, Frank.’</p> +<p>‘I am not sure that I can.’</p> +<p>‘Is it so dreadful as that?’</p> +<p>‘No, there is another reason.’</p> +<p>‘Do tell me, Frank.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Well, I do like that!’ she cried indignantly.</p> +<p>‘I was looking for you.’</p> +<p>‘You seem to have looked a good deal.’</p> +<p>‘But I found you at last.’</p> +<p>‘I had rather you had found me at first, +Frank.’ He said something about supper, but she was +not to be turned.</p> +<p>‘How many did you really love?’ she asked. +‘Please don’t joke about it, Frank. I really +want to know.’</p> +<p>‘If I choose to tell you a lie—’</p> +<p>‘But you won’t!’</p> +<p>‘No, I won’t. I could never feel the same +again.’</p> +<p>‘Well, then, how many did you love?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Which do you love me with?’</p> +<p>‘All three.’</p> +<p>‘Sure?’</p> +<p>‘Perfectly sure.’</p> +<p>She came over and the cross-examination was interrupted. +But in a few minutes she had settled down to it again.</p> +<p>‘Well, now—the first?’ said she.</p> +<p>‘Oh, I can’t, Maude—don’t.’</p> +<p>‘Come, sir—her name?’</p> +<p>‘No, no, Maude, that is going a little too far. +Even to you, I should never mention another woman’s +name.’</p> +<p>‘Who was she, then?’</p> +<p>‘Please don’t let us go into details. It is +perfectly <i>horrible</i>. Let me tell things in my own +way.’</p> +<p>She made a little grimace.</p> +<p>‘You are wriggling, sir. But I won’t be hard +upon you. Tell it your own way.’</p> +<p>‘Well, in a word, Maude, I was always in love with some +one.’</p> +<p>Her face clouded over.</p> +<p>‘Your love must be very cheap,’ said she.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I should think all your love was superficial, if it can +come so easily.’</p> +<p>‘Don’t be cross, Maude. I had never seen you +at the time. I owed no duty to you.’</p> +<p>‘You owed a duty to your own self-respect.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Well!’ said she at last.</p> +<p>‘Must I go on?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I may as well hear it.’</p> +<p>‘You’ll only be cross.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I used to take an interest in every woman.’</p> +<p>‘“Take an interest” is good.’</p> +<p>‘That was how it began. And then if circumstances +were favourable the interest deepened, until at last, +naturally—well, you can understand.’</p> +<p>‘How many did you take an interest in?’</p> +<p>‘Well, in pretty nearly all of them.’</p> +<p>‘And how many deepened?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, I don’t know.’</p> +<p>‘Twenty?’</p> +<p>‘Well—rather more than that, I think.’</p> +<p>‘Thirty?’</p> +<p>‘Quite thirty.’</p> +<p>‘Forty?’</p> +<p>‘Not more than forty, I think.’</p> +<p>Maude sat aghast at the depths of his depravity.</p> +<p>‘Let me see: you are twenty-seven now, so you have loved +four women a year since you were seventeen.’</p> +<p>‘If you reckon it that way,’ said Frank, ‘I +am afraid that it must have been more than forty.’</p> +<p>‘It’s dreadful,’ said Maude, and began to +cry.</p> +<p>Frank knelt down in front of her and kissed her hands. +She had sweet little plump hands, very soft and velvety.</p> +<p>‘You make me feel such a brute,’ said he. +‘Anyhow, I love you now with all my heart and mind and +soul.’</p> +<p>‘Forty-firstly and lastly,’ she sobbed, half +laughing and half crying. Then she pulled his hair to +reassure him.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Women are not interested in generalities.</p> +<p>‘Were they nicer than me?’ she asked.</p> +<p>‘Who?’</p> +<p>‘Those forty women.’</p> +<p>‘No, dear, of course not. Why are you +laughing?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Funny!’ Frank ejaculated. Women have such +extraordinary ideas of humour. Maude laughed until she was +quite tired.</p> +<p>‘It doesn’t strike you as comic?’ she cried +at last.</p> +<p>‘No, it doesn’t,’ he answered coldly.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘When you have quite finished,’ said he +huffily. Her jealousy was much more complimentary than her +ridicule.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Not quite.’</p> +<p>‘Now?’</p> +<p>‘All right. I forgive you.’</p> +<p>‘That’s funny too. Fancy <i>you</i> +forgiving <i>me</i> after all these confessions. But you +never loved one of them all as you love me.’</p> +<p>‘Never.’</p> +<p>‘Swear it.’</p> +<p>‘I do swear it.’</p> +<p>‘Morally, and what do you call it, and the +other?’</p> +<p>‘Not one of them.’</p> +<p>‘And never will again?’</p> +<p>‘Never.’</p> +<p>‘Good boy for ever and ever?’</p> +<p>‘For ever and ever.’</p> +<p>‘And the forty were horrid?’</p> +<p>‘No, hang it, Maude, I can’t say that.’</p> +<p>She pouted and hung her head.</p> +<p>‘You do like them better, then?’</p> +<p>‘How absurd you are, Maude! If I had liked one +better, I should have married her.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Silly old girl! Of course I liked you best. +Let us drop the thing, and never talk about it any +more.’</p> +<p>‘Have you their photographs?’</p> +<p>‘No.’</p> +<p>‘None of them?’</p> +<p>‘No.’</p> +<p>‘What did you do with them?’</p> +<p>‘I never had most of them.’</p> +<p>‘And the others?’</p> +<p>‘I destroyed some when I married.’</p> +<p>‘That was nice of you. Aren’t you +sorry?’</p> +<p>‘No, I thought it was only right.’</p> +<p>‘Were you fondest of dark women or fair?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, I don’t know. <i>I</i> was never +pernickety in <i>my</i> tastes. You know those lines I read +you from Henley: “Handsome, ugly—all are +women.” That’s a bachelor’s +sentiment.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Do let us talk of something else.’</p> +<p>‘And not one as clever?’</p> +<p>‘How absurd you are to-night, Maude!’</p> +<p>‘Come, answer me.’</p> +<p>‘I’ve answered you already.’</p> +<p>‘I did not hear you.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, I see,’ said Maude dubiously. +‘How nice and frank you are!’</p> +<p>‘Now I’ve hurt you!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘And you, Maude—would you be equally frank with +me?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, dear, I will. I feel that I owe it to you +after your confidence in me. I have had my little +experiences too.’</p> +<p>‘You!’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps you would rather that I said nothing about +them. What good can there be in raking up these old +stories?’</p> +<p>‘No, I had rather you told me.’</p> +<p>‘You won’t be hurt?’</p> +<p>‘No, no—certainly not.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Maude, you have loved some one else!’</p> +<p>‘I won’t deny that I have been interested deeply +interested in several men.’</p> +<p>‘Several!’</p> +<p>‘It was before I had met you, dear. I owed you no +duty.’</p> +<p>‘You have loved several men.’</p> +<p>‘The feeling was for the most part quite +superficial. There are many different sorts and degrees of +love.’</p> +<p>‘Good God, Maude! How many men inspired this +feeling in you?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, you did discriminate?’</p> +<p>‘Now you are getting bitter. I will say no +more.’</p> +<p>‘You have said too much. You must go on +now.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Is that why you married a man with flaxen +hair?’</p> +<p>‘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 <i>tout ensemble</i>, 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.’</p> +<p>‘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—’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘But those other experiences?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, we had better drop them. What good can it +possibly do to discuss my old experiences? It will only +annoy you.’</p> +<p>‘Not at all. I honour you for your frankness in +speaking out, although I acknowledge that it is a little +unexpected. Go on.’</p> +<p>‘I forget where I was.’</p> +<p>‘You had just remarked that before your marriage you had +love-affairs with a number of men.’</p> +<p>‘How horrid it sounds, doesn’t it?’</p> +<p>‘Well, it did strike me in that way.’</p> +<p>‘But that’s because you exaggerate what I +said. I said that I had been attracted by several +men.’</p> +<p>‘And that dark men thrilled you.’</p> +<p>‘Exactly.’</p> +<p>‘I had hoped that I was the first.’</p> +<p>‘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—’</p> +<p>‘You were interested in them.’</p> +<p>‘It was natural, Frank.’</p> +<p>‘Oh yes, perfectly natural. And then I understand +that the interest deepened.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘And then—’</p> +<p>‘Well, what was the next stage?’</p> +<p>‘Sure you’re not angry?’</p> +<p>‘No, no, not at all. Why don’t you keep the +key in the spirit-stand?’</p> +<p>‘It might tempt Jemima. Shall I get it?’</p> +<p>‘No, no, go on! The next stage was?’</p> +<p>‘Well, when you have been deeply interested some time, +then you begin to have experiences.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’</p> +<p>‘Don’t shout, Frank.’</p> +<p>‘Did I shout? Never mind. Go on! You +had experiences.’</p> +<p>‘Why go into details?’</p> +<p>‘You must go on. You have said too much to +stop. I insist upon hearing the experiences.’</p> +<p>‘Not if you ask for them in that way, +Frank.’ Maude had a fine dignity of her own when she +liked.</p> +<p>‘Well, I don’t insist. I beg you to have +confidence in me, and tell me some of your +experiences.’</p> +<p>She leaned back in her armchair with her eyes half closed, and +a quiet retrospective smile upon her face.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I will make every excuse.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Yes!’</p> +<p>‘Well, we were alone in the room, you +understand.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, yes, go on!’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘And you?’</p> +<p>‘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—’</p> +<p>‘Kissed you!’</p> +<p>‘Exactly. He kissed me. Don’t walk up +and down the room, dear. It fidgets me.’</p> +<p>‘All right. Go on. Don’t stop. +After this outrage what happened next?’</p> +<p>‘You really want to know?’</p> +<p>‘I must know. What did you do?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I won’t be cross. Go on. What did you +do?’</p> +<p>‘Well, Frank, since you insist—I kissed him +back.’</p> +<p>‘You—you kissed him back!’</p> +<p>‘You’ll have Jemima up if you go on like +that.’</p> +<p>‘You kissed him back!’</p> +<p>‘Yes, dear; it may be wrong, but I did.’</p> +<p>‘Good God! why did you do that?’</p> +<p>‘Well, I liked him.’</p> +<p>‘A dark man?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, he was dark.’</p> +<p>‘O Maude! Maude! Well, don’t +stop. What then?’</p> +<p>‘Then he kissed me several times.’</p> +<p>‘Of course he would, if you kissed him. What else +could you expect? And then?’</p> +<p>‘O Frank, I can’t.’</p> +<p>‘Go on. I am ready for anything!’</p> +<p>‘Well, do sit down, and don’t run about the +room. I am only agitating you.’</p> +<p>‘There, I am sitting. You can see that I am not +agitated. For Heaven’s sake, go on!’</p> +<p>‘He asked me if I would sit upon his knee.’</p> +<p>‘Yek!’</p> +<p>Maude began to laugh.</p> +<p>‘Why, Frank, you are croaking like a frog.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Well, Frank, I did.’</p> +<p>‘Good heavens!’</p> +<p>‘Don’t be so excitable, dear. It was long +before I ever saw you.’</p> +<p>‘You mean to sit there and tell me in cold blood that +you sat upon this ruffian’s knee!’</p> +<p>‘What else could I do?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘It was not so easy for me to walk out of the +room.’</p> +<p>‘He held you?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, he held me.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, if I had been there!’</p> +<p>‘And there was another reason.’</p> +<p>‘What was that?’</p> +<p>‘Well, I wasn’t very good at walking at that +time. You see, I was only three years old.’</p> +<p>Frank sat for a few minutes absorbing it.</p> +<p>‘You little wretch!’ he said at last.</p> +<p>‘Oh you dear old goose! I feel so much +better.’</p> +<p>‘You horror!’</p> +<p>‘I had to get level with you over my forty +predecessors. You old Bluebeard! But I did harrow you +a little—didn’t I?’</p> +<p>‘Harrow me! I’m raw all over. +It’s a nightmare. O Maude, how could you have the +heart?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, it was lovely—beautiful!’</p> +<p>‘It was dreadful.’</p> +<p>‘And how jealous you were! Oh, I <i>am</i> so +glad!’</p> +<p>‘I don’t think,’ said Frank, as he put his +arms round her, ‘that I ever quite realised +before—’</p> +<p>And just then Jemima came in with the tray.</p> +<h2><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +146</span>CONCERNING MRS. BEETON</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Frank Crosse</span> 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.</p> +<p>‘Maude, you’ve been crying.’</p> +<p>‘No, Frank, no!’</p> +<p>‘O Maude, you fibber! Remove those tears +instantly.’ He knelt down beside her and +helped. ‘Better now?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, dearest, I am quite happy.’</p> +<p>‘Tears all gone?’</p> +<p>‘Quite gone.’</p> +<p>‘Well, then, explain!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Frank took the bulky book off the table. It was Mrs. +Beeton’s <i>Book of Household Management</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘There are 1641 of them,’ said Frank, turning them +over.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>is</i> so hard.’</p> +<p>‘But why do you wish to do it, Maude?’</p> +<p>‘Because I want you to be as happy as Mr. +Beeton.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll bet I am.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘And he isn’t.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Well, then, you shouldn’t do it.’</p> +<p>‘Well, then, you shouldn’t be so nice.’</p> +<p>‘You really still think that I am nice?’</p> +<p>‘Fishing!’</p> +<p>‘After all these months?’</p> +<p>‘Nicer and nicer every day.’</p> +<p>‘Not a bit tired?’</p> +<p>‘You blessing! When I am tired of you, I shall be +tired of life.’</p> +<p>‘How wonderful it all seems!’</p> +<p>‘Does it not?’</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>‘Yes, it is wonderful.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘It <i>does</i> 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.’</p> +<p>‘But never quite like us.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘What <i>did</i> you think of me, Frank?’</p> +<p>‘I’ve told you often.’</p> +<p>‘Well, tell me again.’</p> +<p>‘What’s the use when you know?’</p> +<p>‘But I like to hear.’</p> +<p>‘Well, it’s just spoiling you.’</p> +<p>‘I love to be spoiled.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Really, Frank, the very first day you saw +me?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, the very first day.’</p> +<p>‘And then?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>She laughed aloud with delight.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Well, then, you mustn’t provoke me.’</p> +<p>‘What <i>will</i> Mrs. Potter think?’</p> +<p>‘You should pull down the blinds before you make +speeches of that sort.’</p> +<p>‘Now do sit quiet and be a good boy.’</p> +<p>‘Well, then, tell me what you thought.’</p> +<p>‘I thought you were a very good +tennis-player.’</p> +<p>‘Anything else?’</p> +<p>‘And you talked nicely.’</p> +<p>‘Did I? I never felt such a stick in my +life. I was as nervous as a cat.’</p> +<p>‘That was so delightful. I do hate people who are +very cool and assured. I saw that you were disturbed, and I +even thought—’</p> +<p>‘Yes?’</p> +<p>‘Well, I thought that perhaps it was I who disturbed +you.’</p> +<p>‘And you liked me?’</p> +<p>‘I was very interested in you.’</p> +<p>‘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—’</p> +<p>‘Be quiet, sir! Yes, you shall! +Now?’</p> +<p>‘By Jove, there <i>is</i> old Mrs. Potter at the +window! We’ve done it this time. Let us get +back to serious conversation again.’</p> +<p>‘How did we leave it?’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Read them for yourself.’</p> +<p>Frank read out aloud: ‘“The hog belongs to the +order Mammalia, the genus <i>sus scrofa</i>, and the species +<i>pachydermata</i>, 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?’</p> +<p>‘That’s what <i>I</i> want to know. It is so +disheartening to have to remember such things. What does it +matter if the hog <i>has</i> 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.’</p> +<p>‘No, I don’t.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Frank Crosse took the book and dropped it. It fell with +a sulky thud upon the floor.</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>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.’</p> +<p>‘Do, dear; it’s delightful.’</p> +<p>‘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.”’</p> +<p>‘From which it follows,’ said her husband, +‘that Jemima must be a perfect paragon.’</p> +<p>‘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.”’</p> +<p>‘Well, you are down at nine—what more do you +want?’</p> +<p>‘At nine! I am sure that Mrs. Beeton was always up +at six.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘O Frank! You have no reverence for +anything.’</p> +<p>‘Let us have some more wisdom.’</p> +<p>‘“Frugality and Economy are home virtues without +which no household can prosper. Dr. Johnson says, +‘Frugality may be termed—’”</p> +<p>‘Oh, bother Dr. Johnson! Who cares for a +man’s opinion. Now, if it had been Mrs. +Johnson—!’</p> +<p>‘Johnson kept house for himself for years—and a +queer job he made of it.’</p> +<p>‘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.”’</p> +<p>‘Hurrah! Down with the second vegetable! No +pudding on fish days. <i>Vive la bière de +Pilsen</i>!’</p> +<p>‘What a noisy boy you are!’</p> +<p>‘This book excites me. Anything more?’</p> +<p>“Friendships should not be hastily formed, nor the heart +given at once to every newcomer—”’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Please do!’</p> +<p>‘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—”’</p> +<p>‘By Jove, this book has more wisdom to the square inch +than any work of man,’ cried Frank, in enthusiasm.</p> +<p>‘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.”’</p> +<p>‘Excellent!’</p> +<p>‘“In starting a household, it is always best in +the long-run to get the very best articles of their +kind.”’</p> +<p>‘That is why I got you, Maude.’</p> +<p>‘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—’</p> +<p>‘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—’</p> +<p>‘No, no, Frank, I won’t!’</p> +<p>‘Well, if you do, Mrs. Beeton goes into the +kitchen-fire. Now remember?’</p> +<p>‘You are sure you don’t envy Mr. +Beeton?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t envy a man upon earth.’</p> +<p>‘Then why should I try to be Mrs. Beeton?’</p> +<p>‘Why indeed?’</p> +<p>‘O Frank, what a load off my mind! Those sixteen +hundred pages have just lain upon it for months. Dear old +boy! come on!’</p> +<p>And they clattered downstairs for their golf-clubs.</p> +<h2><a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 158</span>MR. +SAMUEL PEPYS</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> 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 <i>was</i> 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.</p> +<p>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 +<i>Essays</i>, Holmes’ <i>Autocrat</i>, Gibbons’ +<i>History</i>, Jefferies’ <i>Story of my Heart</i>, +Carlyle’s Life, Pepys’ <i>Diary</i>, and +Borrow’s <i>Lavengro</i> 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.</p> +<p>That night Frank came downstairs with a thick well-thumbed +volume in his hand.</p> +<p>‘This is Mr. Pepys,’ said he solemnly.</p> +<p>‘What a funny name!’ cried Maude. ‘It +makes me think of indigestion. Why? Oh yes, pepsine, +of course.’</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>‘I <i>am</i> so sorry, dear! I do hope I +didn’t hurt, you!’</p> +<p>‘You did—considerably.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Little wretch—!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t believe—’</p> +<p>‘Never mind, sir! Be a good boy and do exactly +what you are told. Now begin!’</p> +<p>‘Well, Maude, Mr. Pepys was born—’</p> +<p>‘What was his first name?’</p> +<p>‘Samuel.’</p> +<p>‘Oh dear, I’m sure I should not have liked +him.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I must try to remember what you tell me.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘There is an accuracy about your information, +Frank—’</p> +<p>‘I know, dear, but it really does not matter. All +this has nothing to do with the main question.’</p> +<p>‘Go on, then!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Dear me, how very interesting!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘How in the world did they do it?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Maude laid her sewing on her lap, and looked across with her +lips parted and her eyebrows raised.</p> +<p>‘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.”’</p> +<p>Maude looked at the fat brown book with curiosity. +‘Is it really all there?’ she asked.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Why are you smiling, Frank?’</p> +<p>‘Only at his way of referring to his wife.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, he was married?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Were they happy?’</p> +<p>‘Oh yes, fairly so. She was only twenty-nine when +she died!’</p> +<p>‘Poor girl!’</p> +<p>‘She was happy in her life—though he <i>did</i> +blacken her eye once.’</p> +<p>‘Not really?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, he did. And kicked the housemaid.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, the brute!’</p> +<p>‘But on the whole he was a good husband. He had a +few very good points about him.’</p> +<p>‘But how does he allude to his wife?’</p> +<p>‘He has a trick of saying, “my wife, poor +wretch!”’</p> +<p>‘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”?’</p> +<p>‘We have come along a little since then. But how +these passages take you back to the homely life of those +days!’</p> +<p>‘Do read some.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Why no prayers?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know. I suppose they had to get up +early on washing-days, and so they wanted to go to sleep +soon.’</p> +<p>‘I’m afraid, dear, you do the same without as good +an excuse. Read another!’</p> +<p>‘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.”’</p> +<p>‘How beautiful! Mrs. Hunt Mortimer’s sole +last week was palpable plaice. Mr. Pepys is right. It +was not handsome.’</p> +<p>‘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.”</p> +<p>‘What are umbles, dear?’</p> +<p>‘I have no idea.’</p> +<p>‘Well, whatever they are, it sounds to me a very good +dinner. People must have lived very well in those +days.’</p> +<p>‘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.”’</p> +<p>‘Good gracious! I told you that I associated him +with indigestion.’</p> +<p>‘He did them pretty well that time.’</p> +<p>‘Who cooked all this?’</p> +<p>‘The wife helped in those days.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘No, indeed, it is not. My experience of +man—’</p> +<p>‘<i>Your</i> experience, indeed!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Indeed! Have I any?’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Rather not.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Well, it is very probable.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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!</p> +<p>But the man who doesn’t misses a good deal.</p> +<h2><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 170</span>A +VISIT TO MR. SAMUEL PEPYS</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> 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.</p> +<p>A week after the conversation about Mr. Pepys, when some +progress had been made with the reading of the <i>Diary</i>, +Maude received the following wire from Frank—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘<span class="smcap">Mrs. +Crosse</span>. Woking.—Pepys buttered toast +suède gloves four Monument wait late.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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—suède +gloves—four—Monument, wait late.</p> +<p>She wrote it out in this form, and took it section by +section. ‘Pepys,’ that was +unintelligible. ‘Buttered toast,’ no sense in +that. ‘Suède gloves,’ yes, she had told +Frank that when she came to town, she would buy some suède +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 suède 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘I am so glad you were able to come, dearest. How +you do brighten up the old City!’</p> +<p>‘Do I? I felt quite lonely until you came. +Nothing but droves of men—and all staring.’</p> +<p>‘It’s your dress.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, thank you, sir!’</p> +<p>‘Entirely that pretty brown—’</p> +<p>‘Brown! Fawn colour.’</p> +<p>‘Well, that’s brown. Anyhow, it looks +charming. And so do you—by Jove you do, Maude! +Come this way!’</p> +<p>‘Where are we going?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Isn’t it grand and solemn?’ said +Maude. ‘Look at the black shadows.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Here’s one nearly empty,’ said Frank, with +his hand on the handle.</p> +<p>‘Don’t you think—’ said Maude.</p> +<p>‘Yes, I do,’ cried Frank.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Now, Frank, about your telegram.’</p> +<p>‘All right, dear. Come along where I lead you, and +you will understand all about it.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘That’s the church of Saint Olave,’ said +Frank. ‘We are going into it.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Here he is!’ said Frank, and faced to the +wall.</p> +<p>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—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">SAMUEL PEPYS</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Erected by public subscription</p> +<p style="text-align: center">1883.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Oh, isn’t he nice?’ said Maude.</p> +<p>‘He’s not a bad-looking chap, is he?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t believe that man ever could have struck +his wife or kicked the maid.’</p> +<p>‘That’s calling him a liar.’</p> +<p>‘Oh dear, I forgot that he said so himself. Then I +suppose he must have done it. What a pity it +seems.’</p> +<p>‘Cheer up! We must say what the old heathen lady +said when they read the gospels to her.’</p> +<p>‘What did she say?’</p> +<p>‘She said, “Well, it was a long time ago, and +we’ll hope that it wasn’t true!”’</p> +<p>‘O Frank, how can you tell such stories in a +church. Do you really suppose that Mr. Pepys is in that +wall?’</p> +<p>‘I presume that the monument marks the grave.’</p> +<p>‘There’s a little bit of plaster loose. Do +you think I might take it?’</p> +<p>‘It isn’t quite the thing.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Put that back, young lady,’ said he severely.</p> +<p>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.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>The clerk looked at the young gentleman and saw defiance in +one of his eyes and half a crown in the other.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I thought so.’</p> +<p>The clerk chuckled.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘You saw him?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Oh do tell us about it!’ cried Maude.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘And what did you see?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘No, we have only just come.’</p> +<p>‘That’s it on the left of the common.’</p> +<p>‘With the woman leaning forward?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir. That’s Mrs. Pepys +herself.’</p> +<p>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—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">Obiit</p> +<p style="text-align: center">X<sup>o</sup> Novembris</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Ætatis 29</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Conjugii 15</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Anno Domini 1669.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Poor dear!’ whispered Maude.</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>‘Ah well, if she loved him, dear, she had a good time in +the garret.’</p> +<p>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!</p> +<p>‘It will. It must,’ he said.</p> +<p>‘<i>Why</i>, Frank—Frank dear, what is the +matter? You are quite pale.’</p> +<p>‘Come out into the air, Maude. I have had enough +of this stuffy old church.’</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>you</i> call it stuffy!’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I always do,’ said Maude, and she spoke for her +sex.</p> +<p>‘Well, what now? Buttered toast or suède +gloves?’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<h2><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +185</span>TROUBLE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">One</span> 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.</p> +<p>‘I’ve had something to worry me, dear.’</p> +<p>‘Poor old boy, I know you have. What was +it?’</p> +<p>‘Why should I bother you with it?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘You remember my telling you just before our marriage +that I was surety for a man?’</p> +<p>‘I remember perfectly well.’</p> +<p>‘His name was Farintosh. He was an +insurance-agent, and I became surety for him in order to save his +situation.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, dear, it was so noble of you.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, what an ungrateful wretch!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘How much is it, dearest?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know. That is the worst of +it.’</p> +<p>‘But surely your own office would not be so hard upon +you?’</p> +<p>‘It is not my own office. It is another +office—the Hotspur.’</p> +<p>‘Oh dear! What have you done about it, +Frank?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Shortly after breakfast Mr. Wingfield, the accountant from +London, arrived—a tall, gentlemanly man, with a formal +manner.</p> +<p>‘I’m sorry about this business, Mr. Crosse,’ +said he.</p> +<p>Frank made a grimace. ‘It can’t be +helped.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Can I rely upon these figures?’ asked Wingfield +at last.</p> +<p>‘You can, sir.’</p> +<p>‘In that case I congratulate you, Mr. Crosse. I +can only find a deficiency of fifty pounds.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘I will stay for another hour to check these +figures,’ said Wingfield. ‘But there is no need +to detain you.’</p> +<p>‘You will come round and lunch with us?’</p> +<p>‘With pleasure.’</p> +<p>‘<i>Au revoir</i>, 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.</p> +<p>But Wingfield came to his lunch within a solemn face.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Maude felt inclined to cry as she glanced at Frank, and saw +his resolute effort to look unconcerned.</p> +<p>‘Then it’s a hundred and fifty.’</p> +<p>‘Certainly not less. I have marked the items down +upon this paper for your inspection.’</p> +<p>Frank glanced his practised eyes over the results of the +accountant’s morning’s work.</p> +<p>‘You have credited him within a hundred and twenty +pounds in the bank, I see.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, his bank-book shows a balance of that +amount.’</p> +<p>‘When was it made out?’</p> +<p>‘Last Saturday.’</p> +<p>‘He may have drawn it since them.’</p> +<p>‘It is certainly possible.’</p> +<p>‘We might go round after lunch and make sure.’</p> +<p>‘Very good.’</p> +<p>‘And in any case, as it is the Company’s money, +don’t you think we had better take it out of his +hands?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I think you are right.’</p> +<p>It was a miserable meal, and they were all glad when it was +finished. Maude drew Frank into the other room before he +started.</p> +<p>‘I could not let you go without <i>that</i>, +dearest. Keep a brave heart, my own laddie, for I know so +well that we shall come through it all right.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Is this necessary, Mr. Wingfield?’ he +pleaded. ‘Won’t you take my word for this +money?’</p> +<p>‘I am sorry to have to say it, sir, but we have trusted +in your word too often.’</p> +<p>‘But the money is there, I swear it.’</p> +<p>‘It is the Company’s money, and we must have +it.’</p> +<p>‘It will ruin my credit locally if I draw out my whole +account under compulsion.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Don’t come in with me, gentlemen. I could +never hold up my head again.’</p> +<p>‘It is for Mr. Crosse to decide.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t want to be unreasonable, Farintosh. +Go in alone and draw the money.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘I may as well confess to you, Mr. Crosse, I have +nothing in the bank.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Dinner was over when there came a ring at the bell.</p> +<p>‘If you please, sir, Mr. Farintosh would like to see +you,’ said the maid Jemima.</p> +<p>‘Show him in here.’</p> +<p>‘Don’t you think, Frank, that I had better +go?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Well, Farintosh?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Words won’t mend it, Farintosh. I only +blame you for not coming to me when first things began to go +wrong.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>Frank writhed before this home question.</p> +<p>‘Well, I suppose I am responsible,’ said he.</p> +<p>‘You mean to pay the money, sir?’</p> +<p>‘Well, somebody must pay it.’</p> +<p>‘Do you remember the wording of the bond, Mr. +Crosse?’</p> +<p>‘Not the exact wording.’</p> +<p>‘Well, sir, I should advise you to get your lawyer to +read it. In my opinion, sir, you are not liable at +all.’</p> +<p>‘Not liable!’ Frank felt as if his heart had +turned suddenly from a round-shot to an air-balloon. +‘Why not liable?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘So there was!’ cried Frank. ‘Well, +didn’t they?’</p> +<p>‘No, sir, they didn’t.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir, they did so four times.’</p> +<p>‘In how long?’</p> +<p>‘In fourteen months.’</p> +<p>The air-balloon was gone and the cannon-ball back in its place +once more.</p> +<p>‘That will be held to exonerate them.’</p> +<p>‘No, sir, I think not. “Frequently and +periodically” does not mean four times in fourteen +months.’</p> +<p>‘A jury might take it so.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘So I think,’ cried Maude, with conviction. +‘Frank, we’ll have the best advice upon the subject +to-morrow.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><i>Re</i> +Farintosh’s Accounts.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Hotspur +Insurance Office</span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">James +Wingfield</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>To which Frank and Maude in collaboration—</p> +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—I note +your claim for £340 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Frank +Crosse</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>To which the Hotspur Insurance Office—</p> +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">John +Waters</span>, <i>Secretary</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>To which Frank and Maude—</p> +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—My +solicitor, A. C. R. Owen, of 14 Shirley Lane, E.C., will be happy +to accept service.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Which is the correct legal English for ‘You may go to +the devil!’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Very sorry,’ said he.</p> +<p>‘Opinion against us.’</p> +<p>‘Dead against us.’</p> +<p>Frank tried to look as if he didn’t mind.</p> +<p>‘Let me see it.’</p> +<p>It was a long blue document with the heading, ‘The +Hotspur Insurance Company, Limited, <i>v.</i> Frank +Crosse.’</p> +<p>‘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, 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.</p> +<p>‘Well, what shall we do?’ asked Frank +helplessly. The British law makes one feel so.</p> +<p>‘Well, I should stand out, if I were you. There is +certainly a chance.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>So twenty-four hours later Frank found Owen radiant with +another opinion in his hand.</p> +<p>‘Dead for us this time. Look here!’</p> +<p>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.’</p> +<p>‘Suppose we have another, and try the best of +three,’ said Frank.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘And you think it is safe?’</p> +<p>‘No, no, nothing is ever safe in the law. But we +can make a fight of it now.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Well, at any rate,’ said Frank, ‘it means +that in eight days it will all be over.’</p> +<p>Owen laughed heartily at the remark.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 pœnâ (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.’</p> +<p>This seemed to Frank to be a most unexpected and fearsome +stroke, but Owen simply laughed.</p> +<p>‘That is mere bluff,’ said he. ‘It +makes me think that they are weakening. They want to +frighten you.’</p> +<p>‘They did,’ said Frank.</p> +<p>‘Two can play at that game. We must keep a bold +front.’</p> +<p>‘What do you mean to do?’</p> +<p>‘To subpœna all their crowd.’</p> +<p>‘Capital!’ cried Frank. So a clerk was sent +across to the Hotspur office with a whole bundle of +subpœnas, and served them liberally out. And in two +days’ time was the day of battle.</p> +<h2><a name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 204</span>A +RESCUE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">As</span> 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘We are still ready to pay our own law-costs,’ +said he, ‘if you will allow the original claim.’</p> +<p>‘I can’t do that,’ said Frank doggedly.</p> +<p>‘The costs are piling up at a furious rate, and some one +will have to pay them.’</p> +<p>‘I hope that it will be you.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘That’s what the trial is about,’ said +Frank.</p> +<p>He kept a bold face to the enemy, but after Wingfield’s +departure, Maude saw that his confidence was greatly shaken.</p> +<p>‘He seemed very sure of their case,’ said +he. ‘He would not speak like that if he did not +know.’</p> +<p>But Maude took quite another view.</p> +<p>‘If they know that they can recover their money in +court, why should they send Mr. Wingfield down in this +way.’</p> +<p>‘He is such a good chap—he wants to save us +expense.’</p> +<p>Maude was less trusting.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>But Frank only shook his head.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I am coming up to town with you, Frank.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘To John Selby, 53 Fenchurch Street, +E.C. Will call eleven o’clock. Important +business.—</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Maude</span>.’</p> +<p>‘To Lieutenant Selby, the Depôt, Canterbury. +Please come up next train, meet me Fenchurch Street, eleven +thirty. Important.—<span +class="smcap">Maude</span>.’</p> +<p>‘To Owen, 14 Shirley Lane, E.C. Will call twelve +o’clock. Important.—<span class="smcap">mrs. +Crosse</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So she had opened her campaign.</p> +<p>‘By the way, Frank,’ said she, as they travelled +up together, ‘to-morrow is your birthday.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, dear, it is,’ he answered lugubriously.</p> +<p>‘Dear me! What shall I give my boy for a birthday +present? Nothing you particularly want?’</p> +<p>‘I have all I want,’ said he, looking at her.</p> +<p>‘Oh, but I think I could find something. I must +look round when I am in town.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘My dear girl, I can’t raise it. +Jack’s expenses in the Hussars—’</p> +<p>‘I don’t want you to raise it.’</p> +<p>‘What do you want?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘So it is—five per cent. debentures.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Except yourself.’</p> +<p>Maude laughed at that.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘And you won’t tell me why you want +them?’</p> +<p>‘I had rather not—but I will if you +insist.’</p> +<p>Old Selby looked into the brave, clear eyes of his daughter, +and he did not insist.</p> +<p>‘Look here! You’ve got your own little +banking account, have you not?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, dad.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘What did dad say about it?’</p> +<p>‘I didn’t tell him. I thought Frank would +rather not.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘We have had no peace for months.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>They found Mr. Owen at home, and Maude did the talking.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Poor Maude nearly burst into tears.</p> +<p>‘But suppose that we were to offer—’</p> +<p>‘To give you an hour to think it over,’ cried +Jack.</p> +<p>Mr. Waters shook, his head despondently.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Well, I was going to inquire about it.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘How do you know, Jack?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘It is rather irregular for me to see you. I +should refer you to our solicitors,’ said he.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘To some extent,’ said Maude, ‘if the +Company will admit that they are in the wrong also.’</p> +<p>‘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 <i>some</i> 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—’</p> +<p>‘Forty pounds,’ said Jack firmly.</p> +<p>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.’</p> +<p>He shook his head.</p> +<p>‘Dear me, Mrs. Crosse, this is a very small +sum.’</p> +<p>‘Forty pounds is our offer,’ said Jack.</p> +<p>‘But on what is this offer based?’</p> +<p>‘We have worked it out,’ said Jack, ‘and we +find that forty pounds is right.’</p> +<p>Mr. Wingfield rose from his chair.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘And when shall we know?’</p> +<p>‘I could send you round a line by hand to your +solicitor.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘You are a dear good boy. You did +splendidly.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Why did you offer forty pounds?’ she asked.</p> +<p>‘Well, you have to begin somewhere.’</p> +<p>‘But why forty?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Maude, Jack, and the good Owen performed a triumphant <i>pas +de trois</i>.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘And please bring the bond back with you,’ said +Maude.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Is this for me, my darling?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, Frank, a wee present from your wife.’</p> +<p>‘How sweet of you! I never saw such a lovely +case. Why, there’s something inside it.’</p> +<p>‘Cigarettes, I suppose.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Dear old boy,’ she cried, as she put her arms +round him. ‘Dear old boy! Oh, I <i>do</i> feel +so happy!’</p> +<h2><a name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 218</span>THE +BROWNING SOCIETY</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> 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 <i>Lady’s Journal</i> 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Does it matter?’ said Mrs. Beecher. +‘We are all married.’</p> +<p>‘Still I don’t think it would be quite +nice,’ said Mrs. Hunt Mortimer. She belonged to the +extreme right on matters of propriety.</p> +<p>‘But surely Mr. Bowdler made Shakespeare quite +respectable,’ Mrs. Beecher argued.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘How do you know?’</p> +<p>‘Because I once got two copies and read all the +omissions.’</p> +<p>‘Why did you do that?’ asked Maude +mischievously.</p> +<p>‘Because I wanted to make sure that they <i>had</i> been +omitted,’ said Mrs. Hunt Mortimer severely.</p> +<p>Mrs. Beecher stooped and picked an invisible hairpin out of +the rug. Mrs. Hunt Mortimer continued.</p> +<p>‘There is Byron, of course. But he is so very +suggestive. There are passages in his +works—’</p> +<p>‘I could never see any harm in them,’ said Mrs. +Beecher.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Frank raves about Shelley,’ observed Maude.</p> +<p>Mrs. Hunt Mortimer shook her head.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Tennyson,’ Maude suggested.</p> +<p>‘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—’</p> +<p>‘Browning!’ cried the other ladies.</p> +<p>‘Exactly. We might form a little Browning Society +of our own.’</p> +<p>‘Charming! Charming!’</p> +<p>And so it was agreed.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘They do distract one so,’ said Mrs. Hunt +Mortimer.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘You must begin with the simpler things first,’ +said he. ‘I should recommend <i>Hervé Riel</i> +and <i>Gold Hair</i>.’</p> +<p>But Maude put on the charming air of displeasure which became +her so well.</p> +<p>‘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—’</p> +<p>‘Assimulative.’</p> +<p>‘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 <i>you</i> are in earnest about +anything—you’ll see!’</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>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 entrée all the +time.</p> +<p>‘Why the entrée?’ asked Mrs. Hunt Mortimer, +looking up from the book which she held open in front of her.</p> +<p>‘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 +entrées 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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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—’</p> +<p>‘Oysters are out of season,’ said Maude.</p> +<p>‘I was about to say,’ Mrs. Hunt Mortimer +continued, with admirable presence of mind, ‘that these +entrées of oysters are inadmissible because they are out +of season. Now curried prawns—’</p> +<p>‘My husband loathes them.’</p> +<p>‘Well, well! What do you say to sweetbreads en +caisse? All you want are chopped mushrooms, shalots, +parsley, nutmeg, pepper, salt, breadcrumb, bacon +fat—’</p> +<p>‘No, no,’ cried Mrs. Beecher despairingly. +‘Anne would never remember all that.’</p> +<p>‘Cutlets à la Constance,’ said Mrs. Hunt +Mortimer. ‘I am sure that they are simple +enough. Cutlets, butter, fowls’ livers, cocks’ +combs, mushrooms—’</p> +<p>‘My dear, my dear, remember that she is only a +parlourmaid. It is unreasonable.’</p> +<p>‘Ragout of fowl, chicken patties, croquettes of veal +with a little browning—’</p> +<p>‘We’ve got back to Browning after all,’ +cried Maude.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘You can always get small entrées sent down from +the Stores,’ cried Maude, as a happy thought.</p> +<p>‘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 entrée as being +removed, so we proceed to—’</p> +<p>‘The <i>pièce de résistance</i>,’ +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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘What an excellent idea!’ cried Maude, with one of +her little bursts of enthusiasm. ‘Now that is really +splendid, Mrs. Beecher.’</p> +<p>‘My friends always call me Nellie,’ said the +little brunette.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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—’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Why, we were waiting for you to begin,’ said Mrs. +Beecher reproachfully. ‘Do let us have something, for +really the time is slipping away.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘How are we to know which <i>is</i> his best?’ +Maude asked.</p> +<p>‘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”—’</p> +<p>‘Oh, what <i>did</i> she say to him?’ cried +Maude.</p> +<p>‘Well, I was about to say that all these subjects rather +suggested frivolity.’</p> +<p>‘Besides, it really is a very absurd title,’ +remarked Mrs. Beecher, who was fond of generalising from her six +months’ experience of matrimony. ‘<i>A</i> +husband to <i>a</i> wife’ would be intelligible, but how +can you know what <i>any</i> husband would say to <i>any</i> +wife? No one can really foretell what a man will do. +They really are such extraordinary creatures.’</p> +<p>But Mrs. Hunt Mortimer had been married for five years, and +felt as competent to lay down the law about husbands as about +entrées.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Mrs. Beecher and Maude settled down with anxious attention +upon their faces.</p> +<p>‘Do please go on!’ they cried.</p> +<p>‘Here is “The Pied Piper of +Hamelin.”’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Why so?’ asked her two companions.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘A rat! How horrid!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Mrs. Hunt Mortimer was also invited to the dress ball, and her +thoughts flew away from the book in front of her.</p> +<p>‘How did you go, Mrs. Crosse?’ she asked.</p> +<p>‘I went as “Night.”’</p> +<p>‘What! you with your brown hair!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘It is simply maddening how men <i>will</i> 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.”’</p> +<p>‘Charming!’ cried Mrs. Beecher and Maude.</p> +<p>‘It is not a very difficult costume, you know. I +have some old Point d’Alençon 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—’</p> +<p>‘Silk?’ asked Mrs. Beecher.</p> +<p>‘Well, I thought that perhaps a white-flowered +brocade—’</p> +<p>‘Oh yes, with pearl trimming.’</p> +<p>‘No, no, dear, with my lace for trimming.’</p> +<p>‘Of course. You said so.’</p> +<p>‘And then a muslin fichu coming over here.’</p> +<p>‘How perfectly sweet!’ cried Maude.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Powdered hair, of course?’ said Mrs. Beecher.</p> +<p>‘Powdered in ringlets.’</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>‘What had you thought of, dear?’</p> +<p>‘Well, I had some idea about +“Ophelia.” Do you think that it would +do?’</p> +<p>‘Certainly. Had you worked it out at +all?’</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Hamlet</i> 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—’</p> +<p>‘Crepe de Chine,’ Maude suggested.</p> +<p>‘But in Ophelia’s day such a thing had never been +heard of,’ said Mrs. Hunt Mortimer. ‘A net of +silver thread—’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Crewel work,’ said Maude.</p> +<p>‘Or a plain cross-stitch pattern. Then a tiara of +pearls on the head. Shakespeare—’</p> +<p>At the name of the poet their three consciences pricked +simultaneously. They looked at each other and then at the +clock with dismay.</p> +<p>‘We must—we really <i>must</i> go on with our +reading,’ cried Mrs. Hunt Mortimer. ‘How did we +get talking about these dresses?’</p> +<p>‘It was my fault,’ said Mrs. Beecher, looking +contrite.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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! <i>Setebos</i>! What a funny name!’</p> +<p>‘What <i>does</i> it mean?’ asked Maude.</p> +<p>‘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—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Will sprawl now that the heat of day is +best—’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Who will?’ asked Mrs. Beecher.</p> +<p>‘I don’t know. That’s what it +says.’</p> +<p>‘The next line will explain, no doubt.’</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Flat on his—’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Dear me, I had no idea that Browning was like +this!’</p> +<p>‘Do read it, dear.’</p> +<p>‘I couldn’t possibly think of doing so. With +your permission we will pass on to the next paragraph.’</p> +<p>‘But we vowed not to skip.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Do please read it!’</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Setebos and Setebos and Setebos.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The three students looked sadly at each other. +‘This is worse than anything I could have imagined,’ +said the reader.</p> +<p>‘We mast skip that line.’</p> +<p>‘But we are skipping everything.’</p> +<p>‘It’s a person’s name,’ said Mrs. +Beecher.</p> +<p>‘Or three persons.’</p> +<p>‘No, only one, I think.’</p> +<p>‘But why should he repeat it three times?’</p> +<p>‘For emphasis!’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps,’ said Mrs. Beecher, ‘it was Mr. +Setebos, and Mrs. Setebos, and a little Setebos.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Quite so.’</p> +<p>‘Then we will include the next line, which finishes the +sentence. It is, “thinketh he dwelleth in the cold of +the moon.”’</p> +<p>‘Then it <i>was</i> only one Setebos!’ cried +Maude.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘What was it, then?’</p> +<p>Mrs. Hunt Mortimer looked at the clock.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>such</i> a pleasant +afternoon!’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘What is the use?’ cried Mrs. Beecher. +‘Two lines have positively made my head ache, and there are +two volumes.’</p> +<p>‘We must change our poet.’</p> +<p>‘His verbosity!’ cried Mrs. Beecher.</p> +<p>‘His Setebosity!’ cried Maude.</p> +<p>‘And dear Mrs. Hunt Mortimer pretending to like +him! Shall we propose Tennyson next week?’</p> +<p>‘It would be far better.’</p> +<p>‘But Tennyson is quite simple, is he not?’</p> +<p>‘Perfectly.’</p> +<p>‘Then why should we meet to discuss him if there is +nothing to discuss?’</p> +<p>‘You mean that we might as well each read him for +herself.’</p> +<p>‘I think it would be easier.’</p> +<p>‘Why, of course it would.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<h2><a name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 236</span>AN +INVESTMENT</h2> +<p>‘I <span class="smcap">want</span> your advice, +Maude.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Well, dear, what is it?’</p> +<p>‘I shall take the later train. Then I need not +hurry, and can walk down at my ease.’</p> +<p>‘How nice of you!’</p> +<p>‘I am not sure that Dinton will think so.’</p> +<p>‘Only one little hour of difference—what can it +matter?’</p> +<p>‘They don’t run offices on those lines. An +hour means a good deal in the City of London.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, I do hate the City of London! It is the only +thing which ever comes between us.’</p> +<p>‘I suppose that it separates a good many loving couples +every morning.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I have some money to invest.’</p> +<p>‘O Frank, how clever of you!’</p> +<p>‘It is only fifty pounds.’</p> +<p>‘Never mind, dear, it is a beginning.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘But it is a great responsibility, Frank.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, we must not lose it.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He shook his head.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘O Frank, how horrid you are this morning!’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Papa always bought a house.’</p> +<p>‘But we have not enough.’</p> +<p>‘Not a little house?’</p> +<p>‘No, not the smallest.’</p> +<p>‘A mortgage, then?’</p> +<p>‘The sum is too small.’</p> +<p>‘Government stock, Frank—if you think it is +safe.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, it is safe enough. But the interest is so +low.’</p> +<p>‘How much should we get?’</p> +<p>‘Well, I suppose the fifty pounds would bring us in +about thirty shillings a year.’</p> +<p>‘Thirty shillings! O Frank!’</p> +<p>‘Rather less than more.’</p> +<p>‘Fancy a great rich nation like ours taking our fifty +pounds and treating us like that. How <i>mean</i> of +them! Don’t let them have it, Frank.’</p> +<p>‘No, I won’t.’</p> +<p>‘If they want it, they can make us a fair offer for +it.’</p> +<p>‘I think we’ll try something else.’</p> +<p>‘Well, they have only themselves to thank. But you +have some plan in your head, Frank. What is it?’</p> +<p>He brought the morning paper over from the table. Then +he folded it so as to bring the financial columns to the top.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘What a nice name! I wonder if they would let us +have any?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Are they very dear, Frank?’</p> +<p>‘I looked them up in the <i>Mining Register</i> 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.’</p> +<p>‘Ten shillings! It does not seem much to pay for a +share in a thing with a name like that.’</p> +<p>‘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, 4¾—4⅞. I don’t profess to +know much about these things, but that of course means the +price.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, dear, it is printed at the top of the +column—“Yesterday’s prices.”’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘What a clear head for business you have, +dear!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘How delightful! But suppose they don’t go +up.’</p> +<p>‘Well, they can’t go down. I should not +think that a share at four shillings and ninepence <i>could</i> +go down very much. There is no room. But it may go up +to any extent.’</p> +<p>‘Besides, your friend said that they would go +up.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, he seemed quite confident about it. Well, +what do you think, Maude? Is it good enough or +not?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘The Royal Bonanza shares are dear, and then we have had +no information about it. I think we had better back our own +opinion.’</p> +<p>‘All right, Frank.’</p> +<p>‘Then that is settled. I have a telegraph-form +here.’</p> +<p>‘Could you not buy them yourself when you are in +town?’</p> +<p>‘No, you can’t buy things yourself. You have +to do it through a broker.’</p> +<p>‘I always thought a broker was a horrid man, who came +and took your furniture away.’</p> +<p>‘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?’—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Harrison, 13a Throgmorton Street, +E.C.—Buy two hundred El Dorado Proprietaries.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span +class="smcap">Crosse</span>, Woking.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Doesn’t it sound rather peremptory, +Frank?’</p> +<p>‘No, no, that is mere business.’</p> +<p>‘I hope he won’t be offended.’</p> +<p>‘I think I can answer for that.’</p> +<p>‘You have not said the price.’</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>‘Well, has anything happened?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, you have come back. Oh I am so glad to see +you, you dear old boy!’</p> +<p>‘Take care of that window, darling!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Harrison has telegraphed?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, here it is.’—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Crosse, The Lindens, Woking.—Bought +two hundred El Dorados at 4¾.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Harrison</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘He is sure to call.’</p> +<p>‘What are you holding there?’</p> +<p>‘It’s a paper.’</p> +<p>‘What paper?’</p> +<p>‘Who is it who talks about woman’s +curiosity?’</p> +<p>‘Let me see it.’</p> +<p>‘Well, sir, if you must know, it is the <i>Financial +Whisper</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Where in the world did you get it?’</p> +<p>‘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—<i>our</i> mine, Frank; does +it not sound splendid?’</p> +<p>‘Well, is there anything?’</p> +<p>She clapped her hands with delight.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘O Maude, it’s preposterous.’</p> +<p>‘What is preposterous?’</p> +<p>‘The word is preposterous and not +prosperous—“this preposterous mine.”’</p> +<p>‘Frank!’ She turned her face away.</p> +<p>‘Never mind, dear! What’s the +odds?’</p> +<p>‘O Frank, our first investment—our fifty +pounds! And to think that I should have kept the paper as a +surprise for you!’</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>A tall and brisk young man with a glossy hat was coming +through the garden. An instant later Jemima had ushered him +in.</p> +<p>‘Hullo, Harrison!’</p> +<p>‘How do you do, Crosse? How are you, Mrs. +Crosse?’</p> +<p>‘How do you do? I’ll just order tea if you +will excuse me.’</p> +<p>Ordering tea seemed to involve a good deal of splashing +water. Maude came back with a merrier face.</p> +<p>‘Is this a good paper, Mr. Harrison?’</p> +<p>‘What is it? <i>Financial Whisper</i>! No, +the most venal rag in the city.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, I am so glad!’</p> +<p>‘Why?’</p> +<p>‘Well, you know, we bought some shares to-day, and it +calls our mine a preposterous one.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, is that all. Who cares what the <i>Financial +Whisper</i> 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.’</p> +<p>‘I thought you might. I have only just got back +myself, and I saw by your wire that you had bought them all +right.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I thought I had better let you have your contract +at once. Settling day is on Monday, you know.’</p> +<p>‘All right. Thank you. I will let you have a +cheque. What—what’s this?’</p> +<p>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—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: right">13a <span +class="smcap">Throgmorton Street</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Bought for Francis Crosse, Esq.</p> +<p>(Subject to the Specific Rules and Regulations of the Stock +Exchange.)</p> +</blockquote> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p>200 El Dorado Proprietaries at 4¾</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">£950</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Stamps and Fees</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">4</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">17</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">6</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Commission</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">7</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">10</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">0</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">£962</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">7</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right">6</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<blockquote><p>For the 7th inst.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘I fancy there is some mistake here, Harrison,’ +said he, speaking with a very dry pair of lips.</p> +<p>‘A mistake!’</p> +<p>‘Yes, this is not at all what I expected.’</p> +<p>‘O Frank! Nearly a thousand pounds!’ gasped +Maude.</p> +<p>Harrison glanced from one of them to the other. He saw +that the matter was serious.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, at four and ninepence.’</p> +<p>‘Four and ninepence! They are four pound fifteen +each.’</p> +<p>‘But I read that they were only ten shillings +originally, and that they had been falling.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, they have been falling for months. But they +were as high as ten pounds once. They are down at four +pound fifteen now.’</p> +<p>‘Why on earth could the paper not say so?’</p> +<p>‘When a fraction is used, it always means a fraction of +a pound.’</p> +<p>‘Good heavens! And I have to find this sum before +Monday.’</p> +<p>‘Monday is settling day.’</p> +<p>‘I can’t do it, Harrison. It is +impossible.’</p> +<p>‘Then there is the obvious alternative.’</p> +<p>‘No, I had rather die. I will never go +bankrupt—never!’</p> +<p>Harrison began to laugh, and then turned stonily solemn as he +met a pair of reproachful grey eyes.</p> +<p>‘It strikes me that you have not done much at this game, +Crosse.’</p> +<p>‘Never before—and by Heaven, never +again!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Can I do that?’</p> +<p>‘Rather. Why not?’</p> +<p>‘What would the difference be?’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Well!’ said Frank, and felt his wife’s +little warm palm fall upon his hand under the table.</p> +<p>‘The difference is in your favour.’</p> +<p>‘In my favour?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I can really sell them for more than I gave?’</p> +<p>‘I should think so. You have two hundred of them, +and a profit of ten shillings on each.’</p> +<p>‘Maude, we’ll have the whisky and the soda. +Harrison, you must have a drink. Why, that’s a +hundred pounds.’</p> +<p>‘More than a hundred.’</p> +<p>‘Without my paying anything?’</p> +<p>‘Not a penny.’</p> +<p>‘When does the Exchange open to-morrow?’</p> +<p>‘The rattle goes at eleven.’</p> +<p>‘Well, be there at eleven, Harrison. Sell them at +once.’</p> +<p>‘You won’t hold on and watch the +market?’</p> +<p>‘No, no—I won’t have an easy moment until +they are sold.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said Maude, ‘perhaps it would be the +patriotic thing to do.’</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>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.</p> +<h2><a name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 251</span>A +THUNDERCLOUD</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Blue</span> 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.</p> +<p>‘You will excuse the dressing-gown, Frank.’</p> +<p>‘I just love you in it. No, you mustn’t +pass. Now you can go.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Better cold coffee with Maude’s +society.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I feel such a fraud when you talk like that.’</p> +<p>‘That is part of your niceness.’</p> +<p>‘Oh don’t, Maude! It really hurts +me.’</p> +<p>‘Why, Frank, what is the matter with you +to-day?’</p> +<p>‘Nothing, dear.’</p> +<p>‘Oh yes, there is. I can tell easily.’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps I am not quite myself.’</p> +<p>‘No, I am sure that you are not. I believe that +you have a cold coming on. O Frank, do take some ammoniated +quinine.’</p> +<p>‘Good heavens, no!’</p> +<p>‘Please! Please!’</p> +<p>‘My dear girlie, there is nothing the matter with +me.’</p> +<p>‘But it is such splendid stuff.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I know. But really I don’t want +it.’</p> +<p>‘Have you had any letters, Frank?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, one.’</p> +<p>‘Anything important?’</p> +<p>‘I have hardly glanced at it yet.’</p> +<p>‘Glance at it now.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, I will keep it for the train. Good-bye, +dearest. It is time that I was off.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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—</p> +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">My dearest +Frankie</span>,—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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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!</p> +<p>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!</p> +<p>Good-bye, old boy! I hope your wife does not read your +letters, or this will rather give her fits.—Yours as +ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Violet +Wright</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Mariani’s is a quiet restaurant, famous for its +<i>lachryma christi spumante</i>, 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Just the same as ever,’ said she, as he handed +her down.</p> +<p>‘So are you.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘No.’</p> +<p>‘But you’ll come?’</p> +<p>‘Oh yes, I should like to have a chat.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Not seen you for some time, sir!’</p> +<p>‘No, I have been engaged.’</p> +<p>‘Married,’ said the lady.</p> +<p>‘Dear me!’ said the proprietor. ‘Tea, +sir?’</p> +<p>‘And muffins. You used to like the +muffins.’</p> +<p>‘Oh yes, muffins by all means.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Now we can talk,’ said Frank, throwing his +cigarette into the fireplace. ‘That waiter was +getting on my nerves.’</p> +<p>‘I say, I hope you’re not angry.’</p> +<p>‘What at?’</p> +<p>‘Well, my saying I should come down to Woking, and all +that.’</p> +<p>‘I should have been angry if I thought you had meant +it.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, I meant it right enough.’</p> +<p>‘But with what object?’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘Well, Violet, we won’t quarrel about it. +You see I came all right. Pull up your chair and have some +tea.’</p> +<p>‘You haven’t even looked at me yet. I +won’t take any tea until you do.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Well?’</p> +<p>‘By Jove, Violet, you look splendid.’</p> +<p>‘Well?’</p> +<p>‘The muffins are getting cold.’</p> +<p>‘Frankie, what <i>is</i> the matter with you?’</p> +<p>‘Nothing is the matter.’</p> +<p>‘Well?’</p> +<p>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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘You are a nice one to give lectures.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, there’s no such preacher as a converted +sinner.’</p> +<p>‘You really are converted then?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Her flushed cheeks and resentful eyes had drawn forth the +remonstrance.</p> +<p>‘You <i>are</i> changed,’ she said, with surprise +as well as anger in her voice.</p> +<p>‘Why, of course I am. I am married.’</p> +<p>‘For that matter Charlie Scott is married.’</p> +<p>‘Don’t give Charlie Scott away.’</p> +<p>‘I think I give myself away. So you have lost all +your love for me. I thought it was to last for +ever.’</p> +<p>‘Now, do be sensible, Violet.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘What do you want me to do?’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘You shan’t have a cigarette, Frankie.’</p> +<p>‘Why not?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Do sit down, like a good girl!’</p> +<p>‘Cigarette out!’</p> +<p>‘Don’t be absurd, Violet!’</p> +<p>‘Come, out with it, sir.’</p> +<p>‘No, no, leave it alone!’</p> +<p>She had snatched it from his lips and thrown it into the +grate.</p> +<p>‘What is the use of that? I have a case +full.’</p> +<p>‘They shall all follow the first.’</p> +<p>‘Well, then, I won’t smoke.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll see that you don’t.’</p> +<p>‘Well, what the better are you for that?’</p> +<p>‘Now, be nice.’</p> +<p>‘Go back to your chair and have some more +tea.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, bother the tea!’</p> +<p>‘Well, I won’t speak to you unless you sit down +and behave yourself.’</p> +<p>‘There now! Speak away.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Then what did you come here for?’</p> +<p>‘To bid you good-bye.’</p> +<p>‘A Platonic good-bye.’</p> +<p>‘Of course.’</p> +<p>‘In a private room at Mariani’s.’</p> +<p>‘Why not?’</p> +<p>She laughed bitterly.</p> +<p>‘You were always a little mad, Frankie.’</p> +<p>He leaned earnestly over the table.</p> +<p>‘Look here, Violet, the chances are that we shall never +meet again.’</p> +<p>‘It takes two to say that.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘So sorry if I have upset you.’</p> +<p>He disregarded her irony.</p> +<p>‘We have been very good friends, Violet. Why +should we part as enemies?’</p> +<p>‘Why should we part at all?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>He faced round in his chair and looked helplessly at her with +a hand upon each knee.</p> +<p>‘O Lord! Don’t begin it all over +again,’ said he.</p> +<p>‘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—’</p> +<p>‘So glad,’ he murmured.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Why should you turn nasty like this, Violet? What +do you think you will gain by it?’</p> +<p>‘I mean to gain <i>you</i>. 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.’</p> +<p>He stared moodily into his teacup.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘I’ll tell you what has changed me,’ said +he, looking up. ‘My wife has changed me.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, bother your wife!’</p> +<p>A look which was new to her came over his face.</p> +<p>‘Stop that!’ said he sharply.</p> +<p>‘Oh, no harm! How has your wife made this +wonderful change?’</p> +<p>His mood softened as his thoughts flew back to Woking.</p> +<p>‘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—’</p> +<p>He would have been more discreet if he had been less +eloquent. The lady’s temper suddenly overflowed.</p> +<p>‘Innocent!’ she cried. ‘As innocent as +I am.’</p> +<p>He sprang to his feet with eyes which were more angry than her +own.</p> +<p>‘Hold your tongue! How dare you talk against my +wife! You are not fit to mention her name.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll go to Woking,’ she gasped.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I’m not joking,’ she whispered, as they +went down the stair. ‘I’ll go, as sure as +fate.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘I hope I haven’t hurt your feelings,’ said +he. ‘I spoke too roughly.’</p> +<p>‘Trying to coax me away from Woking,’ she +sneered. ‘I’m coming all the same.’</p> +<p>‘That’s your affair,’ said he, as he handed +her into the cab.</p> +<h2><a name="page269"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +269</span>DANGER</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Again</span> 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘You won’t be late to-day, Frank,’ said +Maude at last, peeping round the tall coffee-pot.</p> +<p>‘No, dear, I won’t.’</p> +<p>‘You were yesterday, you know.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I know I was.’</p> +<p>‘Were you kept at the office?’</p> +<p>‘No, I had tea with a friend.’</p> +<p>‘At his house?’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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 <i>ris de veau en caisse</i>, 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.</p> +<p>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 +<i>did</i> 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 +costumière 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Mrs. White,’ said Jemima, opening the +drawing-room door.</p> +<p>‘Wright,’ said the visitor, as she walked +in—‘Mrs. Violet Wright.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>A faint smile flickered upon the dark face.</p> +<p>‘Kind of me to call!’ said she.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, I see,’ said her visitor, ‘you think +that I live here. I have really just come down from +London.’</p> +<p>‘Indeed,’ said Maude, and awaited an +explanation. As none was forthcoming, she added, ‘You +will find Woking a very nice place.’</p> +<p>‘A nice place to be buried in, alive or dead,’ +said her visitor.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘This is your husband, Mr. Frank Crosse?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, do you know him?’</p> +<p>‘Slightly. We have mutual friends.’ An +ambiguous smile played across her face as she spoke. +‘This must have been taken after I saw him.’</p> +<p>‘It was taken just after our marriage.’</p> +<p>‘Quite so. He looks like a good little married +man. The photograph is flattering.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, you think so!’ said Maude coldly. +‘My own impression is that it fails to do him +justice.’</p> +<p>Her visitor laughed. ‘Of course that <i>would</i> +be your impression,’ said she.</p> +<p>Maude’s gentle soul began to rise in anger.</p> +<p>‘It is the truth,’ she cried.</p> +<p>‘It is right that you should think so,’ the other +answered, with the same irritating laugh.</p> +<p>‘You must have known him very slightly if you +can’t see that it is the truth.’</p> +<p>‘Then I must have known him very slightly.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘He is a lucky man to have such a warm little +champion,’ said she.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘You love him very much, then?’</p> +<p>‘Of course I love him. He is my +husband.’</p> +<p>‘Does it always follow?’</p> +<p>‘You are married yourself. Don’t you love +yours?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, never mind mine. <i>He’s</i> all +right. Did you ever love any one else?’</p> +<p>‘No, not really.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘You lucky girl, you actually married the one love of +your life!’</p> +<p>Maude smiled and nodded.</p> +<p>‘What a splendid thing to do! I thought it only +happened in books. How happy you must be!’</p> +<p>‘I <i>am</i> very, very happy.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Maude laughed at the thought.</p> +<p>‘I never had a rival,’ said she. ‘My +husband never <i>really</i> loved until he met me.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Selfish!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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—’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Maude’s lip trembled in a way which it had when she was +hurt.</p> +<p>‘Why did you wish to see me, then?’ she asked.</p> +<p>‘On account of that slight acquaintance with your +husband. I thought it would be interesting to see what sort +of wife he had chosen.’</p> +<p>‘I hope you are not disappointed,’ said Maude, +making a roguish face.</p> +<p>‘He has done very well—better than I +expected.’</p> +<p>‘You had not much respect for his taste, +then?’</p> +<p>‘Oh yes, I always thought highly of his +taste.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>Her visitor looked in silence for a little at the gentle grace +and dainty sympathetic charm of the woman before her.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘It is very good of you, and I feel that it is all so +true. But why is it unselfish of you?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Violet!’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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—’</p> +<p>‘All right, Frankie, there is nothing to be tragic +about.’</p> +<p>‘Haven’t you been to my house?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I have.’</p> +<p>‘And seen her?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘Well then—’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Do, Violet—you have my leave.’</p> +<p>‘All right. The least said the soonest +mended. Give me a kiss before we part.’</p> +<p>She raised her veil, and he kissed her. He was wearing +some withered flower in his overcoat, and she took it from +him.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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 <i>is</i> so sensible!’</p> +<p>‘Sensible, is she?’</p> +<p>‘And she said that I was—oh! I can’t +repeat it—everything that is nice.’</p> +<p>‘Then she <i>is</i> sensible.’</p> +<p>‘And such a high opinion of your taste.’</p> +<p>‘Had she indeed.’</p> +<p>‘Do you know, Frank, I really believe that in a quiet, +secret, retiring sort of way she has been fond of you +herself.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<h2><a name="page290"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +290</span><span class="smcap">No</span>. 5 CHEYNE ROW</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Frank</span> had brought home the <i>Life +of Carlyle</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘Frank, dear, I want you to make me a +promise.’</p> +<p>‘Well, what is it?’</p> +<p>‘Will you grant it?’</p> +<p>‘How can I tell you when I have not heard it?’</p> +<p>‘How horrid you are, Frank! A year ago you would +have promised first and asked afterwards.’</p> +<p>‘But I am a shrewd old married man now. Well, let +me hear it.’</p> +<p>‘I want you to promise me that you will never be a +Carlyle.’</p> +<p>‘No, no, never.’</p> +<p>‘Really?’</p> +<p>‘Really and truly.’</p> +<p>‘You swear it?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I do.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘How, then?’</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>Frank went upstairs, and returned with a volume in his +hand.</p> +<p>‘When you have finished the ‘Life,’ you must +read this, dear.’</p> +<p>‘What is it?’</p> +<p>‘It is her letters. They were arranged for +publication after her death, while her husband was still +alive. You know that—’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>The graceful head beside his knee shook impatiently.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘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—’</p> +<p>‘Well, do.’</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Sartor Resartus</i> 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?’</p> +<p>But the obstinate head still shook.</p> +<p>‘Words, words,’ said she.</p> +<p>‘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.”’</p> +<p>‘I like to hear him talk like that. Yes, I do like +him better after what you have said, Frank.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Certainly it is. Would you like to visit +it?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t think there is anything I should like +more.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said Frank at last, ‘small as it is, +I think it is worthy of the man.’</p> +<p>‘It is so natural.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘What other one is there?’</p> +<p>‘Gordon in Trafalgar Square.’</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Names in this book, sir—<i>and</i> 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—’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘How <i>could</i> 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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘There’s the fireplace that he smoked his pipe +up,’ said Frank.</p> +<p>‘Why up the fireplace?’</p> +<p>‘She did not like the smell in the room. He often +at night took his friends down into the kitchen.’</p> +<p>‘Fancy my driving you into the kitchen.’</p> +<p>‘Well, the habit of smoking was looked upon much less +charitably at that time.’</p> +<p>‘And besides, he smoked clay pipes,’ said the +matron. ‘This is considered a good print of Mrs. +Carlyle.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Poor dear!’ said Maude.</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>It was little larger than a cupboard, without window or +skylight, opening out of the end of the dining-room.</p> +<p>‘I can’t imagine.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘This,’ said the matron, when they had passed up +the stair, ‘used to be the drawing-room. That’s +their sofa.’</p> +<p>‘Not <i>the</i> sofa,’ said Frank.</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir, the sofa that is mentioned in the +letters.’</p> +<p>‘She was so proud of it, Maude. Gave eighteen +shillings for it, and covered and stuffed it herself. And +that, I suppose, is <i>the</i> 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?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘I can’t read them.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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!</p> +<p>‘This is her bedroom,’ said the matron.</p> +<p>‘And here is the old red bed,’ cried Frank. +It looked bare and gaunt and dreary with its uncurtained +posts.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Why did she pull it to pieces?’ asked Maude.</p> +<p>‘Better not inquire, dear.’</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>Decidedly it was a ghostly house. Scratched upon one of +the panes with a diamond was the following piece of +information—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘John Harbel Knowles cleaned all the windows +in this house, and painted part, in the eighteenth year of +age.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>March</i> 7<i>th</i>, +1794.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Who was <i>he</i>?’ asked Maude.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>The matron was surprised.</p> +<p>‘What makes you say that, sir?’</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>part</i> 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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘The distance from the ear to the forehead is said to be +only equalled by Napoleon and by Gladstone. That’s +what they <i>say</i>,’ said the matron, with Scotch +caution.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>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.’</p> +<p>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 <i>kraft +sprachen</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>Frederick</i>.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Oh look, Maude,’ he cried. ‘This is a +little bit of the burned <i>French Revolution</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, I remember. He lent the only copy to a +friend, and it was burned by mistake.’</p> +<p>‘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!’</p> +<p>‘Read this, sir,’ said the matron.</p> +<p>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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>It was a short exclamation which had caught his eye.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 <i>Letters</i> and in the +<i>Journal</i>. 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.’</p> +<p>‘Jemima wouldn’t have stood it,’ said +Maude.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘What then, dear?’</p> +<p>‘When Carlyle was only twenty-seven I don’t +suppose he knew he was going to do all this.’</p> +<p>‘No, I don’t suppose so.’</p> +<p>‘And his wife—if he were married then—would +feel as I do to you.’</p> +<p>‘No doubt.’</p> +<p>‘Then what guarantee have I that you won’t do it +after all?’</p> +<p>‘Do what?’</p> +<p>‘Why, turn out a second Carlyle.’</p> +<p>‘Hear me swear!’ cried Frank, and they turned +laughing into their own little gateway at the Lindens.</p> +<h2><a name="page311"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 311</span>THE +LAST NOTE OF THE DUET</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Our</span> 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Frank stared at her open-eyed.</p> +<p>‘What! Now!’</p> +<p>‘Yes, dear, now—at once.’</p> +<p>‘But <i>now</i> of all times.’</p> +<p>Maude looked at him with that glance of absolute obvious +candour which a woman never uses unless she has intent to +deceive.</p> +<p>‘Yes, dear—but only next week. I thought it +would brace you up for—well, for the week +afterwards.’</p> +<p>‘You think the week afterwards?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, dear. It would help me so, if I knew that +you were in your best form.’</p> +<p>‘<i>I</i>! What can it matter what form <i>I</i> +am in. But in any case, it is out of the +question.’</p> +<p>‘But you could get leave.’</p> +<p>‘Oh yes, easily enough.’</p> +<p>‘Then do go.’</p> +<p>‘And leave you at such a time!’</p> +<p>‘No, no, you would be back.’</p> +<p>‘You can’t be so sure of that. No, Maude, I +should never forgive myself. Such an idea would never enter +my head.’</p> +<p>‘But for my sake—!’</p> +<p>‘That’s enough, Maude. It is +settled.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘You have not eaten anything, dear.’</p> +<p>‘No, Frank, I am not hungry.’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps, after you get up—’</p> +<p>‘Well, dear, I thought of staying in bed.’</p> +<p>‘You are not—?’</p> +<p>‘What nonsense, dear! I want to keep very quiet +until next week, when I may need all my strength.’</p> +<p>‘Dear girl, I would gladly give ten years of my life to +have next week past.’</p> +<p>‘Silly old boy! But I do think it would be wiser +if I were to keep in bed.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, yes, do.’</p> +<p>‘I have a little headache. Nothing to speak of, +but just a little.’</p> +<p>‘Don’t you think Dr. Jordan had better give you +something for it.’</p> +<p>‘Do you think so? Well, just as you like. +You might call as you pass, and tell him to step up.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘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.—<span +class="smcap">Maude</span>.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Don’t make a row, Harrison,’ said he, +‘my wife’s bad.’</p> +<p>Harrison whistled softly.</p> +<p>‘Not—?’</p> +<p>‘No, no, not that. Only a headache, but she is not +to be disturbed. We expect <i>that</i> next week. +Come in here and smoke a pipe with me. It was very kind of +you to bring the bulbs.’</p> +<p>‘I am going back for some more.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘What, then?’</p> +<p>‘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 <i>me</i> 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.’</p> +<p>‘She must have thought you pretty guileless, Crosse, to +be led away so easily.’</p> +<p>‘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?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘You think so.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘You may not know that it is coming on?’</p> +<p>Frank laughed incredulously.</p> +<p>‘We’ll see about that,’ said he. +‘And you think from your experience, Harrison, that it is +not so very bad after all?’</p> +<p>‘Oh no. It soon passes.’</p> +<p>‘Soon! What do you mean by soon?’</p> +<p>‘Jordan was there six hours the first time.’</p> +<p>‘Good God! Six hours!’ Frank wiped his +forehead. ‘They must have seemed six +years.’</p> +<p>‘They <i>were</i> rather long. I kept on working +in the garden. That’s the tip. Keep on doing +something and it helps you along wonderfully.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>Harrison laughed.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Put it in the out-house,’ said he.</p> +<p>‘Why the out-house?’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘Why, surely, Crosse—’ But Frank +suddenly sprang out of his chair.</p> +<p>‘I’m blessed if that infernal kitten isn’t +somewhere in the room!’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘What! What’s that?’</p> +<p>‘The baby!’</p> +<p>‘Baby? Whose baby?’</p> +<p>‘Your baby, of course.’</p> +<p>‘My baby! Where—where did you get +it?’</p> +<p>Doctor Jordan burst out laughing.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Well!’ said he, impatiently. ‘Is she +all right?’</p> +<p>‘Yes. Won’t you take your son?’</p> +<p>‘Could she see me?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t suppose five minutes would do any +harm.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘Frank!’</p> +<p>‘My own dear sweet girlie!’</p> +<p>‘You never knew. Did you, Frank? Tell me +that you never knew.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>‘I think you had better go now,’ said he.</p> +<p>‘Sorry to be a fool, doctor,’ said Frank, blushing +hotly in his clumsy English fashion. ‘It’s just +more than I can stand.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>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, <i>his</i> 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.</p> +<h2><a name="page326"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 326</span>THE +TRIO</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Extract from a letter to the +Author from Mrs. Frank Crosse</i>.)</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">It</span> 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 <i>clever</i> +of you to have found it out. When you write to us, do +please tell us how you discovered it.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>dear</i> 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 +<i>remarkable</i> ways, that I ought to be able to put some of +them down for you.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>does</i> 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 +<i>everything</i>. I used to think that babies were stupid +and indifferent—and perhaps other babies are—but +<i>he</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Maude +Crosse</span>.’</p> +<p><i>P.S.</i>—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.’</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">Printed by T. and A. <span +class="smcap">Constable</span>, Printers to Her Majesty<br /> +at the Edinburgh University Press</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DUET***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 5260-h.htm or 5260-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/2/6/5260 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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