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diff --git a/old/60120-0.txt b/old/60120-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 939b853..0000000 --- a/old/60120-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12925 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The House of Baltazar, by William J. Locke - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The House of Baltazar - -Author: William J. Locke - -Release Date: August 18, 2019 [EBook #60120] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE OF BALTAZAR *** - - - - -Produced by Marcia Brooks, Al Haines, Jen Haines & the -online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at -http://www.pgdpcanada.net - - - - - - - - - - - - [Cover Illustration] - - - - - THE HOUSE OF BALTAZAR - - - - - _=BY THE SAME AUTHOR=_ - -IDOLS -JAFFERY -VIVIETTE -SEPTIMUS -DERELICTS -THE USURPER -STELLA MARIS -WHERE LOVE IS -THE ROUGH ROAD -THE RED PLANET -THE WHITE DOVE -FAR-AWAY STORIES -SIMON THE JESTER -A STUDY IN SHADOWS -A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY -THE WONDERFUL YEAR -THE FORTUNATE YOUTH -THE BELOVÈD VAGABOND -AT THE GATE OF SAMARIA -THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA -THE MORALS OF MARCUS ORDEYNE -THE DEMAGOGUE AND LADY PHAYRE -THE JOYOUS ADVENTURES OF ARISTIDE PUJOL - - - - - THE - HOUSE OF BALTAZAR - - BY - WILLIAM J. LOCKE - - AUTHOR OF “THE ROUGH ROAD,” “THE RED PLANET,” - “THE WONDERFUL YEAR,” “THE BELOVÈD VAGABOND,” ETC. - - NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY - LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD - TORONTO: THE RYERSON PRESS - MCMXX - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY - INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE COMPANY - ———— - COPYRIGHT, 1920 - BY JOHN LANE COMPANY - - T H E • PLIMPTON • PRESS - NORWOOD • MASS • U•S•A - - - - - THE HOUSE OF BALTAZAR - - - - - THE HOUSE OF BALTAZAR - - - - - CHAPTER I - - -THE early story of Baltazar is not the easiest one to tell. It is -episodic. It obeys not the Unities of Time, Place and Action. The only -unity to be found in it is the oneness of character in that absurd and -accomplished man. The fact of his being lustily alive at the present -moment does not matter. To get him in perspective, one must regard him -as belonging to the past. Now the past is a relative conception. Save to -the academic student of History, Charlemagne is as remote as Sesostris. -To the world emerging from the stupor of the great war, Mons is as -distant as Balaclava. Time is really reckoned by the heart-throbs of -individuals or nations. Yester-year is infinitely far away. . . . - -To get back to Baltazar and his story. In the first place it may be said -that he was a man of fits and starts; a description which does not imply -irresponsible mobility of purpose and spasmodic achievement. The phrase -must be taken in the literal significance of the two terms. A man of -fits—of mental, moral and emotional paroxysms; of starts—of swift -courses of action which these paroxysms irresistibly determined. Which -same causes of action, in each case, he doggedly and ruthlessly pursued. -One, an intimate teacher of Baltazar, one who, possessed of the -knowledge of the scholar and the wisdom of the man of the world, might -be qualified to judge, called him a Fool of Genius. Now the genius is -steadfast; the fool erratic. In this apparent irreconcilability of -attributes lies the difficulty of presenting the story of Baltazar. - -But for the war, the story would scarcely be worth the telling, however -interesting might be his sheer personality and his calculated -waywardness. It would have led no whither, save to a stage or two -further on his journey to the grave. But there is scarcely a human being -alive with whose apparently predestined lot the war has not played the -very devil. It knocked Baltazar’s world to bits—as soon as the -realization of it burst on his astonished senses; yet it seemed to bring -finality or continuity into his hitherto disconnected life. - -It was during the war that his name was mentioned and his character -discussed for the first time for many years, by two persons not without -interest in his fate. - - * * * * * - -Marcelle Baring, a professional nurse of long standing, arrived late one -night at Churton Towers, to take up the duties of sister in charge. The -place was the country seat of a great family who, like many others, had -given it over to the Government as a convalescent home for officers; a -place of stately lawns and terraces and fountains; of picture-hung -galleries guarded by grim emptinesses in armour; of noble halls -heterogeneously furnished—for generosity seldom goes so far as to leave -the edges of a priceless marquetry table at the mercy of a -feather-headed subaltern’s forgotten cigarette; of tapestried rooms, -once filled with the treasures of centuries, now empty save for the rows -of little standard War Office bedsteads and the little deal regulation -tables at their heads. - -Somewhat confused by the vastness of her new home, and by the contrast -of its gracious splendour with the utilitarian ugliness and mathematical -uniformity of the General Hospital which she had just left, Marcelle -Baring went downstairs the next morning to begin her new duties. Once in -the wards she felt at home; for a ward of sick men is the same all the -world over. The Matron went round with her, performing introductions; -but that first morning she only caught a third of the names. It would -take a few days to learn them, to learn also the history of the cases. -Besides, they were convalescents, dressings were few, and her work was -more administrative than personal. Her first impression was that of a -high spirited crowd of almost indistinguishable young men, some to all -intents and purposes sound of wind and limb, who in a short time would -be sent back to the tempest of shell whence they were driven; others -maimed and crippled, armless, legless, with drooping wrists, with -unserving ankles. In the daytime nearly all were out of the wards; most -in the open air playing tennis or lounging about the terraces, or -playing billiards in the open-sided pavilion that looked over the -Japanese garden. It was no easy matter to keep track of them all. - -It was only on the second day that the name of a young officer who had -lost his foot caught her eye: “Mr. G. Baltazar.” He was very young, -fair, blue-eyed, with a little blond moustache. His tunic, laid ready -with the rest of his clothes, bore the white and purple ribbon of the -Military Cross. The stump had practically healed, but it still needed -attention. - -“It’s rotten luck, isn’t it, Sister?” he said while she was tending him. -“I thought I had got through all right—the show at Ypres early in June. -I all but saw it out, but a bit of high explosive got me and here I am. -Anyhow, they say they’re going to wangle me an artificial foot, so that -I’ll never know the difference. One of those pukka things, you know, -that’ll pick up pins with the toes. I hope it’ll come soon, for I’m fed -up with crutches. I always feel as if I ought to hold out my hat for -pennies.” - -“Poor chap!” said Marcelle, absently. - -“That’s kind of you, but it’s just what I’m hating. I don’t want to go -through life as a ‘poor chap.’” He paused, then ran on: “I wonder how -you dear people can look at the beastly thing. Whenever I cock my leg -down and try to have a sight of it, it nearly makes me sick. I like to -be neat and tidy and not repulsive to my fellow-creatures, but that -crimpled-crumpled end of me is just slovenly and disgusting.” - -Marcelle Baring scarcely heeded his debonair talk. His name had awakened -far-off memories. She worked in silence, pinned the bandage and, -smiling, with a “You’ll do all right, Mr. Baltazar,” left him. - -The shock came the next afternoon. As she passed through the great -entrance hall, fitted up as a lounge with the heterogeneous furniture, -she came across him, the solitary occupant, sitting at a table, busy -with pencil and writing pad and a thick volume propped up in front of -him. Her eye caught arresting symbols on the paper, then the -page-heading of the book: “Rigid Dynamics.” - -She paused. He looked up with a laugh. - -“Hello, Sister!” - -She said, with a catch in her breath, “You’re a mathematician?” - -He laughed. “More or less. If they kick me out of the Army, I must go -back to Cambridge and begin again where I left off.” - -“You must have left off rather high, if you’re reading Rigid.” - -He started, for no one in this wide world but a mathematical student -could have used the phrase. - -“What the—what do you know about Rigid?” - -“I was at Newnham, in my young days,” she replied, “and I read -mathematics. And, oddly enough, my private tutor was”—she hesitated for -a second—“someone of your name.” - -He pushed his chair away from the table. - -“That must have been my father.” - -“John Baltazar.” - -“Yes, John Baltazar. One of the greatest mathematical geniuses Cambridge -has produced. Good Lord! did you know my father?” - -“He and I were great friends.” - -She looked him through and through with curiously burning eyes; of which -the boy was unconscious, for he said: - -“Fancy your reading with my father! It’s a funny old world.” Then -suddenly he reflected and glanced at her critically. “But how could you? -He disappeared nearly twenty years ago.” - -“I’m thirty-eight,” she said. - -“Lord! you don’t look it—nothing like it,” he cried boyishly. - -Nor did she. She carried a graceful air of youth, from the wave of brown -hair that escaped from beneath her Sister’s cap to the supple and -delicately curved figure. And her face, if you peered not too closely, -was young, very pure in feature, still with a bloom on the complexion in -spite of confinement in hospital wards. Her voice, too, was soft and -youthful. Perhaps her eyes were a little weary—they had seen many -terrible things. - -At the young man’s tribute she flushed slightly and smiled. But the -smile died away when he added: - -“What was he like? I’ve often wondered, and there has been no one to -tell me—no one I could have listened to. The dons of his generation are -too shy to refer to him and I’m too shy to ask ’em. Do you know, I’ve -never seen a picture of him even.” - -“He was not unlike you,” she replied, looking not at him, but wistfully -down the years. “Of heavier build. He was a man of tremendous -vitality—and swift brain. The most marvellous teacher I have ever met. -He seemed to hold your intellect in his hands like a physical thing, -sweep it clear of cobwebs and compel it to assimilate whatever he chose. -A born teacher and a wonderful man.” - -“But was he human? I know his work, though I haven’t read enough to -tackle it yet—most of it’s away and beyond Part II of the Tripos even. -I went up with an Open Mathematical Scholarship just before the war, and -only did my first year’s reading. I’m beginning this”—he tapped his -Treatise on Rigid Dynamics—“on my own. What I mean is,” he went on, -after a pause, “my father has been always an abstraction to me. I -shouldn’t have worried about him if he had just been a nonentity—it -wasn’t playing the game to vanish as he did into space and leave my -mother to fend for herself.” - -“But I heard,” said the Sister, “that your mother had her own private -fortune.” - -“I wasn’t alluding to that side of it,” he admitted. “But he did vanish, -didn’t he? Well, as I say, if he had been just a nobody, I shouldn’t -have been particularly interested; but he wasn’t. He was the most -brilliant man of his generation at Cambridge. For instance, he took up -Chinese as a sort of relaxation. They say his is the only really -scientific handbook on the study of the language. You see, Sister”—he -swerved impatiently on his chair and brought his hand down on the table, -whereat she drew a swift inward breath, for the gesture of the son was -that of the father—“I’ve always wanted to know whether I’m the son of -an inhuman intellect or of a man of flesh and blood. Was he human? -That’s what I want to know.” - -“He was human all right,” she replied quietly. “Too human. Of course he -was essentially the scholar—or savant—whatever you like to call it. -His work was always to him an intellectual orgy. But he loved the world -too. He was a fascinating companion. He seemed to want to get everything -possible out of life.” - -“Why didn’t he get it?” - -“He was a man,” she said, “of sensitive honour.” - -Captain Baltazar threw away the flaming match wherewith he was about to -light a cigarette. - -“That licks me,” said he. - -“How?” - -“His bolting. Did you know my father very well?” - -“I’ve told you we were great friends.” - -“Did you know my mother?” - -Her eyelids flickered for a moment; but she replied steadily: - -“No. I was only a student and your father was my private tutor. But I -heard—from other people—a great deal about your mother. I believe she -died many years ago, didn’t she?” - -“Yes. When I was five. I barely remember her. I was brought up by my -uncle and aunt—her people. They scarcely knew my father and haven’t a -good word to say about him. It was only when I grew up and developed a -sort of taste for mathematics, that I realized what a swell he was. And -I can’t help being fascinated by the mystery of it. There he was, as far -as I can gather, full of money, his own (which he walked off with) and -of mother’s, beginning to enjoy at thirty a world-wide reputation—and -suddenly he disappears off the face of the earth. It wasn’t a question -of suicide. For the man who buys a ticket for the next world doesn’t go -to peculiar trouble to take all his worldly estate with him. It isn’t -reasonable, is it?” - -“Your father was too much in love with life to go out of it -voluntarily,” said Sister Baring. - -“Then what the blazes did he do, and why did he do it?” - -“I don’t know,” she said. - -“Is he alive or dead?” - -“How should I know, Mr. Baltazar?” - -“He never wrote to you—after——?” - -“Why should he have written to me?” she interrupted. - -The rebuke in her voice and eyes sent the young man into confused -apologies. - -“Naturally not. You must forgive me, Sister; but, as I’ve told you, I’ve -never met a pal of that mysterious father of mine before. I want to get -all the information I can.” - -She drew a chair and sat by him. The great hall was very still and, in -contrast with the vivid sunshine perceived through the eastern windows, -very dark. Through the open door came the scents of the summer gardens. -The air was a little heavy. She felt her cap hot around her temples, and -lassitude enfeebling her limbs. The strain of the war years began to -tell. She had regarded this appointment as a rest from the intolerable -toil of the General Hospital in a large town which she had just quitted. -Before then she had served in France. And before that—for many -years—she had followed the selfless career of the nurse. Now, suddenly, -her splendid nerve showed signs of giving. If she had not sat down, her -legs would have crumpled up beneath her. So she thought. . . . - -She looked at the young man, so eager, so proven, so like his father in -gesture and glance, yet in speech and outlook—she was yet to get to -that—but she knew the revolutionary influences of the war, the real -war, on those who have faced its terrors and become saturated with its -abiding philosophies—so different from the fervid creature, John -Baltazar, of the late nineties, who had never dreamed of the possibility -of this world convulsion. He had much the same frank charm of manner, -the direct simplicity of utterance; but the mouth was weaker; the eyes -were blue, the eyes of a shrewish blonde—not the compelling, laughing, -steel-grey eyes with a queer sparkle in the iris of John Baltazar. All -in the young face that was not John Baltazar’s was the mother’s. She -hated the mother dead, as she had loathed her living. Only once had she -seen her, a blonde shrew-mouse of a woman. Just a passing by on the -Newnham road, when a companion had pointed her out as Mrs. Baltazar. The -little bitter mouth had bitten into her memory: the hard little blue -eyes had haunted her for eighteen years. The mouth and eyes were there, -before her, now. The rest, all that was noble in the boy, was John -Baltazar. - -“Who has told you the little you do know about him?” she asked. - -“My uncle. My mother’s brother. I don’t think I have any relations -living on my father’s side. At any rate, I’ve not heard of them. We’re -of old Huguenot stock—Revocation of Edict of Nantes refugees—God knows -what we were before. Long ago I happened upon a copy somewhere of the -_Annuaire Militaire de l’Armée Française_—and I found a Baltazar in the -list. I had an idea of writing him; but I didn’t, of course. Now I -suppose the poor devil’s killed. Anyhow, that’s nothing to do with your -question. My uncle—Sir Richard Woodcott—they knighted him for -manufacturing easily broken hardware round about Birmingham, or for -going to chapel, or something—you know the type——” - -Again she rebuked him: “I thought you said your uncle brought you up.” - -“On my mother’s fortune—he was my guardian and trustee. But he never -let me forget that I was the son of John Baltazar. There was no question -of affection from either of them—himself or his wife. Anything I did -wrong—it was my scoundrel of a father coming out in me. After passing -through a childish phase of looking on him as a kind of devil who had -blasted my young life, I began to have a sneaking regard for him. You -see, don’t you? If he was the antithesis of Uncle Richard, he must be -somebody I could sympathize with, perhaps rather somebody who could -sympathize with me. They drew me into the arms of his memory, so to -speak. Odd, isn’t it?” - -“What specifically did they accuse him of?” - -“Oh, everything,” he replied, with a careless laugh. “Every depravity -under the sun. Colossal egotism and heartlessness the mildest. And of -course he drank——” - -A sudden red spot flamed in the Sister’s cheek and her tired eyes -flashed. “That’s a lie! And so is the other. How dare they?” - -“Oh, a pacifist Knight who is making his fortune out of the war will -dare anything. Then, of course, there’s what they say about any man who -runs away from his wife——” - -“To be explicit——?” She leaned an elbow on the table, a cheek on hand, -and looked at him steadily. - -“Well——” he paused, somewhat embarrassed. “Immorality—you know—other -women.” - -“That’s not true either. At least, not in that sense. There was another -woman. Yes. But only one. And God knows that there could be nothing -purer and cleaner and sweeter on this earth than that which was between -them.” - -“I’m more than ready to believe it,” said John Baltazar’s son. “But—how -do you know?” - -“It’s the story of a dear friend of mine,” she replied. “Nothing was -hidden from me. The girl couldn’t help worshipping him. He was a man to -be worshipped. I don’t want to speak evil of your mother—there may have -been misunderstandings on both sides—but I knew—my friend and I -knew—through acquaintances in Cambridge—never from himself—that his -married life was very unhappy.” - -“Look here, Sister,” said young Baltazar, putting up an arresting hand. -“As we seem to be talking pretty intimately about my affairs, I’ll tell -you something I’ve never breathed to a human being. I’ve no childish -memories of being tucked up in bed and kissed to sleep by an angel in -woman’s form, like children in picture books. Now I come to think of it, -I used to envy them. The only vivid thing I remember is being nearly -beaten to death with a belt—it was one of those patent leather things -women used to wear round their waists—and then being stuffed away in -the coal hole.” - -“Oh, you poor mite!” Marcelle straightened herself in her chair, and the -tears sprang. “Before you were five! Oh, how damnable! What a childhood -you must have had! How did you manage to come through?” - -He laughed. “I suppose I’m tough. As soon as I went to school—they sent -me at eight years old—I was all right. But never mind about me. Go on -with your friend’s story. It’s getting interesting. I quite see now that -my father may have had a hell of a time.” - -“If you quite see,” she said, “there’s little more to tell.” - -She leaned forward again on her elbow and, staring across the great -hall, through the wide-open doorway to the lawns and trees drenched in -the afternoon sunshine, forgot him and lost herself in the sunshine, the -most wonderful that ever was, of the years ago. Godfrey Baltazar looked -at her keenly yet kindly, and his stern young lips softened into a -smile; and after a bit he stretched out a hand and touched her wrist -very gently. - -“Tell me,” he said in a low voice. “It’s good for me, and may be good -for you.” - -She came back to the present with a little sigh. - -“It’s such a very old story, you see. He was unhappy. His wife’s -ungovernable temper drove him from the house. He had to lead his -intellectual as well as his physical life. He lived most of his time in -college. Went home for week-ends—vainly seeking reconciliation. Then -the girl threw herself into his life. She worshipped him. She seemed to -give him something sweet and beautiful which he had been looking for. -And he fell in love with her. And when she knew it, she was taken up -into the Seventh Heaven and she didn’t care for God or woman—only for -him. It lasted just a month—the end of the summer term. Oh, it was very -innocent, as far as that goes—they only met alone in the open -air—stolen hours in the afternoon. Only one kiss ever passed between -them. And then he said: ‘I am a brute and a fool. This can’t go on.’ She -had given herself to him in spirit and was ready to go on and on -whithersoever he chose, so long as she was with him; but she was too shy -and tongue-bound to say so. And he stamped along the road, and she by -his side, all her heart and soul a-flutter, and he cried: ‘My God, I -never thought it would have come to this! My child, forgive me. If ever -I hurt a hair of your dear head, may God damn me to all eternity!’ And -they walked on in silence and she was frightened—till they came to the -turn of the road—this way to Newnham, that to Cambridge. And he gripped -her two hands and said: ‘If I withered this flower that has blossomed in -my path I should be a damnable villain.’ He turned and walked to -Cambridge. And the girl, not understanding anything save her love for -him, wept bitterly all the way to Newnham. She neither saw him nor heard -of him after that. And a week afterwards he disappeared, leaving no -trace behind. And whether he’s alive or dead she doesn’t know till this -day. And that is the real story of your father.” - -He had turned and put both elbows on the intervening table and, head in -hand, listened to her words. When she ended, he said: - -“Thank God. And thank you. So that is the word of the enigma.” - -“Yes. There is no other.” - -“And if he had been less—what shall we say—Quixotic—less scrupulous -on the point of a woman’s honour—you would have followed him to the end -of the world——” - -“I?” She started back from the table. “I? What do you mean?” - -“Why the friend, Sister? Why the camouflage?” He reached out his hand -and grasped hers. “Confess.” - -She returned his pressure, shrugged her shoulders, and said, without -looking at him: - -“I suppose it was rather thin. Yes. Of course I would have thrown -everything to the winds for him. It was on my account that he went -away—but, as God hears me, I never sent him.” - -A long silence stole on them. There was so much that struggled to be -said, so little that could be said. At last the young man gripped his -crutches and wriggled from his chair. She rose swiftly to aid him. - -“Let us have a turn in the sun. It will be good for us.” - -So they went out and she helped him, against his will—for he loved his -triumph over difficulties—down the majestic marble stairs, and they -passed the happy tennis courts and the chairs of the cheery invalids -looking on at the game, and on through the Japanese garden with its pond -of great water-lilies and fairy bridge across, and out of the gate into -the little beech wood that screened the house from the home farm. On a -rough seat amid the sun-flecked greenery they sat down. - -He said: “I may be a sentimental ass, but you seem to be nearer to me -than anyone I’ve ever met in my life.” - -She made a little helpless gesture. He laughed his pleasant laugh, which -robbed his lips of their hardness. - -“You supply a long-felt want, you know.” - -“That sounds rather nice, but I don’t quite understand, Mr. Baltazar.” - -“Oh, Mr. Baltazar be blowed!” he cried. “My name’s Godfrey. For God’s -sake let me hear somebody call me by it! You of all people. Why, you -knew me before I was born.” - -He said it unthinking—a boyish epigram. Her sudden flush brought -consciousness of blunder in elemental truth and taste. He sat stiff, -horrified; gasped out: - -“Forgive me. I didn’t realize what I was saying.” - -She glanced covertly at his young and consternation-stricken face, and -her heart went out to him who, after all, on so small a point of -delicacy found himself so grievously to blame. - -“Perhaps, my dear boy,” she said, “it is well that you have touched on -this. You and I are grown up and can speak of things frankly—and -certain things that people don’t usually discuss are often of supreme -importance in their own and other people’s lives. I didn’t know you -before you were born, nor did your father. It’s he that counts. If he -had known, he would never have left your mother to. . . . No, no! He -would have found some other way. He couldn’t have left her. It’s -incredible. I know it. I know all the strength and the beauty and the -wonder of him.” - -“My God,” said the young man, “how you must have loved him!” - -“Without loving him, any fool could have looked through his transparent -honesty. He was that kind of man.” - -“Tell me,” he said, “all the little silly things you can remember about -him.” - -He re-explained his eagerness. He had been such a lonely sort of fellow, -with no kith or kin with whom he could be in sympathy: an intellectual -Ishmaelite—if an inexplicable passion for mathematics and a general -sort of craving for the solution of all sorts of problems, human and -divine, could be called intellectual—banned by the material, dogmatic, -money-obsessed Woodcotts; referred back, as he had mentioned, for all -his darling idiosyncrasies to his unmentionable father. Small wonder -that he had built up a sort of cult of the only being who might have -taken for him a sympathetic responsibility. And now—this was the -greatest day of his life. All his dreams had come true. He was not a -sentimental ass, he reasserted. If there was one idiot fallacy that the -modern world was exploding, it was the fallacy of the debt due by -children for the privilege they owed their parents for bringing them -into this damned fool of a world. The only decent attitude of parents -towards their children was one of profound apology. It was up to the -children to accept it according to the measure of its fulfilment. But, -after all, an uncared-for human atom, with intelligence and emotions, -could not go through life without stretching out tentacles for some sort -of sympathy and understanding. He must owe something of Himself—himself -with a capital H—to those who begot and bore him. Mustn’t he? So when -they impressed on his young mind, by way almost of an hereditary curse, -the identity of his spiritual (or, to their way of thinking, -anti-spiritual) outlook with that of his father, he, naturally, -stretched out to his unknown father the aforesaid tentacles: especially -when he learned later what a great man his father was. Yes, really, he -considered it the most miraculous day of his life. He would have given -another foot to have it. - -“There’s another thing,” he said. “Once I found in an old book some odds -and ends of his manuscript. I fell to copying his writing, especially -his signature. The idiotic thing a boy would do. I got into the trick of -it, and I suppose I’ve never got out. Look.” - -He scrawled a few words with his signature on the pad. She started. It -was like a message from the dead. He laughed and went on with the -parable of his father. - -“You see,” he concluded, “it is gorgeous to know, for a certainty at -last, that the Family were vilely wrong, and my own instinct right, all -the time.” - -He had spoken with a touch of the vehemence she so well remembered. And -she had let him speak on, for the sake of the memories; also in the hope -that he might forget his demand for a revelation of them. But he -returned to it. - -“Another day,” she replied. “These things can’t all be dragged at once -out of the past. We’ll have many opportunities of talking—till your new -foot comes.” - -“You will have another talk—many others, won’t you?” he asked eagerly. - -“Why should you doubt it?” - -“I don’t know. Forgive me for saying it—I don’t want to be rude, but -women are funny sometimes.” - -She smiled from the wisdom of her superior age—his frankness had the -disarming quality of a child. “What do you know of women, Godfrey -Baltazar?” - -He wrinkled his brow whimsically and rubbed his hair. - -“Not much. What man does? Do you know,” he asked with the air of a -pioneer of thought, “you are all damnably perplexing?” - -At this she laughed outright. “Isn’t she kind?” - -“She—who—oh, yes. How did you guess?” - -“The way of Nature varies very little. What about her?” - -“She would be all right, if it weren’t for my brother——” - -“Your brother? Oh, of course——” She had to reach back into unimportant -memories. “Your mother was a widow when she married—with an only son.” - -“That’s it. Seven or eight years older than I am. Name of Doon. -Christened Leopold. We never hit it off. I’ve loathed the beggar all my -life; but he’s a damn fine soldier. Major. D.S.O. Doing splendid work. -But the brute has the whole of himself left and isn’t a dot and carry -one, like me.” - -“And the lady?” - -“I’ll tell you another time—in one of our many talks. At present it -doesn’t seem to amount to a row of pins compared with my meeting you. My -hat!” he exclaimed after a pause. “It’s a funny little world.” - -He thrust his hands into his pockets and stretched out his legs, the end -of the maimed one supported on the crutch. The afternoon peace of the -beech wood enfolded them in their contemplation of the funny little -world. She looked at him, young, strong, full of the delight of physical -and intellectual life, reckoning as of no account the sacrifice to his -country of much that made that physical existence full of precious -meaning; hiding deep in his English soul all the significance of his -familiar contempt for death; a son whom any mother might be proud to -have brought into the world. And tears were very near her eyes when she -thought of what might have been. And all her heart went out to him -suddenly in a great gush of emotion, as though she had found her own -son, and the tears started. She laid rather a timid hand on his -shoulder. - -“My dear,” she said, “let us be great friends for the sake of the bond -between us.” - -He started at her touch, and plucking both hands from his pockets, -imprisoned hers in them. - -“Friends! You’re a dear. The dearest thing in the world. You’re going to -be the only woman I’ve ever loved. Why, you’re crying!” - -Her wet eyes glistened. “We’re all hopelessly perplexing, aren’t we?” - -“You’re not. Not a little bit.” He kissed her hand and let it go. -“You’re straight and adorable. But what can I call you?” - -“Call me?” The question was a little shock. “You can call me by my name, -if you like—when we are alone—Marcelle.” - -“Splendid!” he cried. “The long-felt want. I’ve had as many Sisters as -my young life can stand.” - -She rose, helped him to rise. - -“I hope,” she said, “you will remain the boy that you are for a very -long time.” - - - - - CHAPTER II - - -AFTER this they had the many talks which they had promised themselves, -and she told him the little things about John Baltazar which he had -craved to learn. And the young man told her of his ambitions and his -hopes and his young despairs. The last mainly concerned one Dorothy -Mackworth, a Warwickshire divinity in a silk tennis sweater and -tam-o’-shanter, whose only imperfection, if the word could be applied to -tragic misfortune, was her domination by some diabolic sorcery which -made her look more kindly on the black Leopold, his brother, than on -himself. Her age? Seventeen. “You poor babies,” thought Marcelle. Once -she said: - -“Why worry? You can find a thousand little Dorothys in a week if you -look for them—all a-growing and a-blowing, with never a wicked spell on -them at all.” - -“You are wrong,” he replied. “One can find thousands of Susans and Janes -and Gertrudes—all very charming girls, I admit; but there’s only one -Dorothy. She’s very remarkable. She has an intellect. She has a -distracting quality, something uncanny, you know, in her perceptions and -intuitions. I’m dead serious, Marcelle, believe me——” - -She let him talk his heart out. Her soul, dry and athirst, drank in his -boy’s freshness—how greedily she scarcely realized. In her character of -nurse she had acted as Mother Confessor to many a poor lonely wretch; -but in every case she had felt it was to the nun-descended uniform she -wore, to its subconsciously recognized sanctity, and not to the mere -kindly woman beneath, that she owed the appeal or the revelation. But -now to young Godfrey Baltazar she was intensely, materially woman. -Foolishly woman in her unconfessed craving to learn the details of his -life and character and outlook on the world. - -Once he checked an egotistic exposition. - -“Look here,” he said, struck by a sudden qualm, “I’m always holding -forth about myself—what about you?” - -“There’s nothing about me. I’m just a nurse. A nurse is far too busy and -remote from outside things to be anything else than a nurse.” - -“But you started out as a mathematical swell at Newnham. Oh yes, you -did! Men like my father don’t coach rotters—least of all women. What -happened? You went in for the Tripos, of course?” - -She shook her head. “No, my dear. The magic had gone out of my life. I -tried Newnham for half the next term—facing the music—but it was too -much for me. I broke down. I had to earn my livelihood. My original idea -was teaching. I gave it up. Took to nursing instead. And now you know -the whole story of my life.” - -“I can’t understand anybody really bitten with mathematics giving it -up.” - -She smiled. “I don’t think I was really bitten. Not like you.” - -Then she led him from herself to his own ambitions, on this as on other -occasions. Gradually she established between them a relationship very -precious. It was the aftermath of her own romance. - -One day, business calling her to London, she changed into mufti, and -hurried down the front steps to the car that was to take her to the -station. She found Godfrey waiting by the car door. - -“My word! You look topping!” he cried in blatant admiration, and she -blushed with pleasure like a girl. - -He begged for a jaunt to the station and back. The air would do him -good. She assented, and they drove off. - -“You look younger than ever,” he went on. “It’s a sin to hide your -beautiful hair under that wretched Sister’s concern. Now I see really -the kind of woman you are——” - -“What have clothes got to do with it?” - -“Lots. The way you select them, the way you put them on, the way you -express yourself in them. No one can express themselves in a beastly -uniform. Now, all kinds of instincts, motives, feelings, went into that -hat. There’s a bit of defiance in it. As who should say: ‘Now that I’m -an ordinary woman again, demureness be damned!’” - -She said: “I’m glad I meet with your lordship’s approval,” and she felt -absurdly happy for the rest of the day. In her heart she thanked God -that he regarded her not merely as a kind old thing to whom, as a link -between himself and his father, he was benevolently disposed. Out of -sight, she would then be out of his mind. But she held her own as a -woman; unconsciously had held it all the time. Now the little accident -of the meeting in mufti secured her triumph. When he left the home he -would not drift away from her. - -He had said on the platform, waiting for her train: - -“As soon as we can fix it up, I’ll get hold of Dorothy, and you and I -and she’ll have a little beano at the Carlton. I do so want her to meet -you.” - -The wish, she reflected afterwards, signified much: Dorothy to meet her, -not she to meet Dorothy. The kind old thing, as a matter of boyish -courtesy, would be asked to meet Dorothy. But Dorothy was to meet -somebody in whom he took a certain pride. - -She remembered a story told her by a friend who had gone to see her boy -at a famous public school on the occasion of the Great Cricket Match. At -the expansive moment of parting he said: “Mother, I suppose you know -that the men feel it awfully awkward being seen with their people, but -as you were out and away the most beautiful woman in the crowd, I went -about not caring a hang.” - -She would have to get herself up very smart for Dorothy. In the train -coming back she fell a-dreaming. If John Baltazar and she had stuck it -out in all honour for a few years, Death, which was in God’s hands and -not theirs, would have solved all difficulties. They would have been -married. The five-year-old child would have called her “mother.” She -would be “mother” still to this gallant lad whose youth and charm had -suddenly swept through the barren chambers of her heart. And in the -night she asked again the question which in the agonized moments of past -years she had cried to the darkness: “Why?” - -Why had he left her? If he had been strong enough to keep love within -the bounds of perfect friendship, she, the unawakened girl, living in -passionate commune with intellectual and spiritual ideals, would have -found for some years, at least, all her cravings satisfied in such a -tender and innocent intercourse. And if he had claimed her body and her -soul, God knows they were his for the taking. - -So why? Why the breaking of so many lives? His own, so vivid, most of -all. - - * * * * * - -In the quivering splendour of her one girlish month of love, a -distracted Semele, she had scarcely seen her Jovian lover, as he was in -human form. She pictured him, Heaven knows how romantically. But always, -in her picturing, she took for granted the canon of chiaroscuro, of -light and shade. In judging him afterwards, she had no conception of a -being to whom compromise was damnation. A phrase—an instinctive cutter -of Gordian knots—might have brought illumination; but there was none to -utter it. - -She was amazed, dumbfounded, conscience-stricken, all but -soul-destroyed, when the astounding fact of John Baltazar’s -disappearance became known. The familiar houses and trees and hedges on -the Newnham Road pointed to her as accusing witnesses. Yet she kept her -own counsel, and, keeping it, suffered to breaking-point. Many months -passed before she could look life again squarely in the face—and then -it was the new life that had lasted for so many years. And still, with -all her experience of human weakness and human fortitude, she lay awake -asking herself the insoluble question. - - * * * * * - -So little occasion had been given for scandal, that her name was -associated in no man or woman’s mind with the extraordinary event. Clue -to John Baltazar’s disappearance, save the notorious shrewishness of his -wife, there was none. Common Rooms, heavy with the secular atmosphere of -casuistic argument, speculated in vain. A man of genius, destined to -bring the University once more into world-wide fame—watched, therefore, -by the University with sedulous care and affection; a man with the -prizes of the earth (from the academic point of view) dangling within -his grasp, does not, they contended, forsake all and go out into the -darkness because his wife happens to be a scold. Another woman? To -Common Rooms the idea was preposterous. Besides, if there had been one, -the married members would have picked up in their homes the gossip of -one of the most nervous gossip centres in the United Kingdom. Mad, -perhaps? But Mrs. Baltazar proclaimed loudly the sagacious method by -which he realized his private fortune, before setting out for the -Unknown. And Common Rooms, like Marcelle, asked the same perplexing -question: Why? - - * * * * * - -The next day, in the grounds of Churton Towers, the young man, returning -to his father’s fascinating mystery, propounded the dilemma that had -kept her from sleep the night before, and he, in his turn, asked: “Why?” - -“The only solution of it is,” said he, “that he burned the house down in -order to roast the pig.” - -She flashed a glance at him. “You seem to know him better than I.” - - * * * * * - -At that moment, John Baltazar, about whom there was all this coil, -leaning over the gate of a derelict and remote moorland farmstead, -perhaps asked himself the same question; for in moments of intellectual -and physical relaxation he was wont, like most solitaries, to look down -the vista of his years. - -A low granite wall, in which was set the wooden gate, encircled the few -acres of his domain. Behind him, a one-storied, granite-built, thatched -dwelling and the adjoining stable and byre and pigsties and dismantled -dairy. Surrounding the buildings, with little selection as to -appropriateness of site, were flower garden, mostly of herbaceous -plants, vegetable garden, wire-enclosed poultry runs variegated with -White Wyandottes and Rhode Island Reds, and half an acre of rough grass -on which some goats were tethered. - -John Baltazar leaned over the gate and, smoking his cherry-wood pipe, -gazed with the outer eye on the familiar scene of desolate beauty. -Within his horizon he was the only visible human being, his the only -human habitation. All around him spread the rolling landscape of granite -and heather and wind-torn shrub. The granite hills, some surmounted by -gigantic and shapeless masses of rock left freakishly behind in glacial -movements of unknown times, glowed amethyst and pale coral; the heather -slopes in the sunlight blazed in the riot of royal purple, and the -shadowed plains lay in a sullen majesty of gloom. Heather and granite, -granite and heather, moorland and mountain, beauty and barrenness. God -and granite and heather. No place for man. No more a place for man than -the Sahara. For man, to his infinite despair, had tried it; had built -the rude farmstead, had, Heaven knows why—perhaps through pathetic -pride of ownership—with infinite sweating, piled up the three-foot ring -of stones, had sought to cultivate the illusory covering of earth, had -dug till his sinews cracked and turned up the eternal granite instead of -clods, and had sickened and starved and died; and had abandoned the -stricken place to the unhelpful sun and the piercing winds and the -snows—and to John Baltazar, who now, smoking his pipe, formed part of -this tableland of desolation. - -Fifty, he looked ten years younger. A short, uncombed thatch of coarse -brown hair showed no streak of grey; nor did a closely clipped moustache -of a lighter shade. His broad forehead was singularly serene, save for -an accusing deep vertical line between the brows. And a faint -criss-cross network, too, appeared beneath the strong grey eyes when -they were dimmed by relaxation of effort, but vanished almost magically -when they were illuminated by thought. A grey sweater, somewhat tightly -fitting, revealed a powerful frame. Knicker-bockers and woollen -stockings and heavy shoes completed his attire. His hands, glazed and -coarsened, at first sight betrayed the labourer rather than the scholar. -But the fingers were sensitively long, and the deep filbert nails showed -signs of personal fastidiousness, as did his closely shaven cheek. - -A wiry-coated Airedale came to him and sought his notice. He turned and -caressed the dog’s rough head. - -“Well, old son, finished the day’s work? You’re a rotten old fraud, you -know, pretending to be bossing around, and never doing a hand’s turn for -anybody.” - -The dog, as though to justify his existence, barked, darted a yard away, -ran up, barked again and once more started. - -“Dinner time already?” - -The sound of the word signified to the dog the achievement of his -mission. He barked and leaped joyously as his master slowly strolled -towards the house. On the threshold appeared a young Chinaman, of -smiling but dignified demeanour, wearing Chinese dress. - -“Dinner is served, sir,” he said, making way respectfully for Baltazar -to pass. - -“So Brutus has just informed me, Quong Ho.” - -“I sent him to tell you, sir. He is possessed of almost human -understanding.” - -“It is always good,” said Baltazar, “to associate with intelligent -beings.” - -He entered the house-piece, the one large living room of the building, -and took his place at a small table by a western window, simply but -elegantly set with clean cloth and napkin, shining silver and glass, and -a little bowl of roses placed on a strip of blue-and-gold Chinese -embroidery. It was a room, at the first glance, of characterless muddle; -at the second, of studied order. A long, narrow room, built north and -south, with two windows on the west side and two on the east. An -old-fashioned cooking range stretched beneath the great chimney-piece -that took up most of the northern end, for the room was rudely planned -as kitchen and dining-room and parlour and boudoir, all combined, and -hams in the brief days of its prosperity had hung from its rafters. The -spaces on the distempered walls not occupied by unpainted deal -bookshelves were filled with long silken rolls of Chinese paintings. -Turkey carpets covered the stone floor. Nearly the whole length of the -eastern wall ran a long deal table, piled with manuscripts and -pamphlets, but with a clear writing space by the north-east window, at -which stood a comfortably cushioned writing chair. A settee and an -arm-chair by the chimney corner, an old oak chest of drawers that seemed -to wonder what it did in that galley, a bamboo occasional table and the -little dining table by the south-western window completed the furniture. -But the room was spotlessly clean. Everything that could shine shone. -Every pile of papers on the long deal table was squared with -mathematical precision. - -The young Chinaman served the dinner which he had prepared—curried -eggs, roast chicken, goat’s milk cheese—with the deftness of long -training. He paused, expectant, with an unstoppered decanter. - -“Burgundy, sir?” - -“No, thank you.” - -Quong Ho filled a tumbler with water. - -“How long has that half-bottle of wine been opened?” - -“If I remember accurately, sir, this is the fifteenth day.” - -“It’s not fit to drink, Quong Ho. To-morrow you will throw it away and -open another half-bottle.” - -“It shall be done as you wish, sir,” said Quong Ho. “Except, sir, that I -do not propose to waste the wine, for though it is too stale for -drinking purposes, it is an invaluable adjunctive in cookery for soups -and sauces.” - -Baltazar drank a draught of water and, wiping his lips, looked over his -shoulder at the Chinaman. - -“Adjunctive? That’s a new word. Where did you get hold of it?” - -“Possibly from you, sir, who have been my master in the English language -for the last ten years.” - -“You didn’t get it from me. It’s a beast of a word.” - -“Then possibly, sir, I have met it in my independent reading. Perhaps in -The Rambler of your celebrated philosopher, Johnson, which I have been -perusing lately with great interest.” - -Baltazar leaned back in his chair. - -“Quong Ho,” said he, “you’re a gem. A gem of purest ray serene——” - -“The words I recognize as those of Poet Gray,” said Quong Ho. - -“That is true,” said Baltazar. “But destiny, as far as I have the -handling of things, won’t condemn you to a vast unfathomed cave of -ocean. What I tried to imply was, that you’re a wonderful fellow—what -the Americans in their fruity idiom which I haven’t yet taught you, call -a peach.” - -“I will make a mental note of it, sir,” said Quong Ho. - -Baltazar grinned over his plate and went on with his dinner, the dog -Brutus by his side watching the process with well-bred yearning and -accepting an occasional mouthful with a gluttony politely concealed. -Towards the close of the meal Quong Ho brought in lamps and -candles—Baltazar loved vivid illumination—and drew the curtains. In -the house Quong Ho wore Chinese slippers and walked like a ghost. He -began to clear away as soon as Baltazar rose from the table. The latter -filled and lit his pipe and consulted his watch. - -“You can come for your lesson in an hour’s time.” - -“In an hour precisely,” said Quong Ho. - -“Have you prepared the work I set you?” - -“With thorough perfection, sir.” - -“You’ll be President of the Chinese Republic yet,” said Baltazar. - -“It is no mean ambition,” said Quong Ho. - -Baltazar took a book from his shelves devoted to general reading—an -amazing medley of dingy volumes such as one sees only in an ill-arranged -second-hand bookseller’s stock. It was a second-hand bookseller’s stock -in literal truth, for Baltazar had bought a catalogue _en bloc_. It -saved infinite trouble. The collection provided him with years of -miscellaneous feeding. It contained little that was modern, nothing that -was of contemporary moment; on the other hand, it gave him many works -which he had ear-marked for perusal, hitherto in vain, from his boyhood. -There were the works of Robertson—the Histories of Scotland, Charles V -and America; Davila’s Wars in France; the Aldine Edition of the British -Poets in many volumes; an incomplete Dodsley’s Old Plays; the works of -one Surtees—he who wrote of the immortal Jorrocks and Soapey Sponge and -Facey Romford; Elzevir editions of Saint Augustine and Tertullian; The -Architectural Beauties of England and Wales; Livingstone’s Travels; and -Queechy, by the author of The Wide, Wide World. A haggis of a library. -No one but John Baltazar could have bought it at one impulsive swoop. - -He took down the volume, almost haphazard, for it was his luxurious -custom to devote after dinner a digestive hour to haphazard reading; a -bound volume of pamphlets, which had once entertained him with the -_Times_ reprint of the Obituary of The Duke of Wellington. He sat down -in his arm-chair, turned over some dreary pages, tried to interest -himself in “What is it all About? or an Enquiry into the Statements of -the Rev. C. H. Spurgeon that the Church of England Teaches Salvation by -Baptism, instead of Salvation by the Blood of our Blessed Master Jesus -Christ, and that Many of the Clergy are guilty of Dishonesty and -Perjury, by the Rev. Joseph Bardsley, M.A.,” sadly shook his head, and, -turning over more gloomy pages, came upon an oasis in the desert: “The -Fight at Dame Europa’s School, showing how the German Boy thrashed the -French Boy, and how the English Boy looked on.” He read the mordant -sarcasm of eighteen hundred and seventy-one with great enjoyment, and -had just finished it when Quong Ho, notebook under arm, entered the -room. - -“Quong Ho,” said he, “I’ve just been reading a famous satirical pamphlet -on the part which England played in the Franco-Prussian War. When you -have time you might read it. The English is impeccable. You won’t find -any ‘adjunctives’ in it. It lashes England for not having gone to the -help of France in 1870.” - -“Why should one nation undertake another’s quarrel?” asked Quong Ho, -with a curious flash in his eyes. “Why should China shed her blood for -the sake, by way of illustration, of Denmark?” - -“There is an answer, Quong Ho,” replied Baltazar, “to your astute -question. In ancient times China and Denmark were as far apart as -Neptune and Mercury. But wireless telegraphy has brought them to each -other’s frontiers. Nowadays nations act and react on one another in a -very subtle way. You must read a little more of modern European History, -for Europe is the nerve centre of a system of nervous telepathy which -forms a network round the earth. Nothing can happen in Europe nowadays -without its sensitive reaction in China. You must remember that, at -every instant of your life, if you wish to model a new China. For the -old China has gone. I loved it, as you know, Quong Ho. But it’s as dead -as Assyria. Another struggle between France and Germany would implicate -the civilized world. Great Britain would not look on as in 1870, but -would be on the side of France, and Japan would be on the side of Great -Britain, and China——” - -“Would throw her lot into the same scale as Japan,” said Quong Ho, -demurely. - -“Let us hope it never will happen,” said Baltazar. “In the meantime -there’s something of greater importance.” He rose, went to his writing -chair by the long deal table. “Let us see. What is it to-night? Elliptic -Functions, isn’t it?” - -And while John Baltazar, serene in his reading of political philosophy, -was guiding Quong Ho through mazes of mathematical abstraction, German -aircraft were dropping bombs about England. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - -THE renting of Spendale Farm, derelict for many years, caused some -excitement on the moorland. It had achieved notoriety by concentrating -in its small acreage every disadvantage that a farm could have. A soil -so barren and granitic that scarcely grass would grow on it; a situation -of bleakness unique in that bleak and unsheltered region; an -inaccessibility almost beyond the powers of transport. The last was the -final factor in the bankruptcy and despair of former tenants. Three -miles of foot-and-wagon-worn track—and this now indistinguishable—must -be traversed before striking a road, and along five miles of the road -must one go before reaching the tiny town of Water-End, which contained -the nearest railway station, shop, post office and church. Excitement -grew in Water-End when motor lorries and materials and workmen from the -cathedral town, thirty miles off, all made their daily way to Spendale -Farm, and later, when packing-cases marked “Books, with the greatest -care” were dumped on the station platform. All bore the name of John -Baltazar—an outlandish name, if ever there was one, to eyes and ears of -remotely rural England. And when the demented foreigner—for so they -conceived him to be—was due to arrive in order to take up his -residence, a fact proclaimed by the presence outside the station of -Farmer Benstead’s old grey mare and springless cart which Ellis and -Dean, the local estate agents, were known to have bought for the -new-comer, the population of Water-End turned out to see what manner of -being he was. The hefty, quickly moving Englishman, obviously the -master, disappointed their anticipations; but the Chinaman, his coiled -pigtail unconcealed beneath the brim of a bowler hat too small for him, -made their eyes bulge with wonder. They did not even know he was a -Chinaman until the vicar’s son, a lad of sixteen, unavowed emissary of a -curious vicarage, gave them the information. Master and man drove off -alone in the cart with their luggage, in the midst of gaping silence. - -A Chinaman. What was a Chinaman doing in those parts? Men speculated in -the bar parlour of “The Three Feathers.” Gossips of the more timorous -sex discussed the possibility of a yellow peril—children kidnapped, -throats cut, horrors perpetrated in lonely places. Mrs. Trevenna had -seen murder in his eye; and Mrs. Trevenna, who had buried three -husbands, was a woman whose opinion was respected. Mrs. Bates said his -yellow hands were like the claws of a turkey-cock. Her daughter, -Gwinnie, giggling, remarked that she wouldn’t like to have them round -her neck. - -“That’s what I’ve heard they do,” said old Mrs. Sopwith. “I remember my -grandfather, him that was in the Indian Mutiny, telling me, when I was a -little girl, that they thought nothing of strangling you. It was their -religion.” - -Thus the amiable Quong Ho leapt at once into a pretty repute—of which -an addiction to Thuggee was a venial aspect. - -But when, a few days afterwards, Quong Ho drove into Water-End on a -shopping expedition, and in the presence of palpitating Water-Enders -carried on his business and passed remarks on the weather, polite and -smiling, in the easy English of the vicar and the motoring gentlefolk, -with no perceptible trace of a foreign accent, they gaped once more in -amazement. Language is a marvellous solvent of prejudice. No one who -talked English like the Vicar could strangle English necks. But Quong -Ho, unfortunately, complicated this favourable impression by overdoing -the perfect Briton. - -At the butcher’s door, freshly coloured as the carcasses hanging at each -side, stood Gwinnie Bates, the leader of the staring crowd, blocking the -way. Quong Ho, trained theoretically by Baltazar in European ceremonial, -swept her a bow with his billycock hat—a bow composite of the court of -Charles the Second and Ratcliffe Highway, and addressed her: - -“Beauteous Madam, will you allow your devoted servant the privilege of a -passage?” - -She melted hysterically from the doorway. Her friends, like a grinning -Red Sea, divided into an avenue through which passed Quong Ho, with -gestures courteously expressive of thanks, followed by the butcher’s -assistant carrying to the cart the leg of mutton and the joint of beef -which Quong Ho had purchased. Quong Ho drove off amid unceremonial -guffaws and gigglings. - -“Beauteous Madam! Oh, Hell!” roared the butcher’s assistant. - -Gwinnie Bates checked her mirth and advanced with flushed cheeks and -defiant eyes. - -“What’s wrong about it, Johnnie Evans? If you want to insult me, say it -out. If you can’t be a gentleman, at least be a man.” - -“Pretty fine gentleman,” sneered Johnnie Evans, jerking a thumb towards -the receding Chinaman. - -“He can teach manners to the likes of you, at any rate,” cried Gwinnie -Bates, and went off triumphant with her head in the air. - -Thus, through the courteous demeanour of Quong Ho on this and subsequent -occasions, Water-End became divided into two camps—Sinophile and -Sinophobe. The latter party asserted that such heathen smiled most when -their designs were most criminal, and carried out their activities to -the accompaniment of unholy mirth. Was he ever seen at church or chapel? -His admirers confessed this abstention from the means of grace. Did he -ever speak of the doings of his master with the outlandish name, and -himself, in the middle of the moor? Quong Ho was admitted to be a -museum-piece of discretion. And as time went on, although his ways were -marked by the same perfect courtesy, he lost favour amongst his party, -through a bland taciturnity and a polite rejection of conversational -advantage. - -Now for this taciturnity there were excellent reasons: none other than -the commands of John Baltazar. When Quong Ho returned the first time to -the farm with the jeering laughter ringing in his ears, he bewailed the -impoliteness of the inhabitants of Water-End. Said Baltazar in Chinese: - -“Dost thou not know the proverb, Quong Ho, ‘_A man must insult himself -before others will?_’ And again, what saith the Master? ‘_Rotten wood -cannot be carved, and walls made of dirt and mud cannot be plastered._’ -By acting against my orders and striving to plaster the muddy walls of -these rustics with ceremonial politeness, you have insulted yourself and -therefore exposed yourself to rudeness.” - -“Master,” said Quong Ho, “it appears that I have erred grievously.” - -“Listen again,” said Baltazar, with a twinkle in his eyes unperceived by -the downcast Quong Ho, “to what the Master saith: ‘_The failure to -cultivate virtue, the failure to examine and analyse what I have learnt, -the inability to move towards righteousness after being shown the way, -the inability to correct my faults—these are the causes of my grief._’” - -Quong Ho replied that although his deviation from the path of virtue was -glaring to the most myopic vision, he nevertheless was in a dilemma, -inasmuch as he had followed the precepts of Western courteous -observance, the ceremonial, for instance, of the hat-salutation, laid -down for him by his illustrious teacher. - -Baltazar, always in Chinese, replied kindly: “O youth of indifferent -understanding, is it not written in the Shû King in the Charge to Yüeh: -‘_In learning there should be a humble mind and the maintenance of a -constant earnestness: in such a case improvement will surely come. When -a man’s thoughts from first to last are constantly fixed on learning, -his virtuous cultivation comes unperceived_’?” - -“With those truths am I acquainted,” replied Quong Ho. - -“Then, my good fellow,” retorted Baltazar in English, “why the devil -don’t you apply them? I’ve absolutely forbidden you to have any -intercourse whatever with the people round about. You’re not to talk to -them about my concerns or your concerns. You’re not to listen to any of -their talk or to bring back to me scraps of their rotten gossip. You’re -to go to Water-End on necessary business—unfortunately we can’t live on -air or warm ourselves in the winter with bottled sunbeams—but that’s -the limit. Outside of that you’re a man deaf and dumb. You’re to go one -better than the three Sacred Apes of Japan, who, holding hands -respectively before eyes, ears and mouth, signify ‘I see no evil; I hear -no evil; and I speak no evil.’ In your case, it’s to be: ‘I see nothing; -I hear nothing; I speak nothing.’” - -“In future,” said Quong Ho, “my eyes shall be blinded, my ears sealed -and my mouth locked.” - -“If there are any more animated discussions of last week’s -thunderstorms, or further Beauteous-Madamizing of young females, I’ll -regretfully have to send you straight back to China.” - -The unblinking stare in Baltazar’s great grey eyes and the obstinate set -of his lips—signs of purpose which Quong Ho for eight years had learned -to gauge with infallible precision—caused him to quake excessively. Not -only was his servitude to Baltazar a matter of oath, but a return before -the completion of the special education which would enable him to take -immediate rank in New China, would be the death-blow to his ambitions. -So Quong Ho took to heart the precepts of the Humble Mind and swore to -outdo the Sacred Apes of Japan, even as his master had ordained. - -After this, in the first days of their Thebaïd, master and man held -frequent conversations on the relations with the outside world which the -former had prescribed. The three years, said Baltazar, which lay before -them in the solitude of the wilderness, were for the maceration of the -flesh, the pursuit of virtue and the cultivation of the intellect. He -illustrated his argument with countless quotations from the Chinese -classics. - -“In this fashion, Quong Ho,” said he, “you are drinking of the _Five -Sources of Happiness_. To wit: _Long Life_: for here, in this unpolluted -atmosphere, you are acquiring physical health. _Riches_: they will be -yours in no matter what University of Modern China you go as Professor -of Mathematics. _Soundness of Body and Serenity of Mind_: the Latins put -the idea into epigrammatic form—Mens sano in corpore sano; what can be -more conducive to serenity of mind than this studious solitude, -undisturbed by material cares? _The Love of Virtue_: we have every hour -of all our days to acquire it. _Fulfilling to the end the_ WILL; is it -not the WILL that has set us here?” - -“Indubitably,” said Quong Ho. - -“Hearken again,” said Baltazar, “to the _Six Extreme Evils. Misfortune -shortening the Life_: from that no man is exempt—but from it no men are -more than we protected. _Sickness_: likewise—but I have a box of simple -remedies, and if the worst comes, there is a man learned in physic at -Water-End. _Distress of Mind_: if our minds in these ideal surroundings -are so unstable as to be distressed, we are unworthy of the name of -philosophers. _Poverty_: I have an ample fortune. _Wickedness_: we, who -are Seekers after Truth, have deliberately set ourselves beyond the -reach of Temptation. _Weakness_: that, O Quong Ho, is the only danger. -You must be on your guard against it night and day, especially on the -days when necessity exposes you to the manifold temptations of that -microcosm of Babylon, Pekin and San Francisco which goes by the name of -Water-End.” - -So it came to pass that when astounding tidings, the most pregnant in -the world’s history, came to Water-End and the little townlet blazed -with the wildfire of gossip, Quong Ho, scrupulous obeyer of Law, heard -without listening and, forbearing to question, always returned to -Spendale Farm with a mind rendered, with Oriental deliberation, so -profoundly blank as to preclude the possibility of retailing to his -master the idle news of the outer world. And gradually, such is the -contempt bred by familiarity, Quong Ho lost prestige in Water-End. His -weekly appearance in the town, with old grey mare and cart, grew to be -one of the commonplace recurrent phenomena such as the Vicar’s Sunday -sermon and the Saturday evening orgy and home-convoying of old Jack -Bonnithorne, the champion alcoholist of the moorland. - -But around Baltazar of the one brief glimpse arose many a legend. He was -mad. He was a magician. He was an unspeakable voluptuary; though whence -and how arrived the houris who ministered to his voluptuousness, was an -insoluble problem. He was a missionary with one convert. The theory, put -forward by the farmers, that he was the champion fool on the Moor, -gained the most general acceptance. Then someone whispered that he was a -German spy. The valiant of the town planned an expedition at dead of -night to surprise him at his nefarious practices; but the sarcasms of -Police-Sergeant Doubleday, who asked what information useful to the -enemy, save the crop of heather per square acre, could be given by a man -inhabiting the most desolate spot in the United Kingdom, checked their -enterprise. Their ardour, too, was damped by a spell of torrential rain, -which robbed of its pleasantness the prospect of a sixteen-mile walk. -When the sun came out, the suspicion had faded from their minds, and -shortly afterwards most of them found themselves in the King’s uniform -in regions far distant from Water-End. - -One morning Police-Sergeant Doubleday lay in wait for Quong Ho outside -the Bank, and informed him that he must register himself as an alien, -under the Defence of the Realm Act. Quong Ho blandly accompanied the -Sergeant to the Police Station and complied with the formalities. Full -name: Li Quong Ho. Nationality: Chinese. Occupation: Student. - -“Eh?” cried Sergeant Doubleday, a vast, red-faced man with a scrubby -black moustache. “That won’t do. Aren’t you Mr. Whats-his-name’s -man-servant?” - -“That sphere of my activities is purely incidental,” said Quong Ho. -“Kindly put down ‘student.’” - -“What do you study?” - -“Specialized branches of Western Philosophy,” replied Quong Ho. - -“Well, I’m damned!” said the mystified Doubleday. “Anyhow, it’s none of -my business.” - -So down went Quong Ho as “student”—the only alien on the register. - -“That’s very interesting,” said the Vicar, during his next chat with -Doubleday. “The Chinese are a remarkable race. Their progress should be -watched.” - -“I’m afraid it can’t be done, sir. What with being short-handed and -overworked as it is——” - -At the Vicar’s explanation the Sergeant mopped his forehead in relief. - -“I’ve a man’s job to keep Christians in order, without shadowing the -heathen,” said he. - -“I’m convinced that his master and himself are a pair of harmless -eccentrics,” said the Vicar. - -And the Vicar’s word went the round of the district, and eccentrics, or -the nearest approach to it that local tongues could manage, the -inhabitants of Spendale Farm were finally designated—though what were -“eccentrics” remained a matter of pleasant and fruitful conjecture. - -When Quong Ho returned to the farmhouse after his encounter with -Sergeant Doubleday, he said nothing about his registration as an alien. -Nor did it occur to him to show the paper money which he had received in -lieu of the usual gold in exchange for the cheque which he had cashed at -the bank; for the disposal of petty cash did not concern John Baltazar, -who rightly trusted in the Chinaman’s scrupulous honesty. That, in spite -of the most definite orders, he should leave Baltazar uninformed of the -various signs and tokens of national unrest which he had observed at -Water-End, caused Quong Ho occasional twinges of conscience. He -remembered the saying: “_To shirk your duty when you see it before you, -shows want of moral courage._” But what was his duty? On the other hand, -there was the dictum: “_To sacrifice to a spirit with which you have -nothing to do is mere servility._” What had he to do with this purely -English war-spirit that he should servilely sacrifice to it his almost -filial obligations? Obviously nothing. Quong Ho therefore continued to -purvey no idle gossip, and went about his varied avocations with a -serene mind. - -Now, as John Baltazar, who had been dead to the English-speaking world -for nearly twenty years, held correspondence with no one save a few -necessary tradesmen, mostly booksellers, as he took in no periodical, -daily, weekly, monthly or annual of any kind whatever, and as he -conversed with no human being except Quong Ho, whose lips he had sealed, -he had created for himself an almost perfect barrage through which the -news of contemporary happenings could not penetrate. - -“Quong Ho,” he had said, one Spring day, soon after his return from -China, when he had come to one of those revolutionary decisions that -marked the crises of his life, “I have sworn by the spirits of my -ancestors to live the life of a recluse for the space of three years, -holding communication with no man or woman and cutting myself off like -one that is dead from the interests of the contemporaneous world. My -reasons for this determination I will eventually unfold to you, provided -you carry out faithfully the contract I am about to propose. If you -decline to bind yourself, which as a free man you are at liberty to do, -I will pay your passage back to China and give you a sum of money -adequate to start you on an honest career. If you accept it, I will -honourably perform my part. You have been my servant and my pupil for -the last eight years——” - -“You saved this miserable orphan from death at the hands of a tyrannic -governor,” interposed Quong Ho—they were speaking his native -tongue,—“you have taught him the language of England and the -philosophies both of East and West, and you are to me as a father to -whom I owe filial fidelity and devotion.” - -“That is well said, Quong Ho,” replied Baltazar. “This person -appreciates your professions of loyalty.” The scene of this memorable -conversation, by the way, was a small bedroom at the top of the Savoy -Hotel; Baltazar, with bloodshot eyes, a splitting headache and tousled -raiment, sitting on the bed, and Quong Ho, impeccably vested in Chinese -attire, standing before him. “He has not been honourably blessed with -sons, and therefore will receive from you the devotedness that is due to -a parent. But for the space of three years only. There may come a time -when exaggerated filial zeal may become embarrassing.” - -And he set forth the contract. In return for the absolute obedience of -Quong Ho and his acceptance of the life of a recluse for three years, he -undertook to send him back to China as the most accomplished native -mathematician in existence—for he had already gauged the young man’s -peculiar genius—with a Master of Arts degree, if possible, from some -British University, and thus assure him a distinguished position in that -New China whose marvellous future had been the subject of so many of -their dreams and discussions. And Quong Ho had taken solemn oaths of -fealty and with the Chinaman’s singleness of purpose, accepted, a few -weeks later, the deadly and enduring solitude of the moorland as an -unquestionable condition of existence. - -Secure in the unswerving fidelity of Quong Ho, and in the impregnable -seclusion of this God-disclosed hermitage, John Baltazar lived a life -according to his ideals. No outer ripple of the maëlstrom in which the -world was engulfed lapped, however faintly, against the low granite wall -encircling the low-built granite farmhouse. His retirement was absolute, -his retreat off the track of the most casual wanderer. - -Six months passed before his eyes rested on a human being other than -Quong Ho. It is true that the rate-collector, savagely cursing his luck -and the bicycle-destroying track that led from the road to the -farmhouse, had appeared one day with a paper showing certain -indebtedness; but Quong Ho had received it and, gravely promising a -cheque in payment, had dismissed the intruder. No other official came -near the place. Quong Ho called weekly at the Post office and railway -station, to the great relief of postman and van-driver. - -“Thought and money acutely applied,” remarked Baltazar, “together with -freedom from the entanglement of family relationships, are the -determining factors of human happiness. A man with these factors at his -disposal is a fool if he cannot, fashion for himself whatever kind of -existence he pleases.” - -But one day, a cloudless winter morning, when the sunshine kissing the -frost-bound earth transmuted the myriad frondage of the heather into a -valley of diamonds, Baltazar, on his way from the stable to the front -door, came across a stranger leaning over the gate. He was a heavy man -with a fat, clean-shaven face, loose lips and little furtive eyes. He -wore a new golfing suit exaggerated in cut and aggressive in colour. - -He said with easy familiarity: “Good morning, Mr. Baltazar.” - -“Since you know my name,” replied Baltazar, with an air of courtesy, “it -has doubtless struck you that this is my gate.” - -“Of course——” - -“You are leaning on it,” said Baltazar. - -The visitor, perplexed, straightened himself. - -“I’m a sort of neighbour of yours, you know. I live about seven miles -off—the big property this side of Water-End: Cedar Chase—and I’ve -often thought I’d run over in the Rolls-Royce as far as I could, and -walk the rest, and see how you were getting along.” - -“That is most amiable of you,” said Baltazar, advancing to the gate and -resting his arm on it with an easy suggestion of proprietorship. “You -have run over, you have walked—and now you see.” - -Before Baltazar’s ironical gaze the stranger’s eyelids fluttered in -disconcertment. - -“I fancied you might be lonely and might like to look in and have a game -of bridge one of these days. My name’s Pillivant.” - -“Pillivant,” said Baltazar. “I don’t much like it, but there are -doubtless worse.” - -“You may have heard it. Pillivant and Co., Timber Merchants. We’ve -rather come to the front lately.” - -“Your personal initiative, I should imagine,” said Baltazar. - -“I don’t say as it isn’t,” replied Mr. Pillivant. “When whacking -Government contracts are going, why not get ’em?” - -“Why not? Why waste time in doing anything else, all day long, but -getting ’em?” - -Mr. Pillivant drew from his inner breast pocket a vast gold casket of a -cigar-case, opened it and held it out towards his inhospitable host. - -“Have a cigar? You needn’t be afraid. They stand me in two hundred and -fifty shillings a hundred and I get ’em wholesale. No?” Baltazar -declined politely. “You’re missing a good thing.” He bit off the end of -the one he had chosen, lit it with a fat wax vesta extracted from a -minor gold casket and drew a few puffs. “Funny sort of life you seem to -be leading here, Mr. Baltazar. Dam’ funny!” - -“I perceive you have a keen sense of humour,” said Baltazar. - -Again the mocking stare of his cold, grey eyes abashed the unwelcome -visitor, who filled in the ensuing silence by re-biting and re-lighting -his half-crown cigar. The operation over: - -“Lovely day, isn’t it?” said he. - -“So lovely, Mr. Pillivant,” replied Baltazar, “that it would be selfish -of me to do otherwise than leave you to the undisturbed enjoyment of -it.” - -And, with a polite bow, he left Mr. Pillivant and walked, in a dignified -way, into the house. Mr. Pillivant, conscious at last of the rejection -of his friendly overtures, stared for a while, and then, sticking his -cigar at a truculent angle in his mouth, swaggered away across the moor. - -“Quong Ho,” said Baltazar, “when next you go to Water-End, it will be -your duty to find a powerful and exceedingly nasty-tempered dog.” - -A fortnight afterwards Brutus was added to the establishment. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - -THE life ordained by John Baltazar for Quong Ho and himself was one of -unremitting toil, mental and physical. From the time of his uprising at -six in the morning, when Quong Ho awakened him with tea (some chests of -which he had brought with him from China), until midnight, there were -few moments, save the after dinner hour of literary indulgence, that he -wasted in idle relaxation. The work of the house, that of steward, -butler, valet, cook, parlourmaid, charwoman and laundress, together with -the outdoor functions of groom, dairyman and bailiff, Quong Ho executed -with the remarkable ease and despatch of the Chinaman accustomed from -childhood to menial tasks. The cultivation of the barren land, the -painful wheeling of barrow-loads of superficial soil from the moorland, -the digging and the planting and the draining and the watering, were all -done by John Baltazar himself. The hard exercise, some three or four -hours a day, maintained him in the superb health that enabled him to -carry out his studious programme. Of his eighteen waking hours he -allotted roughly seven to physical things, eleven to intellectual -pursuits. For Quong Ho this apportionment of time was inverted. That was -the theoretic schedule. As a matter of fact, Quong Ho found more than -seven hours a day for mathematical study and other intellectual -development. - -There was much that Baltazar had set himself to do during his three -years. First he must make up in mathematical output the loss of his -wander-time in China. Now all the world understands the irresistible -force that compels the poet, at last, to give form to long haunting -dreams; the need, also, of the astronomer to crystallize the results of -his discoveries and formulate his epoch-making theories; but the passion -of the mathematician to do the same is not so easily comprehensible. For -years Baltazar had dreamed of an exhaustive and monumental treatise on -the Theory of Groups which would revolutionize the study of the higher -mathematics, a gorgeous vision the mere statement of which must leave -the ordinary being cold and the first attempt at explanation petrify him -with its icy unintelligibility. The dream was now in process of -accomplishment. He had also to put into form fascinating adventures into -the analytical geometry of the ghostly and unrealizable space of Four -Dimensions. There, he was wont to assert, you entered the true Fairyland -of mathematics. To all these labours he brought the enthusiasm of the -poet or the astronomer. Another and a totally different sphere of -activities absorbed much of his energy. In China he had assimilated a -vast store of philosophical learning, with which equipment he prepared -to re-edit many European versions of the Chinese classics misconceived -through faulty erudition. He had brought from China stacks of rare -manuscripts, piles of notes, materials for the life-work of any scholar. -And, last, he had thrown himself with impetuous zeal into the -intellectual training of Quong Ho. - -The mutual attitude of the solitary pair was one of curious delicacy. As -master and man they were league-sundered by the gulf of convention. As -teacher and pupil they were drawn together into close intellectual -intimacy. It was the Chinaman’s exquisite tact that simplified the -situation for the direct and masterful Englishman. As a servant he -scrupulously observed the decorum of the attendant—there never existed -head butler in ducal mansion who could surpass his perfection of manner; -but as disciple he subtly raised himself to the plane of social -equality, and gauged to a hair’s breadth the shade of familiar address -warranted by the position. - - * * * * * - -“Quong Ho,” said Baltazar one day at dinner, when the Chinaman had gone -through the usual solemn farce of offering him Burgundy, “your -discretion is beyond the value of rubies. Never once have you remarked -on the apparent vanity of this daily proceeding. Yet in your own mind -you must have wondered at it.” - -“It is not for me to speculate on the reason for your honourable -customs,” said Quong Ho. - -“Yet why do you think I cause myself to be offered wine every day only -to refuse it?” - -“I suppose you desire to maintain, in the wilderness, the ceremonial -etiquette of the English dinner-table. The wine in the bottle is but an -adornment, like the flowers in the bowl.” - -“It pleases me that you should have come to such a conclusion,” said -Baltazar. - -For the ceremony of the wine was linked with the causes that determined -his sudden flight into solitude. He had promised Quong Ho to inform him -of these causes; but the fulfilment of the promise was hard to make. -Sitting dishevelled on the bed in the little room at the top of the -Savoy Hotel, he had thought disclosure to his servant to be a fitting -part of the punishment he had meted out to himself. Later he repented; -especially when he perceived Quong Ho’s blank indifference. Still, a -promise was a promise, and Baltazar not the man to shirk his -obligations. On this particular occasion he thought it best to get the -matter over. - -“The conclusion is an honourable one on your part, Quong Ho,” he -continued, “but it is incorrect.” - -“I own, sir,” replied Quong Ho, “that it is drawn from conjectural -premises.” - -“It was over-indulgence in wine that made me set to myself this penalty -of studious solitude,” said Baltazar in Chinese. “By telling you this I -redeem a promise. As to our daily custom, a weak man flies from -temptation, a strong man keeps temptation at his elbow in order to defy -it.” - -“In that way, honourable master, is merit acquired.” - -Quong Ho took away his empty plate and retired into the kitchen to fetch -the next course. Baltazar leaned back in his chair and, his brow full of -perplexity, yet breathed a sigh of relief. - -“I’ve got it off my chest at last,” he said half aloud. “But I wonder -whether I’ve been a damned fool.” - -Quong Ho’s subsequent demeanour could not enlighten him. Never again -between them, save once, and that under the stress of a peculiar -situation, was made the most veiled allusion to the subject, and day -after day Quong Ho imperturbably performed with the Burgundy decanter -the ceremonial etiquette of the English dinner-table. - - * * * * * - -It was only by glimpses like this that the man had ever revealed himself -to his fellow-creatures. Glimpses like this one, fine and deliberate, to -Quong Ho, and that one of long ago, passionate and self-destroying, to -Marcelle Baring. To neither did he accord more than a glimpse. To -neither did he show himself on a razor-edged ledge with the abyss on one -side and salvation on the other. Another touch of the girl’s lips would -have sent them both into what the sensitive and honourable gentleman -would have called the abyss. Perhaps, if she had been older, a woman, -one tuned to the pulsating responsibilities of life, he might have faced -things with her. Who knows? To his direct mind the casuistical point did -not occur. Actualities alone concerned him. She was so delicate and -fragrant a flower of girlhood. His for the plucking. . . . When he -regained his college rooms, that far-off summer afternoon, he was as a -man torn by devils. Love her? He would be torn in pieces rather than -that her exquisite foot should be bruised against a stone. Love her? -With her soft voice, her maddening Madonna face, her kind eyes, her -tremulous mouth? Love her? The wonder of wonders possessed of the power -to divine his inmost thoughts, to touch with magically healing fingers -all the aching wounds in his soul, to envelop him body and mind and -spirit in a network of a myriad fairy tendrils? Love her? God knows he -did. - -But she was a child—and a child can forget—at the worst retain a not -ungracious memory. But he was a man, on the verge of hideous villainy. -And he stood in his college room, surrounded by all that symbolized the -intellectual life that up to then had been the meaning of his existence, -and he looked around. - -“The whole lot will have to go to blazes,” said he. - -And at that moment he cut the Gordian knot. - -His wife? She hated him: why, he could not tell; but she missed few -opportunities of showing her rancour. He had striven desperately to win -her esteem, at the cost of much swallowed pride. Some months had passed -since the last pitiable reconciliation. . . . Why had he married her? It -had not been for lack of warning. Perhaps the very traducing of her had -spurred him on. She was so fair and fragile, so pathetic in her -widowhood. A clamour of the senses, a prompting of chivalry, and the -thing was done. And she, widow of a phlegmatic don of Trinity, living in -Cambridge, was perhaps carried away by the glamour surrounding the -coming man in that tiny, academic world. - -“I wish you were dead,” were the last words he had heard her utter. He -snapped his fingers. She could have her desire. - -Baltazar packed his bag with necessaries, told his gyp that business -called him to London for some days, and left Cambridge forever. A month -afterwards he was on his way, under an assumed name, to China. - -The act of a fool perhaps. But has not one who knew called him the Fool -of Genius? Anyhow he had the courage and the wit to cut his life off -clean. The life of John Baltazar of Cambridge and that of James Burden -who, having landed at Shanghai, spent so many adventurous years in the -heart of China, might have been lived by two individuals who had never -heard of each other. That disappearance from England was the first -start, the consequence of the first violent fit. The first that -mattered. - -But there had been others. To one, his mind went back even as he asked -himself whether his confession to Quong Ho had been the proceeding of an -idiot. It had to do with the selfsame subject of that confession. The -period went back to his last undergraduate term, when he was as certain -of being Senior Wrangler as a Cardinal of being the best theologian in a -scratch company of parish priests. Carrying on to the beginning of term -an end of vacation revel, Baltazar took to evil courses. The slander -which, reported to young Godfrey Baltazar, Marcelle Baring had so -vehemently denied, had its basis in truth. He had discovered alcohol, -and for a time plunged, with his whole-souled fervour, into his -discovery. Then, one Spooner, the next in the Tripos running, a man -living entirely on his scholarships, a mild and pallid man of no -physical value whom the lusty Baltazar, after the way of vivid and -immature young men, despised, had the grand audacity to call on him and -expostulate with him on his excesses. Baltazar listened breathless. The -fellow ought to be going round with a show of freaks. He told him so. -Spooner waved aside the proposition and went on with his main argument. - -“You have every right to be Senior. There’s not one of us in it with -you. But if you go on playing the fool like this, anything may happen.” - -“That’s all to your personal advantage, my dear good missionary,” said -Baltazar. - -“You don’t seem to understand why I’ve come here,” replied Spooner. “I -don’t want to be Senior just because a man who’s infinitely better than -I is a drunken sot.” - -And they talked and bandied words a little, and then Baltazar saw -himself face to face with an exquisite soul. He gripped the lean -shoulders of the undeveloped, spectacled young man with his big hands. - -“I swear to God,” said he, “that I’ll not touch a drop of alcohol for -the next five years.” - -But he also swore to himself an oath of which Spooner was ignorant. He -swore that Spooner should be Senior. And he kept both vows. In the last -day’s Problem Paper he deliberately sacrificed himself. As a matter of -fact he just overdid it, for, to the mystification of all concerned in -the Tripos, he was placed third. But Spooner had the coveted -distinction. The Tripos over, everything fell before Baltazar, and he -was acknowledged the supreme mathematician of his year, and, in the -course of time, the greatest of his generation. - - * * * * * - -The difficulty, owing to its episodical character, of presenting the -early career of Baltazar, thus finds illustration. One might go back to -schoolboy days and point to lapses from grace, followed by similar swift -and ruthless decisions. To catalogue them all would require the patient -tediousness of formal biography. Apart from such a process, his life up -to his flight into the moorland wilderness can best be pictured by a -series of flashes. - -A sudden disgust with China and an overwhelming nostalgia for the -sweeter political life of England drove him home after eighteen years. -The greater part of the time he had spent in the impenetrable heart of -the vast country, speaking many dialects as well as the classical Wen-Li -of the learned, an encyclopædia of erudition, saturated with intimate -knowledge of Chinese custom and observance, a Chinaman in all but -physical appearance, dressing, living, acting and accepted universally -as a Chinaman, prospering as a Chinaman too in financial undertakings. -It was old China that he entered, a land stable in its peculiar -civilization which, in spite of many traditional oppressions and -time-sanctioned cruelties, had its fascination and grace—the gift to a -Mandarin of a precious and much-coveted ancient manuscript had purchased -the life of a boy, Li Quong Ho, condemned to elaborate death for a -venial offence, the transaction being carried out in an atmosphere of -high refinement, and scented tea served and drunk with exquisite -punctilio. It was old China that he had learned to love, with its sense -of beauty, its reverence for learning, its profound ethical philosophy. -But it was a new China, convulsed with new ideas, bloodthirsty, -treacherous, unstable to maddening point, that he had quitted in his -sudden and determined way. - -For eighteen years, in the interior of China, he had lived remote from -European politics. He had sunk himself in the lore, and identified -himself with the interests, of that ancient land. With no -correspondence, beyond the reach of newspapers, he all but forgot the -existence of Europe. Meeting his fellow-countrymen on the homeward -voyage, he shunned them, partly through shyness, partly through distaste -for the brusqueness of their manners, the high pitch of their voices, -their colossal ignorance of the country with which they boasted such -contemptuous familiarity, the narrowness of their outlook, the petty -materialism of their conversation. He held himself aloof, longing for -the real England at the end of the voyage. - -In London, the loneliest soul in the great city, he set himself to pick -up the threads of the life around him. He walked the familiar and -unwelcoming streets, at first dazed by the motor traction, then -bewildered by evidences of the luxury which eighteen years of decadence -had engendered. He visited new palaces of entertainment and came away -wondering. In fashionable supper-rooms he saw the flower of the land -dancing to what, as a scholar, he knew to be West African sexual -rhythms. He could not understand. What were they doing, or trying to do? -He would sit lonely at a table, a formally ordered drink before him, at -one of these great public haunts, and try to get the key to the mystery. -The decay of manners offended him. He discounted the fact that he had -lived so many intense years in the land of sacred ceremonial; he wiped -that out of his mind, and recalled the standard of his own youth. The -exiguity of feminine apparel shocked his unaccustomed eyes; in many -cases nothing from waist up but a sort of low palisade, scarcely -concealing the bust. Was he not mistaken? Was this not rather the scum -than the flower of modern England? But at neighbouring tables he had -overheard attention being directed to bearers of proud and historic -names. Then he asked himself the question: had he frequented such places -eighteen years ago? Had they not been outside the sphere of his narrow -academic life? He desired to judge justly. When did he leave England? In -1896. And his bachelor days, with their joyous London jaunts, had ended -in 1894. There was no such social life then: if there had been, he would -have heard of it. In the afternoons, too, these young men and maidens -danced their weird dances. - -Outside, the land was a-clamour with the doings of a sterner sisterhood. -Processions, mass meetings, virago riotings, picture slashings, -incendiarism, bombs, formed the features of their astounding crusade. -The newspapers, beyond the recounting of facts, with vivid descriptions -of sensational scenes, gave him little information as to the philosophy -of the movement. Politically the country seemed to be in a state of -chaotic turmoil. Persons holding high office were publicly accused of -corrupt financial practices. Parliament wrangled fiercely with the Army -over an _opéra bouffe_ condition of Irish affairs. Beneath all this -Labour uttered volcanic threatenings. Subversive ideas, new to him, such -as syndicalism, were in the air. Unintelligible criticisms of picture -exhibitions urged his curious steps to the indicated galleries, where he -came upon canvases that made his brain reel. A new Rip Van Winkle, he -had awakened to a mad world, a world even more perilously unstable than -the China which he had left. - -The solitary scholar found himself disastrously out of sympathy with it -all. He had planned to give himself a month’s holiday in London before -settling down, in some quiet and comfortable suburb, to the many years’ -work that lay before him on the materials he had brought from China. He -had formed no intention whatever of cutting himself off from communion -with his fellow-men. Indeed, he meant, as soon as he could rid himself -of the complications of his assumed name, to proclaim himself -unobtrusively to the world as John Baltazar. Before coming finally to -this decision, however, he must learn what had become of his wife, as he -had no desire to play the disconcerting part of a tactless Enoch Arden. -His first step on arriving at London had been to institute, through a -firm of solicitors, discreet enquiries. He learned that his wife had -been dead for thirteen years. He was at liberty to become John Baltazar -again as soon as he liked. But in London, as James Burden, he stayed at -the Savoy Hotel, a bewildered and disillusioned spectator of the modern -world. - -How did the catastrophe happen? Thinking over it, as he often thought -with shivers of disgust, in his moorland retreat, he could scarcely give -an answer. Only once, since his interview with the audacious Spooner, -had he given way to an overmastering impulse—and that was on his -journey out to Shanghai. Anti-climax, in the shape of sudden storm and -sea-sickness, cured him, and he vowed total abstinence all the time he -should be in China; and he kept his vow. Perhaps, here in London, -unaccustomed idleness and his disgust-filled loneliness drove him -gradually and insensibly to the consolation of alcohol. The odd drinks -during the day increased in number. He viewed a rosier London after a -quart of old Burgundy at dinner. To sit in a crowded cosmopolitan café -became his evening amusement, and the continuous consumption of brandies -and soda aided indulgent observation. He had given himself his month’s -holiday, and he meant to have it, no matter how joyless and -unsympathetic was the holiday atmosphere. Now and then, in these popular -resorts he picked casual acquaintanceship with a neighbour. He had the -gift of making his companion’s conversation intelligent and interesting. -On these occasions he drank less. - -But one solitary night intoxication for the first time overcame him. He -realized it with a feeling of anger. The lights were just being lowered. -He ordered a double liqueur brandy, in the crazy assurance that it would -pull him together. Of what happened afterwards he had little memory. In -the crowded street someone laid hold of him and, resentful of attack, he -turned and smote his supporter. To complete the outrage, a policeman -handled him roughly, a proceeding which he also violently resented. Then -a whirl of lights and darkness and lights again, and strange faces and -once more darkness absolute and final, until he awoke and found himself -sober and shivering in a police cell. A few hours afterwards, James -Burden, of no occupation, living at the Savoy Hotel, was fined forty -shillings or a month for being drunk and disorderly in Leicester Square. - -If it had been a magnificent folly, a royal debauch, a voluptuous orgy -of roses and wine and laughter and song and the pulsating lustiness of -life, the _dulce periculum_ of the follower of the Lenæan one brow-bound -with green vine-leaves, he might have held himself in some measure -excused. He had made no vow, he had no reason, to spurn the joyousness -of existence. He was a man of racing blood, with claim and right to the -gladness of physical things. But this sordid, solitary bout with its end -of vulgarity and degradation, filled him with a horror almost maddening -in its fierceness. His soul shrivelled at the ghastly humiliation. That -it should come upon him; him, John Baltazar, with half a century of -clean life behind him; him, John Baltazar, the man who had compelled -high honour for intellect and character from his childhood days, at a -Public School, at the University, as an unknown and prejudice-surrounded -foreigner in the strangest of alien lands; that it should come upon him -seemed like a phantasma or a hideous dream. - -And then it fell that he once more cut the Gordian knot. He would fly -from a world in which he had proved himself not fit to live cleanly, -with all the less reluctance because he had found it incomprehensible -and unattractive. And sitting dishevelled on the bed, he informed Quong -Ho of his decision. As soon as he had cleansed himself from the soil of -the awful night, he left the Savoy and the dishonoured name of James -Burden for ever, and took rooms at another hotel for the night as John -Baltazar. The next day he threw himself vehemently into the quest of a -hermitage. He remembered a desolate waste of moorland through which on a -walking tour he had rambled in his undergraduate days. - -“It may be, Quong Ho,” said he, “that it is built over with picture -palaces and swarming with tango-dancers. Any conceivable happening to -England during the last twenty years is possible. But we’ll go and see.” - -“I am unacquainted, sir,” replied Quong Ho, “with the dancers you -mention; but I have visited picture palaces during the fortnight we have -spent in your wonderful country, and, rightly exercised, the -cinematograph strikes me as being the most marvellous vehicle for the -propaganda of civilization that the world has seen.” - -“Quong Ho,” said Baltazar, “it is not in our contract to care one little -tuppenny damn for the propaganda of civilization. You’re not going to -waste your time at one of those futile and ill-conceived, although -ingenious, entertainments for the next three years. If the particular -region I have in view is not satisfactory, we shall find another.” - -Presently he added, in a tone of compunction—he was dressing while -Quong Ho packed: - -“I’m sorry I’ve had to cut short the time I intended you to have in -London. I badly wanted you to have some general idea of it.” - -“Sir,” replied Quong Ho, “without wishing to boast, I have grasped -London. I could find my way blindfolded from here to the Tower, the -House of Parliaments, the North End Road, Fulham, and that imperishable -objective record of your honourable nation’s history, the museum of -Madame Tussaud.” - -“All the points you have mentioned, Quong Ho,” said Baltazar, “are of -undoubted value—except the North End Road, Fulham. What the devil could -you find of interest in that drab region of nowhere?” - -Quong Ho’s usually smiling and mobile face became an expressionless -mask. - -“It marked the end of my peregrination in that direction,” he replied. - -“It strikes me,” said Baltazar, “that it’s time you peregrinated to a -more God-swept and intellectual atmosphere.” - -Three weeks afterwards they took up their residence at Spendale Farm. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - -BALTAZAR had lived on the moor in peace and comfort for nearly a year -when he received his first unsolicited communication from the outside -world, in the shape of a long, cheap envelope, headed “On His Majesty’s -Service,” and containing Income Tax assessment forms. For a moment he -wondered how the representatives of His Majesty had managed to ferret -him out in his retreat. - -“It’s a vile country,” said he to Quong Ho, who had handed him the -letter on returning from his weekly visit to the town. “It’s a -pettifogging, police-ridden land, where a man, if he so chooses, can’t -bury himself decently. I’m sure the King is not aware of this -unwarranted interference with the liberty of one of the most -self-effacing of his subjects.” - -“My mind was in half,” replied Quong Ho, “to destroy the missive which I -conjectured would cause you annoyance.” - -“It’s a good thing you didn’t. The King is an amiable gentleman, but the -High Mandarins from whom this proceeds are not to be trifled with.” He -glanced through the papers. “It is well,” said he, with a sigh of -relief. “The High Mandarins around the Throne are as yet ignorant of my -whereabouts; but if I refused to obey this invitation, they would soon -learn it. It is a pestilential minor official in the vicinity who for -the sake of money—it’s his disgusting mode of livelihood—has violated -my solitude.” - -“In the New China,” said Quong Ho, “we hope to do away with the -bureaucracy, which is a parasite on civilization.” - -“You won’t do it,” said Baltazar. “In the New Jerusalem—by which we -mean the Kingdom of Heaven—there is a Recording Angel, and you may bet -your boots he has got his staff of officials who write minutes and fill -up forms all Eternity long.” - -“Perfection,” remarked Quong Ho, “is to be found neither in this world -nor the next, but only in that harmonious principle of the soul which is -termed _li_ in the Confucian philosophy.” - -“Quong Ho,” said Baltazar in Chinese, “your wisdom befits rather the -honourable white beard of the teacher than the smooth-shaven chin of the -pupil of five-and-twenty.” - -Quong Ho bowed respectfully at the compliment and withdrew. - -“Confound the Income Tax!” said Baltazar, looking through the papers. He -had completely forgotten his liability. The sudden reminder vexed him. -Of course he must pay; but his income being exclusively derived from -investments, all of which were taxed at the source before the dividend -warrants were paid automatically into his account at his bankers’, why -should he be worried? He resented the intrusion on his privacy. - -A week later Quong Ho posted the form in the ironically provided, -penny-saving official envelope, and Baltazar dismissed the incident from -his mind. - -When some time afterwards his assessment paper arrived, it caused him -some astonishment. He cast his memory back twenty years. In 1896 the -Income Tax, if he remembered rightly, was inconsiderable, some sixpence -in the pound. Now it was half a crown. He filled up the form, an easy -task, thinking less than ever of the social condition of Modern England; -such high direct taxation could only mean the desperate financial -straits of a decadent country. Well, as far as he was concerned, the -loss of one-eighth of his income did not matter. The initial expenses of -his installation at Spendale Farm over, he scarcely spent a third of it. - -The next disturbing document that found its way to Spendale Farm -contained a searching series of questions, headed “National -Registration.” - -“I am ceasing to regard England as a fit place to live in,” said he, -with some petulance. “This is Mandarinism run riot.” - -A few weeks afterwards he received a neat little card folded in two, on -the outside of which was printed a vile semblance of the Royal Coat of -Arms and “National Registration Act, 1915,” and inside a certificate of -the Registration of (_a_) John Baltazar, (_b_) Philosophical -Investigator—for as such had he irritably described himself—(_c_) of -Spendale Farm, Water-End. There was a space for the signature of Holder, -and below it in great capitals “God Save the King.” On the back were -directions as to change of address. - -“God knows what’s coming over the country,” said he. “It appears that a -free-born Englishman has got to carry about his police papers, as people -have to do in disgusting countries like Germany and Russia. What about -you, Quong Ho? Have you got a pretty little document like this?” - -“I am registered as an alien,” replied Quong Ho. - -“It seems to me,” said Baltazar, “that when I used to gas to you about -our free British institutions I was nothing but an ignorant liar.” - -“By no means, sir,” replied Quong Ho politely. “The keynote of the -modern world is change. What was true of material things yesterday is a -lie to-day.” - -“How did you discover that?” - -“I assume the little town of Water-End to be but a microcosm of Great -Britain.” - -“Why,” laughed Baltazar, “what signs of change do you see there?” - -Quong Ho remained for a moment silent, and his face assumed its Oriental -impassivity. If he reported to his master the astounding events that -were taking place, even at Water-End, whose quiet High Street was -a-bustle with newly fledged soldiery from the moorland camp three miles -on the further side, he would not only risk the dissolution of the -establishment, but would be guilty of filial disobedience, which was -impiety. And the European War, after all, how could it concern him, Li -Quong Ho? Perhaps, too, his master, foreseeing the tempest, particularly -desired to take shelter and hear nothing at all about it. He was -fortunate enough, however, to find a perfectly true reply to Baltazar’s -question. He smiled in some relief; for an intellectual Chinaman, -trained in the lofty morality of the Chinese classics, does not -willingly lie. - -“It is a woman and not a man who now delivers the letters in Water-End.” - -Baltazar continued to laugh: “They’ll be driving the motor-cars soon.” - -“I’ve seen them doing it,” said Quong Ho. - -“I’m not surprised,” said his master. “They were tending that way a year -ago. These new women are out for the devirilization of man. Perhaps by -this time they’re in Parliament, passing firework legislation and -playing the devil with all our laws and customs. You haven’t yet heard, -by any chance, whether the occupation of monthly nursing is confined -exclusively to the male sex?” - -“The enactment, if such there be,” replied Quong Ho solemnly, “is not, -to my knowledge, in force in this remote locality.” - -“Let us thank the gods, Quong Ho,” said Baltazar, “that we’re out of -this feminist hurly-burly. The little I saw of the movement was -antipathetic to my philosophy of life. A society in which women regard -the bearing of children as a physical accident of no account, and deny -the responsibilities which such an event entails, must be doomed to -decay, or, at the best, to bitter disillusionment. The more I hear of -contemporary England the less I like it. It seems to be woman-ridden; -curiously enough by two camps in apparent opposition, but in reality -waging joint warfare on man. The world has never yet beheld such a sex -campaign. One section demands luxury beyond the dreams of Byzantium at -its rottenest, and the other claims supreme political power.” - -“It is well, sir,” said Quong Ho, “that you repudiated the imbecile -suggestion of the House Agent to the effect that you should employ a -woman housekeeper of mature age to superintend this establishment.” - -“It is lucky for you, Quong Ho, that I did,” grinned Baltazar. “She -would have made you sit up.” - -Quong Ho, with clasped hands and lowered head, respectfully asserted -himself. “If I do not sit up sufficiently for your satisfaction, sir, it -is for you to reprimand me.” - -“I only spoke in jest, Quong Ho,” said Baltazar. “Our Western humour is -rather subtle.” - -“I will make a note of it,” replied Quong Ho. - -“By such notation and accumulation of detail one gathers knowledge,” -said Baltazar. “By co-ordination one acquires wisdom. Continue on this, -the only path of philosophy, and your old age will be blessed. In the -meantime, please keep your observations of changes at Water-End to -yourself.” - -“Obedience to your honourable commands, my master,” replied Quong Ho, in -Chinese, “is the sacred duty of this entirely inconsiderable person. But -may one so inferior as myself humbly remind your illustrious greatness -that it was you who originally propounded to me a question which I was -bound to answer.” - -“The fact that I did so,” replied Baltazar, “you may note as an instance -of the human fallibility of the sublimest minds. Fear not but that I -will profit by your lesson.” - -He waved a dismissing hand. Quong Ho bowed with the perfect ceremonial -of pupil taking leave of master and retired. Baltazar threw himself into -his arm-chair and laughed aloud. - -“You’re a joy, Quong Ho. A perfect joy. A museum specimen of a joy.” - -So while Baltazar delighted in the unhumorous literalness of the -Chinaman, it never occurred to him that he was the dupe of the -unhumorous literalness of the Chinaman’s fidelity; that while he was -inveighing against speculative phenomena of an ill-understood movement, -the trumpet of war had transformed that movement into an apotheosis of -feminine effort of which Quong Ho, keenly intellectual, was perfectly -well aware; and that it was only by the pious grace of his pupil and -servant that he lived a day in his fool’s paradise. - -When Quong Ho, a week afterwards, brought him his meagre mail, he -angrily crushed in his fist and threw aside the enclosure of the first -envelope which he had opened. - -“I’m hanged if this isn’t a begging circular! It’s infernal impudence! -It’s an intolerable outrage on one’s personal liberty. Here, Quong -Ho!”—he swept the remainder of the mail into the Chinaman’s hand. -“Don’t let me be worried with any more letters. I’ve come down here to -be quiet and not to be badgered. If there are bills to pay, make out the -cheques and I’ll sign them. If there are circulars, throw them away. -About anything else use your discretion.” - -“I will exactly execute your orders,” replied Quong Ho. - -Thus Baltazar finally severed relations between himself and the outside -world. Quong Ho acted the perfect Private Secretary. The only letters -presented to his master for perusal were rare business communications -from booksellers instructed to purchase some out-of-the-way and possibly -expensive book. Circular letters, containing appeals for subscriptions, -which poured in, as soon as Baltazar’s name eventually found its way on -the address-lists of the neighbourhood, Quong Ho conscientiously -destroyed. Using his discretion, he withheld letters from the Bank -inviting investments in War Loans. Such, in his opinion, were further -intrusions on the sacred privacy of his master. And thus the weeks and -months passed by; and Quong Ho, in touch with even such an outpost of -civilization as the tiny moorland town and bringing to that contact the -most highly trained incuriosity, could not avoid gathering the current -tidings of the vast world conflict; but, faithful to his commands, he -said never a word to Baltazar, gave never a hint of the stupendous -convulsion in which the world was involved. And while his master, serene -doctrinaire, discoursed on the political science of the nineties, now -being blown to smithereens by German guns, he maintained the reverential -attitude of the disciple, drinking in as gospel truth the wisdom of his -inspired teacher. - -One evening, when Baltazar had praised the clear solution of certain -problems which he had set in Differential Equations, and prophesied a -glorious career for the most brilliant mathematician China had ever -produced, Quong Ho, after gratefully acknowledging the encomium, said: - -“If you will forgive my indiscretion, I should like to ask a question. -Why is it, sir, that you, who take such great interest in the -future—for example, my inconsiderable and negligible prospects, and the -benefits that will accrue to humanity on the publication of the -thought-shaking results of your own profound researches,—should be so -indifferent to the present condition of the world?” - -“For the simple reason, my good fellow,” replied Baltazar, “that, from -what I have observed, the present condition of mankind—from China to -Peru, as your newly found friend Dr. Johnson says—is putrescent. The -best way in which we can serve mankind is to do what we’re doing now—to -provide for the intellectual development of the future generation.” - -“The proposition is unanswerable,” said Quong Ho. “But suppose, sir, for -the sake of argument, that a philosophic observation of the civilized -world as it is should result in the conclusion that, in the English -idiom, it is proceeding fast to the devils—what is the duty of the man -of high morality?” - -“To let it go slap-dash,” said Baltazar. “The faster and surer, the -better. For then the sooner will the eternal rhythm, the eternal -principle of balance, assert itself. When a society is rushing down to -Gadarene suicide——” - -“I beg your pardon, sir,” interrupted the alert Quong Ho. “Gad—I do not -understand the word.” - -“Read the Gospel according to St. Mark to-morrow. You’ve heard of St. -Mark?” - -“You might as well ask me, sir, if I had heard of Confucius or Homer, or -the immortal Todhunter of my childhood.” - -Baltazar rubbed his brown thatch and turned his luminous grey eyes on -his disciple. - -“The immensity of your purview, Quong Ho, is only equalled by your -lightning perception of landmarks. Anyhow, read St. Mark over again, and -tell me your opinion of the swine of Gadara. For the moment, I’d have -you know that you’ve interrupted my argument. I was saying that if -everything’s going to the devil—that’s the correct idiom—not -proceeding to devils——” - -“May I make a note of it?” said Quong Ho, scribbling the phrase across -his mathematical manuscript. - -Baltazar rose from his chair by the long deal table and relit his pipe -over the chimney of a lamp. - -“You’ve put me out. What the blazes were we talking about?” - -“The present world condition,” replied Quong Ho. - -“Then I assert,” said Baltazar, “that the present state of the world is -rotten. It’s no place for intellectual reformers like you and me. What -are the words of Confucius known to every schoolboy? ‘_With sincerity -and truth unite a desire for self-culture. Lay down your life rather -than quit the path of virtue. Enter not a state which is tottering to -its fall. When Law obtains in the Empire let yourself be seen: when -lawlessness reigns, retire into obscurity._’” - -“But supposing,” persisted Quong Ho, “the state of the devil-driven -world is of vital interest?” - -“It can be of vital interest only to those hurtling down to destruction. -To us, who have retired into the obscure aloofness recommended by the -great philosopher, it can be of no possible concern.” - -“It is well,” said Quong Ho. - -“I know it is,” remarked Baltazar, with a yawn. “Another night let us -have a slightly more intelligent conversation.” - -Quong Ho retired, his conscience finally set at rest. After all, was not -his master right? What could he do of any use in the world rudely at -war? Was he not serving the truest interests of humanity by retiring at -this juncture and devoting the harvest of his great learning to a future -generation? - -“Soldiers,” said Quong Ho the next day, looking into the unspeculative -topaz eyes of the goat which he had been milking, “are as numerous as -the sands of the desert, and politicians as the mosquitoes in a swamp; -they are swept away and the world misses them not; but philosophers are -rare, and the loss of one of them is a supreme world calamity.” - -“Baa-a-a!” said the goat. - -“I perceive that you too have wisdom,” said Quong Ho. “You appreciate -the privilege of living under the same roof as the illustrious -Baltazar.” - -He burst into an unaccustomed laugh. Conversation with a goat appealed -to his prim sense of humour. But all the same, he expressed his own -deeply-rooted conviction. To the keen-brained young Chinaman, Baltazar -appeared as a man of stupendous intellectual force. His knowledge of the -abstract sciences of the Western world would have commanded his respect; -but his vast Chinese erudition, acknowledged with admiration by -Mandarins and scholars and other Great Ones of China, gave Quong Ho -cause for a veneration reaching almost to idolatry. - -Also Baltazar, for all his patriarchal years, earned his pupil’s respect -as a man of marvellous muscle and endurance. During the winter, when the -inclemency of the weather forbade agricultural pursuits—and on that -moorland waste the weather abandoned itself to every capricious devildom -within meteorological possibilities—Baltazar, having ordered a set of -gloves from London, gave boxing lessons to his disciple. At first Quong -Ho was shocked. How could so contemptible a person as he ever make a -pretence of smiting the highly honourable face of his master? Baltazar -bade him try. He would give him an hour’s extra private tuition for -every hit. And Quong Ho, encouraged by so splendid a prize, tried, at -first diffidently, then earnestly, then zealously, then desperately, -then bald-headedly, but never a wild blow could pass the easy guard of -his smiling master. - -“You see, Quong Ho, it’s a science,” said Baltazar. “Now I’m going to -hit you.” And he feinted and struck out with his left and sent his -disciple swinging across the room. “It is also a game,” he added, -holding up his hand, “because what I have just done did not hurt you in -the least.” - -Quong Ho rubbed his jaw. “It was like the kiss of a butterfly,” said he. - -“Here endeth the First Lesson,” said Baltazar. “The English etiquette -now requires that we should shake hands.” - -When they had gone through the formality Baltazar continued: - -“You of all non-English people oughtn’t to be astonished. Did not the -same ceremony exist in your country over two thousand years ago? Is it -not referred to in the Analects?” - -“Sir,” said the breathless and perspiring Quong Ho, “I have unworthily -forgotten.” - -“Did not the Master say: ‘_The true gentleman is never contentious. If a -spirit of rivalry is anywhere unavoidable, it is at a shooting-match. -Yet even here he courteously salutes his opponents before taking up his -position_’—we ought to have shaken hands before starting, but we’ll do -it next time—‘_and again when, having lost, he retires to drink the -forfeit-cup_’—your forfeit-cup being the loss of the extra hours of -tuition. ‘_So that even when competing, he remains a true gentleman._’” - -“I remember now,” said Quong Ho. - -“I’m glad you do,” replied Baltazar. “That is the lofty spirit in which -we shall continue this exceedingly health-giving science and pastime.” - -And they continued. The young Chinaman, lithe, hard, physically perfect, -little more than half the age of his tutor, devoted himself, with his -Chinese assiduity, to the mastery of the fascinating art, and succeeded -eventually in giving Baltazar most interesting encounters; he realized -that fierce blows planted on venerable features were taken, nay -applauded, in the spirit of the Confucian gentleman; he also accepted in -the same gentlemanly way the hammering that he invariably received. It -was after some months of this training, when he was able to discount -merely superior science, that he bowed down before Baltazar not only as -before an intellect, but as before a marvellous physical man. - -There came a truce, however—the following winter—when Baltazar, wise -in his elderly generation, foresaw the inevitable supremacy of youth, -and ordered new toys from London—foils, masks and fencing jackets. The -gloves mouldered in a broken-down potting-shed, and Quong Ho again -started, as a tyro, to learn a new athletic accomplishment. Thus in his -disciple’s sound body Baltazar contrived to maintain a sound and humble -mind. He knew that he was held in deep respect by Quong Ho. But it never -occurred to his careless mind that Quong Ho regarded him as a kind of -god. He accepted the homage as a matter of course. - -In these idyllic conditions John Baltazar accounted himself serenely -happy. His scholarly solitude was undisturbed by the windy ways of men -or the windy ways of moorland nature. The former spent themselves before -reaching him; at the latter he snapped his fingers. What to him was the -seasons’ difference? So absorbed was he in his work, so circumscribed in -his walled enclosure beyond which he seldom set foot, that he barely -even noticed the hourly change on the sensitive face of the moor. And -season followed season, and the piles of manuscript, exquisitely -corrected for the printer, grew in height, and Quong Ho assimilated -Higher Mathematics as though it were rice; and everything was for the -best in the best of all possible little intellectual worlds. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - -SUCH, as far as a few strokes can picture him, was John Baltazar, at the -time when his unsuspected son lay footless in the convalescent home and -discussed with Marcelle Baring the mystery of his existence. A man of -many failings, many intolerances, of some ruthlessness. A man both -sensitive and hard; both bold and shrinking; with the traditional habits -of the ostrich and the heart of a lion. A man apparently given to -extravagances of caprice; and yet remaining always constant to himself, -preserving also throughout his strange career a perfect unity of -character. Perhaps, regarding him from another point of view, his -detractors may say that he loved to play to himself as audience and, -further, put that audience in the gallery. Why not? It is in the essence -of human consciousness that a man must, in some measure, be an actor to -himself. The degree depends on the human equation. Dumas _fils_ once -said of his immortal semi-mulatto father: “He is quite capable of -getting up behind his own carriage, in order to persuade people that he -keeps a black footman.” A savage epigram. But it would have been a -deeper truth if he had said that the wonder of a man who was his father, -was capable of doing it, in order to persuade himself that he kept a -black footman. The more we limit the audience to the man himself, the -more we love him. The more human does the vivid creature appear to us. -If Baltazar played to that audience of one, he had many illustrious -colleagues. If again his method was melodramatic, it at least had -breadth. It dealt with big issues in a broad and simple way. . . . - -“That’s what I love about the three great systems of Chinese ethics,” he -would declare. “There’s no damned subtlety about them. You accept the -various propositions or you, don’t. There are no _homoousian_ and -_homoiousian_ conflicts, and suchlike rubbish, that have torn Western -thought to ribbons for over a thousand years. In China you go straight -to the heart of truth. All the subtlety lies, Quong Ho, in the correct -interpretation of your appalling but fascinating script.” - -This was a rough profession of faith, almost an analysis of character. -The intellect of the mathematician delighted in the process of arriving -at exactness of statement, but at the same time that statement’s -philosophic simplicity appealed to a nature fundamentally simple. - -He abhorred complications. That was his weakness. He claimed, -unphilosophically, the absolute. Hence the abandonment of his academical -career, involving at the same time the merciless abandonment of his -wife. Hence the clean cut of his career in China, where a little supple -coquetting with political corruption would have brought him great wealth -and power. Hence the impenetrable wall he had now contrived between -himself and the rest of mankind. He had no power of compromise. - -Thus an attempt has been made to answer the question which Marcelle -Baring vainly put to herself that sleepless night on her return from -London, when a boy’s artless admiration had opened springs of sentiment -which she had thought deliberately sealed forever; the question asked by -Godfrey Baltazar; the same question which almost simultaneously John -Baltazar put to himself, while leaning over the gate in the glory of the -moorland sunset; which, in a wistful, speculative way, he continued to -put to himself after Quong Ho, with new lights on Elliptic Functions and -the philosophy of Lao-Tze and the Ethics of Love—for the severe lesson -in mathematics was always followed by an hour’s improving conversation -on general matters—had retired for the night, leaving him to his last -pipe and his last spell of work. But the discussion on the Ethics of -Love disturbed his more studious thought and brought back the question -which a few hours before had idly flitted across his brain. - -Quong Ho had said, somewhat diffidently, in his own language: “Master, -may this inconsiderable person seek the solution of an intimate problem -from one who is a supreme authority on all things concerning human -conduct?” - -“Fire away,” said Baltazar in English. - -“Thank you, sir; I will proceed to fire. When I left China I was a young -man of no account, the son of peasants long since defunct, your -body-servant, almost your slave, because you purchased my life.” - -“We can stow all that,” said Baltazar. - -“With your honourable permission, by no means. I was reckoned in -Chen-Chow only as a hopper of clods——” - -“Eh? Oh yes. Go on,” smiled Baltazar. - -“I saw the daughter of Fung Yu, the gardener of the palace——” - -“I remember the old villain. He had a daughter?” - -“There were negotiations in progress,” Quong Ho went on. “The young -woman was eminently desirable. She was virtuous and obedient, and not -devoid of physical attractiveness. When I followed you, sir, from China, -I left the affair between myself and Fung Yu in a state of suspended -animation.” - -“You mean Fung Yu’s daughter? In our more brutal idiom it comes to -this—that you’re in love with a little girl in China—and she possibly -with you—and you’ve run away and don’t know what the devil to do.” - -“Her feelings,” replied Quong Ho calmly, “do not concern me. I doubt -whether she has any of sentimental importance. It is with my own -honourable conduct that I am preoccupied. I left China a person to whom -Fung Yu would condescend: I return as a personage of high intellectual -repute. I shall be able to seek a bride of a far higher social position -than the daughter of Fung Yu. That is not all. My study of English -literature has given me new conceptions of the intellectual -companionship of married life. In the New China there are certainly -young girls of high educational standard, among whom I might find one -who could understand what I was talking about when I spoke of such -philosophical topics as interested me. The point that, as a very young -and humble man, I wish to submit to your infallible wisdom, for my -guidance, is this: am I bound, as an honourable fellow, to marry, in Old -China, the flower-like but cabbage-ignorant daughter of Fung Yu, the -gardener, or am I justified in cutting the Rubicon and seeking in the -New China for a real helpmate?” - -“Before proceeding,” replied Baltazar, with the bantering light in his -grey eyes that Quong Ho could never interpret, “will you make a note for -a conversation to-morrow on Mixture of Metaphors?” Quong Ho produced his -notebook. “Yes, just that entry. Mixture of Metaphors. Good,” said he, -when the methodical young Chinaman had obeyed. “Side issues, like that, -have their great importance; but they must be followed after the main -course has been traversed. The whole point of the matter is: how far -have you committed yourself with the girl?” - -Quong Ho started back in his straight-backed wooden chair—they were -still side by side at the lamplit centre of the long deal table—and -held up his hands. - -“Committed myself? Oh no. The only time I ever addressed her was on one -occasion when I relieved her of the burden of a vessel of water from the -well to her house. But I have spoken very seriously to Fung Yu.” - -“Fung Yu can go to blazes,” said Baltazar. - -Quong Ho smiled. “I alone could give evidence that would condemn him to -a perpetuity of punishment.” - -“So could I,” cried Baltazar. “Graft! If Tammany Hall really wanted to -know how to do things, it ought to sit like a little child at the feet -of a high-class Mandarin’s head-gardener. Fung Yu’s the real thing.” - -“He is a corrupt personality,” said Quong Ho. - -“Therefore,” replied Baltazar, “he is not the kind of person with whom -an honourable man should seek alliance. As to the lady, her young -affections are obviously unblighted, and very possibly by this time she -is married and the mother of twins. My advice is to dismiss Fung Yu and -his flower-like yet cabbage-ignorant daughter forever from your mind.” - -“I shall follow your gracious counsel,” replied Quong Ho. And the -intimate conversation ended. - -But it hung around the thoughts of Baltazar for the rest of the night. -Quong Ho was young. Quong Ho had looked upon a daughter of men and found -her fair. In his Chinese self-repressing way he had had his romance. Now -it was over. He pitied Quong Ho. Yet, after a year or so of probation, -the young man, lusty in his youth and confident in his future, would -return to his native land heart-whole, with all the romance of life -still before him—whilst he, Baltazar, would re-enter a world from which -all such things were blotted out for ever. For what of romance could lie -before a man of fifty—one who had lost all touch with women and women’s -ways? For the first time a fear of loneliness sent a shiver through him. -It was not natural for a man to have neither wife nor child. It was but -half an existence; a deliberate spurning of duties and glories and -fulfilled achievement. And his own one romance? Had he been justified in -destroying its gossamer web? It was all very long ago; but the beauty of -it lingered exquisite in his heart. Had he been a mere fool? Were the -results to him and to her worth the sacrifice? And, after all, was he -sure that the results to her had been beneficial rather than disastrous? -He sighed, consoled himself with the reflections that she must now have -around her a family of sons and daughters, and that if ever she gave him -a thought, it was to bless Heaven for her narrow escape; and, so -fortified, he went on with his work. - -When he awoke the next morning, the chastened retrospective mood had -passed. After his tea and cold tub, he sat down to the table by the -eastern window through which the morning sun was streaming, setting the -gorse ablaze and the heather blood-red, and attacked the final chapter -of his epoch-making Treatise on the Theory of Groups. The thrill of a -great thing accomplished held him as he wrote. Such moments were worth -living. He breakfasted with the appetite of a man who had earned a right -to the material blessings of life. He went out, groomed the old grey -mare and cleaned out the stable and dug up a patch of ground, rejoicing, -like a young man, in his strength and in the fresh beauty of the day. On -his return to his study he reviewed affectionately the monuments of two -years’ labour. The Treatise of the Theory of Groups, all but complete, -lay in one neat pile of manuscript. Another represented further serious -adventures into the Analytical Geometry of a Four-Dimensional Space than -mortal man had ever undertaken. Who could tell whither those adventures -could lead? Pure mathematics had demonstrated the existence of the -planet Neptune in space of three dimensions. Pure mathematics applied to -four dimensions might prove and explain many transcendental phenomena. -The next world might be four-dimensional and the spirits of the dead who -inhabit it could easily enter confined three-dimensional space. That was -Cayley’s ingenious theory of Ghosts. You could carry it further to space -of five, six, _n_ dimensions; when you could treat the geometry of space -of infinite dimensions as Euclid did the geometry of plane surfaces, you -would have solved the riddle of the universe; you would have come direct -to the Godhead. He turned lovingly over the leaves of the completed -portion of this fascinating essay; also the neighbouring piles of rough -notes, the results of laborious years in China. Another section of the -long deal table was devoted to his translations and editions of the -Chinese classics and to ancient Chinese MSS. and books, his originals -and authorities. The final scholarly translation into English of the -great book of the Tao-tze—The Book of Rewards and Punishments—so full -of deep wisdom, artlessness and charm, rose in three-part completion. It -would knock dear old Stanislas Julien’s French version of 1835 into a -cocked hat. He had collated libraries undreamed of by Julien or by any -subsequent scholar. It would make all the missionaries and consuls and -other amateur sinologists wish they had never been born. . . . Then -again were the Shih-King—the Psalms of ancient China, resonant with -music, bewildering with imagery, vibrating with emotion, hitherto done -into English—_done in_ into English—he chuckled as the mild jest -occurred to him—by a worthy, prosaic and very learned missionary, much -out of sympathy with ancient China because it had never heard of Jesus -Christ before He was born—there were the Shih-King in process of -reverent and, as far as his power lay, of poetic translation. He took -down from his shelves the volume containing the solemnly authoritative -English text published by the Oxford University Press, and opened it at -random. He read: - -“_The angry terrors of compassionate Heaven extend through this lower -world._ (_The King’s_) _counsels and plans are crooked and bad; when -will he stop_ (_in his course_)_? Counsels that are good he will not -follow. And those that are not good he employs. When I look at his -counsels and plans, I am greatly pained._” - -He laughed out loud, shut the book and returned it to the shelf. - -“‘I am greatly pained’! Oh, my Lord!” - -He searched his manuscript for his own version, and read it through with -a satisfaction not devoid of smugness. A professional poet might have -found, like the Chinese writer, the inevitable word, the sacred flash; -but, after all, he had made the thing deadened by the learned Oxford -professor live again; he had suggested some of the music and the grace -of the original—enough to attract and not to repel the ordinary English -reader. And with all that, he would like to see any man, Chinese or -European, pick a hole in his scholarship. - -He lit his pipe, and before settling down to work again surveyed the -great mass of his achievement. Life was truly worth living, when, during -its brief span, such great things could be done. With a short interval -for luncheon, he worked steadily on through the day, sacrificing his -accustomed spell of outdoor exercise, and when Quong Ho, who had changed -his nondescript European working kit for the cool, immaculate Chinese -dress, announced that dinner would be ready in a quarter of an hour, he -had all but written Finis to his Treatise on the Theory of Groups. - -“Lord!” said he, “I must wash and get a mouthful of fresh air.” He -whistled to the dog, Brutus, who had lain at his feet most of the -afternoon, and went off. When he got outside, he discovered, to his -surprise, for he had sat in front of a window all the time, that a white -mist had gathered on the moorland and that his horizon as he stood on -his doorstep was scarcely bounded by his rude granite wall. The fog -covered him in like a cupola. He patted the Airedale’s head and smiled, -well content in this increased security of his isolation. - -“We might, be the last living beings on the face of the globe,” said he -to Quong Ho, who came to announce dinner. - -“Yes, sir,” said Quong Ho. - -Baltazar shot a humorous glance at him: “The idea doesn’t seem to -provoke you to radiant enthusiasm.” - -“I fail to see, sir,” replied Quong Ho, “who, in that hypothetical case, -would benefit by your illuminating editions of the Chinese classics, and -what advantage it would be to me to continue the severe study of -Elliptic Functions.” - -“I’m afraid you’re a dismal utilitarian,” said his master, passing by -him into the house. “Yet I suppose you’re right,” he added a few moments -afterwards, as he sat down to table and unfolded his napkin. “If we were -the only two people left in the world, we’d very soon chuck our -intellectual pursuits. I don’t think I care a damn for the things -themselves. As far as I am solely and personally concerned, this -excellent bit of grilled salmon is infinitely more vital than the -discovery of any mathematical truth. The latter has only value as it -relates to the progress of humanity. If there is no humanity, it is -valueless. It won’t help me on worth a cent. But the salmon, a typical -edible, is essential to the physical existence of ME. So I should let -Chinese philosophy and the Higher Mathematics go hang, and confine -myself to the chase of salmon or rabbits or roots or acorns—and so -would you—and in a very few years we should be hairy, long-nailed -savages, flying at each other’s throats for the last succulent bit of -Brutus.” - -The dog, hearing his name, rested his long chin against his master’s -knee and regarded him with wistful eyes. - -“No, old son,” laughed Baltazar, giving him a morsel of salmon, “we’re -not at that point yet. Make your mind easy. You and I and Quong Ho will -take our work out into the hurrying markets of the earth and find -justification for all these lonely days. Although we’re temporary -recluses, we’re valuable citizens of the world. We deserve more salmon.” - -Quong Ho presented the dish, and Baltazar and Brutus got their deserts. - -Presently Quong Ho brought in lamb cutlets with fresh peas from the -garden, which Baltazar attacked with relish. - -“Quong Ho,” said Baltazar, “you’re a wonder. Is there anything you can’t -do?” - -The young man smiled bland recognition of the compliment, but said -nothing. As Baltazar’s body-servant he refrained from familiar -conversation. But Baltazar was in an expansive mood. He went on: - -“You cook for me enchantingly. You serve me perfectly. Your attitude, -Quong Ho, is one of the most exquisite tact. But if we were the last two -persons on the earth, you would see me damned before you would devote -yourself to my personal comfort in this unrestricted manner.” - -“I think not,” replied Quong Ho. “The truths of religion would not be -affected by the annihilation of the human race. To you, who are to me -_in loco parenti_——” - -“_Parentis_, my dear fellow. It’s Latin. Make a note of it.” - -“I do so, mentally,” said Quong Ho. “To you, sir, who are to me in the -place of a parent, I owe filial obligation, and therefore I should not -see you damned before I administered to your wants.” - -“Rubbish!” said Baltazar, with a wave of his hand. - -“I speak the truth,” said Quong Ho gravely. - -Baltazar did not reply, but devoted himself to the cutlets and peas. - -Quong Ho performed the sacred rite of the offering of wine. The meal was -concluded in its nice formality of conventional life, and after coffee -Baltazar lit his pipe and sat down to his usual hour’s mental -relaxation. But his mind wandered from _The Caxtons_, which he had taken -down from the shelves, to Quong Ho’s quiet profession of loyalty. For -all his intimate knowledge of the Chinese character, this perhaps was -the first time that he realized the depth of the young man’s real -affection. And suddenly it occurred to him that he also was greatly -attached to Quong Ho; not only through habit, or implicit trust, or -gratitude for essential co-operation in carrying out his eccentric -scheme of life; but by ties very simple and homely. Bacon, speaking of -man, says: “If he have not a friend, he may quit the stage.” Baltazar -glowed with the thought that he could still act his part as a human -being. He had his friend. Indeed, he had had one for all these months, -and even years, without knowing it. The loneliness of soul which he had -accepted as his portion from the time of his flight from Cambridge, and -for the last day or two he had begun to dread, was filled by the -incongruous sympathy of the young Chinaman. Hitherto he had accepted his -fidelity as a matter of course; he had rewarded it by scrupulous -observance of his obligations. But it had been his good pleasure to -regard his disciple as a human and intellectual toy, all the more -delectable for his lack of the humorous sense. To pull well-known -strings and elicit platitudes expressed in the solemnity of his -classically learned English had been his mischievous delight. But—“I -speak the truth,” Quong Ho had said; and the accent in which he had said -it was one of grave conviction, even of rebuke. - -He took up his book again and almost immediately let it drop. - -“If I lost Quong Ho, what the devil would become of me?” He threw the -book on to the floor and leaned back in his arm-chair, pipe in mouth, -his hands clasped behind his head. In the whole wide world of hundreds -of millions of people, he had not a single friend, save Quong Ho. He had -been very dense not to realize before the elementary truth that -individual life is not supportable by itself. Newton’s Third Law of -Motion—_to every action there is always opposed an equal reaction_—was -a law of life. The incessant reaction on the individual would be death. -One other nature at least was needed for the distribution and -application of vital forces, and in their mutual action and reaction -could alone be found the compensation that was safety, sanity, normal -human existence. And the more attuned were the part of the reciprocal -human machine, the greater the compensation; this human adjustment had -its degrees: understanding, friendship, affection, culminating in -love—the perfect state. - -When Quong Ho appeared, books and papers as usual under his arm, -Baltazar waved an inviting arm. - -“Take a chair, Quong Ho, and let us talk. Elliptic Functions are too -inhuman for me to-night.” - -Quong Ho put his burden down on the table and brought up a -straight-backed, rush-bottomed chair, and sat down stiffly, facing his -master, who took up his parable. - -“I’ve been thinking of what you said at dinner. You touched on a -spiritual aspect of the hypothetical emotion we were discussing which -did not occur to me. What made you do it?” - -“Sir,” replied Quong Ho, “if you will permit me to speak my thoughts, I -cannot separate life into two watertight departments——” - -“_Com_partments,” murmured Baltazar, through force of habit. - -Quong Ho bowed. “I recollect. To resume. I cannot separate life into two -watertight compartments—the material and the spiritual. It appears to -me to be the subtle interfusion, the solemnization of holy matrimony, -between the two.” - -“One of the charms, my son, of your conversation,” laughed Baltazar, “is -its unexpected allusiveness.” - -Quong Ho rose and made a deep bow. “You have called me, sir, by a term -which overwhelms me with filial gratitude.” - -Baltazar, who had used the word deliberately, held out his hand. - -“I believe,” said he in Chinese, “in your profession of a son’s -affection, and therefore I admit you to the position. After a year or so -our lives will materially be separated, but spiritually they will run -the same course.” - -“This is the happiest and most fortunate day of my life,” said Quong Ho. - -“Without going into superlatives,” replied Baltazar in English, “I may -reciprocate the sentiment.” - -They talked on, developing the idea of wedding of the material and the -spiritual, branching off into fascinating side-tracks, as men of alert -intelligence delight to do in conversation, and coming back now and then -with the flash of unexpectedness to the main issue. They touched on the -hermits of Thebaïd. - -“Their outlook,” said Baltazar, “was exclusively spiritual, -fundamentally selfish. They were out to save their own silly, -unimportant souls from hell-fire, and nothing else mattered. Egotism -raised to infinity. Our retirement has nothing at all in common with -theirs.” - -“Sir,” said Quong Ho, “since we are speaking very seriously, may I, -without indiscretion, ask you whether you too are not out to save your -soul?” - -Baltazar rose from his chair and strode up and down the long room, -casting at Quong Ho a swift glance from beneath frowning brows every -time he passed him. At last he halted and said: - -“That’s so. The history of my inner life has been an attempt to save my -soul. But there’s a hell of a lot of difference between me and St. -Simeon Stylites. That was a kind of ass who sat for years on the top of -a pillar and never did a hand’s turn for anybody. All he thought of was -his escape from hell. Now I, as far as my soul is concerned, don’t care -a damn whether it’s going to hell or heaven. My object in saving it is -to be of use to my fellow-creatures.” - -Quong Ho, who had risen when his master rose, said: - -“All that is clear to me. I too am here for the same purpose.” - -“You?” cried Baltazar. “What’s wrong with you?” - -“I want to eradicate from my mind the soul-destroying associations of -the daughter of the gardener Fung Yu.” - -Then Baltazar laughed aloud and clapped the young Chinaman on the -shoulder, an unprecedented act of hearty familiarity. - -“My son,” said he, “this is a discipline that will bring us both, me -old, you young, to the greater wisdom. In the meanwhile, it’s a happy -discipline, isn’t it? We’ve got all that mortal man—under discipline, -mark you—all that mortal man can want. Spiritually, we have the sacred -relations of father and son. Intellectually, we are equals and”—he -threw an arm around the room—“we have the learning of the world at our -command. Materially—what more can we desire?” - -He looked fondly around the long, low-ceilinged room, brilliantly -illuminated by four petroleum lamps and half a dozen candles, and dwelt -upon its homely, scholarly comfort; the Turkey carpets; the easeful -chairs and sofa; the exquisite and priceless rolls of Chinese paintings -between the bookcases; the bookcases filled, some with the old-world -books of Europe, others with the literature of China, printed volumes, -manuscripts beyond money value; the long table piled with the -inestimable results of human intellect; the warm bronze curtains, before -each of the four windows; the dear and familiar form of the very dog, -Brutus, stretched out asleep in front of the great chimney-piece. And -the silence was that of the most exclusive and the most untroubled -corner of Paradise. - -“What a Heaven-sent thing is Peace,” said Baltazar. - -At that moment the silence was disturbed by a strange and unknown sound. -Baltazar and Quong Ho started and looked questioningly at each other. It -seemed like the distant beating of almighty wings. They held their -breath. No, it was like the sweeping thunder of an express train. But -what should express trains be doing on the moorland? With common impulse -they rose and went out of doors into the thick mist. Then the -thundering, clattering rush broke vibrant on their ears. It was in the -air around, above them. John Baltazar put his hand to a bewildered head. -What unheard-of convulsion of nature was this? Then suddenly he had a -second’s consciousness of bursting flame and overwhelming crash, and the -blackness of death submerged his senses. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - -WHEN he recovered consciousness it was but to awake to an -incomprehensible dream condition. Of his whereabouts he had no notion. -An attempt to move caused him such hideous pain in his head as almost to -render him again unconscious. His limbs, too, seemed under the control -of dream paralysis. He lay for a while co-ordinating his faculties, -until he arrived at the definite conviction that he was awake. His eyes -rested on ashlars of granite which, as he lay on his left side, -continued in a long line; also, cast downwards, they rested on rough -grass. Gradually he realized that he was in the open air, that the -stones were part of his wall. What he was doing there he could not tell. -He felt sick and faint. By an effort of will he moved a leg. The -movement revealed unaccustomed stiffness of limb: it also reawakened the -torture of his head. Again he stayed motionless. Yes, it was daylight. -It was sunlight; some twenty feet further down the wall cast a shadow. -Presently over his recovering senses stole an abominable stench. He -sniffed, jerking his head to its intolerable agony. Cautiously he lifted -his right hand to the seat of pain. His fingers dabbled in something -like thick glue. Bringing them down before his eyes, he saw they were -covered with coagulated blood. He felt again, and realized, in stupid -amazement, that his hair was stuck to a stone. The first thing to be -done was to liberate himself. He remembered afterwards that he said: -“Let us concentrate on this: nothing else for the moment matters.” He -concentrated, and at last, after infinite suffering that made him cry -aloud, he freed his hair from its glutinous imprisonment and, spent with -the effort, rolled over on the flat of his back and gazed upwards into -the blue sky. A faint breeze swept over him. But the breeze was laden -with the same abominable stench. - -As soon as he could gather sufficient physical energy he rose to a -sitting posture, supporting himself on his hands, and gazed spellbound -and stupefied on a scene of unimaginable disaster. Where once stretched -the familiar long-lying homestead, there was nothing but an inchoate -mass of stones, from the midst of which eddied and swirled columns of -black smoke. And the wind blew the smoke towards him. Looking down, he -found himself begrimed by it. He sat forward, staring, and, secure of -balance, withdrew his hands and put them up to his brow, seeking a clue -to the mystery. Memory, stage after stage, returned. He had been sitting -at night with Quong Ho. They had heard a strange noise. They had gone -out to discover what it was. Then——? What had happened then? Just a -terror of Hell opening—and nothingness. Yes, he remembered. It was -dense mist when they went out. Now it was clear, beautifully clear. The -sun was shining; but it was low on the horizon; so it must be early -morning. - -What could have happened? A thunderstorm? The place struck by lightning? -He gripped his temples. He had never heard of a thunderstorm in a dense -fog. Besides, thunder never occurred in the long, continuous, rhythmical -acceleration of volume of sound. Yet what else but thunder and lightning -could account for the blasted homestead that reeked before his eyes? - -He looked around. The stone enclosure was strewn with unspeakable -wreckage; great blocks of masonry, unrecognizable shafts of timber, bits -of twisted iron railing, ashes, charred wood. . . . He rose dizzily to -his feet. His head was one agony. He felt something wet on his neck, and -realized that the wound evidently caused by the concussion of his head -against a stone, had begun to bleed afresh. Before he could tie around -his brows the handkerchief which he mechanically drew out, he saw, close -by, the dead body of the dog Brutus, and he returned the handkerchief to -his pocket. The dog seemed to have been killed outright by a great piece -of granite that had been hurled upon him. Then for the first time his -mind grew quite clear. The unknown convulsion had dealt not only -destruction but death. Where was Quong Ho? - -He started forthwith on an agonized search. They had been standing -together a few paces away from the front door. Thither he went, but -could find no trace of him among the wreckage. From the roofless -enclosure of granite and through the windows poured black volumes of -smoke. It was useless, even impossible, to look inside. Baltazar called -out loudly the Chinaman’s name, as he made a circuit of the devastated -house, only to find fresh evidences of complete catastrophe. Here and -there lay fragments of iron, unfamiliar to him, which in his anxiety for -Quong Ho’s safety he did not speculate on or examine. He nearly tripped -over something by the burned-down stable. Looking down, to his sickening -horror, he found it to be the head of the old grey mare. He went on. No -sign of Quong Ho. In the little enclosed grass patch, now foul with -rubbish, the very goats lay dead, mostly dismembered. He stared at them -stupidly. A sudden shrill noise caused him to jump aside in terror. A -second later he realized that it came from a solitary cockerel, -strutting about in the sunshine, the sole survivor of the poultry-run, -cynically proclaiming his lust of life. - -Wherever he turned was ruin utter and final. But where was Quong Ho? Had -he not, after all, remained outside, but re-entered the house? If so—he -shuddered. Creeping back, he peered through the windows on the windward -side, as long as the smart in his eyes would allow him. There was -nothing there but fragments of stone and smouldering, indistinguishable -ash that mounted nearly to the sill. Whatever had been the cause, the -dry thatch had been set alight—the roof had fallen in, and nothing of -the interior remained save a few charred books on the upper shelves of -blackened and crazily precarious sections of bookcase. He strode away, -came to the front of the house again, and continued his search there, -with horror in his soul. The front door had been blown out. On his first -inspection he had passed it by. Now he stood wondering at the -supernatural explosion that could have burst it from its hinges and -thrown its great oaken weight bodily forth; and, looking at it, suddenly -became conscious of a foot, shod in a Chinese shoe, protruding from -beneath it. He bent down swiftly and touched the foot. Shouted “Quong -Ho!” But there was no reply. He rose, remained for a moment with the -horror of the old mare’s head, and other things he had seen in the -goats’ enclosure, racking his nerves. Then he braced himself, bent and -lifted the door, and under it lay the body of Quong Ho. To lever the -heavy mass and set it upright without treading on the motionless man, -taxed all his strength. At last he got a footing on the further side of -Quong Ho, which enabled him to set the door on edge, and a push sent it -clattering clear. Then he saw that the corner had rested on a stone by -Quong Ho’s head and so had not crushed his face. - -He bent down, made a rapid examination; then sank back on his heels, and -thanked God that Quong Ho was still alive. There was a wound on his -head, somewhat like his own, which until then he had all but forgotten. -As far as he could make out the leg was broken in one or two places. -Possibly ribs. He did not know. He took off his grey flannel jacket, the -back of which was drenched in blood, and, rolling it up, put it beneath -Quong Ho’s head. The obvious thing to do next was to fetch water, -bandages, stimulant—there was a medicine-chest and brandy in the house. -After a few impulsive strides he stopped short. There were no bandages, -no brandy. What remained of them lay in the burning filth within the -house walls. But water? He prayed God there might be some in the -scullery. He found the pump that worked the well broken, but the blessed -stream ran from the tap, showing that there was still some reserve in -the fortunately undamaged cistern. As best he might he cleaned out and -filled a pail; found an unbroken yellow bowl, and took them out to where -Quong Ho lay. He went back to search for linen or rag; but in that -welter of destruction he could find nothing. His own handkerchief was -absurdly inadequate. Luckily, the day before being warm, he had changed -before lunch into a thin undervest and a linen shirt. The latter he -removed and tore into strips, and so he bathed and bandaged Quong Ho’s -head. He also ripped up the man’s trousers and cut shoes and socks from -the swollen feet, and with the remainder of the shirt made compresses. -And all the time Quong Ho showed no sign of returning consciousness. -Evidently he was suffering from severe concussion. - -It was only when he had finished his rough dressings that the -ghastliness of his isolation smote him. He must leave Quong Ho there -alone, uncared for, and go across the moor in search of help. Suppose -his own leg had been broken. The sweat stood on his forehead. They would -have lain there and starved to death, like stricken animals in a -wilderness. Meanwhile the sun was rising higher in the sky and was -beating down upon Quong Ho. With a mighty effort he raised him in his -arms and staggered with him to the other side of the house, where there -would be shade for some hours: where, too, the evil smoke could not eddy -over him. Placing the jacket again beneath his head and the bowl filled -with fresh water by his side, on the off chance of his recovering -consciousness, he left the scene of desolation and horror. - -About a mile away he realized that he had not tended his own wounded -head, which, without any covering from the sun, was throbbing in -exquisite agony. His handkerchief he had left with the remainder of the -shirt. He also realized that he was bare-armed, clad only in the summer -undervest and flannel trousers and the light gym shoes in which he used -to fence. He reeked all over, hands and arms and body, with soot and -blood. All this soon passed from his mind. Things whirred in his brain, -so that he feared lest he were growing lightheaded. Also, although he -had drunk a little water before starting, he began to be tormented with -a burning thirst. He lost sense of the vastness of the calamity that had -befallen him, lost the power, too, of speculating on its cause. All his -mind was concentrated on battling against tortured nerves and reeling -brain, in order to achieve one object. He kept on repeating to himself -what he should say to the first human being he should meet; fortified -himself with the reflection: “Three miles to the road; three-quarters of -an hour.” But only having traversed the barely distinguishable track -thrice before, once when he made the return journey from Water-End to -view the hermitage, and on the other occasion when he drove thither to -take up residence, he missed it and strayed diagonally across the moor. -At last, after a couple of hours wandering, he reached a ditch beyond -which stretched the dazzling white ribbon of road. He fell into the -ditch like a drunken man, managed to clamber out and, on the further -side, stumbled and lay exhausted, unable to move. After a few minutes he -staggered to his feet, and swayed down the road, which was as lonely as -the moorland. - -Suddenly he became aware of a difference; of trees and laurels and -verdure on his left; and in the midst of them stood a couple of tall -granite pillars with a gateway between. It was a house. He had won -through. Inside was human aid. He made his way to the gate and clutched -the top bar to steady himself and looked down a well-ordered drive. As -he looked a man appeared from a side path, who, after regarding the -haggard apparition grotesquely clad, covered with grime and blood, for a -few gasping seconds, rushed up. - -“Hello! Hello! What’s the matter? Why—I’m jiggered! It’s Mr. Baltazar!” - -Baltazar swept a hand towards the moor, and said hoarsely: - -“My Chinese friend is over there, dying. There’s been an accident. -Explosion or something. He’s dying. You must send men and doctors at -once.” - -“Good Lord!” cried the man. “Of course I will. Come inside and tell me -all about it. You don’t mean to say those bombs got you? You look in a -damn fine old mess too.” - -He opened the gate, clasped Baltazar round the waist, and supported him -down the drive. Soon an old gardener came up and lent a hand, and -between them they carried the half-fainting Baltazar into the house and -laid him on a couch in the dining-room. The host poured out a stiff -brandy and soda. - -“Here, drink this.” - -The cool bubbling liquid was a draught of Paradise to Baltazar’s parched -throat. The unaccustomed stimulant, after a few moments, had its bracing -effect. - -“Now, what’s it all about? You remember me, don’t you? Pillivant’s my -name. Came to call about eighteen months ago, and you turned me down. -Anyhow that’s forgotten. I don’t bear malice, especially when a chap -seems down and out. What can I do for you?” - -Baltazar said: “There was an explosion last night. It knocked me out. I -woke up this morning to find my house burned to the ground. My Chinese -friend is there unconscious, with concussion of the brain and broken -legs. I had to come for assistance. You must send at once.” - -“All right,” said Pillivant. “You stay there. I’ll do some telephoning. -Meanwhile I’ll send the wife to look after you. You want a wash and a -change, and a doctor and bed.” - -“Bed!” cried Baltazar. “I must go back to Quong Ho.” - -He rose to his feet, as Pillivant left the room, and tottered after him. -But he found himself foolishly lying on the floor. He said to himself: -“He has given me brandy. He’s sending his wife. She’ll think I’m drunk.” -And with a great effort he re-established himself on the couch. - -In a few minutes Mrs. Pillivant entered. She was a faded, fair woman in -the late thirties, wearing a cloth skirt and tartan silk low-cut blouse, -and a string of pearls around a bony neck. - -“So you’ve been Zepped, I hear,” she said. “No, don’t get up. Stay where -you are. If you haven’t heard it already, you’ll be glad to know it came -down in flames on the moor about twenty miles away, and all the brutes -were burned alive.” - -Baltazar set his teeth, monstrously striving to get his brain to work. - -“Brutes? What brutes? What are you talking about? I don’t understand.” - -“Why, the crew of the Zeppelin. Where it came from or what it was doing -about here, we don’t know—we’ll have to wait until news comes from -London. It must have been badly damaged, and lost its way in the mist. -They must have got rid of their bombs before trying to land, so my -husband says—but before they had time to land the Zeppelin came to -grief. We heard the bombs, but thought they had dropped on the moor. -We’d no idea they had got anybody.” - -“Zeppelin! Zeppelin!” murmured Baltazar. “I seem to have heard the -name——” - -“It’s pretty familiar, I should think,” said Mrs. Pillivant. “Don’t you -think the best thing to do is to let us put you to bed, until the doctor -comes?” - -“The doctor must go to Quong Ho, at once. He’s dying,” said Baltazar. - -“Then I’m sure I don’t know what to do,” said Mrs. Pillivant. - -Baltazar closed his eyes. “I’ll be all right in a minute. It’s the knock -on the head, and the long walk on an empty stomach.” - -“Oh, I’ll get you something to, eat. What would you like?” - -“Nothing,” said Baltazar. “Nothing. A bit of a rest and I must go back -to Quong Ho. He’s the only creature I care about in the world. He was -just alive when I left him.” - -She said in a helpless sort of way: “I hope you’re not seriously hurt?” - -He opened his eyes. “No, no. My head’s pretty thick. But I’m not as -young as I was. By the way, you were talking of a Zeppelin. That’s a -German airship, isn’t it?” - -“Why—of course——” - -He raised himself on his elbow, and his eyes flashed beneath his knit -brows. - -“Why should German airships be dropping bombs on the moor?” - -Mrs. Pillivant regarded him uncomprehendingly. - -“I’ve told you. They had to get rid of their bombs before they landed.” - -“But what were they carrying bombs for?” - -“I wouldn’t worry about that now,” she replied rather nervously. “I -don’t think you realize how very ill you are.” - -“I’m not ill—not out of my mind, at any rate. I want to know. Why -should they carry bombs? Wait a bit. I’m all right now. My mind’s clear. -You said the airship came down in flames and the brutes were killed. -Tell me what it means.” - -“Surely you’ve heard of the air raids? Read about them in the papers?” - -“I see no newspapers,” said Baltazar. “Air raids? For God’s sake tell me -what you mean?” - -She glanced round to see that access to the door was clear. His -aspect—his shaggy hair clotted with blood and dirt—his eyes gleaming -from a haggard, grimed and bloody face—the filth of his -half-nakedness—alone would have frightened a timorous woman. And his -words were those of a madman. She giggled hysterically. - -“I suppose you’ve heard there’s a European war on?” - -He sat up. “War! What war?” - -Mrs. Pillivant fled from the room. Baltazar rose to his feet. - -War? War with Germany? Naturally Germany, because Zeppelins were German -airships. A European war, the woman had said. His glance for the first -time fell upon a newspaper on the dining-room table, open at the middle -page. Forgetful of pain and exhaustion, he strode and seized it—and the -headlines held him spellbound by their bewildering revelation. - -Great Britain, France, Italy, Russia, Germany, Austria, Bulgaria . . . -all Europe at war. The basic facts stood out in great capital letters. - -He was staring at the print, absorbed as never had he been in his life -before, when a heavy hand on his shoulder aroused him. He turned to meet -the fat and smiling face of Pillivant. - -“I’ve fixed it all up—doctor, police, ambulance. I’ll take some in the -Rolls-Royce, the doctor the others in his car. We’ll have the Chink back -in no time.” - -“The what?” asked Baltazar, with a swift glance. - -“The Chink—the Chinaman——” - -“Oh, yes. My friend, Mr. Quong Ho. If you don’t mind, I’ll come with -you.” - -“My dear fellow, that’s impossible. You must go to bed. It’s no trouble. -There are fifteen bedrooms in the house. You can take your choice. -Hasn’t Mrs. Pillivant been in to see you?” - -“She did me that honour.” - -“Then why the dickens didn’t she have you attended to? I’ll see about -it.” - -He was already at the door when Baltazar checked him. - -“Stop. Don’t worry about me. Tell me one thing.” He smote the open -newspaper with the palm of his hand. “How long has this been going on?” - -“How long has what been going on?” asked Pillivant, returning. - -“This war.” - -“I don’t quite see what you’re driving at,” said Pillivant, puzzled. - -“I want to know how long this war I’m reading about in the newspaper has -been going on.” - -Pillivant regarded him askance out of his little furtive eyes. He -entertained the same suspicion as his wife. - -“Look here, old man,” he said, taking him by the arm, “that knock on the -head’s more serious than you think.” At the noise of a halting car he -glanced out of window. “Ah! there’s Dr. Rewsby.” - -“Never mind the doctor or my head,” cried Baltazar desperately. “Answer -my question. How long have we been at war with Germany?” - -“Why, since August, 1914.” - -“For the last two years?” - -“Do you mean to say you’ve been living eight or ten miles off and never -heard of the war?” Pillivant stood bewildered. - -“I never heard of it,” Baltazar answered mechanically, staring past -Pillivant at terrifying things. - -“Well, I’m damned!” said Pillivant, recovering his breath. “I’m just -damned. Here, Doctor”—as a spare, grey-headed man was shown into the -room—“here is a chap who has never heard of the war.” - -Baltazar stepped forward. “That’s beside the question, Doctor. All that -matters for the moment is my Chinese friend. I had to leave him at the -farm unconscious, with, I should think, concussion. And his legs are -fractured. We must go at once.” - -“Excuse me,” said the doctor, “but that wound in your own head wants -seeing to. Just a matter of cleaning and strapping. Only five minutes. -Please let me have a look at it.” - -“You can do that afterwards,” said Baltazar. “For God’s sake let us go.” - -“You’re not fit to go. I won’t allow you to,” replied Dr. Rewsby with -suave firmness. - -Said Baltazar, with the hard gleam in his eyes, “I’m going. It’s my -responsibility, not yours. I don’t care what happens to me. But I swear -to God I neither wash nor eat nor drink until my friend Quong Ho is -brought back, alive or dead. And it’s much better I should go with you -than remain here and frighten your excellent wife, Mr. Pillivant, out of -her wits.” - -There was a moment’s silence. The grey-haired doctor glanced at Baltazar -out of the corner of a shrewd eye and diagnosed an adamantine obstinacy. - -“If you refuse to take me with you,” Baltazar added, “I’ll follow you on -foot.” - -The doctor shrugged his shoulders. - -“As you will. But if anything happens—tetanus, blood-poisoning, -collapse—I wash my hands of responsibility. Mr. Pillivant will bear me -out. Let us go.” - -In the hall Pillivant took down from the pegs of an alcove a cap and -light overcoat. - -“You don’t mind sticking on these, do you?” he said to Baltazar. “You’ll -need them motoring, and besides, I don’t mind telling you, you’re not -looking exactly like a candidate for a beauty show.” - -“I thank you,” said Baltazar, accepting the proffered raiment. - -They started. The doctor, Sergeant Doubleday and a constable, with a -stretcher, in one car; Pillivant, Baltazar, and a chauffeur at the -wheel, in the great Rolls-Royce. - -“To carry through this,” said Pillivant, hauling out a thick gold watch, -“in twenty minutes, shows what we English can do when we set our minds -to it.” - -“Twenty minutes?” said Baltazar. “It has seemed like three hours.” - -“Twenty minutes since I went to the telephone,” Pillivant asserted -triumphantly. - -The cars raced on. For some moments Baltazar, huddled together in the -comfort of the back seat, maintained a brooding silence, which -Pillivant, glaring at him from time to time, did not care to disturb. -There was something uncanny about this man who had to be bombed nearly -to death in order to hear of the war. - -They turned off the road on to the rough track across the moor along -which Quong Ho had so often bumped his way in the old cart. The weather -had been dry and the track was at its best. But the cars jolted -alarmingly and at every quivering descent from a larger hummock than -usual, Pillivant cried out in fear for the springs of his Rolls-Royce. - -“If it busts up, there’s no earthly chance of getting another.” - -“Why?” asked Baltazar. - -“Because there’s a war on, old man. You don’t seem to understand.” - -“I’m afraid I don’t,” said Baltazar. “You must grant me your kind -indulgence. I can’t immediately realize what is happening.” - -They climbed the rise that brought them into view of the Farm. Pillivant -pointed to the smoking ruins. - -“That’ll help you to realize it. That’s what Belgium and the northern -part of France look like.” - -“When I have found my friend Quong Ho alive,” said Baltazar, “I may be -able to think of things.” - -They worked their way, Dr. Rewsby’s lighter car following, almost to the -low enclosing wall, and drew to a halt. Viewed on the approach, the -havoc loomed before Baltazar’s eyes even more appalling than when he had -stood dazed and sick in the midst of it. The battered granite shell of -the house stood absurdly low, and the rough gaping apertures of door and -windows stared like maimed features hideously human. The wall of the -scullery had been thrown down by the explosion, and the pump and cistern -and a shelf or two of broken crockery were grimly exposed. He wondered -why he had not noticed this when he went to fetch water for Quong Ho. -The byre by the wrecked stable no longer existed. The white Wyandotte -cockerel, the sole living thing visible, pecked about the ground in -jaunty unconcern. - -As soon as they dismounted the party followed Baltazar, who strode ahead -with the air of a man about to denounce a ghost. At the turn of the -ruined house they came in sight of Quong Ho, lying as Baltazar had left -him, the bowl of water untouched. The sun had gradually encroached upon -him, and now the shadow of the wall cut his body in a long vertical -line. His yellow face looked pinched and ghastly beneath the pink and -white cotton of his bandaged head. - -Baltazar’s face was almost as ghastly, and horrible fear dwelt in his -eyes. He pointed. - -“There!” he said, and drew the doctor forward and motioned to the others -to remain. - -Together they bent down over Quong Ho. “If he’s dead,” Baltazar -whispered in a hoarse voice, “it’s I who have murdered him.” - -“He’s not dead yet,” replied the doctor. - -“Thank God!” said Baltazar. - -Sergeant Doubleday, surveying the scene of ruin with the eye of the -policeman and the Briton, turned to Mr. Pillivant. - -“This sort of thing oughtn’t to be allowed,” said he. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - -BALTAZAR awoke a couple of mornings afterwards to find that certain -vague happenings which he had regarded as dreams were true. He really -lay in a comfortable bed, in a pleasant room; the soft-voiced woman in -grey, whose ministrations he had been unable to divine, stood smiling at -the foot of his bed, an unmistakable nurse. Conscious of discomfort, he -raised his hand and felt his head swathed in a close-fitting, scientific -bandage. He remembered now that he had lain there for a considerable -time. What he had taken for outrageous assaults on his brain for the -purpose of extracting the secrets of his mathematical researches, had -been the doctor dressing his wounds. - -“How are you this morning?” asked the nurse. - -“Perfectly well, thank you,” said Baltazar. “I should feel better if you -would tell me where I am.” - -“This is Mr. Pillivant’s house.” - -“Pillivant—Pillivant? Oh yes. I’ve got it. It seems as if I had been -off my head for a bit.” The nurse nodded. “I’m all right now. Let me put -things together.” Suddenly he sat up. “My God! How is Quong Ho?” - -“He is getting on as well as can be expected,” replied the nurse. - -“He’s alive? Quite sure?” - -“Quite sure.” - -Baltazar fell back on the pillow. “The last thing I remember clearly was -their taking him into the Cottage Hospital, after that infernal jolting -across the moor. What happened then?” - -“You collapsed, and they brought you here.” - -“What day is it?” - -“Friday.” - -“Good Lord,” said Baltazar, “I’ve been here since midday Wednesday.” - -“Would you like a little breakfast?” - -“I should like a lot,” declared Baltazar. - -The nurse laughed. The patient was better. She turned to leave the room, -but Baltazar checked her. - -“Before you go just tell me if I’ve got the situation clear. The -European war has been going on for two years. In the course of a -new-fangled kind of warfare the Germans drop bombs from Zeppelins over -England. A Zeppelin dropped bombs on my house on Tuesday night—to get -rid of them—so Mrs. Pillivant said. You see, everything’s coming back -to me. Afterwards it came down in flames, and all the crew were burned. -Is that right?” - -“Perfectly,” said the nurse. - -“Now I know more or less where I am,” said Baltazar. - -The nurse fetched his breakfast, which he ate with appetite. He had -barely finished when Dr. Rewsby entered. - -“This is capital. Capital,” said he. “Sitting up and taking nourishment. -How’s the pulse?” - -“Never mind about me,” said Baltazar, as the doctor took hold of his -wrist. “What about Quong Ho?” - -The doctor gave a serious report. Fractured skull, severe concussion. -Broken legs. Semi-consciousness, however, had returned—the hopeful -sign. But it would be a ticklish and tedious business. - -“If you want another opinion, a man from Harley Street, special nurses, -don’t hesitate a second,” said Baltazar. “Money’s no object.” - -“I’ll bear in mind what you say,” replied the doctor; “but if his -constitution is as sound as yours, he’ll do all right. By all the rules -of the game you ought to be as helpless as he is.” - -“What’s wrong with me?” - -“You’ve had half your scalp tom away. How you manage to be sitting up -now, eating eggs, after your lunatic performances on Wednesday, is more -than I can understand.” - -Baltazar smiled grimly. “I can’t afford the time to fool about in a -state of unconsciousness, when I have two years’ arrears of European -history to make up.” - -“Never mind European history,” said the doctor. “Let us see how this -head of yours is getting on.” - -The dressing completed, he said to Baltazar: - -“Now you’ll lie quiet and not worry about the war, Quong Ho, or -anything.” - -“And grow wings and order a halo and work out the quadrature of the -circle and discover the formula for the Deity in terms of the Ultimate -Function of Energy. . . . Man alive!” he cried impetuously, raising -himself on his elbow. “Don’t you understand? I’ve been dead for -years—my own silly, selfish doing—and now I’ve come to life and found -the world in an incomprehensible mess. If I don’t go out and try to -understand it, I shall go stark, staring mad!” - -“I can only order you to stay in bed till I give you permission to get -up,” said the doctor. “Good-bye. I’ll come in this evening.” - -As soon as he had gone Baltazar threw off the bedclothes and sprang to -his feet. - -“Doctors be hanged!” said he. “I’ve not given in to illness all my life -long, and I’m not going to begin now. Besides, I’m as fit as ever I was. -I’m going to dress.” - -“I’m afraid you can’t,” said the nurse. - -“Why?” - -“You haven’t any clothes.” - -He glanced for a second or two at the unfamiliar green and purple -striped silk pyjamas in which he was clad, and remembered the undervest -and flannel trousers, foul with blood and grime, in which he had arrived -at Water-End. - -“The devil!” said he, and he stood gasping as a new conception of -himself flashed across his mind. “Except for these borrowed things, I am -even more naked than when I came into the world.” - -“You’d better go back to bed,” said the nurse. - -“I’ve got to go back to the world,” retorted Baltazar. “As quick as -possible.” - -“You can’t do it in pyjamas,” said the nurse. - -“I must ask my host to lend me some clothes.” - -“I’ll go down and see him about it,” said the nurse. - -She went out, leaving Baltazar sitting on the edge of the bed. Presently -entered Pillivant, who burst into heartiness of greeting. Delighted he -was to see him looking so well. At one time he half expected there was -going to be a funeral in the house. Heard that he wanted some togs. Only -too happy to rig him out. Would pick out all the necessary kit -to-morrow. - -“But I want clothes now,” said Baltazar. - -Pillivant shook his head. “Must obey doctor’s orders. By disobeying in -the first place I nearly had a cold corpse on my hands, and if there’s -one thing Mrs. Pillivant dislikes more than another, it’s a corpse. When -her old aunt died here, she went half off her chump. No, no, old man,” -he continued, in soothing tones which exasperated Baltazar, “you be good -and lie doggo to-day, as the doctor says, and to-morrow we’ll see about -getting up.” - -“You’ve got the whip-hand of me,” said Baltazar, glowering. - -“That’s about it,” grinned Pillivant. “And you’re not used to not having -your own way.” - -“I suppose I’m not,” said Baltazar, looking at his host more kindly. “I -don’t know but what you’re right. A little discipline might be -beneficial for me.” He slipped back into the bed and nodded to the -nurse, who settled him comfortably. “A little contact with other people -might restore my manners. As I’m beholden to you for everything, Mr. -Pillivant, I may at least be civil. As a matter of fact, I’m infinitely -grateful, and I place myself in your hands unreservedly.” - -“Oh, that’s all right, old man,” said Pillivant. - -“It isn’t all right,” cried Baltazar, realizing, in his -self-condemnatory way, the ungracious attitude he had adopted from the -first towards his host. “I’ve been merely rude. I’m sorry. I’ve lived in -China long enough to know that no personal catastrophe can excuse lack -of courtesy. By obeying your medical man I see that I shall give least -trouble to your household.” - -“You needn’t talk like a book about it,” said Pillivant. - -“I’ve lived with books so long,” replied Baltazar, “that perhaps I have -lost the ways of contemporary Englishmen.” - -Pillivant threw him a furtive and suspicious glance. - -“Most books are all damn rot,” he declared. - -“You’re not the first philosopher that has enunciated that opinion,” -said Baltazar, with a laugh. “Didn’t a character in one of the old -dramatists—I think—say ‘To mind the inside of a book is to entertain -oneself with the forced product of another man’s brain’? No. It’s the -practical men who do things, isn’t it?” - -“I’m a practical man myself,” said Pillivant, “and seeing as how I -started as an office-boy at eight shillings a week, I’ve done a blooming -lot of things. Look”—he swung a chair, and sat down near the bed, and -bent confidentially towards Baltazar—“in July fourteen I was only a -little builder and contractor up at Holloway. When Kitchener in -September called for his million men——” - -“Wait!” cried Baltazar, putting his hand up to his forehead. “In -September nineteen fourteen Kitchener called for a _million men_?” - -“Yes, yes, that’s all ancient history. I was telling you—when the cry -went out, I said to myself: a million men will want accommodation. -Temporary buildings. Huts. No end of timber. I hadn’t a penny in the -world. But I did a big bluff and sold the Government timber which I -hadn’t got for twice the price I knew I could buy it at. In six months I -was a rich man, and I’ve been growing richer and richer ever since. I’ve -got a flat in Park Lane and this house in the country, and I’m on -Munitions, and I have my cars and as much petrol to burn as I want, and -I’m a useful man to the Government, and doing my bit for the war. And -none of your blooming books about it. Just plain common sense. If I had -been worrying my head about books, I should have lost my chance. Just -what you’ve done. You’ve been burying yourself in books and haven’t even -heard of the war, let alone doing anything for your country. Books make -me tired. To hell with them!” - -Baltazar looked at the puffy, small-eyed man in his clear way. He -disliked him exceedingly. Even with the most limited knowledge of war -conditions, it was evident he had been exploiting them to his own -advantage. But when you haven’t a rag of your own to your back and are -dressed in another man’s pyjamas, lying in his bed and eating his food, -you must observe the decencies of life. - -“I suppose lots of fortunes are being made out of this war.” - -“I should think so. Those honestly made, well, the chaps with brains -deserve them. But, at the same time, there’s a lot of profiteering going -on”—Pillivant shook an unctuous head—“which is a perfect disgrace.” - -“Profiteering—that’s a new word.” - -“You’ll find lots of new words and lots of all sorts of new things now -you’ve waked up.” - -“I’m sure I shall,” said Baltazar. “And now, if you’ve half an hour to -spare, I wonder if you would mind telling me something about the war.” - - * * * * * - -That day and the next, Baltazar listened to Pillivant, the nurse and the -doctor’s story of the world conflict, and read everything bearing on the -subject with which they could supply him. Dr. Rewsby, who did not share -Pillivant’s disdain for books, ransacked the little town for war -literature. He bought him white books, pamphlets, back numbers of -magazines and newspapers, maps. . . . What he heard, what he read, was -the common knowledge of every intelligent child, but to this man of vast -intellectual achievement it was staggeringly new. For those two days he -lost sense of time, desire to move from the bewildering mass of lambent -history that grew in piles by his bedside. The lies, the treacheries, -the horrors that had accumulated on the consciousness of all other men -one by one, burst upon him in one thundering concentration of hell. The -martyrdom of Belgium, the bombardment of Rheims Cathedral, the sinking -of the _Lusitania_, the use of poison gas, the bombing of open towns, -the unmasking of the German Beast in all its lust and -shamelessness—stunned him, so that at times he would put his hands to -his head and cry: “It’s impossible! I can’t believe it.” And whoever was -with him would answer: “It is true. What you read is but the outside of -the devilry the civilized world is out to fight.” And his scholar’s mind -would revolt. What of intellectual Germany? The mathematicians, the -Orientalists, whose names were to him like household words, to say -nothing of those eminent in sciences outside the sphere of his own -studies? They were worse, the doctor declared, than the brutish peasant -or the brutal operative. A monstrous intellectualism developed to the -disregard of ethical sanction. The doctor brought him one of the great -cartoons of the war, which he had cut out from some paper and kept, by -Norman Lindsay, the great Australian black and white artist—the “Jekyll -and Hyde” cartoon, representing a typical benevolent elderly German -professor regarding himself in a mirror; and the reflection was a -gorilla in Prussian spiked helmet and uniform, dripping with blood. And -then Baltazar’s blood curdled in his veins as he realized the truth of -the picture. All the mighty intellectualism of Germany was but an -instrument of its gorilla animalism. It was an overwhelming revelation: -the almost mesmeric dominance of Prussia over the other Teutonic States -of Germany and Austria, reducing them to Prussia’s own atrophied -civilization; that atrophied civilization itself, till now unanalysed, -but now a byword of history, the development, on abnormal intellectual -lines, of the ruthless barbarism of a non-European race. Strange that he -had not thought of it before. Had anything good, any poem, picture, -song, music, statue, dream building, sweet philosophy, ever come out of -Prussia? Never. Not one. Her children were “fire and sword, red ruin and -the breaking-up of laws.” And now the rest of the Germanic Empire had -lost its soul. Prussia extended from the Baltic to the Danube. The whole -of Central Europe was one vast cesspool, in which all things good were -cast to deliquesce in putrefaction, while over it floated supreme the -livid miasma of Prussianism. - -In some sort of figurative conception as this did his brain realize the -psychological meaning of the forces against which the civilized world -was struggling. But there was the other side of the world’s embattled -hosts, whose tremendous energies baffled his mental grasp. England’s -Navy—yes. He had been born and bred in the belief of its invincibility. -But the British Army? A glorious army, of course; a blaze of honour from -Cressy upwards; a sure shield and buckler in the far-flung posts of -Empire; but a thing necessarily apart from the vast military systems of -the Continent of Europe. And now he learned, to his stupefaction, that -the British Empire, calling up all her sons from within those same -far-flung posts, had made itself, within two years, one of the three -greatest military powers in the world. The casualties alone exceeded the -total strength of the original British Army serving with the colours. -The Army now was an organization of millions. Where had they come from? -His three interpreters of the outer world gave him information according -to their respective lights. All the early gathering of the hosts had -been voluntary enlistments. The armies springing up at Lord Kitchener’s -call had been labelled numerically by his magic name. Only recently had -we been driven to conscription. And Kitchener himself—the only great -soldier of whom he had ever heard? Drowned in the _Hampshire_ last -June. . . . - -Then again the revolution in national life—the paper currency, the -darkened streets of towns, the licensing laws—further excited his -throbbing curiosity. He remembered with a spasm almost of remorse the -few signs and tokens of war which had reached him and passed unheeded; -the National Registration, which he had resented as a bureaucratic -impertinence; the mad taxation of income which he had regarded as -evidence of England’s decay. . . . - -“Has ever man been such a fool as I, since the world began?” - -The hard-headed doctor to whom this rhetorical question was addressed, -replied: - -“I can’t recall an instance.” - -When driven to contemplation of his own isolation, he reflected that all -the time there had been a living link between himself and this upheaved -world. Every week, rain or fine, through snow or dust, Quong Ho had -visited the little town. - -“When did the news of the war become general in Water-End?” he asked. - -He had to put the question in two or three different forms before his -puzzled informants could perceive its drift, for they could not conceive -it being the question of an intelligent man. He could not yet realize -the electric shock that convulsed the land from end to end on the -declaration of war. He could not gauge the immediate disruption of -social life throughout the country. The calling up of reservists, the -mobilization of the Territorial forces alone affected instantly every -community, no matter how remote from centres of industry. The queer -straits to which every community was reduced, owing to the closing of -the banks during that fateful August week, had also brought the reality -of the war home to every individual. Then the issue of Treasury notes. -The recruiting. From the very first day of the war, Water-End, they told -him, was as much agog with it all as London itself. From the beginning -the town had been plastered with patriotic posters. The mayor for the -first months had exhibited the latest telegrams outside the town hall. -There had been a camp of Territorials some few miles away and the High -Street had reeked of war. Government war notices met the least observant -eye in post office, bank and railway station. - -“If what you say is true,” said Baltazar, “how could Quong Ho have come -here every week and failed to understand what was going on? Not only is -he a master of English, but he’s a man of acute intellect.” - -“That,” replied the doctor, “you must ask Quong Ho when his intellect -has recovered from its present eclipse.” - -“But the fellow must have known all along,” Baltazar persisted. “Come -now,”—he sat up in bed impulsively—“he must, mustn’t he?” - -“I should have thought that a negro from Central Africa, who only spoke -Central African, would have guessed,” replied the doctor. - -“Then why the devil didn’t he tell me?” - -“I’m afraid I must refer you to my previous answer,” said the doctor. - -“It strikes me that I’m a bigger fool than ever,” said Baltazar. - -A smile flitted over the grey-haired doctor’s shrewd thin face. He did -not controvert the proposition. - -“It’s also borne in upon me,” continued Baltazar, “that I’ll have to -scrap everything I’ve ever learned—and I’ve learned a hell of a -lot—I’m an original mathematician, and I think I know more about -Chinese language and literature than any man living. Oh! I’m not modest. -I know exactly what my attainments are. As I say, I’ve learned a hell of -a lot, and I’ll have to scrap it all and just sit down and begin to -learn the elementary things of existence, from the very beginning, all -over again, like a schoolboy.” - -“Hear, hear!” said Pillivant, blatantly golf-accoutred, who had entered -by the open door at the opening of Baltazar’s avowal. “Now you’re -talking sense. I’m glad to see you realize how sinfully you’ve been -wasting your time. Chinese! What’s the good of Chinese? They’ve got to -learn our language, not we theirs. I know. I went out to Hong Kong as a -young man for five months on a building job. Every man-Jack talks -pidgin-English. That’s good enough to get along with. Do you mean to say -you’ve been spending your life learning Chinese? Of all the rotten -things——” - -“I’m aware, Mr. Pillivant,” said Baltazar, with a grimace intended, for -a smile, which on his haggard face and beneath his bandaged head had a -somewhat sinister aspect, “I’m aware that in your eyes I must appear -rather a contemptible personage.” - -“Oh, not at all, old man,” cried Pillivant. “Everyone to his hobby. -After all it’s a free country. Have a cigar.” - -He produced the portable gold casket. The doctor caught a swift glance -from his patient and checked the generous offer. - -“Not yet, Pillivant. A cigarette or two is all I can allow him.” - -Pillivant selected and lit a cigar. There was a span of silence. He -looked out of the window. Presently he began to praise the local -golf-course, some mile or so distant. A natural course, with natural -bunkers. The greens artificial—every sod brought from miles. Now the -infernal Government had taken away their men. Not a soul in the place -who understood anything about turf. Consequently the greens were going -to the devil. It was an infernal shame to let golf-greens go to the -devil. Goff was a national institution, necessary to maintain tired -war-workers, like himself, in a state of national efficiency. But what -could one expect from the rotten lot who constituted the so-called -Government? Anyhow, you could still get some sort of a game. Baltazar -must come round with him as soon as he could get about. - -“I’ve never played golf in my life,” said Baltazar. - -“Never played——? Why, you seem to be out of everything.” - -Presently he swaggered out at the end of his monstrous cigar. Baltazar -turned a weary head. - -“Doctor,” said he, “would they hang me very high if I slew my -benefactor?” - - * * * * * - -As soon as sticking-plaster replaced the head bandage, the most -impatient of men insisted on rising and going out into the world, clad -in a borrowed suit of the detested Pillivant. His first care was to -visit the Cottage Hospital, where Quong Ho, semi-conscious, still hung -between life and death. Yielding to Baltazar’s insistence, Dr. Rewsby -had summoned in consultation the leading surgeon of the nearest town, -the great cathedral city. From the point of view of the Faculty nothing -could be simpler than Quong Ho’s injuries. To bring a specialist from -London would be a wicked waste of invaluable lime. All that science -could do was being done. The rest must be left to Nature. Baltazar was -disappointed. Having an exile’s faith in the wonders of modern surgery, -he had thought that a few hundreds of pounds would have brought down a -magician of a fellow from Harley Street with gleaming steel instruments, -who could have mended Quong Ho’s head in a few miraculous seconds. The -ironical smile on the lips of Rewsby, for whom he had conceived respect -and liking, convinced him of extravagant imaginings. He professed -satisfaction, although sorely troubled by his queerly working -conscience. Outside the ward, he grabbed Dr. Rewsby by the arm. - -“Look here, Doctor,” said he. “I want you to understand my position. I -must pay some penalty for my egotistical folly in bringing Quong Ho to -this infernal place. Oh, I know,” he added quickly, checking with a -gesture the doctor’s obvious remonstrance; “I know it might have -happened anywhere. But nowhere else than in that desert island of a farm -would I have had to leave him alone for hours on the bare ground, -without medical assistance. It’s my fault. I must pay for it.” - -“You’ve paid for it, my good friend,” said Dr. Rewsby, “by your anxiety, -by your—apparently—by your remorse. You’ve done everything that a -human being could do in the circumstances.” - -“But don’t you see, I brought the poor fellow to this through my selfish -folly. You must let me pay for it in some way.” - -Said the doctor, a practical man, with the interests of his little -struggling hospital at heart: “It’s open to you to give a donation to -the Cottage Hospital.” - -“All right,” said Baltazar, flinging out an arm. “If he gets through -there’s a thousand pounds for the hospital.” - -“Good. And if he doesn’t?” - -Baltazar drew a short breath, glanced down and askance beneath his -shaggy brown eyebrows, and set a heavy, obstinate jaw. Then suddenly he -flashed upon the doctor: - -“If he dies you won’t get a penny from me. But I’ll give every cent I -have in the world to the General Fund of the hospitals of the United -Kingdom.” - -“Do you really mean that, Mr. Baltazar?” - -“Mean it? Of course I mean it. I’ve done all kinds of rotten things in -my life, but I’ve never broken my word. By George! I haven’t. If Quong -Ho dies, the world will be the poorer, not only by a loyal soul, but by -one of the most powerful mathematical intellects it has ever seen. And -it’s I”—he thumped his chest—“I, who have robbed the world of him. And -it’s I who must pay the penalty.” - -“Pardon my impertinence,” said Dr. Rewsby, drawing on his motoring -gloves, as a sign of ending the interview; “but have you generally -conducted your life on these extravagant principles?” - -“I don’t quite understand——” replied Baltazar, stiffening. - -“If Mr. Quong Ho dies—and I’m glad to say the probability is against -his doing so—but if he does, you vow, as an act of penance, that you’ll -reduce yourself to a state of poverty and walk out into the world -without one penny. Is that right?” - -“Perfectly,” said Baltazar. - -“Well, as a medical man, with a hobby, a special interest in—let us -say—psychology, I’ve been indiscreet enough to wonder whether this is -the first time you’ve made such a Quixotic vow. In fact, now I come to -think of it, you made a similar one within two minutes of my first -meeting you.” - -Baltazar met his eyes. “In fact, you want to know whether I’m not a bit -mad.” - -“Not at all,” laughed the doctor. “But I have a shrewd suspicion that -the folly you bewail—the eccentric hermit life on the moor—was the -result of some such rashly taken obligation.” - -“Suppose it was,” said Baltazar; “what then?” - -“I should say you were cultivating a very bad habit, and I should advise -you to give it up.” - -He smiled, waved a friendly hand, and ran down the steps to his car. -Baltazar watched him crank-up, slip to the wheel, and depart, without -saying a word in self-defence. So far from offending him, the doctor had -risen higher in his estimation. A man with brains, and the faculty of -using them; a fellow of remarkable penetration; also of courage. He -differentiated his outspokenness from Pillivant’s blatancy. The former -was one man of intellect speaking frankly to another; the latter. . . . -He remembered the lecture, illustrated by quotations from the Chinese -classics, which he had read to Quong Ho when his disciple, on his first -visit to Water-End, had complained of the lack of manners of the local -inhabitants. Why should he worry about Pillivant? As he had said to -Quong Ho: “_Rotten wood cannot be carved, and walls made of dirt and mud -cannot be plastered._” Never mind Pillivant. It was Rewsby, and Rewsby’s -quick summing-up of his psychological tendencies that mattered. Not a -human being had ever before presented him to himself in any just and -intelligible way. Of course he had heard truths, pseudo-truths, dictated -by violent prejudice, in his brief and disastrous married life. But they -had all been superficial; never gone to bed-rock. Since then he had been -free as a god from criticism. And now came this shrewd, sagacious -country doctor, who in the lightest, friendliest way in the world, put -an unerring finger on the real unsound spot in his character. - -“. . . A very bad habit, and I should advise you to give it up.” - -Behind those commonplace words he knew lay a wise man’s condemnation of -his habitual dealing with life. He walked through the tiny town on his -way to “The Cedars,” unconscious of the curious interest of the -inhabitants, to whom the sight of the mystery-enveloped and now bombed -and head-bandaged tenant of Spendale Farm was a matter of eager, -instantaneous mental photography, so that the picture could be produced -as a subject for many weeks’ future gossip, and he pondered deeply over -Dr. Rewsby’s criticism. - -“Have you generally conducted your life on these extravagant -principles?” - -He had. There was no denying it. A childish memory emerged from the mist -of years. He must have been eight or nine. All about a dog. A puppy had -destroyed a new paint-box, priceless possession, and in a fit of passion -he had nearly beaten the puppy to death. And when his anger was spent -and he grew terribly afraid, and sprawled down by the puppy, the puppy -licked his hand. And he swore to God, as a child, that if the puppy -lived and did not tell his father, he would never beat a dog again. The -puppy lived, and, with splendid loyalty, never breathed a word to a -human soul, and loved him with a love passing the love of women. And one -day a neighbour’s bad-tempered dog got into the kitchen-garden and -attacked him, and though he had a stick by chance in his hand, he -remembered his vow, and stood with folded arms and set teeth and let the -dog bite his legs, until he was rescued by the gardener and carried -indoors. - -He remembered this, and a train of similar fantastic incidents -culminating in his vow of solitude, and reviewed them all, in the light -of Dr. Rewsby’s criticism. What good, in the name of sanity, had his -wild, Quixotic resolves accomplished? How had they benefited Spooner, -for instance, to whom he had surrendered the Senior Wranglership? During -his brief stay in London he had had the curiosity to look up Spooner in -reference books; found him an Assistant Secretary in a Government -office, Sir William Spooner, K.C.B.; an honourable position, but a -position which he would have attained—originally through the Civil -Service examination—whether he had been second, fourth, tenth Wrangler -in the Tripos. His, Baltazar’s, idiot sacrifice had advanced Spooner’s -career not one millimetre: just as his self-denying ordinance in the -realm of dogs had not benefited one jot the canine race—for the mongrel -retriever who had bitten him heroically arm-folded, had been shot the -next day by the remorseful neighbour, who had been longing for an -opportunity of getting conscientiously rid of an ill-conditioned cur. - -And then there was his flight from Cambridge and Marcelle. - -“Damn that doctor!” said he, striding along the road. - -It was all very well to damn the doctor; but he had entered into a fresh -engagement, which in spite of its newly revealed folly, he would break -for nothing in the world. Yet what practical good would his little -fortune accomplish scattered among the hundreds of hospitals of the -United Kingdom? A pittance to each. And he himself, with all his gifts, -thrown penniless upon a strange world at war, of what use would he be? -His first necessarily animal impulse would be to prey upon society for -the means of subsistence. Whereas, a free man, with his assured income, -he could throw himself into the national struggle without thought of his -own material needs. - -Quong Ho’s life acquired a new preciousness. He must live, if only to -save him from this new absurdity to which he was pledged. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - -ONCE more Baltazar stood within his granite enclosure and surveyed the -scene of ruin and horror. He had hired a cart and driven over with three -nondescript elderly labouring men, who were now wandering aimlessly -about the wreckage. Nothing seemed changed since he had last left it in -the wake of the stretcher-borne body of Quong Ho, although the Water-End -Fire Brigade, learning that the place was still on fire, and inspired by -zeal and curiosity, had meanwhile come down with helmets, hatchets and -hoses, and had drenched the interior of the house with water pumped from -the well. There had been no attempt at salvage. The administrators of -the derelict property had long since given up paying insurance premiums -on the building, and Baltazar, so long alien to European life, and -desirous of coming into as slight contact as possible with the outside -world, had not troubled to insure the contents. - -A foul, sickly smell tainted the still air. Mingled with the sour odour -of the charred and sodden mess inside the dwelling, rose the miasma of -corruption. Baltazar made a grimace of disgust. Before any salvage could -be done the latter causes of offence must be removed. He summoned the -men and gave his directions. They found the old mare’s head and the dog -and fragments of the goats, alive with the infinite horror of flies and -other abominable life. There was a cesspool handy. Throw them all in and -clamp down the cast-iron lid. It did not matter. Nevermore would -Spendale Farm be a human habitation. The men conveyed with their shovels -the nameless things to the unhallowed resting-place. Baltazar would have -liked to give the faithful Brutus, who had obviously rushed out of the -house at the heels of Quong Ho and himself, decent burial. But not only -had Brutus ceased to be Brutus, but Baltazar knew from experience the -toil of digging in that granite-bound earth. - -He left the men to their task, which they performed without -compunction—had he not offered them the amazing sum of a pound each for -their day’s work?—and plunged through the front door into the black -chaos which was once his home. The sun streamed down upon unimaginable -filth. He was wearing the clothes he had borrowed from Pillivant and at -first he stepped warily. But every step landed him deeper in the damp -carbonized welter, and at last he slipped and came down sprawling in the -midst of it, so that when he rose he found himself fouled and begrimed -from head to foot. He picked his way out again and stood on the front -steps looking hopelessly in at the piled mass of nothingness. - -He had listened to the report of the fire brigade’s captain, and his -doubtless correct theory that the desperate marauder had dropped his -bombs almost simultaneously, one explosive and the other incendiary. The -latter had caught the homestead fair and had caused the instant and -terrific conflagration. Yet he had hoped. . . . He tried to hope still. -The men would soon return from the cesspool and begin to shovel away the -debris from the writing-table by the wall. - -To get his brain into complete working order had been a matter of time. -The shock of the explosion, his wound, his enormous physical and mental -effort on the memorable Wednesday, his puzzled amazement, the -cataclysmic revelation of the war, his anxiety for Quong Ho, had knocked -him out for a couple of days. When he recovered and regained mental grip -of things, the only things he could grip at first were the staggering -history of the war and the progress of Quong Ho. The two absorbing -interests battened down fears that vaguely began to rise from deep -recesses of his mind. But strength regained, Quong Ho out of immediate -peril of death and the war a thing envisaged, practically understood, -accepted, the fears burst their hatches and crowded round him, haunting -and tormenting. And now he stared through the doorway of his house, with -sinking heart, scarcely daring to hope that those fears should prove -unrealized. - -He glanced round. The men were spending inordinate time in the disposal -of the carrion. Again he entered and stood in the midst of the rubbish. -Only one section of bookcase remained, crazily askew. He had noted it on -the Wednesday. He clambered gingerly towards it. The first slanting, -half-charred, half-drenched book, whose title he made out was _Queechy_. -By the author of _The Wide, Wide World_. Next to it was _Flowering -Shrubs of Great Britain_, the date of which he knew to be -eighteen-fifty-four. His heart sank. Only the refuse of his famous deal -with the second-hand bookseller remained. Just that little bit of -section. The rest of his library was there—down there in the molten -quagmire. - -At last the men came, shovels on shoulder. He pointed out the place -where his long table used to stand and bade them dig. He had brought, -too, a shovel for himself, and he dug with them, violently, pantingly, -distractedly, heaving the shovelfuls over his shoulders, wallowing in -the filth regardless of Pillivant’s expensive clothes; soon an object of -dripping sweat and squalor, distinguishable only from his co-workers by -his begrimed and bandaged head. The men began to pant and relax. He -overheard as in a dream one of them saying, in a grumbling tone, -something about beer. The sun beat fiercely down on the roofless site. -He said: - -“Dig like hell. Dig all day. I’ll stand you a couple of gallons apiece -when you get home. If you’re thirsty now, there’s heaps of water.” - -The results of severe arithmetical calculation gleamed in each man’s -eye. The command over sixteen free pints of ale transcended the dreams -of desire. They fell to again, working with renewed vigour. - -The incendiary bomb had apparently fallen square on the northern end of -the long north to south building and had scattered the original wall in -which the great chimney-piece had been built and flung the granite -outwards, obliterating the less solidly constructed kitchen and Quong -Ho’s quarters, and tearing down the side of the scullery. The lower -courses of the rest of the main walls stood more or less secure. But the -roof of dried tinder-thatch had fallen in ablaze, and every thing -beneath it had been consumed by fire. Nothing remained to distinguish -Baltazar’s bedroom at the southern end, once separated from the -house-piece by a wooden partition reaching to the rafters, from the -remainder of the awful parallelogram of disaster. The rigid mathematical -lines of the low granite boundaries, with one end a heap of stony ruin, -oppressed him as he dug with a sense of the ghastly futility of human -self-imprisonment between walls. The position of the shapeless ragged -gaps that had once been windows alone guided him in his search. The -precious long deal table ran along the eastern wall. His writing-seat, -surrounded by the most precious possessions of all, was situated in -front of the north-east window—the long room had two windows, east and -west, on each side. And it was just there where he used to sit, the -happiest of men, in the midst of objective proof of dreams coming true, -that chaos seemed to reign supreme. - -“Go on, go on. Dig like hell. Every scrap of unburnt paper is a treasure -to me. Look at every shovelful.” - -After hours of toil, they found a little heap of clotted fragments, the -useless cores of burnt clumps of writing. Now and then a man would come -with a few filaments, having shaken the charred edges free, and, looking -wonderingly at the unintelligible outer leaf, would ask: “Is this any -good to you, sir?” And Baltazar, his heart cold and heavy as a stone, -would bid him cast away the mocking remnants of an all but unique copy -of a Chinese classic. - - * * * * * - -It was over. The three men, having loyally earned their twenty shillings -and the promised two gallons of beer, stood spent and drenched, like -Baltazar himself, with grime and sweat. - -“Anything more, sir?” - -“Nothing,” said Baltazar. - -They shouldered their shovels and he his, and they marched away from the -devastated place and drove back across the moor. Baltazar sat next the -man who drove, in the front of the empty and futile cart, and said never -a word. For the first time in his eager existence, defeat overwhelmed -him. The work of a laborious lifetime had been destroyed in a few hours. -With infinite toil, perhaps, he might recapture the main lines of his -thought-revolutionizing treatise on the Theory of Groups: his studies in -the Analytical Geometry of Four Dimensional Space. Perhaps. He had -relied for his data on the innumerable notes and solutions of intricate -problems which had cost the labour of many years. And these had gone. -The world had hitherto wondered at two such scholar tragedies—Newton’s -_Principia_ destroyed by the dog Diamond, the first volume of Carlyle’s -_French Revolution_ burned by Mill’s stupid housemaid. But in both cases -only the finished product had perished. The data remained. The rewriting -was but a painful business of recompilation. But with him, not only the -more or less finished product, but the fundamental material was lost -forever. He shrank with dismay, almost with terror, at the thought of -going through that infinite maze of accurate calculation and reasoning -once more. Still, as far as the mathematics went, the palimpsest of the -brain existed. Reconstitution was humanly possible. But with the Chinese -editions—for most of it the material could only be found in remote -libraries in China; for much of it, the material no longer survived in -the explored world. - -He had come hoping against hope, arguing that great masses of manuscript -on thick paper were practically indestructible by fire. The outsides, -the edges might be burnt, but the vast bulk of inside sheets could be -preserved. But he had not counted on the disruption and devouring effect -of an incendiary bomb falling at the most precious end of the long deal -working-table. Probably the whole room had been instantaneously carpeted -thick with loose sheets, and the great stacks of manuscript had, as it -were, been burnt in detail. Then, for a while, on his hateful ride, he -strove with conjecture. But what was the use of vain imaginings? That -which was done was done. The harvest of his life had been annihilated. -If he died to-morrow, the world would be no richer by his existence than -by that of any dead goat whose body had just been cast into the -cesspool. To recover the harvest would cost him many years of uninspired -drudgery. It would be a horrible re-living, an impossible attempt to -recapture the ardour of the pioneer, the thrills of discovery. For the -first time he really felt the meaning of his age, the non-resilience of -fifty. For the black present the very meaning of his life had been wiped -out. - -The men, wearied, befouled and thirsty, sat silent in the cart, each -dreaming of the two gallons of beer that awaited him at the end of the -journey. They knew they had been searching for papers; but to them -valuable papers had only one signification; something perhaps to do with -a bank; something which constituted a claim to money: they had discussed -it during the half-hour midday interval for food. Wills, mortgages, -title-deeds, they had heard of. The daughter of one of them, a -parlourmaid in the house of a leading solicitor in the neighbouring -cathedral city, ranking next to legendary London in majesty in the eyes -of the untravelled Water-Enders, had told him that she had heard her -master say, at dinner, that the contents of the tin-boxes ranged around -his office represented half a million of money. His announcement vastly -impressed his colleagues, one of whom explained that all real wealth -nowadays was a matter of bits of paper. He himself had fifteen pounds in -the Savings Bank, but nothing to show for it but his Post Office book. -Then the nature of their employer’s frenzied quest became obvious to -them all. They had found nothing. Their employer sat like a ruined man. -They pitied him and, in the delicacy of their English souls, refrained -from intruding by speech upon his despair. In the meantime, there was no -harm in surrendering their imaginations to the prospect of the incessant -flow of delectable liquid down their parched throttles. - -When they halted at the gate of The Cedars, Baltazar pulled out a sheaf -of Treasury notes and gave each man thirty shillings. The extra ten -shillings represented to their simple minds, not the promised two -gallons of beer, but beer in perpetuity. This generosity on the part of -one evidently ruined bewildered them. Baltazar strode down the drive -leaving men impressed with the idea that he was a gentleman of the old -school to whose service they were privileged to be devoted. They -retired, singing his praises, being elderly men of a simple and -tradition-bred generation. - -His golf clubs on the lawn beside him, Pillivant, attired in imaginative -golfing raiment, was taking the air in front of the house. He lay in an -elaborate cane chair and smoked a great cigar. At the sight of Baltazar -he started up. - -“Holy Moses! You are in a devil of a mess.” - -“I’m afraid I’ve ruined your suit,” said Baltazar. “If you would only -let me know what your tailor charged for it——” - -“The Sackville Street robber bled me eight guineas,” said Pillivant, -rather greedily. - -“Here are eight pounds ten,” said Baltazar, counting out his notes. - -“Two shillings change,” laughed Pillivant, handling him a florin. - -“It’s kind of you to relieve me from this particular embarrassment. The -rest of my obligations I don’t quite see how to meet.” - -“We won’t charge you for board and lodging, old man, if that’s what you -mean. Take it and welcome. With regard to Rewsby and the nurse, you can -do what you like. Meanwhile, you’ll be glad to know that the ready-made -kit you ordered from Brady & Co. have turned up this afternoon.” - -“I’d better clean myself up and put some of it on,” said Baltazar. - -“You had indeed,” said Pillivant. “You look as if you had fallen into a -sewer.” - -The previous day, obeying telephone instructions, a representative of a -firm of ready-made clothiers in the cathedral city had called to take -measurements and orders. This evening Baltazar was able to array himself -once more in clothes of his own. By getting rid of borrowed garments he -felt relieved of an immense burden. - -“Well, how did you get on?” asked Pillivant heartily as they sat down to -dinner. “Find anything?” - -“Nothing but an appetite,” replied Baltazar with a smile. - -He could not tell this man of alien ideals and limited intellectual -horizon of his irreparable loss, or hint his intolerable despair. The -coarse husband and the common, over-bejewelled wife laughed at his -sally, hoped the menu would furnish sufficiency of food. He was but to -say the word, and they would kill the goose they were fattening up for -Michaelmas. The jest lasted off and on through the meal. They pressed -him to second and third helpings, joking, though genuinely hospitable. -At first he strove to entertain them. Spoke picturesquely of his queer -life in remotest China, where he lived the Chinese life and almost came -to think Chinese thoughts. Mrs. Pillivant yawned behind bediamonded -fingers. Pillivant said: “Dam funny,” with complete lack of enthusiasm -in the expletive, and as soon as he found a point of departure, set -forth on the story of a discreditable grievance against the War Office. -He couldn’t personally examine every plank of timber supplied. It had -all been passed by their own inspector. If they sent down a young idiot -of a subaltern who didn’t know the difference between green pine and -green cheese, it was their affair, not his. He had got his contract, and -there it was. Their talk about an enquiry was all nonsense. The War -Office ought to employ business men on business affairs. He had just -gone in, with another firm, on a big contract for a aerodrome in the -North of England. Some political Paul Pry had discovered—so he -said—that it could be built for half the money. Rot. Patriotism was one -thing, but running your business at a loss was another. The patriotic -contractor must earn his living, like anybody else. Why should his wife -and family starve? In righteous indignation he poured himself a bumper -of 1904 Bollinger, which he drained before finishing the whole grouse -which as a fifth course had been set before him. The entire system was -one vast entanglement of red tape, he continued. We were out to beat -Germany. How could we, when every effort was strangled by the red tape -aforesaid? Germany had to be beaten. How? By British pluck and British -enterprise. Pluck, by God! were we not showing it now on the Somme? And -enterprise? He poured out more Bollinger. If the fool Government would -let business men do business things in a business way, we would get the -Germans beaten and fawning for peace in a fortnight. There was nothing -wrong with England. He was English, through and through. - -“Although I won’t deny,” said he, with an incipient hiccough, “that my -mother spoke Yiddish. No, no my dear”—he turned with a protesting wave -to his wife—“I want to make things perfectly clear and above board to -our old friend Baltazar. I’ve got a coat-of-arms—look up Pillivant in -any book on Heraldry and you’ll see it—that goes back to Edward the -Something—not the Seventh. I’m English, I tell you. But I’m not -responsible for my mother, who came from Posen. Now, what do you do to -prevent typhoid? You inoculate. I’m inoculated. That’s my fortunate -position. I’m inoculated against Prussianism and all it stands for. -Could I be a pacifist or a conscientious objector? No. I’m immune from -the disease of pro-Germanism. As I’ve been telling you, I’m English -through and through, and I’m spending my life and my fortune in seeing -that Old England comes out on top.” - -To prove the expenditure of fortune he seized a fresh bottle of -Bollinger which the butler had just opened and filled Baltazar’s glass -and his own. - -“If you don’t drink, you’re a pro-German. To hell with the Kaiser.” - -Baltazar drank the toast politely and patriotically; the merest sip of -champagne; for beyond the first brandy and soda which had been poured -down his parched and exhausted throat, he had kept his vow of -abstinence, in spite of his host’s continued pressure. He felt sure of -himself now; wondered how he could ever have brought himself to the -present Pillivant condition. He liked Pillivant less than ever; yet he -began to be fascinated by the truth concerning Pillivant which rose -unashamed to the surface of the wine-cup. - -When the cigars were put on the table, Mrs. Pillivant rose. Baltazar -opened the door for her to pass out. On the first occasion of his doing -so, the first time he had come down to dinner, she had been puzzled, and -asked him whether he was not going to smoke with her husband. She still -did not seem to understand the conventional courtesy. When the door was -closed behind her, Pillivant drew a great breath of relief. - -“Pity you won’t drink,” said he, refilling his glass. “We might have -made a night of it. And this is such good stuff, too. About the most -expensive I could buy.” - -After that, impelled by the craving for self-revelation, he took up his -parable again, and entertained his guest with many details of opinions, -habits and actions, that had not been fit for wifely ears. When the -stream of confidence at last grew maudlin, Baltazar, pleading an -invalid’s fatigue after a heavy day, bade him good night. - -“I’ve been so long out of touch with English life,” said he, “that it is -most interesting to me to meet a typical Englishman.” - -Pillivant clapped him heavily on the shoulder. - -“You’re right, my boy,” he asserted thickly. “A downright, patriotic -John Bull Englishman. The sort of stuff that’s winning the war for you, -and don’t you make no mistake about it.” - -Baltazar went to bed pondering over his host. The annihilation of his -own life’s work did not bear thinking about. That way lay madness. -Pillivant brought a new interest. For all his adventurous journeyings he -had not met the Pillivant type—or if he had fortuitously encountered -it, he had passed it by in academic scorn. Had his ironical remark any -basis of truth? Was Pillivant after all typical of the forces behind the -war in this unknown modern England? Vulgarity, bluster, self-seeking, -corruption, hypocrisy? The old aristocratic order changing into -something loathsomely new? Pillivant posed as the successful man, -engaged in vast affairs, working night and day for his country—he was -only snatching, he had explained, a three weeks’ rest at this little -country shanty which he had not seen for nearly a year. The luxury of -the “shanty” proved his success; proved the magnitude of his dealings -with the Government. So far there was no brag. But how came it that the -Government put itself into the hands of such a man, openly boastful of -his exploitation of official ineptitude? He could not be unique. There -must be hundreds, thousands like him. Was he, in sober earnest, a -typical modern Englishman? If so, thought Baltazar, God help England. - -And yet England must have still the qualities that made Cressy, -Poitiers, Agincourt ring in English ears through the centuries: the -qualities of the men who followed Drake and Marlborough and Nelson and -Raglan. . . . That very morning he had read of British heroism on the -Somme battlefield, and had been thrilled at realizing himself merged -into the unconquerable soul of his race. - -He threw off his bedclothes—rose—flung the curtains wide apart, and -thrust out all the room’s casement windows not already opened, and -looked out into the starlit summer night. - -No. It was impossible for England to be peopled with Pillivants. They -were the fishers in troubled waters, the blood-suckers, the parasites, -the excrescences on an abnormal social condition. But why were they -allowed to live? What was wrong? Who were the rulers? Their very names -were but vaguely familiar to him. And he had read of strikes; of men -earning—for the proletariat—fabulous wages, striking for more pay, -selfishly, criminally (so it seemed to his unversed and aghast mind), -refusing to provide the munitions of war for lack of which their own -flesh and blood, earning a shilling a day, might be slaughtered in -hecatombs. He threw himself into a chair. - -“My God!” said he, “I must get out of this and see what it all means.” - -After a few moments he suddenly realized that he had pulled on his -socks, as though he were going, there and then, at midnight, to plunge -into the midst of the bewildering world at war. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - -QUONG HO sitting up, taking plentiful nourishment and definitely -pronounced out of danger, Baltazar presented his cheque for a thousand -pounds to Dr. Rewsby, and thanked God for the preservation of Quong Ho’s -life and his own fortune. He also listened with much interest to Quong -Ho’s apologetics for leaving him in ignorance of the war. For such exact -obedience and perfect fidelity reproaches would have been unjust, even -had remorse for his own folly not have precluded them. - -“And now, my dear fellow,” said he—he was sitting by the bed in the -airy, sun-filled ward of the Cottage Hospital—“tell me what you would -like to do.” - -“I don’t care what he would like to do,” said Dr. Rewsby. “What he has -got to do is to stay here quiet and recover from the shock and mend up, -and not worry his mind with the war, or mathematics, or the condition of -your underclothes.” - -“Quong Ho shall never wash a shirt of mine again,” declared Baltazar. -“Henceforth he is the master of his destiny. I’m talking not of now, but -of the future. So far as I can manage it, he can do what he jolly well -likes. That’s why I put the question to him. So, Quong Ho, never mind -this excellent medicine man, who can’t see beyond his nose and doesn’t -want to, because all he’s concerned with is getting you well—never mind -him, but tell me what most in the world you would like to do.” - -“Sir,” said Quong Ho, “if you desire to dispense with my personal -services, which I have always regarded it as a privilege to render to my -benefactor, may I dare to formulate an ambition which has hitherto been -but an idle dream?” - -Dr. Rewsby knitted his grizzled brows and dragged Baltazar away from the -bed. - -“Does he always talk like that?” he whispered. - -“Did you think he would express himself with ‘Muchee likee topside,’ and -that sort of thing?” - -“No; but he talks like an archbishop.” - -“Then perhaps,” grinned Baltazar, “you’ll understand why I’ve insisted -on his being treated as my closest friend.” - -He returned to the bed. “I’m sorry, Quong Ho. What’s this famous -ambition of yours?” - -Quong Ho looked up at him unsmiling, with a dog-like yearning in his -slanting eyes. - -“If I could obtain the mathematical degree of the University of -Cambridge——” - -“If you went in for the Tripos now, you would wipe the floor with -everybody.—Cambridge! That’s a wonderful idea.” He stuck his hands -behind him in the waistband of his trousers and strode about for a -moment or two, his eyes illuminated. “A splendid notion! You can begin -where I leave off. I’ll work up all the stuff that’s gone, and put it -into your hands, and you’ll continue my life’s work. By God! you’ll -consummate it. Cambridge! The very thing! Damn China! Any fool can teach -young China the Binomial Theorem and Trigonometry. But there’s only one -Quong Ho, the pupil and intellectual heir of John Baltazar, in the -world. Yes. You’ll go to Cambridge, and by the Lord Harry! won’t there -be fluttering of dovecotes!” - -He stopped suddenly in his enthusiastic outburst and his brow darkened. -“Wait a bit. Perhaps you don’t realize that Cambridge is a matter of at -least three years?” - -“If it were twenty years it would matter little,” said Quong Ho. - -“There’s Latin and Greek—compulsory. I was forgetting.” - -“Greek,” replied Quong Ho, “I presume I could readily acquire. As for -Latin I think I am acquainted with the grammar and I have already read -the interesting Commentaries of Julius Cæsar on the Gallic War.” - -Baltazar sank into a chair. - -“Latin! You’ve learned Latin? When? How?” - -Quong Ho explained apologetically that the simultaneous excitation of -mind over the quotation at the head of the papers of _The Rambler_, and -the discovery in the lowest rubbish shelf in the library of an old Latin -grammar and a copy of the _De Bello Gallico_, had inaugurated his study -of the Latin tongue. He had procured, not without difficulty, owing to -the limited intelligence of the young lady in charge, a Latin -dictionary, through the miniature bookshop in Water-End. - -“Well, I’m damned!” said Baltazar. “I’m just damned. And now, do you -mind telling me why you never mentioned a word of it to me?” - -He looked fierce and angry. Quong Ho replied in his own tongue. How -could the inconsiderable worm that was his illustrious lordship’s -servant, presume to importune him with his inferior and unauthorized -pursuits? - -“I could have taught you twice as much in half the time,” said Baltazar. - -Quong Ho professed regret. He had also bought, he said, the works of the -poets Virgil and Horace, but had found peculiar difficulty in -translating them. - -The new conception of Quong Ho as an independent purchaser of -commodities set Baltazar’s mind on a different track. He had paid Quong -Ho wages—or rather Quong Ho had paid himself. He started up from his -chair. - -“Good Lord! I’ve only just thought of it. All the money you must have -had on the Farm is lost. How much was it?” - -“A trifling sum—a pound or two. It does not matter,” replied Quong Ho. - -“But you’ve been drawing a salary all the time. What’s become of it? You -couldn’t possibly have spent it all.” - -“I have invested it in British War Loan,” said Quong Ho. - -“Quong Ho,” said Baltazar, standing over him, with hands thrust deep -into his trouser-pockets, “you are immense.” - -He went away, his head full of Quong Ho. - -“Doctor,” said he, “I thought that if there ever was a Westerner who had -got to the soul of the Chinaman, that man was I. Yet the more I see of -Quong Ho the less do I know what queer mental workings and strange -secrecies those soft, faithful eyes conceal. He kept me in absolute -ignorance of the war, he learned Latin in the next room to me, without -my having the faintest idea of it, and he has invested his money in War -Loan. Of course, the philosophy of it all is perfectly lucid to him. In -a way, I can get at the logic of it. But one wants to be wise not after -but before the event. What surprise is he going to spring on me next?” - -“Perhaps you’ve been nurturing an Oriental Caruso in your bosom,” the -doctor suggested. - -“That—no!” laughed Baltazar. “Chinese vocal chords aren’t built that -way. But, for all I know, he may have a complete critical knowledge of -the strategy of the war. The confounded fellow learning Latin! That’s -what I can’t get over. And calmly investing in War Loan!” - -“You don’t think he may cut everything and slip away to China?” - -“No,” said Baltazar seriously. “That at least I’m sure of. The -tremendous quality of the Chinaman is his loyalty. The scrupulousness of -his obedience is a thing beyond your conception. That’s why he allowed -no whisper of the war to reach me. Quong Ho would never be guilty of -ingratitude. That you, Dr. Rewsby, should pick my pocket is far more -possible. In fact, Quong Ho would cheerfully die this moment in order to -save my life. That I know. But within those limits of utter devotion, -God alone knows the weird workings of his celestial mind.” He pulled out -his pipe and filled it. “I thought I knew a lot. Now I’m being knocked -flat and beginning to realize that I know nothing at all, and that -everything I’ve ever learned isn’t worth a tinker’s curse.” - -“Perhaps,” said the doctor, after a hesitating glance, “you have put -your foot on the first rung of the ladder of wisdom.” - -Baltazar broke into a great laugh. - -“I wish,” said he, “I had met more men like you. They would have done me -good. You have the most comforting way in the world of telling me that -I’m the Great Ass of the Universe.” - -His head mended, his fears concerning Quong Ho at rest, his decision -taken to send Quong Ho to Cambridge, nothing more kept him in the -backwater of the little moorland town. He was for London, for the full -stream of national thought and energy. What he would do there he did not -know. He would learn. He would at least set his heart throbbing in -unison with the heart of the Empire. He packed his newly purchased -suit-case with his scanty wardrobe, bade farewell to the detested though -embarrassingly hospitable Pillivants, and took train to London with the -high hopes of a boy. - -His first taste of the metropolis was exhilarating. Here was a new -world. Every porter at the railway-station, every news-vendor, every -street urchin, was the possessor of accumulated knowledge and experience -of which he, John Baltazar, was denied a share. He read strange wisdom -in the eyes of working girls and slatternly women. He bought all the -evening papers, reeking, as they seemed, with the pregnant moment’s -actuality. He went to a bookseller’s and bought every book and pamphlet -bearing on the war. He would have an orgy of information. He would pluck -the heart of the world’s mystery of blood and sacrifice. - -But where to begin? If he had but one solitary acquaintance in London, -who could put him into the way of understanding, his course would be -simple. But he found himself absolutely alone in an infinite mass of -units, knit together by complexities of common ties. - -What he saw and felt, in his first eager search, reduced to dwindling -point the petty tragedy of his own life. For greater issues were at -stake than the revolution of mathematical thought by a new Theory of -Groups. In the wholesale destruction of what were thought to be the -immortal works of man, the loss of a few Chinese manuscripts counted as -little as that of paper-bags for buns. For excursions into the geometry -of Four Dimensional Space, or scholarly translation of the mild and -benign Chinese classic, _The Book of Rewards and Punishments_, the world -would have no use for another half-century. In face of the realities -with which London confronted him, he felt that he had devoted his life -to the pursuit of shadows. - -If only he could grasp these realities. If only he could merge himself -into them, become part and parcel of them, bring his intellect and his -bodily strength into the stupendous machine which he saw at work. - -Then he saw himself, by his own actions, condemned to sit and watch, an -inactive spectator of the great drama. His loneliness fell upon him like -a doom. He realized the uselessness of his age. He had as much place in -modern London as any chance inhabitant of Mars. He who had dared the -untrodden recesses of the Far Eastern world, haughtily asserting his -sympathetic right of citizenship, felt, after a day or two, a terror of -modern London. It was too vast, too unknown, too strange: a city at war, -unlike any city he had ever seen. Youth, in civilian attire, had -disappeared from its face. The unfamiliar dirty brown uniform filled the -streets. He had read of khaki, was vaguely aware of it as the service -uniform of the British Army; he had come across the tropical drill -material which had clothed the troops in Hong Kong, but his mind -preoccupied with interests remote from military affairs had barely -registered the impression. His traditional and therefore instinctive -conception of the soldier in the London streets was a thing in -swaggering scarlet. He missed the scarlet. It took him some time to -accommodate his mental vision to the military reality of the -dun-coloured hordes of men that thronged the Strand, Whitehall, and -Piccadilly. Soldiers, too, slopped about in an extraordinary kit of blue -jean and red ties. He did not grasp the fact that these were wounded men -wearing hospital uniform, until he passed the Westminster Hospital and -saw some of them taking the air on the terrace. After the first day’s -wanderings he dined at his crowded hotel, a bewildered man. In London -itself he had beheld an army. Scarcely a table in the vast restaurant -showed no man in uniform among its occupants. He contrasted the place -with his last pre-war impression. Then every man, young or old, had been -impeccably attired in the white tie and white waistcoat of high -convention. Not a woman then who was not gowned as for some royal -festival. Now the outward and visible signs of gilded youth had -vanished. Even elderly bucks wore plain dinner-jackets and black -ties—his own sloppily fitting, ready made dress suit seemed ultra -ceremonious. Here and there were exquisitely dressed women; but here and -there, too, were dowdy ladies unblushing under obviously cheap hats. And -men with bandaged heads came in, and legless men on crutches; and at the -next table a one-armed man depended for the cutting up of his food on -the ministrations of a girl. And away over the other side of the room he -saw a man, his breast covered with ribbons, carried pick-a-back by a -brother officer to his appointed place. No one seemed to take notice of -the unusual. Scarcely a casual glance lingered on the pair. At no table -visible was there a break in the talk and the laughter. Baltazar leaned -back in his chair and gasped at the realization that the incident was a -commonplace of modern life. - -His heart throbbed with pity for these maimed men, some of them boys -fresh from school; then with pride in their English courage and gaiety. -He looked round the room curiously and, in his fancy, identified several -Pillivants. They generally sat two or three at a table and drank -champagne and leaned over, heads together, as they talked. But the -impression they made was effaced by that of youth: youth pervaded the -place; youth whole and gloriously insolent; youth maimed and defiant; -youth predominating, too, among the women, with its eyes alight and -cheeks aglow; youth nerved to war, taking it as the daily round, the -common task. It was some new planet in which Baltazar found himself, -peopled with beings of dimly conjectured interests and habits of -thought. - -After dinner, the loneliest soul in London, he took his hat and thought -to go for a stroll. He emerged from the brightly lit vestibule into -Tartarean darkness and forbidding silence. Instead of the once glad -stream of life, a few vague forms flitted by on the pavement. Now and -then a moving light and a whir denoted the passing of a taxi-cab on the -roadway. At first he stood outside the hotel door, baffled, until he -remembered that he had heard of the darkened thoroughfares. The sky -being overclouded, London was denied that night the kindly help of -stars. Baltazar saw it in all its blackness, and shrank involuntarily as -from the supernatural. He laughed and started. Soon, when his sight grew -accustomed to the blackness, his senses were arrested and fascinated by -the wonder of this veiled heart of the Empire, by its infinite tones of -gloom, by its looming masses of building melting upwards into black -nothingness, by the vista of narrow streets, where at the end a dim lamp -gave them a note of sinister mystery. But his walk did not last long. As -he was crossing a street, an unseen and unheard taxi-cab just swerved in -time to miss him by a hair’s-breadth. He felt the wind of it on the back -of his neck and caught the curse of the driver. After that he lost his -nerve. The re-crossing of Trafalgar Square became a perilous and -breathless adventure. He was glad to find himself again in the light and -the safe normality of the hotel. - -No. London was not for him. He found himself even more a stranger than -during his last disastrous sojourn. There seemed to be no chance for him -to be anything else than a stray number in an hotel. He felt like a bit -of waste cog-wheel seeking a place in a perfect machine. - -“A few days more of this and I’ll go mad,” said he. - - * * * * * - -He did not go mad, but at last, with the instinct of the homing pigeon, -fled to Cambridge. There at least would he be able to pick up some -threads of life left straggling twenty years ago. Only when he had gone -half-way did he remember that it was the Long Vacation, so long had he -lived indifferent to times and seasons. Doubtless, however, the Long -Vacation Term was in progress as usual and the official dons in -residence. But who would there be, after twenty years, in spite of the -proverbial longevity of dons? Who now was master of his college? When he -left, Fordyce was getting a bit elderly. Why, of course, by now, if -alive, he would be over ninety. Fordyce must have been gathered long ago -to his fathers. Who could have succeeded him? Why hadn’t he looked it up -in a book of reference? It seemed stupid to return to his own college -without knowing the name of the master. Who were the prominent people? -Westgrove, the senior tutor; Barrett, senior dean; Withington, junior -dean; Raymond, bursar; Smith, Hartwell, Grayson, Mostyn—men more or -less of his own standing; Sheepshanks, the famous mathematical coach -upon whose shoulders had fallen the mantle of the immortal Routh (maker -of senior wranglers), and his own private tutor and friend. There would -be somebody there out of all that lot, at any rate. He felt more -hopeful. - -A grizzled porter threw his suit-case into a hansom cab, a welcome -survival of his youth, and in answer to his query whether the “Blue -Boar” was still in existence, stared at him as though he had questioned -the stability of the great court of Trinity or Matthews, the Grocers. - -“The ‘Blue Boar,’ sir? Why, of course, sir.” - -So to that ancient hostelry Baltazar drove down Trumpington Street. It -seemed all new and perky until he came to the great landmark, the -Fitzwilliam Museum. Then in a flash he recaptured his Cambridge: -Peterhouse on his left; Pembroke on his right; the three-sided, low, -bricked court of St. Catherine’s facing the dignified stone front and -gateway of Corpus; then the amazing grandeur of King’s College -Chapel—he craned his head out and drank in its calm loveliness; then -the Senate House; on the right the shops of the King’s Parade, just as -they used to be; then Caius, and the cab drew up at the “Blue Boar.” - -He secured a room and went out again to fill his lungs with the -atmosphere of the beloved place, his soul with its beauty and its -meaning. He wandered, at first like a man distraught, his eyes far above -the pavement, wrapt in the familiar glories of stone and brick; the -majesty of Trinity, the twin-towered, blazoned gateway of St. John’s, -the venerable round church of the Holy Sepulchre. . . . He walked on -past Sidney, Christ’s, Emmanuel; turned up Downing Street. At the sight -of the vast piles of modern science buildings, he came down to earthly -things. Thenceforward he became aware of something new and strange and -alien to the academic spirit that once spread its brooding wings over -the town. The quiet streets were filled with soldiery. Khaki, khaki, on -roads and pavements; khaki, khaki, in college courts. There seemed to be -regiments of rank and file. Officers, gaitered and spurred, clanked -along as in a garrison city. Much youth, whose status he could not -determine, wearing a white band round its cap, laughed and jested, -undergraduate-like, on its way. He wandered through the river-nest of -colleges, Queen’s, Clare, Trinity Hall, through courts and gateways, and -it was the same story of military occupation. A bevy of nurses flitted -about the courts of King’s. A group of men in hospital blue lounged over -the balustrade of Clare Bridge. - -It was a wondrous metamorphosis. Almost the only young men in civilian -attire were a few Indian students. He came across them carrying -notebooks under their arms, on their return from morning lecture. -Lectures, then, were still going on. College authorities were still in -residence; he had, in fact, passed many unmistakable dons. But dons and -Indians seemed but the relics of a past civilization. In a spasm of -amazement he realized that the University, as he had conceived it, a -seat of learning, no longer existed. The three thousand young men, the -average undergraduate population, who afforded the University its reason -of being, were fighting for their country or being trained in the arts -of war. Yet the colleges through which he passed seemed to be alive. No -sign anywhere of desolation or decay. Pembroke and Emmanuel had the -appearance of barracks. He strode hither and thither, in his impetuous -way, his mind exercised with the wonder of it all; saw Midsummer Common -filled with troops at drill, found himself on the river. The tow-path -was overgrown with grass. War everywhere. The very boat-houses were -incorporated into the military system. On the familiar front of his own -college boat-house was nailed an inscription. Such and such a regiment. -Officers’ mess. - -The University was at war. Not for the first time in its glorious -history. Troops had garrisoned his college in the Civil Wars. It had -melted down its plate for Charles the First. If it had possessed a -boat-house it would have given it loyally to the King. Yet that was -between two and three hundred years ago. Baltazar had the modern and not -the archæological instinct. Conditions were different in those days. But -now, in the second decade of the twentieth century, to be confronted -with his remote, innocent college boat-house thus drawn, a vital though -tiny unit, into the war, spurred his imagination to a newer -comprehension of the world-convulsion to which he had been but recently -awakened. If the war could reach and grip a pretty balconied shed on the -River Cam, in what other infinite ramifications through the whole of the -national life did its tentacles not extend? As he retraced his steps to -the town, the bombing of Spendale Farm and the commandeering of his -college boat-house appealed to him as the two most significant facts of -the war. - - * * * * * - -He stood in the gateway under the groined roof by the porter’s lodge of -his own college. The porter on duty, a young, consumptive-looking man, -appeared at the door. Baltazar said: - -“I am an old member of the college, and I’ve been abroad for many years. -I wonder if there’s anybody in residence whom I used to know.” - -“It depends upon who you want to see, sir.” - -Baltazar searched the young man’s face. “First”—he snapped finger and -thumb—“yes, first, where’s Westmacott?” - -“My father, sir? He’s feeling his age, and having a bit of a holiday. -Did you know him, sir?” - -“Of course I did. He was senior porter when I was an undergraduate. He -must be about a hundred and ten.” - -“No, sir, only seventy-five,” smiled the young man. - -“Who’s master now?” - -“Dr. Barrett, sir.” - -“Is he up?” - -“Not for the moment, sir.” - -“What about Mr. Westgrove?” - -“Westgrove? Oh yes, sir. He died a long time ago. When I was a boy, -sir.” - -“Well, who is there in residence?” - -The younger Westmacott rattled off a string of unfamiliar names. - -“I’m talking of twenty years ago,” said Baltazar. “What about Mr. -Raymond?” - -“He’s Professor of Economics at—at one of those new sort of -universities, sir.” - -The Cambridge-trained servitor’s tone expressed both regret at Mr. -Raymond’s decline and scorn of the new sort of universities. - -“Mr. Sheepshanks——?” - -“Dr. Sheepshanks now, sir. _Honoris causa._ Just before the war.” - -“Well, Dr. Sheepshanks then,” said Baltazar, rather impatiently. - -“Oh, he’s always here, sir. He’s senior tutor.” - -“Is he in?” - -“I haven’t seen him go out to-day. I’m pretty sure he’s in, sir. Letter -E, New Court.” - -“Thanks,” said Baltazar, and went in search of Sheepshanks, through the -familiar courts. - -When he stood at the doorway of Letter E and read the name, -white-lettered on black, “Dr. Sheepshanks,” he remembered that here -Sheepshanks had lived thirty years ago. Probably the same rooms. On the -second floor. He mounted the winding wooden stairs. Yes: above the -unsported oak (the infallible porter was right) the name of Dr. -Sheepshanks was inscribed. He paused for an instant before knocking at -the inner door, because all his youth came surging back on him. He saw -himself a freshman, tapping with nervous knuckles at the almost sacred -portal of the famous coach, the fount of all mathematical science, the -legendary being who had the power to make senior wranglers at will. He -saw himself the third year man, rapping confidently, secure in the -knowledge that Sheepshanks had staked his reputation on his triumph. He -saw himself smiting the door defiantly, after the lists had been -published . . . “Spooner, Jenkins, Baltazar . . .” Spooner had read with -Roberts of Trinity; but Jenkins had been a Sheepshanks man. . . . He saw -himself, many and many a time afterwards, when he had stepped into his -universally acknowledged own, thumping it with friendly familiarity. -That heavy, black oak door, invitingly open, held the secrets of his -vivid youth. - -At last he knocked, but the knock—so it seemed—was devoid of -character. A voice—the same sharp, nasal voice—it sent him back again -to freshman’s days—cried: - -“Come in.” - -He opened the door, stood on the threshold. The back of Sheepshanks, -working at his desk by the great window looking over the master’s -garden, met his eyes, across the large library table that occupied the -centre of the room. It was the same old table—the table at which he had -sat with the superior first batch of pupils, during his undergraduate -days. How often then and in after days he had entered on that cracked -“Come in,” and seen that lean back and bowed head, and waited the few -seconds, as he was doing now, for the owner to finish his sentence and -swing round in his chair—the same old swivel-chair. After the same -second or two, Sheepshanks turned round and, as in one movement, rose to -his feet. He was a small, brown, wrinkled, clean-shaven man in the early -sixties, with eyes masked by thick myopic lenses, spectacles set in gold -rims. His hair short, but curly, gleamed a dazzling white. It was a -shock of memory to Baltazar to realize that when he had last seen it, it -was raven black. - -“Yes?” said Sheepshanks, enquiringly. - -Baltazar strode past the library table with outstretched hand. - -“Don’t pretend you’ve never seen me before, Sheepshanks.” - -Sheepshanks made a step forward, peered through his glasses, then -recoiled and gasped: - -“Baltazar!” - -“You’ve hit it, my dear old friend. I’m not a ghost. I’m live flesh and -blood. I’m John Baltazar right enough.” - -“God bless my soul!” said Sheepshanks. “We thought you must be dead. Do -sit down.” - -Baltazar laughed as he turned to deposit hat and stick on a side-table; -then he came and clapped both his hands on the elderly don’s lean -shoulders. - -“You apostle of primness! Aren’t you glad to see me?” - -“Of course I’m glad, my dear fellow. Exceedingly glad. But your sudden -resurrection rather takes one’s breath away.” He smiled. “Let us both -sit down, and you can tell me all about it.” - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - -IF I don’t smoke, I’m afraid I can’t talk,” said Baltazar. - -Sheepshanks smiled politely. “You remember my little weakness? But pray -smoke. I’ve got used to it of late years. Times change, and we with -them.” - -Baltazar filled and lit his pipe. - -“A couple of weeks ago,” said he, “I had all but complete two -epoch-marking mathematical treatises. I had got systems and results you -good people here had never dreamed of. I had also stuff in the way of -Chinese scholarship that would have been a revelation to the Western -world. Then German aircraft dropped bombs on my house, a hermitage in -the middle of a moorland, and wiped out the labour of a lifetime. They -also nearly killed a young Chinaman whom I regard as an extraordinary -mathematical genius and about whom I want to consult you. They also, -thereby, revealed to me a fact of which I was entirely unaware, namely, -that the war had been going on for a couple of years.” - -He leaned back in his chair and drew a few contented puffs. His host -passed a hand over perplexed brows and leaned forward. - -“I’m very sorry,” said he, in his precise, nasal voice, “to appear -stupid. But you have put forward half a dozen such amazing propositions -in one breath that I can’t quite follow you.” - -A smile gleamed in Baltazar’s eyes. “I thought that would get you,” he -remarked placidly. “But it’s an accurate presentment of my present -position.” - -“No doubt, no doubt,” said Sheepshanks. “But you surely haven’t been -living a recluse on a moor for the last twenty years?” - -“Oh no,” replied Baltazar. “Eighteen of them I spent in China. I went -out straight from here.” - -“To China? Dear me,” said Sheepshanks. “What an extraordinary place to -go to from Cambridge.” - -“Didn’t anybody guess where I had vanished to?” - -“Not a soul, I assure you. Your disappearance created a sensation. Quite -a sensation. A painful one, because you were a man we could ill afford -to lose.” - -“It’s good of you to say so. But it’s odd that no one seemed to be -interested enough in me to reason out China. You all knew I was keen on -Chinese.” He cast a swift glance around the bookshelves that lined the -room, and shot out an arm. “I shouldn’t be surprised if that’s my little -handbook—_Introduction to the Language, on a Scientific Basis_.” - -Sheepshanks’ myopic vision followed Baltazar’s pointing finger. - -“Yes. It’s somewhere there. You haven’t changed much from the creature -of flashes that you used to be.” - -“It happens to be the only yellow-backed book on the shelf. To say -nothing of the purple dragon, which is grossly incorrect and unmeaning. -It jumps to the eyes. Just as my going to China ought to have jumped to -the eyes of everybody.” - -“I’m afraid it didn’t. Perhaps we were too much paralysed with dismay.” - -“I often tried to guess what you all thought about it,” said Baltazar. -“A human being can’t escape his little vanities. It was like being dead -and wondering what the dickens people were saying about one.” - -“We didn’t know what to say,” replied Sheepshanks. “We had no precedents -on which to base any conclusions. We looked for motives for flight and -we could find none. We sought for possible imperative objectives, and -one so apparently uncompelling as China never occurred to us. Here -to-day, gone to-morrow. You vanished, ‘like a snowflake on a river.’ To -see you now, after all these years, looking scarcely a day older, is an -experience which I must confess is bewildering.” - -“I suppose you thought me mad or a fugitive from justice, or one driven -by the Furies.” - -“We didn’t know what to think, and that’s the truth of it,” replied -Sheepshanks. - -“Well, call it the last. I wasn’t very old and hardened. Perhaps I -mistook Mrs. Grundy with an upraised umbrella for one of the ladies who -played the devil with Orestes and Company. I had quite decent reasons -then for clearing out. Whether I was wise or not is another matter. -Anyhow I cleared, sank my identity and went out to China. After eighteen -years I came back. The rest I’ve told you in a sort of pemmican form.” - -“I don’t deny,” said Sheepshanks, “that I am still somewhat confused.” - -“All right,” said Baltazar. “You sit there, and I’ll tell you what I -can. Anyhow, I’ll try to explain why I’m here. I’ll begin from the day I -sailed for China.” - -The primness of Edgar Sheepshanks,D.SC., relaxed, to some extent, during -Baltazar’s story. Like Dominie Sampson’s “Prodigious!” his “Wonderful! -wonderful!” punctuated the intervals. To him who had stuck limpet-like -to the same academic walls, Baltazar appeared a veritable modern -Ulysses. He sighed, wishing that he too had performed the scholarly -travels through that far land of Mystery, the Cathay of ancient times, -which was now the little better known interior of modern China; he -sighed, as he did when gallant youth returned from high adventure in -that land of equal mystery, the Front. Baltazar was half through his -tale when there entered a venerable man-servant, Sheepshanks’s gyp for -innumerable years. At the sight of the guest he started back with the -dropped jaw of one who sees a ghost. “Mr. Baltazar!” - -“Lord, it’s Punter!” - -It was odd how names came back from the moss-grown recesses of memory. -He shook hands with the old man. - -“Yes, it’s me. And you’re looking just as young as ever. I recognized -you at once. And look here, Punter, if you want to do me a service, just -spread the news about Cambridge. If I’ve got to go through an Ancient -Mariner or Wandering Jew explanation every time I meet anyone, it’ll -eventually get on my nerves.” - -“I’m sure every one will rejoice to have you back, sir,” said the gyp. - -“Punter’s bringing my lunch. I hope you’ll stay and share it with me,” -said Sheepshanks politely. - -“Delighted,” said Baltazar, and the old man having retired, he went on -with his tale. - -He continued it over lunch in the next room, a homelier chamber, where -Sheepshanks kept his choice books and his two or three good Italian -pictures and a few ivories and photographs of nephews and nieces. It was -during the meal that he noticed for the first time a lack of -effusiveness on the part of his host. Not that he had expected the prim -Sheepshanks to throw his arms about him and dance with joy; but he had -hoped for more genial signs of welcome. After all, he reflected, he had -let the college down very badly; possibly he was still unforgiven. Well, -if that was so, he would have to earn forgiveness. - -In his tale he had reached the first visit to London. - -“I was out of my element, as you perceive,” said he, “and then something -happened which made me decide suddenly to go into seclusion for two or -three years. Real seclusion. I don’t do things by halves. In some remote -spot where not a whisper of the outer world could ever reach me.” - -“But what kind of thing could have happened to cause you to take such an -extraordinary step?” asked Sheepshanks. - -Thought Baltazar: “If I tell him the real reason, he’ll turn into a -pillar of frozen don.” Besides, he had not the faintest intention of -opening his soul to Sheepshanks, even though the latter should have -enacted the part of the father of the Prodigal Son. He waved the -question aside. - -“Nothing of any importance. Just one of the idiot trifles that always -seem to arise and deflect my course through life. The main point is that -I found the place I wanted, and went there with Quong Ho.” - -Luncheon had been cleared away and he had finished a couple of pipes -before he came to the end of his narrative. - -“So now you see my position,” said he. - -“I think I do,” replied Sheepshanks. - -“My whole life-work has gone—except that part of it which exists in the -cultivated brain of my remarkable young Chinaman. There seems to be no -place for me in London, where everybody’s fitted into the war, where I’m -simply dazed and unwanted. So I’ve come here—if only to find something -left of my old life to attach myself to.” - -“I’m afraid there’s not very much to be done in Cambridge,” said -Sheepshanks. “It’s no longer a university, but a military camp.” - -“But at any rate,” said Baltazar, “I can find here a few human beings I -know who might put me in the way of actual things—help me on my -course.” - -“That’s quite possible,” said Sheepshanks. - -“I also have to see what can be done for Quong Ho. I want him to come up -next term. Has the college ever had an undergraduate who has come up -with a knowledge of Elliptic Functions?” - -“God bless my soul!” ejaculated Sheepshanks, in interested astonishment. - -“He’s a wonder,” laughed Baltazar. “I ought to know, because I’ve taught -him daily for ten years. Well, he’ll be on your list, if you’ll have -him. He’s a dear creature. Manners like a Hidalgo. Mind cultivated in -the best of Chinese and English literature. And speaks English like his -favourite author, Dr. Johnson.” - -Sheepshanks smiled, a very pleasant smile, in which every wrinkle of his -dry brown face seemed to have a part. - -“How you keep your enthusiasms, Baltazar!” - -“Quong Ho is worth them. You’ll see. As soon as he’s fit for it, I’ll -send him to you. You set him last June’s Tripos Papers—Part II, if you -like. I’ll bet you anything he’ll floor them. Of course I’m -enthusiastic,” he said, after re-lighting his pipe, which had gone out. -“I’ve no kith or kin in the world. I’ve adopted Quong Ho as my -intellectual son and heir.” - -Sheepshanks rose, walked to the open window deliberately and looked out. -Presently he turned. - -“It seems strange,” said he, “that you should adopt a Chinaman, when -your English son is giving great promise of following in your -footsteps.” - -Baltazar regarded him in a puzzled way. Then he laughed. - -“My stepson. I’m afraid, my dear Sheepshanks, when I left the mother I -left her son. One of the defects of my qualities is honesty. I may be -brutal, but I can’t take a sentimental interest in the son of old Doon.” - -“The man I’m talking about,” said Sheepshanks, in the precise clipped, -nasal manner under which Baltazar remembered many a delinquent and -uppish pupil to have wilted in the old days, “isn’t called Doon. His -name is Baltazar. He came up with a Minor Scholarship over the way”—he -waved a hand, indicating the grey wing of the neighbouring college -visible through the window—“and he was the most promising freshman of -his year.” - -Baltazar rose too. - -“I don’t know what on earth you’re talking about. I don’t suppose I’m -the only Baltazar left in England. He can be no son of mine. It’s -idiotic. You ought to know.” - -“I do know,” said Sheepshanks. - -Baltazar’s eyes flashed in amazement and he made a stride towards him. -“What do you know? What are you suggesting?” - -“A child was born here in Cambridge, three months after you left us.” - -Something almost physical seemed to hit Baltazar between the eyes, -partially stunning him. He felt his way to the nearest chair and sat -down. - -“My God!” said he. “Oh, my God!” - -He remained for some time, his head on his hands, overwhelmed by the -significance of the revelation. At last he sprang suddenly to his feet. - -“No wonder you haven’t forgiven me,” he cried, with characteristic -directness. “To run away from a woman in such circumstances would be the -unforgivable sin. But I swear to God I never knew. She gave no hint, and -I saw her only a few days before I left. Such a possibility never -entered my mind. Has never entered it. I may be any kind of a sinner, -but not such a scoundrel as that. I left her because we were miserable -together.—I did my best—now and then a brief reconciliation.—I -suppose she tried too, in her way.—After the last, things were worse -than ever. And then there was the life of someone else I couldn’t -sacrifice—a flower of a thing. I felt my wife would be glad to see the -last of me. So I fled like Christian from the Burning City. If I had -known that—well, that I was leaving this responsibility behind me, I -should have faced things out. My God! man, you must believe me,” he -ended passionately. - -Sheepshanks through his thick gold spectacles met Baltazar’s fierce gaze -for a few moments. Then he held out his hand: “I believe you, J. B., and -doing so takes a great load off my mind.” - -“I’ve noticed your avoidance of the old name,” said Baltazar. “It must -have been in pretty evil odour for the past twenty years or so.” - -“You’re such an incalculable fellow,” said Sheepshanks, with a kind -smile. “The romance you so delicately suggest never occurred to any of -us.” - -“Well, well,” said Baltazar, “all that is done and over long ago. -Anyhow, I wasn’t the heartless wretch Cambridge must have taken me for. -I leave my rehabilitation in your hands. To me now the main, staring, -extraordinary fact is that I have a son. A son. I, who thought I was -wandering lonely as What’s-his-name’s cloud. I’ve got a son. A -mathematician. The same lunatic quirk of brain. If he were the village -idiot—it would be different.—You remember the ghastly story of Guy de -Maupassant? But not only my own flesh and blood, but my own flesh, blood -and intellect.” He paced about the room. “What kind of a fellow is he? -Is he like me? Have you seen him?” - -“Yes; once. Crosby—you remember Crosby?” He waved a hand towards the -college visible through the window. - -“Yes, yes,” said Baltazar, impatiently. - -“Crosby asked me to breakfast, one day, to meet him. The son of John -Baltazar, senior mathematical scholar of his year, was a curiosity. We -didn’t tell the young man so. Indeed, I suppose he wondered why such an -old fossil like myself was there.” - -“Never mind what he thought of old fossils, my dear Sheepshanks. What -was he like?” - -“Like you. Quite recognizable. But fairer, and though sensible and -manly, less—if you will allow me to say so—less of a firebrand.” - -“Anyhow, a good straight chap. Not merely low mathematical cunning -enveloped in any kind of smug exterior?” - -“He’s a son any father would be proud of,” said Sheepshanks. - -“And where is he now?” - -Sheepshanks made a vague gesture. “Where is all the gallant youth of -England? Over there, fighting.” - -“Are you sure?” - -“It would be small compliment to you, J. B., if I wasn’t sure,” replied -Sheepshanks with a smile. “The only undergraduates left in the -University are a few unhappy youngsters rejected from the army for -physical reasons. The maimed, halt and blind; also medical students -hurrying through their course, and the usual contingent of Indian -students who, not belonging to the fighting races of India, can find no -place in the armies of Great Britain.” - -“I don’t care about paralytics or doctors or Indians,” said Baltazar. “I -want to know about this son of mine.” - -“Crosby would tell you. He’s up. I saw him yesterday. Of course, you -know he’s master now.” - -“Crosby?” cried Baltazar, incredulously. “Crosby—that pragmatical owl, -master of——?” - -“Even as you are master of intolerance,” Sheepshanks interrupted. -“Crosby has developed into a very great man, and there’s not a head of -house in the University who is more beloved by his college. You’ll find -him in intimate touch with half a dozen generations of undergraduates.” - -“I’m learning things every minute,” said Baltazar. “So much for Crosby. -I’ll go along and see him. But the boy—I suppose he has got a Christian -name. What is it?” - -“I forget—but I can easily find out.” Sheepshanks took _The Cambridge -University Calendar_ from a shelf. “But perhaps you’d like to look -through it yourself.” - -Baltazar turned rapidly over the pages, found the college he sought and -the name of Godfrey Baltazar in its list of scholars. - -“Godfrey!” he exclaimed. “That was my father’s name.” Then after a -pause, as though speaking to himself: “It was good of her. Damned good -of her.” - -He walked to the casement window which Sheepshanks had vacated and -leaned his elbows on the sill, looking out for a long time into a blur -of things. Sheepshanks glanced at his broad shoulders which seemed bowed -beneath an intolerable burden, and after a moment or two of hesitation -slipped noiselessly from the room. Presently Baltazar turned, started to -find himself alone, frowned, then recognizing a delicate instinct on the -part of his host, went back to the window and his whirl of thoughts and -emotions. - -What a mess he had made of his life! What folly had been each one of -those flaming decisions that had marked his career! Was he a coward? The -word stung. There was a difference between flying from temptation and -resisting it. He remembered the comparison he had just made between -himself and Christian flying from the Burning City, and suddenly saw the -meanness and selfishness of Bunyan’s Hero—egotism as colossal as that -of St. Simeon Stylites on whom he had once airily lectured to Quong Ho. -What mattered anything human, wife, children born and the child within -the womb, so long as he saved his own wretchedly unimportant soul? For -aught Christian cared, all his family and his friends could go literally -to Hell, so long as he himself escaped. A sorry figure. And just such a -sorry figure had cut John Baltazar. And, life being real and implacable, -he had not even succeeded in saving his paltry soul. He had lost it at -every step. His fine phrases to Quong Ho; his boast of altruistic -service to mankind? Sheer juggling with sacred things. Sheer egotism. -Sheer vanity. - -What a mess he had made of his life! What folly had been his cowardly -flight! If he had known, he would have remained. Yes. A salve to -conscience. But the consciences of brave men need no salve. - -He had fooled away his life in a country that had no need of him, from -which he had derived no measure of spiritual profit. Strip the glamour -of sheer scholarship from his interest in Chinese philosophy, and what -remained? Scarcely anything that the heir of Western thought had not -picked up in his child’s copybook. And whilst he was wasting his brain -and his moral energies and his physical strength in pursuit of the -shadows, the son of his loins, a human thing for whose moulding and -development he was, by the laws of nature and civilization, responsible, -had grown up, haphazard, fatherless, motherless, under alien guidance. -He threw his memory back to his wife’s family, the Woodcotts, -narrow-minded, bigoted, vulgar—Lord! how he had detested them. Had he -abandoned his son to their untender mercies? No matter who had trained -the boy, he himself had failed in the most elementary duty of mankind. - -Suddenly he raised both clenched fists and cried aloud: - -“By God! I swear——” - -Then suddenly he saw the ironical face of the village doctor of -Water-End and heard his sarcastic words: “A bad habit. I should give it -up”—and his arms dropped helpless by his sides. No. What was this oath -but one more irretrievable plunge into the morass in which he -floundered? - -He began again to wonder concerning this newly discovered son, strove to -visualize him. A broad, upstanding fellow, like himself. Fairer—he got -that from his mother. A fine, soldierly figure in khaki. But only a -boy—just twenty. And he had thrown everything to the winds on the -outbreak of war and had been fighting in France—that child—for two -years. He drew a sharp breath, as a sudden thought smote him. The boy -might have been killed. Apparently he was still alive. Otherwise -Sheepshanks would surely have heard. But supposing—supposing. . . . He -shivered at the thought of it. - -Half an hour, an hour—he was unconscious of time—passed. Then the door -opened and Sheepshanks appeared, followed by a short-bearded man in -clerical tweeds. - -“A bit of luck. I found Crosby in. I’ve told him everything, and he has -been kind enough to come along.” - -Said Dr. Crosby a while later: “I have brought with me the boy’s last -letter—only a week old. Perhaps you would like to see it.” - -Baltazar stretched out an impatient hand. This thing so essentially -personal, the first objective token of his son’s existence, affected him -deeply. The words swam before his eyes. He turned to the end to see the -signature. His thumb against it, he held out the paper to Sheepshanks, -and said in a shaking voice: - -“That’s my handwriting. He has the same trick of the ‘B’ and the ‘z.’” - -The letter informed the master that he was still at Churton Towers, near -Godalming; that the stump obstinately refused to heal completely, owing -perhaps to the original gangrene; that he hoped they would not chuck him -out of the Army, because, with a brand new foot, he could be useful in -hundreds of ways; but that, if they did, he would come up and continue -to read for his degree. - -“May I keep this, Crosby?” asked Baltazar; and, permission given, he -folded it up and put it in his pocket. Then he turned to Sheepshanks. -“Why didn’t you tell me at first what had happened?” - -“My dear fellow,” said Sheepshanks, “I only heard he had been wounded. I -was unaware of details. That’s why I went at once to Crosby. In these -days one must be discreet.” - -“Yes, no doubt,” said Baltazar, absently. He paced the room for a few -moments. Then halting: “I must see this son of mine. But I must see him -in my own way. Will you do me a favour not to let him know of my -reappearance until I send you word?” - -“Certainly,” said Dr. Crosby. - -“Thanks,” said he. - -He walked to and fro, his head full of the tragedy of this maimed young -life. He looked from one unemotional face to the other. Their attitude -was incomprehensible. Crosby, before showing him the letter, had spoken -of wound and amputation in the most matter-of-fact, unfeeling way. -Suddenly he burst out indignantly: - -“I wonder if you two people have any idea of what I’m feeling. To-day I -learnt the wonderful news that I’ve got a son—a splendid fellow, a man -and a scholar. An hour afterwards you tell me that he’s a one-legged -cripple. Neither of you seem to care a hang. I haven’t heard a word of -sympathy, of pity——” - -The white-headed, gold-spectacled senior tutor rushed towards him, in -some agitation, with outspread hands. - -“My dear J. B., we must observe a sense of proportion. You really ought -to go on your knees and thank God that your son is preserved to you. -He’s out of that hell for ever.” - -“My boy—my only son—was killed last December,” said Dr. Crosby. - -Baltazar stared for a moment at the short, bearded man and sought for -words, even the most conventional words; but they would not come. Then, -memory flashing on him, he stretched out his open hand about three feet -from the ground, and said, in a voice which sounded queer in his own -ears: - -“That little chap?” - -“Yes. That little chap,” said Dr. Crosby. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - -A DAY or two afterwards Godfrey Baltazar, still tied by his maimed leg -to Churton Towers, received a letter which caused him to frown and rub -his head. It was type-written save for the signature, and was addressed, -care of a firm of solicitors in Bedford Row. As soon as Marcelle came to -do his morning dressing he handed it to her. - -“What do you make of this?” - -Before replying, she read it through without remark. It ran: - - Dear Sir, - - _I have just been visiting Cambridge after many years’ absence - abroad, and have learned that the son of my old college friend, - John Baltazar, is lying wounded at Churton Towers Convalescent - Home. I am writing to you, therefore, to enquire whether one who - was very intimately connected with your father in the old days - might venture to run down to Godalming and see you, with the - double purpose of making the acquaintance of John Baltazar’s - son, of whose brilliant academic beginnings the University - authorities have informed me, and of paying a stranger - Englishman’s tribute to a gallant fellow who has shed his blood - for his country. My time being, at your disposal, I shall be - happy to keep any appointment you may care to make._ - - _Yours very faithfully_, - James Burden - -“Seems rather nice of him,” said Marcelle. - -“I suppose it is. But who is the old fossil?” - -Marcelle smiled. “Probably what he claims to be. An old college friend -of your father.” - -“He must have been a don of sorts. Not merely an undergraduate friend. -Otherwise how could he have got straight to the people who knew all -about me? You ever heard of James Burden?” - -“No,” replied Marcelle, shaking her head. “How could I know all the -fellows of your father’s college? Newnham students in my day were kept -far from the madding crowd of dons.” - -“Well, what about seeing the sentimental blighter? Oh, of course he’s -sentimental. His ‘double purpose’ reeks of it. Rather what before the -war we used to call ‘colonial.’ What shall I do? Shall I tell him to -come along?” - -“Why not? It can do no harm.” - -Godfrey reflected for a few moments. Then he said: - -“You see, before I met you I would have jumped at the idea of seeing an -old friend of my father. But you knew more of him than the whole lot of -the others put together. I’ve got my intimate picture of him through -you. I’m not so keen to get sidelights, possibly distorting lights, from -anybody else. You see what I mean, don’t you?” - -“I see,” said Marcelle. “Let us have a look at the foot.” - -She plied her nurse’s craft; set him up for the day’s mild activities. -When he hobbled an hour later into the hall to attend to his -correspondence and resume his study of the late Dr. Routh’s _Treatise on -Rigid Dynamics_, he wrote a polite note to Mr. Burden suggesting an -appointment. After all, even in such luxurious quarters as Churton -Towers, life was a bit monotonous, and stragglers from the outer world -not unwelcome. It was all very well for most of his comrades, who had -mothers, fathers, sisters, cousins, girl friends attached and unattached -to visit them; but he, Godfrey, had found himself singularly alone. Here -and there a representative of the Woodcott crowd had paid him a -perfunctory visit. He professed courteous appreciation. But they were -not his people. Memories of his pariah boyhood discounted their gush -over the one-footed hero with the Military Cross. He was cynical enough -to recognize that they took a vast lot of the credit to themselves, to -the Family. They went away puffed with pride and promises. He said to -Marcelle: - -“I’m not taking any.” - -A few men friends, chiefly men on leave, wandered down from time to -time. But they had the same old tales to tell; of conditions in the -sector, of changes in the battalion, of such and such a scrap, of -promotions and deaths, a depressing devil of a lot of deaths; the -battalion wasn’t what it was when Godfrey left it; he could not imagine -the weird creatures in Sam Browne belts that blew in from nowhere, to -take command of platoons, things with their mother’s milk wet on their -lips, and garters from the Burlington Arcade, their idea of devilry, in -their pockets. And the N.C.O.s! My God! Oh, for the good old days -of—six months ago! - -Godfrey, wise in his generation, laughed at the jeremiads of these -callow _laudatores temporis acti_, and on probing further, satisfied -himself that everything was still for the best in the best of all -possible armies. He also found that ginger was still hot in the mouths -of these friends of his, and that he had not lived until he had seen -Betty or Kitty or Elsie So-and-So, or such and such a Revue. - -Frankly and boyishly, his appreciated his friends’ entertaining chatter. -But they came and went, with the superficial _bonhomie_ of the modern -soldier. They touched no depths. If he had died of his gangrened foot, -they would have said “Poor old chap!” and thought no more about him. He -did not condemn them, for he himself had said and thought the same of -many a comrade who had gone West. It was part of the game which he -played as scrupulously and as callously as the others. He craved, -however, solicitude deeper and more permanent. - -Of course there was Dorothy Mackworth. She did not come to Churton -Towers; but she had dutifully attended the Carlton when he had summoned -her thither to meet Sister Baring, and put on for his benefit her most -adorable clothing and behaviour. The lunch had been a meal of delight. -The young man glowed over his guests—the two prettiest women, so he -declared, in the room. Marcelle in the much-admired hat, her cheeks -slightly flushed and her eyes bright, looked absurdly young. The girl, -conscious of angelic dealing, carried off her own absurd youth with a -conquering air that bewitched him more than ever. She dropped golden -words: - -“Oh, let us cut out Leopold! I’ve no use for him.” - -She had no use for Leopold Doon, his half-brother and rival. He was to -be cut out of their happy thoughts. Also: - -“I’m not going to have you creep back into civil life and bury yourself -at Cambridge. You’d get a hump there you’d never recover from. There’s -lots of jobs on the staff for a brainy fellow like him, aren’t there, -Miss Baring? I’ll press father’s button and he’ll do the rest.” - -Now Dorothy’s father was a Major-General doing things at Whitehall, -whose nature was indicated by mystic capital letters after his name. - -“You’ll look splendid in red tabs,” she added. - -This profession of interest and this air of proprietorship enraptured -him. Under the ban of her displeasure Cambridge faded into a dreary, -tumbledown desolation. She had but to touch him with her fairy wand and -he would break out all over in red tabs. She spoke with assurance in the -future tense. - -And again, in a low voice, on their winding way out through the tables -of the restaurant, Marcelle preceding them by a yard or two: - -“Miss Baring’s a real dear. But don’t fall in love with her, for I swear -I’m not going to play gooseberry.” - -He had protested in a whisper: “Fall in love with anyone but you?” - -And she had replied: “I think I’m nice enough,” and had laughed at him -over her shoulder and looked exceedingly desirable. - -He had never dared till that inspired moment speak to her of love in -plain, bald terms; now he had done it and not only remained unfrozen, -but basked in the warmth of her approval. - -“I think that’s the most beautiful beano I’ve ever had,” he said to -Marcelle, on their journey back to Godalming. - -Yes. There was Dorothy. She had promised to participate in a similar -beano any time he liked. But such bright occurrences must be rare. He -longed to plunge into fervid correspondence. Caution restrained him. -Elusive and perplexing, Heaven knew what she might say to a violent -declaration of passion. It might ruin a state of things both delicate -and delicious. Far better carry on his wooing by word of mouth. - -In the meanwhile, the days at Churton Towers were long and life lacked -variety. So he looked forward to the visit of Mr. James Burden, compound -of fossil and sentimental blighter though he might be. - - * * * * * - -Punctually at three o’clock, the appointed hour, one afternoon, the maid -who attended the door came up to Godfrey Baltazar waiting lonely in the -great hall, and announced the visitor. With the aid of the now familiar -crutch he rose nimbly. He saw advancing towards him in a brisk, brusque -way, a still young-looking man in grey tweeds, rather above medium -height, thickset, giving an immediate impression of physical strength. - -“Are you Mr. Godfrey Baltazar?” - -“Yes, sir,” said the boy courteously. - -“My name is Burden. It’s good of you to let me come to see you.” - -He grasped Godfrey’s hand in a close grip and looked at him keenly out -of bright grey eyes. Not much fossil there, thought the young man. On -the contrary, a singularly live personality. There was strength in the -heavy though clean-cut face, marked by the deep vertical furrow between -the brows; strength in the coarse, though well-trimmed, thatch of brown -hair unstreaked by grey; strength in his voice. - -“Do sit down,” said Godfrey. - -Baltazar sat down and, looking at his son, clutched the arm of his -chair. Crosby and Sheepshanks were right. A splendid fellow, the ideal -of a soldier, clean run, clear eyes; a touch of distinction and breed -about him, manifestation of the indomitable old Huguenot strain. By God! -A boy to be proud of; and he saw bits of himself in the boy’s features, -expression and gesture. A thrill ran through him as he drank in the new -joy of parenthood. Yet through the joy pain stabbed him—fierce -resentment against Fate, which had cheated him of the wonderful years of -the boy’s growth and development. For the first time in his decisive -life he felt tongue-tied and embarrassed. He cursed the craftiness that -brought him hither under an assumed name. Yet, had he written as John -Baltazar, he would have risked a rebuff. What sentimental regard or -respect could this young man have for his unknown and unnatural father? -At any rate his primary object had been attained. Here he was in his -son’s presence, a courteously welcomed guest. He looked at him with -yearning eyes; Godfrey met his gaze with cool politeness. Baltazar wiped -a perspiring brow. After a few moments Godfrey broke an awkward -situation by offering his cigarette case. The cigarettes lit, Baltazar -said suddenly: - -“It’s an infernal shame!” - -“What?” asked Godfrey, startled. - -Baltazar pointed downwards. “That,” said he. - -“Oh!” Godfrey laughed. “I’m one of the lucky ones. Far better to have -stopped it with my foot than my head.” - -“But to limp about on crutches all your life—a fellow like you in the -pride of youth and strength. It makes one angry.” - -“That’s kind of you, sir,” said Godfrey. “But it doesn’t worry me much. -They’re wangling a new foot for me, and as soon as I can stick it on, -I’ll throw away my crutches, and no one but myself will be a bit the -wiser.” - -“You take it bravely,” said Baltazar. - -“It’s all in the day’s work. What’s the good of grousing? What’s the -point of a real foot, anyway, when a faked one will do as well?” - -But though Baltazar admired the young fellow’s careless courage, he -still glowered at the maimed leg. He resented fiercely the lost foot. He -had been robbed of a bit of this wonderful son. - -“How did you come to get hit?” he asked abruptly. - -There are many ways of asking a wounded man such a question. Many he -loathes. Hence the savagely facetious answers that have been put on -record. But there are ways that compel reply. Baltazar’s was one. -Godfrey felt strangely affected by the elder man’s earnestness; yet his -instinct forbade him to yield at once. - -“Getting hit’s as simple as being bowled out at cricket. A jolly sight -simpler. Like going out in the rain and getting wet. You just go out -without an umbrella and something hits you, and that’s the end of it.” - -“But when was it? How was it?” asked Baltazar. - -Godfrey, after the way of British subalterns, gave a bald account of his -personal adventures in his last fight near Ypres. It might have been a -description of a football match. Baltazar wondered. For all his -wanderings and experience of life, he had never heard a first-hand -account of modern warfare. The psychology of it perplexed and fascinated -him. He plied the young man with questions; shrewd, direct questions -piercing to the heart of things; and gradually Godfrey’s English reserve -melted, and he laid aside his defensive armour and told his intent -visitor what he wanted to know. And Baltazar’s swift brain seized the -vivid pictures and co-ordinated them until he grew aware of the hells -through which this young and debonair gentleman had passed. - -“And what did you get that for?” - -He pointed to the ribbon of the Military Cross. - -“I managed to get away with some machine guns out of a tight corner. It -was only when we were scooting back that I discovered we had been left -in the air. I thought the battalion was quite up close. If I hadn’t, I -should probably have bolted. These things are all flukes.” - -“What a proud man your father would have been,” said Baltazar. - -“By the way, yes,” said Godfrey. “I was forgetting. You were a friend of -my father’s.” - -“It’s a great misfortune that he never met you,” said Baltazar. - -“He disappeared before I was born,” Godfrey remarked drily. - -“I know. That’s why I wrote to you in some diffidence. I had no idea how -you regarded your father’s memory. I hope you appreciate my feeling that -I might be treading on delicate ground.” - -Godfrey waved an indulgent hand. “Oh, that’s all right, sir. My father -was a distinguished and romantic person, and I’m rather interested in -him than otherwise.” - -Baltazar drew a great breath of relief. At any rate he was not execrated -by the paragon of sons. “I see,” said he, his features relaxing, for the -first time, into a smile. “Like any other ancestor, he’s part of your -family history.” - -“Something of the sort. Only perhaps a bit nearer.” - -“How nearer?” - -“People live who knew him in the flesh. You, for instance.” - -“Yes,” said Baltazar. “I knew him intimately. We were undergraduates and -dons together. I left Cambridge about the same time as he did—when my -fellowship lapsed. I went away to the Far East, where I’ve spent my -life. I’m just back, you know. Instinct took me to Cambridge, a sort of -Rip van Winkle, to see if there were any remains of old friends—and my -visit to you is the result of my enquiries.” - -“When you wrote to me, I wondered whether you could tell me if my father -was alive or dead.” - -Baltazar made a little gesture. - -“_Quien sabe?_ From what I remember of John Baltazar he was not a man to -let himself die easily. He was the most obstinate mule I ever came -across. Death would have had a trying time with him. Besides, he was as -tough as a rhinoceros.” - -“So he still may be in the land of the living?” - -“As far as I know.” Baltazar leaned forward on his chair. “You have no -feeling of resentment against him?” - -“One can’t feel resentment against a shadow,” replied Godfrey. - -“Suppose he reappeared, what would be your attitude towards him?” - -Godfrey frowned at the touch of impertinence in the question which -probed too deeply. He glanced distrustfully at his visitor. - -“I’m afraid I’ve never considered the point,” he replied frostily. “Have -you any special reason for putting it to me?” - -Baltazar winced. “Only as a student of psychology. But I see you would -rather continue to regard him as a legendary character?” - -“Quite,” said Godfrey. - -“You must forgive me, Mr. Baltazar,” said the father, with a smile. “I’m -half orientalized and only beginning to attune myself to Western habits -of thought. I lived for so many years in the interior of China that I -almost lost the Western point of view. Well, there the basis of all -religious and philosophic systems is filial piety. The whole moral and -political system of the Empire has been reared on it for thousands of -years. If you were a Chinaman, you would venerate your father, no matter -what grievances you might have against him or how shadowy and legendary -he might be.” - -“But I’m not a Chinaman,” said Godfrey. - -“Precisely. That’s where your typically Western point of view is of -great interest to me. I hope, therefore, you see that the question I put -to you, although it may be one of curiosity, is of philosophical and not -idle curiosity.” - -“I see,” replied Godfrey, smiling and mollified. “May I ask you which of -the two attitudes you consider the most workable in practical life?” - -“I told you just now,” said Baltazar, “that my mind was in process of -adjustment.” - -There came a slight pause. Godfrey broke it by suggesting politely that -Mr. Burden must have found Cambridge greatly changed. Baltazar launched -into vivid description of the toga giving way to arms. Eventually came -to personalities. The death of Dr. Crosby’s only son. - -“Yes. I heard,” said Godfrey. “Fine soldier. Done in by high explosive -shell. Not a trace of him or six others left. Not even the heel of a -boot.” - -“How lightly you all take death nowadays,” Baltazar remarked -wonderingly. - -“That oughtn’t to surprise you,” said Godfrey. “I’ve been led to believe -they don’t worry their heads much about it in China.” - -“I thought it one of the points at which East and West could never -touch.” He laughed. “More readjustment, you see.” - -“In the Army we’ve got either to be fatalists or lunatics. If your -number’s up it’s up, and that’s all there is to it. _You_ can’t do -anything. You can’t even run away.” - -“But surely you cling to life—young men like you—with all sorts of -golden promises in front of you?” - -“We don’t do silly ass things,” said Godfrey. “We don’t stand about like -Ajaxes defying the lightning. When shells come we scurry like rabbits -into the nearest funk-hole. We’re not a bit brave unless there’s no help -for it. But when you see so many people killed around you, you say ‘My -turn next,’ and it doesn’t seem to matter. You think ‘Who the blazes are -you that you should be so precious?’ . . . No. Going out all in the -fraction of a second like Crosby doesn’t matter. Why should it? What -does give you a horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach is the fear -lest you may be utterly messed up and go on living. But death itself is -too damned ordinary. At any rate, that’s the way I size it up. Of course -it’s pretty cheap and easy for a lucky beggar like me, who’s out of it -for ever, to talk hot philosophic air—but all the same, looking back, I -think I’ve told you in a vague sort of way what I felt when I was out in -France. Sometimes the whole thing seems a nightmare. At others, I want -to kick myself for sitting here in luxury when there’s so much to be -done out there. I had got my platoon—I was acting first -lieutenant—like a high-class orchestra—just the last two months, you -know. It was the weirdest feeling. I just had to wave my baton and they -did everything I wanted. Once or twice I nearly cried with sheer -amazement. And then just when the band was playing its damndest, I got -knocked out and fainted like a silly fool, and woke up miles away. When -one has sweated one’s guts out over a thing, it’s annoying not to reap -the fruit of it. It’s rough luck. It’s—well——” - -Suddenly self-consciousness returned. He flushed deeply. - -“I’m awfully sorry, sir. I never meant to bore you like this about -myself.” - -“Bore me!” cried Baltazar. “My dear fellow, you could go on like this -for ever and command my most amazed interest. Do go on.” - -“It’s very kind of you,” stammered the young man, “but—really——” - -He stopped, confused, embarrassed, ashamed of his boasting. Never had he -spoken like that to human being of his incomparable platoon. Never had -he unveiled to profane eyes his soldier’s Holy of Holies. Certainly not -to his comrades. Not to Dorothy. Not even to Marcelle. What on earth -must this stranger, whom he didn’t know from Adam, be thinking of him? -He lit a cigarette, before, remembering manners, he offered his case to -his visitor. The sense of sentimental braggadocio overwhelmed him, -burning him red-hot. He longed with sudden fury to get rid of this -uncanny guest with his clear, compelling eyes, which even now steadily -regarded him with an inscrutable smile and continued the impossible -invitation: “Do go on.” He could no more go on than smite him over the -head with his crutch (which he was far more inclined to do) for plucking -out the heart of his mystery. If only the man would go! But he sat -there, strong, urbane, maddeningly kind. He hated him. Yet he felt -himself under his influence. From the man seemed to emanate a suggestion -of friendship, interest, control, which his sensitive English spirit -vehemently repudiated. He heard him say: - -“The old French blood in your veins has suddenly come up against the -English.” - -He started. “What do you know about my French ancestry?” - -“Your father was very proud of his Huguenot descent.” - -“My father!” cried Godfrey, his nerves on edge. “I’m rather fed up with -my father. I wish he had never been born.” - -Baltazar rose. “I’m sorry,” said he courteously, “to have distressed -you. Believe me, it was far from my intention.” - -Godfrey stared at him for a second, and passed his hand across his eyes. - -“It’s for me to apologize. I’m afraid I’ve been rude. Please don’t go.” - -But Baltazar stood smiling, holding out his hand. Now that the man was -going Godfrey realized the enormity of his own discourtesy. He looked -around as if seeking some outlet for the situation. And then, as if in -answer to a prayer, at the end of the hall appeared the passing, -grey-clad figure of a guardian angel. - -“Sister!” he cried. - -Marcelle halted, smiled, and advanced towards him. - -“Sister,” said he, “this is Mr. James Burden. You ought to know each -other. You both knew my father.” - -Baltazar turned. And for a few speechless seconds he and Marcelle stared -into each other’s eyes. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - -GODFREY half rose from his chair, more than puzzled by the mutual -recognition. - -“You said you didn’t know Mr. Burden,” he cried. - -But neither heeded him. Baltazar made a stride forward and with one hand -gripped Marcelle by the arm and with the other motioned in his imperious -way to the open door. Still looking at him in wonderment, she allowed -him to lead her quickly to the terrace at the head of the steps. -Godfrey’s astonished gaze followed them till they disappeared. Outside, -Baltazar released her. - -“Marcelle! What in thunder are you doing here?” - -She was too greatly overwhelmed to reply. She could only gasp a few -broken and foolish words. - -“You? John Baltazar? Alive?” - -“Never been less dead. But you! You of all people. My God! although I -lost you, I could never lose your face. It has been with me all the -time. And there it is, the same as ever. But what are you doing here?” - -She made a vague gesture over her costume. - -“I’m a professional nurse. Sister-in-charge. I’ve been nursing all my -life.” - -“Not when I knew you,” said Baltazar. - -“My life began after that.” - -“Married?” - -The colour came back into her white cheeks. “No,” she said. - -“Neither am I.” - -He put both hands on her shrinking shoulders and bent on her eyes which -she could not meet. - -“You at last, after all these years! Just the same. Just as beautiful. -Much more.” - -“This is rather public,” she managed to say, releasing herself. “There -are lots of patients——” - -He laughed and, indicating the parapet, invited her to sit. - -“You must forgive me,” he said, seating himself by her side. “The sight -of you blotted out the world. Don’t be frightened. I’m quite tame now. -Look at me.” - -She obeyed him as she had done in her early girlhood, dominated for the -moment by his tone. - -“How do you think I’m looking? Battered by time? A crock to be wrapped -up in flannel and set in the chimney-corner to wheeze the rest of his -life away?” - -“You look very little older,” she said with a wan smile. “And you -haven’t a grey hair in your head.” - -“That’s good. I’m as young as ever I was. I can sweep away twenty years -and begin where I left off.” - -“You’re more fortunate than I am,” said Marcelle. - -“Rubbish!” said Baltazar. - -She glanced at him wistfully and then out over the trees. - -“Nursing isn’t the road to perpetual youth,” she said. Then lest he -should catch up her words, she continued swiftly: “But you must tell me -where you have been, how you’ve come back to life. You disappeared -utterly. You never wrote. If we all thought you dead, was it our fault? -When Godfrey showed me your letter, I never dreamed who James Burden -might be.” - -“Godfrey?” Baltazar pounced on the name. “Do you call him Godfrey? Then -you must be old friends. Hence the miracle of finding you together. Have -you been mothering him all his life?” - -She shook her head. “How you jump at conclusions! No. I met him for the -first time when I came here—a month ago.” - -“So it’s just Chance, Fate, Destiny, the three of us meeting like this? -The hand of God? . . . Wait, though. I can’t see quite clearly. You -learned he was my son?” - -She smiled again: - -“Do you think we call all young officers here by their Christian names?” - -“Does he know that you knew me?” - -“If he didn’t,” she replied, “he wouldn’t have consulted me about Mr. -Burden’s letter. I wish I had been mothering him all his life,” she -added after a pause; “but I’ve been doing my best for the last month. I -can’t help loving him.” - -“What does he know about you and me?” - -“I’ve told him everything,” said Marcelle. - -Baltazar started to his feet. - -“Then when he saw us gaping at each other just now, he must have -guessed, or he can’t have any Baltazar brains in his head.” He moved -away a pace; then turned on her. “You gave me a good character?” - -Her head was bowed. She did not see the rare laughter in his eyes, but -took his question seriously. - -“Can you doubt it?” She beckoned him nearer, and said in a low voice: “I -may have been wrong, but I have given him to understand that it was -entirely on my account—you know what I mean——” - -“What other reason, in the name of God could I have had?” he exclaimed -with a large gesture. - -If there had lingered a doubt in her mind, the note of sincerity in the -man’s cry would have driven it away for ever. It awoke a harmonic chord -of gladness in her heart and her whole being vibrated. Although John -Baltazar’s subsequent career was as yet dark and mysterious, her faith, -at least, was justified. She said without looking at him: - -“You’ll find that I’ve been loyal.” - -He strode towards her and, disregarding the perils of publicity, again -took her by the shoulders. - -“What kind of a cynical beast do you think I’ve turned into?” - -He swept away, leaving her physically conscious of the impress of his -fingers in her flesh and her brain reeling. - - * * * * * - -Baltazar marched into the great hall to Godfrey, still sitting in his -arm-chair, his maimed leg, as usual, supported on the outstretched -crutch. - -“No, don’t get up.” - -He swung the chair which he had previously occupied dose to Godfrey’s -and sat down. - -“By this time you must have guessed who I am,” he said in his direct -fashion. - -“I suppose you’re my father,” said the young man. - -“I am,” replied Baltazar. “My extraordinary meeting with Miss Baring -gave me away. Didn’t it?” - -“I suppose it did. Perhaps I ought to have suspected something when you -mentioned China. But I didn’t.” - -“The assumed name was the one I was known by for eighteen years—ever -since I left England. I thought I’d take it up again for the sake of a -reconnaissance, like the rich old uncle in the play, to see what kind of -a man you were and how you looked upon your unknown father. Hence the -questions you may have thought impertinent.” - -“I quite see,” said Godfrey, pulling at his short-cropped moustache. - -Baltazar threw himself back in his chair. “Well, there it is. We’re -father and son. Miss Baring has told you, from her point of view, why I -threw over everything and disappeared. Her conjecture is absolutely -correct. I must, however, say one thing to you, once and for all. I -hadn’t the remotest idea that you were coming into the world. If I had, -I should have remained and done my duty. I only heard of your existence -a week ago—at Cambridge.” - -“Yes?” said Godfrey. - -“Let us come straight to the point then. You either believe me or -disbelieve me. If you don’t believe me, nothing I can ever say or do -will make you. If you do believe me, we can go ahead. It’s the vital -point in our future relations. Speak out straight. Which is it?” - -Godfrey looked for a few seconds into the luminous grey eyes—his own -were somewhat hard—and then he said very deliberately: - -“I certainly believe you. My conversations with Sister Baring made me -take that particular point for granted.” - -Baltazar drew a long breath. - -“That’s all right, then. I think I also ought to assure you that beyond -giving Cambridge a nine days’ wonder, I have done nothing to discredit -the name of Baltazar. In China I had a position which no European to my -knowledge has attained since Marco Polo. I left on account of the -warring between two ideals—the Old China and the New. I belonged to the -Old. I found I couldn’t find orientation unless I came West for it. I -returned to England two years ago.” - -“And you only went up to Cambridge last week?” - -“Precisely. The intervening time I spent in a remarkable manner, which -I’ll tell you about on another occasion. In the meanwhile we’re face to -face with the overwhelming fact that I’ve discovered an unsuspected son, -and you a legendary father. I’m fairly well off. So, I presume, are you. -If you’re not, my means are yours. It’s well to clear the air, from the -very beginning of any possible sordid bogies.” - -“I never dreamed of such a thing,” said Godfrey. - -“All right. That’s settled. We come now to the main point. We’re father -and son. What are we going to do about it?” - -“It’s a peculiar situation, sir,” said Godfrey. - -Baltazar, who in the impatient interval between Sheepshanks’s staggering -news and the present interview, had pictured many a _dénouement_ of the -inevitable drama, had never pictured one so cold and unemotional as -this. The Chinese filial ideal he knew to be non-existent in the West; -but in his uncompromising way he had imagined extremes. Either scornful -enmity and repudiation, or a gush of human sentiment. A scene in a silly -old French melodrama, a memory of boyhood, had haunted him. “_Mon -fils!_”—“_Mon père!_” And the twain had thrown themselves into each -other’s arms. But neither of these dramatic situations had arisen. The -situation, indeed, was characterized by the cool and thoughtful young -man merely as “peculiar.” Well, it was an intelligent view. The boy had -heard the arguments of the advocates of the devil and the advocates of -the angels, and he had formed a sound and favourable judgment. On the -angels’ advocacy he had never reckoned. So much was there to the good. -He was not condemned. On the other hand, he saw no signs of filial -emotion. He himself, with his expansive temperament, would have rejoiced -at being able to cry “_Mon fils!_” and clasp to his breast this son of -his loins, this splendid continuance of his blood and his brain. But in -the calm, collected young soldier he could discover no germ of -reciprocated sentiment. He felt disappointed, almost rebuffed. All the -pent-up emotion of the lonely man was ready to burst the lock-gates; it -had to surge back on itself. - -After a long silence, he said: “Yes, you’re right. It is a peculiar -situation. Perhaps circumstances make me take it more—what shall we -say—more emotionally than you. After all, I’m a perfect stranger. I’ve -never done a hand’s turn for you. I may be a complication in your -life—to put it brutally—a damned nuisance. I don’t want to be one, I -assure you.” - -“Of course not,” Godfrey answered, with wrinkled forehead. “I quite -understand. You must forgive me, sir, if I don’t say much; but you’ll -agree that this revelation, or whatever we like to call it, is a bit -sudden. If your mind, as you said just now, is in process of adjustment, -what do you think mine must be?” - -“All right,” said Baltazar. “Let us leave it at that for the present.” - -He rose and marched to the door in search of Marcelle. But she had -disappeared from the terrace and was nowhere visible to his eye scanning -the garden. When he returned to the hall, Godfrey was standing. - -“I suppose I must give the two of you time to recover from the shock of -me. I can quite understand that bouncing in from the dead like this is -disconcerting to one’s friends.” He looked at his watch. “I must be -catching my train. I shall see you soon again, I hope.” - -“I was wondering, sir, whether you would lunch with me in town -to-morrow,” said Godfrey. - -“Can you travel about like that?” - -“Oh, Lord! yes. I’m going up to London in any case.” - -“Then we’ll fix it. Only you’ll lunch with me. It seems more fitting. -When? Where? I have no club. My membership of the Athenæum lapsed twenty -years ago. And, even if it hadn’t, the Megatherium—Thackeray’s name for -it—is no good for hospitable purposes. Shall we say the Savoy at -one-thirty?” - -“That will suit me admirably,” said the young man. - -“Good-bye.” - -They shook hands. Godfrey accompanied him to the terrace. - -“Have you a taxi or cab waiting?” - -“I came on the feet which I unworthily possess,” replied Baltazar with a -smile. “Tell Sister Baring I looked for her and she was gone.” - -“I’ll send an orderly to find her, if you like.” - -Baltazar hesitated for a moment. A quick tenderness checked impetuous -impulse. - -“No, no!” he answered with a smile. “I’ve worried her sufficiently for -to-day. She’ll hear from me soon enough.” - -They shook hands again and he ran down the marble stairs, and, waving a -farewell, strode away with the elastic tread of youth. After a while -Godfrey hobbled down, and, passing by the tennis courts and through the -Japanese garden, arrived at the beech-wood, scene of their first and so -many subsequent intimate talks, where he felt sure he should find -Marcelle. He saw her, before she realized his approach, sitting on a -bench; staring in front of her, her hands listless by her side. On the -palm of one of them lay a crumpled ball of a handkerchief. She had been -crying. As soon as she heard him she started and, looking round, greeted -him with a smile. - -“I knew I’d get you here,” he said, sitting down by her side. “The -long-lost parent has gone. He sent you a message.” - -He gave its substance. She nodded. - -“He’s quite right. I need a little time to get used to it.” - -Godfrey said: “Shall I clear out and leave you alone? Do tell me.” - -“No, no!” she said quickly. “I want you. I was just feeling dreadfully -alone.” - -“Defenceless?” - -“What makes you say that?” she asked, alarm in her eyes. For she had -been frightened, absurdly frightened, by the swift, sudden force that -had impinged on her well-ordered way of life. It had set her wits -wandering, her nerves jangling, her emotions dancing a grotesque and -unintelligible saraband. Her shoulders still felt the clutch of -irresistible fingers. She was sure they would bear black and blue marks -for days. The virginal in her shrank from the possible contemplation of -them in her mirror. Defenceless was the very word. What uncanny insight -had suggested it to Godfrey? - -In reply, he shrugged his shoulders. Then he said: - -“That’s how I feel, anyway. And if you want me, I want you. That’s why -I’ve ferreted you out. It strikes me we’re more or less in the same -boat. What are we going to do?” - -“I don’t know,” she replied absently. - -The beech foliage was just beginning to turn faint golden. Here and -there a leaf fell. A brown squirrel scampering up a branch of a tree -close in front of them, suddenly halted and watched them, as though -wondering why the two humans sat so still and depressed on that mellow -autumn afternoon. The sun was slanting warmly through the leaves. The -beech-mast, young and tender, provided infinity of food beyond the -dreams of gluttony. Never an enemy menaced the exquisite demesne. God -was in His heaven, and all was right with the world. What in the name of -Nature was there to worry these two humans? Well, it was no business of -his, and he had enough business of his own to attend to. He glanced -aside, and his quick eyes spotting a field-mouse at the base of a -neighbouring tree, he darted off, a streak of brown lightning, in -pursuit. - -Presently Godfrey spoke, digging in front of him with his rubber-shod -crutch. - -“To be interested in a legendary sort of father is one thing. There’s -imagination and romance and atmosphere about it. But it’s another thing -to have this same father burst on one in flesh and blood—and such a lot -of flesh and blood! Now a venerable, white-haired old sinner, with a -pathetic, intellectual face, might appeal to one’s sentiment. But this -new father of mine doesn’t. I may be unnatural, Marcelle, but he -doesn’t. Mind you, I’ve no grouch against him. Not a bit. I’m convinced -he thought he was doing right to everybody. When he learned that I -existed, he was struck all of a heap. He lost no time in tracking me -down. He’s actuated by the best motives. . . . All the same, I can’t -rise to it. The more he tried to make an appeal, the more antagonistic I -grew. It’s beyond explanation.” - -“You’ll learn to love him,” said Marcelle loyally, yet without -conviction. “He’s a splendid man.” - -“He’ll want to run me. Now I’ve run myself all my life. So I’ll not -stand for it. He’ll want to run you too. You know it, Marcelle. That’s -why you’ve been sitting here feeling lonely and defenceless.” - -She laughed ruefully. “I suppose it is.” - -“The way he clawed hold of you and dragged you out——” - -“That’s the way he clawed hold of himself and dragged himself out, -remember,” replied Marcelle. - -“A queer devil!” said Godfrey. “Do you know what he suggests to me? A -disconnected dynamo.” He laughed. “He ought to be hitched on to the war. -He’d buck it up.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - -CAMBRIDGE put Baltazar on the track of old acquaintances, so that on his -return to London he found himself in contact with people of his own -standing who could explain to him the contemporary attitude of mind. -There was Burtingshaw, K.C., for instance, a member of the Inventions -Committee, and Weatherley, a professor of Modern History, whom the war -had developed into an indefatigable publicist, and Jackman, a curious -blend of classical scholar and man of business, who had allowed his -family mustard-making firm to look after itself while he spent laborious -days at the Admiralty in uncomfortable naval uniform. All welcomed the -elderly prodigal, though in return for fatted calves—these were happy -days before rationing—they demanded an account of his adventures. A man -can’t make a sensational disappearance from a small social unit and turn -up twenty years afterwards, without encountering natural human -curiosity. This, over and over again, he had to satisfy, until he began -to regard his absurd history with loathing, especially that of the past -two years. He went through it, however, grimly, as part of the penalty -he must pay for folly. After his first meeting with them at offices and -clubs, he received invitations to dinner at their respective homes. - -The night before he went to Godalming he dined with the Jackmans. The -family consisted of Mrs. Jackman, a homely woman, who spent most of her -time at a Y.M.C.A. canteen on the south side of the river, two young -girls and a boy home on leave from France. A few guests had been invited -to meet John Baltazar; a colonel of artillery on sick leave, a -notoriously question-asking Conservative member of Parliament, a judge, -the wives of the two last, and a woman just back from eighteen months’ -Red Cross work on the Russian front. A typical war gathering. - -As soon as chance enabled him to speak to his host after his entrance -into this galaxy of civilization, he said: - -“Man alive! you shouldn’t have asked all these people. I’ve not been in -a European drawing-room for twenty years. My instinct is to wander -about, growling, like a bear.” - -Jackman, a florid, good-natured, clean-shaven man, laughed. - -“It’s for your good. The sooner you get into the ways of the world the -better.” - -“But what the devil shall I talk about?” - -“Let the other people talk. You listen. I thought that was what you -wanted.” - -Baltazar sat between Mrs. Jackman and the lady from Russia. At first he -felt somewhat embarrassed, even dazed. He had not conversed with -intelligent women since his flight from England. Even in his brave -University days, his scholarly habits had precluded him from mingling -much in the general society of Cambridge. Now the broad feminine outlook -somewhat mystified him. The vital question which once was referred to in -bated breath as the Social Evil, cropped up, he knew not how. His two -neighbours talked across him with a calm frankness that rendered him -speechless. He looked around the table, apprehensive lest the two young -girls might be overhearing the conversation. Their mother did not seem -to care in the least. She quoted statistics in a loud, clear voice. The -Red Cross lady sketched conditions in Russia. The question was suddenly -put to him: What about China? The fifty-year-old child of a forgotten -day caught at the opening and talked hurriedly. He had lived in the -heart of old China, mainly an agricultural population, a more or less -moral, ancestor-fearing and tradition-bound welter of humanity. There -was much to be said for old China, in spite of the absence of elementary -ideas of sanitation and the ignorance of the new-fangled Western science -of eugenics. Even now girl children’s feet were being bound. The ladies -followed his desperate red herring and began a less alarming argument on -infant welfare. When pressed for his opinion, he said: - -“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a baby at close quarters. I don’t remember -ever having touched one. I have it on hearsay that the proper thing to -do is to prod a baby’s cheek with the tip of your finger, which you wipe -surreptitiously on your trousers. But I haven’t done it. I know nothing -at all about ’em. In fact, your proposition that babies are an important -part of the body politic has never occurred to me. In prolific China -babies spring up like weeds, unregarded. Some of them die, some of them -live. And the living are for the most part weeds too. One gets used -there to an almost animal conception of the phenomena of life and death. -I’m learning all sorts of things, getting all sorts of new points of -view. Just see if I’m right. Modern Europe isn’t China. Even before the -war, the birth-rate was a matter of anxiety. Now Europe, de-populated of -her male youth, is in a desperate quandary. Every baby is a priceless -asset to the race. Lord!” said he, pushing spoon and fork abruptly -together on his plate, “I never thought of it. I must appear to you like -a fellow on a great Cunarder, proclaiming his discovery of America. But -the discovery is there all the same. The idea never entered my head till -this minute. Everybody’s got to produce babies as fast as they can, and -everybody’s sacred duty is to see that they live and thrive and become -potential parents of more healthy babies. That’s the proposition, isn’t -it?” - -Comfortable Mrs. Jackman smilingly agreed. Without doubt that was the -proposition. The flower of the world cut off by the war. . . . Oh! it -staggered imagination to speculate on the number of bright young lives -sacrificed! There was So-and-So, and Somebody Else’s son. Too tragic! -The talk turned at once to the terrible intimacy of the war. Baltazar -listened and learned many things. - -When the men were left alone, Baltazar learned more things about the -war; the blunders, the half-heartednesses, the mysterious influences -that petrified action. The soldier spoke of the fierce fight of a -devoted little set of enthusiasts for an adequate supply of machine -guns; the judge of hidden German ramifications against which he, as a -mere administrator of written law, was powerless; the Conservative -member of Parliament—his revelations made every particular hair of -Baltazar’s brown thatch stand on end. Jackman talked of labour troubles, -mentioned a recent case in which thousands of men making essential -munitions of war had downed tools because a drunken pacifist, a workman, -had been dismissed from a factory. Baltazar, only a month awakened to -the fact of war, held the same bewildered view of strikes as had nearly -driven him forth at midnight from Pillivant’s house. He burst out: - -“Why don’t they take the traitors and blow them from the cannon’s -mouth?” - -The Member of Parliament laughed aloud: - -“There’s nothing like a fresh mind on things.” - -“Well, why don’t they?” - -“Don’t you think,” said the judge, “that such a course might tend to -dishearten the working classes?” - -“It wouldn’t dishearten the Army,” declared the literal-minded Colonel. -“The men would be all for it. If any fellows tried to go on strike in -the Army they’d be shot on sight.” - -He was the only one of the company who advocated violent measures. The -others seemed to regard strikes as phenomena of nature impeding the war -like artillery-arresting mud, or as inevitable accidents like explosions -in powder factories. Baltazar went away full of undigested knowledge. - -On his return from Godalming he dined with Weatherley, a bachelor, and a -small gathering of fellow publicists. Here the conversation ran on more -intellectual lines. The war was considered from the international -standpoint, discussions turned on the subject-races of Austria, the -inner history of the Roumanian campaign, the sinister situation in -Greece, the failure of Allied diplomacy all through Eastern Europe. -Baltazar listened eagerly to the good keen talk, and went back to his -hotel braced and exhilarated. Even if they had all been talking through -their hats, it would not matter. Premises granted, the logic of it all -had been faultless, an intellectual joy. And they had not been talking -through their hats. They were men who knew, men who had access to vital -information apparently despised by the Foreign Office. - -He had fallen into a universe which seemed to be more and more -inextricably jumbled as his outlook widened. But how splendidly -interesting! Take just the little fraction of it given up to the -Czecho-Slovacs and the Jugo-Slavs . . . Serbs, Croats, Slovenes. . . . -He had hitherto paid as little attention to them as to Lepidoptera and -Coleoptera, and other families of bugs with Latin names, to whose -history and habits, not being an entomologist, he was perfectly -indifferent. He had never thought of them as possible factors in the -future of Europe. Now that he was in touch with his kind again, London -ceased to be a city of dreadful night. In his enthusiastic eyes it had -almost become a _ville lumière_. - -A week had wrought miraculous changes—that day the most miraculous of -all. At the back of his delight, through the evening’s rare -entertainment ran a thrill of amazed happiness. A week ago he had -floundered here derelict, lost, unwanted, a sick Chinaman his only link -with humanity. Now he was safe on sunny seas, bound once more to life by -friends, by a new-found son, in itself an adamantine tie, and, wonder of -wonders, by the woman for whose sake he had revolutionized his existence -and whose fragrant girlish memory had sanctified his after years. - -He might have married well in China. Polygamy being recognized, the fact -of his having a wife alive in England would not have rendered such a -marriage illegal according to Chinese law. He had many opportunities, -for he held a position there unique for a European; and a delicately -nurtured Chinese lady can be an exquisite thing in womanhood, more than -alluring to a lonely, full-blooded man. But ever between him and a not -dishonourable temptation had floated the flower-shape of the English -girl with her pink and white face and her light brown hair and her hazel -eyes, through which shone her English wit and her English understanding -and her English love and her English soul. Not that he had eaten out his -heart for twenty years for Marcelle. He had wiped her as a disturbing -element clean out of his existence. His loyalty had been passive rather -than active. He had made no attempt to throw open gates and go in search -of her. But at hostile approach the gates had been uncompromisingly -shut. - -The wonder of wonders had happened. In one respect, the wonder of all -possible wonders had happened. - -There had been no disillusion. - -In the gap of twenty years between girl and woman, what devastating life -forces might have been at work, wiping bloom from cheek, dulling gleam -from eyes, distorting lips, smiting haggard lines on face, hardening or -unshapening sweet and beloved contours; hardening, too, the mind, drying -up the heart, arresting the development of the soul? As he had never -thought to see her in this world again, he had not speculated on such a -natural life-change. It was only now, when he had met her in the -gracious fullness of her woman’s beauty, that he shivered at the thought -of that which might have been and exulted in the knowledge of that which -was. He remembered a woman, a friend of his wife, though much older, a -lovely dream of a woman of the fair, frail type, who had disappeared -from Cambridge for two or three years and then returned—suddenly old, -as though a withering hand had passed over her face. No such hand had -touched Marcelle. Then he pulled himself up and thought. How old is she? -Thirty-eight—thirty-nine. Twelve years younger than himself. He laughed -out loud. A mere child! What could she yet have to do with withering -hands? Fifty—thirty-eight! The heyday of life. What is fifty when a man -feels as young as at twenty-five? Novelists and dramatists were -responsible for the conventional idea of the decrepitude of man after -forty. The brilliant and compelling works of fiction are generally the -inspirations of young men who think the thirties are an age of incipient -decay. “An old dangling bachelor who was single at fifty!” cries the -abusive Lady Teazle. An old bachelor of fifty! Sheridan, of -six-and-twenty, thought of Sir Peter as the lean and slippered -pantaloon; and so has dramatic tradition always represented him. - -“Damn it!” cried Baltazar, feeling his muscles as he strode about his -bedroom, “I’m as hard as iron.” - -Satisfied with his youth, he sat down and wrote impulsive pages to -Marcelle, which he posted in the hotel post-box before going to bed. - -He ordered lunch the next day in the great room of the Savoy. - -“I’m having my son,” he said to the _maître-d’hotel_, with a thrill at -the new and unfamiliar word. “He has been wounded. I want the very best -you can do for us.” The _maître-d’hotel_, pencil and pad in hand, made -profuse suggestions. But Baltazar had forgotten the terms and indeed the -items of European gastronomy. “I leave it in your hands. The best the -Savoy can do. It’s the first meal I’ve had with my son—since—— And -wine. Champagne. What do you recommend?” - -The _maître-d’hotel_ pointed to a 1904 vintage on the list. There was -nothing better, said he. Baltazar agreed, suddenly aware that he knew no -more of vintage wines than of artillery drill. His ignorance irritated -him. - -“Do you mind if I look at that for a little?” - -The _maître-d’hotel_ handed him the wine list, and for half an hour he -sat by a table in the great empty restaurant studying the names of the -various wines and their vintages. Then, having mastered the information, -he began long before the appointed hour to pace up and down the -vestibule with an eye on every taxi-cab that swung round the -rubber-paved courtyard and deposited its fares at the door, as impatient -as any young subaltern waiting for his inamorata. - -Very proudly he conducted Godfrey to the reserved table in the middle of -the room. He would have liked to proclaim to each group of lunchers as -he passed: “This is my son, you know. Wounded and decorated for valour.” -To those who regarded them with any attention, they were obviously -father and son. But this Baltazar did not realize. - -“My boy,” said he, when the waiter had filled the two glasses, “I hope -you like champagne. For myself I am a confirmed teetotaller. But I come -from a land of strict ceremonial—and ceremonial ideas have got into my -bones. Our first meal together—we must drink in wine to what the future -has in store for us.” - -He smiled and held out his glass across the table. They touched rims. -Baltazar took a sip, then put his champagne aside and filled a tumbler -with mineral water. Godfrey was struck by the courtesy and suavity of -manner with which his father conducted the little ceremony; also, as the -lunch progressed, by his perfect hostship and by his charming -conversation. The disconnected dynamo could be, when he chose, a very -pleasant gentleman. By his tone and attitude he conveyed a man of the -world’s suggestion that this might be the beginning of an agreeable -acquaintance. Godfrey began to revise his first impression of his -father. Confidence increasing, he yielded to subtle pressure and spoke -in his English objective way about himself; about his schooldays, his -ambitions, his entrance scholarship, his brief University career. He -explained how his intimacy with Sister Baring sprang from the unfruitful -pages of _Routh’s Rigid Dynamics_. - -“Oh! that’s how she spotted you——?” - -“That’s how, sir. And then she told me she had read with you—and -eventually all the rest came.” - -“Life is very simple,” said Baltazar, “if we would only let it take its -own course. It’s when we begin to mess about with it ourselves that the -tangles come.” - -When the meal was ended and coffee and cigars were brought round, the -young man threw off further garments of reserve. - -“I wonder whether I may ask you a question, sir?” - -“A million,” replied Baltazar, “and I’ll do my best to answer every -one.” - -“It’s only this. You were such a great mathematician when you left -Cambridge. I’ve been wondering all the time since yesterday what has -happened—whether you’ve chucked mathematics or what——” - -“My boy,” said Baltazar, “you’ve touched on tragedy.” - -“I’m sorry,” said Godfrey. - -“Oh, you haven’t been indiscreet. By no means. You’re bound to hear it -sooner or later. So why not now? But it will take a little time. What -are your engagements?” - -“My afternoon is at your disposal, sir.” - -“Very good,” said Baltazar. “I shall now proceed to tell you the amazing -story of Spendale Farm, Quong Ho, and the Zeppelin.” - -Godfrey laughed. Youth that has drunk most of a bottle of perfect -champagne can afford to be indulgent. - -“That has quite an Oriental flavour,” said he. - -“A blend,” smiled Baltazar. - -The waiter, previously summoned, brought the bill. Godfrey, shrewd -observer, noted with gratification that his father merely glanced at the -total, and waved away the waiter with payment and tip all in the -fraction of a second. But a little while ago he had lunched, grudgingly -dutiful, with his uncle, Sir Richard Woodcott, who, when the bill was -presented, had ticked off the items with a gold pencil, comparing the -prices with the bill of fare, and had sent for the manager to protest a -charge for two portions of potatoes when only one was consumed, he being -forbidden potatoes by his medical man. He had raised his voice and made -a clatter, and neighbouring parties had smiled derisively and Godfrey -had reddened and glowered and wished either that the earth would swallow -him up or that hell-fire would engulf his millionaire uncle and trustee. - -“I see now, sir,” said he, “why I’m always broke to the world.” - -Baltazar flashed on him. “What do you mean?” - -“I don’t look at my bills either,” said he. - -Baltazar bent his keen gaze on his son. The remark had some -significance. At first he was puzzled. Then the solution flashed on him. - -“You’re thinking of that damned Woodcott crowd.” - -Godfrey gasped. “How on earth do you know that?” - -“I’ve lived in a country where unless you guess what the other fellow is -thinking of, you may be led astray by what he says. It’s a sort of -game.” He let the long ash of his cigar fall into his coffee-cup, and, -remembering Quong Ho, added, with his queer honesty: “I don’t pretend to -be an adept, as you will gather from the tale which I propose to relate. -Perhaps arm-chairs in a corner of the lounge might be more comfortable.” - -They rose. The heavily tipped waiter sprang to aid Godfrey with his -crutches. The boy paused. Baltazar waved him courteously on. - -“Go ahead.” - -On their way out they passed by a round table at which a large party -were assembled. Suddenly a young officer sprang up and laid a hand on -Godfrey’s shoulder. - -“Hallo! Hallo, dear old chap! It’s years since I’ve seen you.” - -“Not since we’ve been in uniform.” - -“By Jove, that’s true!” He pointed to the M.C. ribbon. “Splendid, old -chap, glorious!” - -“Glory all right,” laughed Godfrey, “but,” pointing downwards, “_sic -transit_——” - -“Oh, hell!” said the other. - -“Kinnaird,” said Godfrey, “let me introduce you to my father.” - -Baltazar beamed. His quick eyes gathered curious glances from the -luncheon party. It was a proud moment, inaugurating a definite parental -position. He wrung the young man’s hand cordially. Godfrey explained: -“Kinnaird and I were at Winchester and Cambridge together. He’s a -classical swell. When the war came it swallowed us up with different -mouths.” He turned to his friend. “Where have you been all the time?” - -“Gallipoli. Then a soft turn in Egypt. And you?” - -“Flanders and France.” - -“I’m off to France next week.” - -“Let us meet before you go. Where are you to be found?” - -They exchanged addresses. On leave-taking: - -“I’m proud to have met you, sir,” said Kinnaird. He turned and sat down -at his table. Father and son continued their way to the lounge. - -“Was that last remark of your friend,” asked Baltazar, “unusual -politeness, or did it mean anything?” - -“Most of my University friends, sir,” replied Godfrey, “know who my -father was.” - -“Oh!” said Baltazar, with knit brows. “Oh, indeed! Anyhow it was very -polite. Look here, my boy,” he went on, as they halted by a secluded and -inviting little table, “I’ve been struck lately by an outward and -visible sign of what seems to me to be an inward, invisible grace. When -I was your age, having left school and masters behind me, I would have -seen anybody damned first before I called them ‘sir’—except royalty, of -course. Now I come back into the world as an elderly codger, and both of -you young chaps ‘sir’ me punctiliously.” - -“I suppose the Army is teaching us manners,” said Godfrey. - -“Then the war is of some good, after all,” commented Baltazar. “And this -reversion to an ancient code provides you with a mode of address which -saves you, my young friend, from considerable embarrassment.” - -Godfrey, quick and sensitive, glanced for an instant at the firm lips -drawn down in a humorous smile and at the kindly indulgence in the keen -eyes, and then broke into a laugh. - -“Let us be grateful, sir, to the _Chinoiserie_ of the eighteenth -century.” - -Baltazar folded his arms and contemplated his son admiringly. - -“Do you know, I couldn’t have got out of it like that if I had thought -for a thousand years. Let us sit down.” And when they had settled -themselves by the wall on the fringe of the crowded lounge, he went on: -“You young men are not the least problem which a Cyrano dropped from the -peaceful moon like myself has to solve.” - -“I’m afraid we don’t quite know what we’re playing at ourselves,” said -Godfrey. - -Again Baltazar felt pleased with the boy’s reply. An understanding -fellow; one who could get to the thought behind a few words. - -“I wish to God I had known you all your life,” said he. - -At the appeal to sentiment, Godfrey shied like a horse. - -“It wouldn’t have affected what the war has made of me. I should have -joined up just the same, and, just the same, I should have had a hell of -a time in a perpetual blue funk which I had to hide, and should have -come out minus a foot; and just the same too I should have wondered how -on earth I’m going to stick the University—if I do go back—with its -childish little rules and restrictions—to say nothing of its limited -outlook.” - -“Two or three years ago,” said Baltazar, following his son’s lead, “if I -heard a fellow of twenty talk about the limited outlook of the -University of Cambridge, I should have said that his proper sphere was -the deepest inferno of insufferable young prigs provided by another -ancient seat of learning situated also on the banks of a river. As your -tutor, I should have had even nastier and more sarcastic things than -that to say to you. But now, in this new and incomprehensible world, I’m -perfectly ready to agree with you. What is there of the conduct or -meaning of life that our dear old pragmatical drake of a Crosby and his -train of ducks can teach men like your friend Kinnaird and yourself? -It’s like a bunch of hares sitting down before an old tortoise and being -taught how to run. Isn’t that the way of it?” - -“I suppose it is,” replied Godfrey, laughing. “I don’t want to crab men -like the master. Nothing can take away their scholarship, which, after -all, is vital to human progress—and, of course, as far as that goes, -I’m perfectly willing to sit at their feet—but—well—I know you see -what I mean, sir. It’s very jolly of you, as one of the elder crowd, and -very unusual, to be so sympathetic.” - -“I’ll go further than that,” said Baltazar. “As one of the elder crowd, -I should like to have the benefit of your concentrated experience of -modern life, and that is why I propose to tell you my story of Spendale -Farm, Quong Ho, and the Zeppelin. It’s my Ancient Mariner’s tale, and -you cannot choose but hear. But for the Lord’s sake tell what you can -remember of it to Sister Baring, for I’m sick to death of it.” - - * * * * * - -It was nearly five o’clock when he had finished. Finding Godfrey a -sensitive listener, he had expounded with many picturesque and intimate -details the story which he had roughly told so often. The reason for his -sudden self-condemnation to exile he had glossed over, as he had done -when first he had accounted for himself to Sheepshanks. Oddly enough, no -one, not even this son of his, with the quick insight forced to maturity -by the hot-house of war, boggled at the reason. All accepted his -maniacal proceeding as in keeping with the impulsive eccentricity of his -career. Besides, the mere fact of a man being able so to eliminate from -his surroundings every whisper of the outside world as to live in -England and remain in absolute ignorance of the war for a couple of -years, staggered credulity and eclipsed minor considerations. - -“Well,” said Baltazar, with a big gesture of both arms, “that’s how it -is. To sum up. Eighteen years’ blank ignorance of, and indifference to, -European history—political, social, moral, artistic, scientific. A -week’s dismay and disgust. Two years’ seclusion devoted to the -consolidation of my life’s work. The whole thing wiped out in a night. -Awakening to find the world had been at war for two years. Myself adrift -in a sort of typhoon, with not a human straw to cling to but my adopted -son, this extraordinary mathematical genius of a Quong Ho. I fly to -Cambridge to try to get some sort of sane attachment to life. I discover -your existence. No sooner do I meet you than I’m thrown against the very -woman for whose sake, as a young man, I chucked the whole of my career. -And here am I, as strong as a horse. Feel that”—he tendered his arm and -braced his muscle, and Godfrey gripping it proclaimed, with wonder, that -it was like an iron bar—“and with a first-class working brain, and the -country is crying out both for brains and muscle, and I’ll go mad if I -don’t give the country my best. But at the same time, I’m just a -month-old child. I’m dazed by everything. And I’ve got you and Marcelle -and Quong Ho to look after. You’re all inextricably woven into the -tapestry of my life. Mathematics and Chinese scholarship can go to the -devil. Only the four of you matter——” - -“Four?” Godfrey queried. - -“Yes. Four. You, Marcelle, Quong Ho, and England.” - -“That’s a tall order, sir,” smiled Godfrey. “But as for me, I’m all -right. I can fend for myself. You can cut me out.” - -Baltazar brought down his hand with a great thump on the little table. - -“I’m damned if I do!” And to the waiter who ran up in some alarm: “Yes, -tea. China tea. Gallons of it.” - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - -BALTAZAR had asked his friend Burtingshaw, K.C., to suggest some sphere -in which his gifts might be usefully employed by the nation. -Burtingshaw, an unimaginative fellow, a professional exploiter of -formulas, bade him become a special constable and join the National -Volunteers. The man all agog to save his country, scoffed at the advice. -If there was marching to be done and blows to be struck, he had far -better enlist. Just like a Chancery lawyer to try to damp enthusiasm. He -decided to bide his time, to adopt the unusual course of looking before -he leaped. To judge by what he could gather from the press and from -conversation, it had been the crying fault of the Government from the -beginning of the war to use razors to cut butter and wooden blades to -perform delicate operations. There must be waiting in the vast war -machine one particular lever which he of all men was qualified to pull. -To find it would take time. But what was it? Godfrey’s suggestions ran -from vague to gloomy. Possibly he could find a billet in one of the new -ministries springing up like mushrooms every day, or he might de -Y.M.C.A. work, or drive a motor ambulance in France. All of which was as -satisfactory to the perfervid patriot as the idea of joining the Special -Constabulary or the National Volunteer Force. He rebelled at -half-measures. - -Meanwhile, his own house had first to be set in order. He began -operations by removing his worldly goods (easily contained in one -suit-case and a large brown-paper package) to a comfortable hotel at -Godalming, so as to be near Godfrey and Marcelle. The quiet, too, of a -private sitting-room in a country inn conduced to the prosecution of -certain studies which Professor Weatherley, admirable guide in the -world-welter, had recommended. He took up his quarters the most -contented and sanguine of men. He had received a letter from Quong Ho, -in faultless, Ciceronian English, conveying the news that he was well -forward on the road to complete recovery, and in a few days would be in -a fit condition to pursue whatever course of action his most venerated -master might choose to prescribe. When he had disposed the books and -pamphlets, contents of the brown-paper package, about his room, he sat -down and wrote to Quong Ho. A room in the Godalming hotel was at Quong -Ho’s disposal as soon as he was fit to travel. It would be an admirable -opportunity for him to meet Godfrey. They were to be brothers, mutually -helpful: Godfrey, a past-master in the science of modern life but a -neophyte in mathematics, seeing that he was struggling with such -childish puzzles as the elements of Rigid Dynamics; Quong Ho, on the -other hand, a neophyte in the science of modern life, but a past-master -in elementary mathematics. It was important, he wrote, that Quong Ho’s -appearance should, as far as possible, be thoroughly European and his -dress impeccable. - -“Good Lord!” he cried aloud, throwing down his pen. “I clean forgot. The -poor beggar hasn’t a rag to his back!” - -He drafted a telegram to the tailoring firm in the cathedral city, -instructing them to supply Mr. Ho with essential raiment, and then, -continuing his epistle to his pupil, gave him safe counsel and his -blessing, and enclosed a cheque to meet necessary expenses. - -After which he lunched in the coffee-room with the appetite of the -healthy man, lounged for a while with a pipe on the tranquil pavement -outside the inn, and then went upstairs again, threw himself contentedly -into an arm-chair with a German war publication lent him by Weatherley, -and waited for Marcelle. - - * * * * * - -It was her afternoon of freedom. She had looked forward to the interview -with mingled longing and apprehension. He had been the only man in her -life, and it was all such a long time ago. The jealous grip of her -nurse’s work had fastened upon neck and shoulders, and bent the -concentration of her being within a succession of little horizons. Men -she had met and known intimately, men in thousands; but they were all -suffering men, men whose sole appeal to her womanhood was their -helplessness, their dependence. If there crossed her path a man with -strong protective arm and compelling eyes, he was whisked away sound and -whole beyond her horizon’s misty rim. Now and then, but rarely, in -haggard faces shone eyes of desire. Her sex revolted until experience -taught her the nurse’s cynical indifference. Of course there are the -romances of nursing. In her long career she had known of many; of many, -too, in which the resultant marriages had been all that is adumbrated by -the ends of the fairy tales. But no ghost of such a romance had ever -come her way. And no romance had come her way in her restricted social -life. Her holidays had been too rare and fleeting. Here and there, -perhaps, a man had been attracted by her good looks and her -graciousness, but before these had had time to consolidate a first -effect, she was miles away, back again in uniform between the eternal -rows of beds. She had worked hard and seriously, the perfect nurse, -accepting, without question, the hospital ward as the sphere ordained -for her by destiny. Yet to soften the rigid life, she had fostered in -her heart the memory of the brief and throbbing love of long ago. - -During her drive from Churton Towers in the motor-cab, foolish -trepidations beset her. Although her woman of the world’s sound sense -made mock of timidities, yet old-maidish instincts questioned the -propriety of her proceeding. She was going to meet her former lover in a -private room of an hotel. What about professional decorum? Matron, who -kept a hard and unsympathetic eye on flirtatious tendencies in the -junior staff, would regard her visit, should she come to know of it, as -a horrifying escapade. She had seen her as she ran down the steps, -hatted, gloved, prinked to her best, with a betraying flush (lobster -colour, she thought) on her cheek; and being within earshot of the -Gorgon, she had thrown the mere word “Godalming” at the chauffeur as she -entered the car. When she gathered up courage to look at herself in the -strip of mirror that faced her, her prejudiced eyes saw herself pale and -haggard, smitten with lines which she had not noticed when she put on -her hat. And all the time she knew that these feminine preoccupations -were but iridescences on the surface of deep, black waters filled with -fear, and that she was letting her mind play on them so as not to think -of the depths. - -Baltazar was waiting for her outside the hotel. Thus one little fear was -sent packing. As a nurse she would have gone to Hell Gates to enquire -for a man. She had done it many a time in France. As Marcelle Baring she -was restrained by futile hesitancies. As Marcelle Baring, a woman with -her own life to lead, she was unfamiliar to herself. She had shrunk from -entering the inn alone and asking for Mr. Baltazar. But there he was -awaiting her on the pavement, and no sooner had the car stopped than he -had opened the door and helped her to alight. And following him through -the passage and up the narrow staircase, while he talked loud and cheery -and confident, as though he defied gossiping tongues, and every minute -turned to smile upon her, she remembered with a little pang of remorse -for unjust fears, that as now so it had been in the beginning; that -there never had been a tryst hard or venturesome for her to keep, never -one on which he was not there before her, big, responsible, inspiring -confidence. He was singularly unchanged. - -Obeying a breezy wave of the hand, she sank into an arm-chair. He shut -the door and crossed the room, his face lit with happiness. - -“For the first time in our lives we’re together alone within four walls. -You and I. Isn’t it strange? We have to talk. Not only now, but often. -As often as we can. It would have been monstrous of me to expect you to -run up and down to London. Besides, there would have been no privacy. -The lounges of the great hotels—I loathe them! A man and woman sit -whispering in a corner and at once surround themselves with an -atmosphere of intrigue. Horrible! And I couldn’t come every day to -Churton Towers—even ostensibly to see Godfrey. There would have been -the devil to pay. All sorts of scandal. So I’ve made this my -headquarters, in order to be near you.” - -The weather had turned raw and cold, and as she had driven in an open -car, clad in light coat and skirt, with nothing to warm her but a fur -stole, she felt chilly, and welcomed the bright fire in the grate. She -smiled, and said it was very cosy. He searched the room for a hassock, -and finding one set it beneath her feet. - -“We’ll have tea soon, which will make it cosier,” he said. He threw -himself into an arm-chair on the other side of the fire. “It’s like a -fairy-tale, isn’t it?” - -She admitted the strangeness of the circumstances in which they had met, -and with instinct of self-defence began to speak of Godfrey, of their -suddenly formed friendship, of his manifold excellences. Baltazar let -her run on for a while, content merely to let his eyes rest on her and -to listen to her voice. At last he rose, irrelevantly, and, striding -across to her, held out both his hands. She could not choose but -surrender hers. - -“Can’t you realize what you’ve been to me? ‘All a wonder and a wild -desire!’” - -She fluttered a frightened glance at him and withdrew her hands. He -stood looking down on her, one elbow resting on the mantelpiece. - -“Do you remember? That Browning line—it was one of the last things I -said to you. Then we lost our heads and broke off a delightful -conversation. Why not continue it, starting from where we left off?” - -“How can we go back twenty years?” - -“By wiping out two hundred and forty unimportant months from our -memories.” - -She glanced up at him and shook her head. It was the grey and barren -waste of those two hundred and forty months that formed the impassable -barrier. In order to pick up the thread of that last talk it would be -necessary to recapture the grace of those brief and exquisite moments. - -“If we are to be friends,” she said, “we must start afresh. All -that—that foolishness has been dead and buried long ago.” - -“Buried, perhaps—or, rather, hidden away in a Sleeping Beauty sort of -trance. But dead? Not a bit of it. It has been healthily alive all the -time, and now—a magic touch—and it has reawakened strong and beautiful -as ever.” - -“It’s very easy to play with words and metaphors and analogies. You can -make them appear to prove anything. As a matter of fact, we’ve both been -subjected to the organic changes of twenty years. I can no more become -the girl of eighteen than I can become the child of eight or the baby -eight months old.” - -Baltazar put his hands in his pockets, laughed, turned away, and sat -down again in his chair. - -“We seem to have got on to the basis of a nice and interminable -discussion. Let us get off it for the present. We have plenty of time. -If I’m anything at all, I’m a man of illimitable patience.” - -She laughed out loud. She could not help it. A typhoon proclaiming its -Zephyrdom! And proclaiming it not jestingly, but with the accent of -deeply rooted conviction. - -“You? You patient? Oh, my dear——” - -“There,” he cried, jumping up from his chair. “You have called me ‘my -dear’!” - -Quickly she retorted: “I didn’t. At least, I didn’t mean to. You caught -me up in your patient way. I was going to call you my dear something—my -dear sir—my dear man——” - -“My name happens to be John,” said Baltazar. - -“‘My dear John’? No. I wasn’t going to say that.” - -“Why?” - -“It sounds as if we had been married for twenty years.” - -With feminine instinct she had put her foot on his man’s vanity and had -used it, like a rock climber, as a projection to mount to safety. She -saw him uncertain, unhumorous, and felt pleasurably conscious of -advantage gained. - -“You said it twenty years ago, at any rate.” - -She sat up victoriously in her chair. “I didn’t. Never. I don’t think I -had the courage to call you anything. Certainly not John. I never even -thought of you as John. As a label you were John Baltazar. But not -John—_tout court_—like that. Oh no!” - -“I suppose you’re right,” said Baltazar. “It’s a damned name. It’s -everything that’s dull and prosaic in the English genius concentrated -into one uninspiring vocable. Unlike other idiot names, it has no -pleasing diminutive. ‘Johnnie’ is insulting. ‘Jack’ is Adelphi -melodrama. Thank God I’ve been spared both. Now I burst upon you, after -twenty years, as ‘John,’ and you naturally receive the idea with -derision.” - -“Oh, it’s not as bad as that,” she cried. “Look at the great men of your -name. John of Gaunt, John Knox, John Bunyan, John Locke, John Stuart -Mill——” - -“A merry crew of troubadours, aren’t they?” said Baltazar. - -Whereat they both laughed, and the situation, as far as it affected her, -was relieved. They talked freely of the twenty years of their -separation. She of her work, her family; her mother, still alive, looked -after by an elder sister, her brothers, both younger than herself, in -the Navy. He, of China and his lamentable adventure on the moorland. He -found that Godfrey, carrying out his request, had saved him from the -abhorred recital of his story. Quong Ho aroused her curiosity and amused -interest. She longed to see Quong Ho. Tea was set out in old-fashioned -style and she presided at the table. She laughed at the wry face he made -over the first sip of the good, strong Ceylon blend. Not the least -dismal aspect of the tragedy of Spendale Farm, he explained, was the -destruction of the chests of priceless tea which he had brought from -China—stuff that yielded liquid and fragrant gold, lingering on the -palate like exquisite wine. - -“Damn the Huns for robbing me of my tea!” he cried, “besides damning -them for a million other devilries. And yet the just man must give even -Huns their due. They’ve done one good thing.” - -Marcelle flashed a protest. “They haven’t. They’re incapable of it. I’ve -been in France, in the thick of it, close up to the Front—and I’ve seen -things. I know. They haven’t done one good thing.” - -“They have,” said Baltazar. “They’ve brought you and me together.” - -“Oh!” said Marcelle rather foolishly. “I thought you were referring to -something serious.” - -He fastened on the word. “Serious? Do you suppose that your presence -here at this minute, with that little bitten-into piece of buttered -toast between your finger and thumb, isn’t the most serious fact in my -life since I parted from you on the Newnham Road twenty years ago?” - -She dropped the bit of toast into her saucer and regarded him with -dismayed renewal of her earlier fears. - -“Why spoil everything? We were beginning to get along so nicely.” - -He became aware of her piteous attitude. “What have I said?” he asked -solicitously. - -In distress, she replied: “What you mustn’t say again. If you do, it’s -the end. It makes things impossible.” - -“I don’t see why it should. If I weren’t honest about it, it would be a -different matter. But I am honest. I can’t tell you that I’ve waited for -you all these years, for the simple reason that I never dreamed I should -see your face again. But I’ve been true to your memory. It has knocked -out the possibility of any other woman. That’s plain fact.” - -Womanlike, she said: “I suppose I’ve wrecked your life. God knows I -never meant to.” - -Then he rose and flung his arms out. His essential integrity spoke -through his egotism. He tapped his broad chest. - -“Wrecked my life? If a man’s a man, do you suppose his life can be -wrecked by anybody but himself? Do I look like a wreck? I’ve lived every -minute of these twenty years to the full power of body and brain. If I -made any appeal, on that score, to your pity or suchlike sentiments, I -should be a contemptible liar. If there’s any question of playing the -devil with lives, I did it with yours.” - -“Oh, no, no!” Her voice quivered and she sank back in her chair, with -averted head. “Of course not. That’s absurd.” - -“Well then,” he asked, “what’s all the fuss about? We loved each other -when we parted. Pretty passionately and desperately, too. Why we -shouldn’t love each other now, when fate throws us together again, I -can’t understand.” - -She answered wearily: “I’ve told you. The years that the locust hath -eaten.” - -“What locust?” - -“Ah!” she sighed. - -He took a pace or two towards the door, halted, turned and looked at her -as she sat by the tea-table, and the pain in her eyes and the piteous -twist of her lips smote him with remorse. A remarkable idea entered his -head. He clinched the entrance by smiting his left palm with his right -fist. Naturally any idea coming into Baltazar’s head could not fail to -be correct. He went behind her chair and laid his finger-tips on her -shoulder. - -“My dear,” said he tenderly, “forgive me. I ought to have thought of it -before. A beautiful and accomplished woman——” - -She swerved round. “Oh, don’t! You mean that there may have been someone -else—since——? Well, there hasn’t. I’ve been far too busy.” And seeing -him incredulous of the fallibility of his idea, she added with a touch -of petulance: “If there had been anybody, I should have told you so at -once.” - -For the moment she wished there had been an intervening lover whose -memory she could use as a rampart, for again she felt defenceless. If -only Godfrey would come! He had promised to call for her on his way back -from London, whither he had been summoned by a Medical Board. She -glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Godfrey’s train would not -arrive for another hour. With some apprehension she watched Baltazar, -who was moving about the room in a restless, puzzled way. - -“Don’t you see you’re spoiling it all?” she said. “And I haven’t even -finished my tea.” - -Laughter like quick sunshine lit his face. “A thousand pardons, -Marcelle. I of all people to outrage the etiquette of tea-drinking!” He -sat down. “Another cup, please. I shall get used to it soon. The Ceylon -tea, I mean—not being with you.” - -She breathed again, rather wondering at the power of a light word. Of -course she had learned the way of tactful dealing with querulous or -obstinate patients. Had she instinctively applied the method to -Baltazar? A flush crept into her cheek. Perhaps those were right who -proclaimed that man sick or man sound was the same overgrown child. -Hitherto she had regarded man sick with maternal indulgence. Was she to -regard man sound, in the person of John Baltazar, from the same maternal -point of view? It would be a change from the old one. For twenty years -she had looked on the John Baltazar of thirty with the eyes of the girl -of eighteen; and she had beheld him as a god. Now she looked upon the -man of fifty with the eyes of the woman of thirty-eight. It was not that -either of them had grown wondrously old. On the contrary, he appeared to -have changed absurdly little, for his face had ever been eager and -marked with the lines of thought which time had but accentuated; his -figure had retained its athletic suggestion of strength and activity; -and his manner had the fire and vehemence of youth. And she herself had -received assurance from an anxiously consulted mirror, of beauty that -endured, and physically she rejoiced in the consciousness of splendid -health, enabling her to work untiringly at tasks that had all but -prostrated her fifteen years ago; in which respect she was younger than -ever. No, it was not that he was an old man and she an old woman between -whom the revival of romance would have been pathetically ludicrous. It -wasn’t that at all. . . . After she had handed him the cup of tea, she -took up the long abandoned bit of toast which she had dropped into the -saucer. Laughing, he leaned forward and whipped from her fingers the -cold and forlorn morsel, which he threw into the fire, and sprang to -hand her the covered china dish from the warming hob. - -“Not that unsacramental bit of bread,” he cried. - -It was not done rudely or bearishly; it was done in the most charming -way in the world; done with a cavalier, conquering lightness, what the -French call “_panache_,” characteristic of the bright creature who had -overpowered and overmastered her in her impressionable girlhood. She -helped herself from the hot pile of toast, and her smile of thanks was -not without a curl of ironic indulgence. The masterfulness of the -proceeding in no way offended her, its manner being so perfect, but it -did not strike the old romantic chord. Its symbolism flashed -illuminatingly upon her. The god of the girl of eighteen to the woman of -thirty-eight appeared merely as a self-willed, erratic and vehement man. -The glamour that had invested him faded like the colours of dawn, and -the sunshine beat on him in a hard, mistless air. He stood before her in -the full light. While she listened to his pleasant talk, her feminine -subconsciousness observed him in clear definition. It admitted his many -virile and admirable qualities; he was a man out of the common mould; he -was ruthless in the prosecution of the lines of conduct which he laid -down for himself—and these same lines had been inspired by high moral -or spiritual ideals; in his egotism he might unthinkingly trample over -your body in order to reach his ends, but at your cry of pain he would -be back in a flash, tearing himself to bits with remorse, overwhelming -you with tenderness; a man, too, of great intellect—in his own sphere, -of genius; a contradictory being, a hectoring giant, a wayward child, a -helpless sentimentalist; possibly, with all that, the overgrown baby of -the nurses’ tradition; a man, possessing all the defects of his -masculine qualities. Not a god. Nothing like a god. Just a man. Just an -interesting, forceful, even fascinating man whom she was meeting for the -first time. A brilliant stranger. She gasped at a swift realization, -even while she smiled at his description of what passed for a hospital -at Chen Chow, the scene of Quong Ho’s prim and passionless amours. A -stranger. Yet memory had made familiar every gesture, every intonation. -He had not changed. It was she who had changed. The fault lay in -herself, baffling attempts at explanation. She began to accuse herself -of callousness, deadness of soul, and at last conscience impelled her to -make some sort of amends. - -There remained but a quarter of an hour before Godfrey was due. She lit -a cigarette from the match which Baltazar held out. - -“I wonder,” she said, with a little air of deliberation, “whether you -would let me say something—and remain quite quiet?” - -He replied happily: “I swear I’ll sit in this chair until you give me -leave to get up. But why say it? You’ve never let me finish what I want -to tell you. It has to be told now, or a month or six months or a year -hence. It’s silly to waste time, so why not now? I’ve awakened from a -long sleep to find myself in a world of marvels, in a new, throbbing -England, and for the first time in my life every pulse in me throbs with -my country. I must play my part in the big drama. I’ve also awakened to -find even deeper and more passionate things gripping at my heart: My -son, whom I never knew of. And you. You, Marcelle. No, no!” he laughed, -“I’m not going to get up. I’ll put the point in the most phlegmatic way -possible. I love you now as much as ever I did. I want to marry you at -once. I’ve been pursuing shadows for half a century. I want to get into -the substance of life at last. A man can’t do it by himself. He needs a -woman, just as—to advance an abstract proposition—a woman needs a man. -You’re the only woman in the world for me. Together, you and I, we can -go forth strong into this wonderful conflict. You can help me, I can -help you. If you’re tired and want rest, by God, you shall have it. You -shan’t do a hand’s turn. But a smile and a whisper from you will fill me -with strength for both of us. That’s the proposition.” - -She looked for a long time into the fire, her head aslant, her lips and -fingers accompanying her thoughts in nervous movements. Presently she -said, in a low voice: - -“A man like you would want the Sun, Moon and Stars.” - -“And would see that he got them,” said Baltazar. “They’re there right -enough.” - -She shook her head despairingly. - -“That’s where you make the mistake. You would want what I couldn’t -give—what isn’t in me to give. Don’t you see it’s no good? The whole -thing is dead. I thought it was alive, but it isn’t. It’s dead. I’m -dead. I suppose a nurse’s work eventually unsexes a woman. That’s frank -enough, isn’t it?” - -“It’s a frank statement of a conclusion arrived at through fallacious -reasoning,” replied Baltazar. - -She shivered. “These things have nothing to do with reason. In all these -years haven’t you learned that?” - -“No,” said he. “Schopenhauer and his lot were idiots. Love is the -apotheosis of reason. My dear,” he added, rising, “this is profitless -argument. I’m getting up without your permission, but I’ll be as -unobstreperous as thistledown. If you feel you can’t marry me, well, you -can’t. The reasons you will find are perfectly logical—but throw away -the rotten fallacy in your premise of sexlessness. You are woman all -through, my dear, from your lips to your heart. Perhaps I’ve been rather -like a bull at a gate—the gate of heaven. I suppose I was built like -that. But if you’ll let us be friends, dear friends, I won’t worry you -any more. I promise.” - -She broke down. Tears came. - -“I’m so sorry—so sorry. But you do understand, don’t you?” - -“I don’t say I understand, my dear,” he replied very tenderly. “But I -accept the phenomenon.” - -He turned and looked out of the window at the quiet road. Presently a -taxi-cab drew up outside. - -“Here’s Godfrey,” he said. - -She rose. “I’ll go down and meet him. It’s no use his climbing all these -difficult stairs.” - -“You’ll come again, won’t you?” And seeing a flicker of hesitation pass -over her face, he added: “If only to let me show you Quong Ho.” - -“Yes, I’ll come again,” she replied, “if only to show you——” - -“What?” - -“That I’m sorry.” - -She moved quickly to the door, which he opened, and he followed her -downstairs. In the vestibule they met Godfrey. Gloom overspread the -young man’s candid face and dejection marked his behaviour, neither of -which could be accounted for by the fact of the Medical Board having -given him, as he announced, a further two months. Baltazar’s proposal to -run over soon to Churton Towers for a talk, he welcomed with polite lack -of enthusiasm. He took leave with the solemnity of a medical man -departing from a house with a corpse in it. - -“It doesn’t seem to be one of the House of Baltazar’s lucky days,” said -Baltazar to himself, as he went up to his room. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - -IT was not till long afterwards that Baltazar learned the cause of his -son’s discomfiture. Marcelle learned it at once. The boy exploded with -pent-up indignation. Dorothy had turned him down, callously turned him -down. Could Marcelle imagine such heartlessness? He had gone to her -after his Board. Seeing that she had undertaken to keep him in the army, -it was only civil to report progress. Besides, the house had been open -to him since childhood. Well, there she was alone in the drawing-room. -Looked bewitching. Jolly as possible. Everything right as rain. Then, he -didn’t know how it happened—perhaps because she hadn’t discouraged him -at the Carlton—anyhow there it was; he lost his head; told her he loved -her, worshipped her and all the rest of it, and asked her to marry him. -She broke into peals of laughter and recommended him not to be an idiot. -She had the infernal impudence to laugh at him! If she had been a man he -would have wrung her neck. - -“And that isn’t all,” he cried. “What do you think she had the colossal -nerve to tell me? That she was engaged to my brother Leopold. Leopold! -‘Why,’ I said, ‘only the other day you informed me you were fed up with -Leopold.’ ‘Oh! that,’ she said airily, ‘was before the engagement.’ -Apparently the brute’s just home on leave and has stolen a march on me. -Easy enough with two feet,” he added bitterly. - -Marcelle tried to console. After all, he was very young, not yet -one-and-twenty. It would be years before he could marry. He flared up at -the suggestion. That was what Dorothy, a month older than he, had the -cool cheek to say. What did age matter? He was as old as Hell. He had -all his life behind him. In the trenches alone he had spent twenty -years. As for marrying, he was perfectly able to support a wife, not -being, through God’s grace, one of those unhappy devils of new army -officers who were wondering what the deuce they would do to earn their -living when the war was over. . . . She had treated him damnably. A -decent girl would have been kind and sorry and let him down easily. But -she! - -“She treated me as though I were a lout of a schoolboy, and she a woman -of thirty. Only the woman of thirty would at least have had manners. -Well, she’s going to marry Leopold. I wish her joy of him. She’ll have a -hell of a time.” - -Decidedly it had not been a lucky day for the House of Baltazar. -Marcelle was oppressed by a sense of guilt for her share in the family -disaster, and felt tragically unable to administer comfort. Yesterday -she would have poured healing sympathy over the hurts of the evilly -entreated youth, and her wrath would have flamed out upon the heartless -minx who had spurned the love of a gallant gentleman. But to-day how -could she? Had not some horrible freak of chance put her in the same -dock as Dorothy, worthless criminals both? - -“I suppose you were very angry with her,” she said timidly. - -He flung out a hand. Oh, that inherited gesture! Angry? Who wouldn’t -have been angry? He would never see her, speak to her, think of her -again. He had told her so. As for receiving favours from General -Mackworth, she was not to dare insult him by dreaming of it. Marcelle -pictured a very pretty rumpus. Godfrey was not John Baltazar’s son for -nothing. - -And she, in the modern idiom, had turned down John Baltazar; with less -ostensible reason, for, after all, she had not engaged herself to -another man. Was he, too, like his son, hurling anathema at the head of -a faithless woman? Outwardly he had been very courteous, astonishingly -gentle; but he was older and had learned self-restraint. How was he -taking it now? She was very glad when they reached Churton Towers and -when she stripped from herself the unfamiliar trappings of Marcelle -Baring and put on the comforting impersonal uniform of the nurse. - - * * * * * - -Baltazar, however, carried out none of Marcelle’s forebodings. He -neither upbraided her nor smashed furniture, nor made one of his -volcanic decisions. He merely lit a pipe and sat down and tried to think -out his unqualified rejection. It was a second Zeppelin bomb, -annihilating the castle in the air which that morning had appeared -utterly solid and assured, as effectively as the first had wiped out -Spendale Farm and all that it signified. He couldn’t make head or tail -of it. He sat a mystified man. For him the glamour of the old days had -not faded. In her ripe woman’s beauty she was more desirable than ever. -Flashes had shown the continuance of her old wit and gaiety. Thank God -she wasn’t eighteen still. What would he do with a child of eighteen? -The association was unthinkable. But the woman into which she had -developed was the ideal mate and companion. As for her being dead, that -was rubbish. Never was woman more splendidly alive. . . . Now let him -try to get her point of view. He clenched his teeth on his pipe. At -eighteen she loved him. She made some sort of hero of him. She kept up -her idealization until she met him an elderly, unromantic savage of -fifty. Then her romance fell tumbling about her ears, and she said to -herself, “Oh, my God! I can’t marry _this_!” - -It was the “_that_” which he had thought himself that the second bomb -had sent into eternity. It took a lot of confused and blinking wonder -for him to realize Marcelle’s “_this_.” Having realized, he accepted it -grimly. - -He had a little passage of arms with her some days afterwards. She had -invited it, anxious to know how deeply she had wounded. - -“I’m wretched because I feel I’ve again brought you unhappiness,” she -confessed. - -“That you should be leading the life you wish to lead is my happiness,” -he replied, not insincerely. - -“I feel so selfish,” she said. - -“Which means that if I pestered and blustered and raved and stormed and -made your days a nightmare of remorse, you would end by marrying me out -of desperation?” - -She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “I suppose I should.” - -“Then I’m damned if I do it. You’d be merely a scared sort of slave of -duty, suffering all the time from acute inflammation of the conscience. -I being a product of human civilization, and not a German or a gorilla, -or even a Hottentot, should be soon aware of the fact, and our lives -would be the most exquisite misery the mind could conceive.” - -“I can’t see why you don’t hate me,” she said. - -“I think I’ve arrived at an understanding of the phenomenon,” he replied -with a wry smile. “You might just as well try to recreate a vanished -rainbow as a lost illusion.” He smiled. “Go in peace,” said he. - -To himself he said: “I wonder what will be the next knock-down blow.” - -Not being able to take charge of Marcelle and Godfrey, who both seemed -bent on going their respective independent ways, and Quong Ho still -lingering at Water End, Baltazar applied himself seriously to England. -First he must learn, learn more fully the endless ramifications of -national and international life that formed the nervous ganglion of that -manifestation of activity known as the war. In pursuit of knowledge he -not only read books, but eagerly availed himself of every opportunity of -social intercourse. His circle of acquaintances grew rapidly. His three -friends, loyal sponsors, had started him with the reputation of an -authority on Far Eastern problems. He became a little lion and delighted -in it like a child. - -A great monthly review published an article on China written by a -well-known diplomatist. It was so deplorably wrong in its failure to -reach any possible Chinese point of view, that Baltazar shut himself up -for a couple of days in his inn sitting-room and wrote a scathing -refutation of the eminent sciolist’s propositions. This, the ink on the -last sheets scarcely dry, he put into an envelope and sent off to the -editor. A week later the article was returned with the stereotyped form -of rejection. In a fury Baltazar sought Weatherley and consulted him as -to the quickest means of wading in that editor’s blood. Here was this -monstrous ass, he shouted, who, on the strength of having passed a few -months at the Embassy in Pekin, with his owl’s eyes full of the dust -politely thrown in them by bland Chinese officials, not knowing a word -of any Chinese language written or spoken, without the vaguest idea of -the thoughts or aspirations of the educated man in the interior of the -kingdom, was granted the authority of a great review to spread abroad in -this country the miasma of his pestilential ignorance. That stupendous -and pernicious asses of his kidney should be allowed to mould British -public opinion was a scandal of scandals. And when he, who knew, wrote -to expose the solemn red-tape and sealing-wax dummy’s imbecility, an -equally colossal ass of an editor sent back his article as if it were an -essay on Longfellow written by a schoolgirl. - -“When you’ve finished foaming at the mouth, my dear J. B.,” said -Weatherley, “let me look at the manuscript. Ah!” he remarked, turning -over the pages, “untyped, difficult to read, owing to _saeva indignatio_ -playing the devil with a neat though not very legible handwriting, and -signed by a name calamitously unknown to the young and essentially -Oxford Pennyfeather.” - -“Your serene equanimity does me a lot of good,” growled Baltazar. - -“You must advance with the times, my dear J. B.,” laughed Weatherley. -“Why on earth didn’t you ring the man up, telling him who you were, and -then have the thing typed?” - -“Telephones and typewriters!” cried Baltazar. “This new world’s too -complicated for me.” - -“Never mind,” said Weatherley. “Leave things in my hands. I’ll fix up -Pennyfeather. If he persists in his obscurantism, owing to a desire to -save his face, I’ll send the article to Jesson of _The Imperial Review_, -who’ll jump at it.” - -“I accept your help gratefully,” replied Baltazar. “But all you’ve said -confirms me in my opinion that your friend Pennyfeather is a lazy, -incompetent hound. He and his jejune magazine can starve to death.” - -He laughed after a while at his own vehemence. They talked of the points -at issue. Presently Weatherley said: - -“After all, you’re two years behindhand in Chinese affairs. Chinese -adherence to the Allied Cause is of vast importance. Why don’t you go -out again on behalf of the Government and pick up the threads?” - -Baltazar burst out: - -“I go back to China? That God-forgotten country of dead formulas, in -which I’ve wasted the prime of my life? No, my dear friend, never again. -I’m here at last, among my own people, in the most enthralling moments -in the history of the civilized world. For years I looked upon myself as -a damned Chinaman, and now I’ve woke up to find myself English. And -English I’m going to remain.” - -“But,” objected Weatherley, “by undertaking a Government mission in -China, you can remain as English as you please.” - -Baltazar refused to consider the suggestion. England, his rediscovered -country, was his appointed sphere of action. No more China for him as -long as he lived. He went away almost angry with Weatherley for putting -such an idea into his head. No doubt he might be useful out there: much -more useful than a diplomatist like the arid ass who had written the -article; but to bury himself there again and leave Godfrey and Marcelle -and the throbbing wonders of his resurrection, was preposterous. As he -descended Weatherley’s staircase a shiver of dismay ran down his spine. -A walk through the streets restored his equanimity. Those crowds which -once had seemed so alien, were now his brothers, all fired by the same -noble aspirations. He would have liked to shake hands with the soldiers -from far oversea, Canadians, Australians, New Zealanders, South -Africans, and thank them for their inspiring presence. The day was fine, -the exhilaration of the Somme victories was in the air. The new mystery -of the tanks exercised all London, which still showed the afterglow of -the laughter caused by continued humoristic descriptions in the morning -papers. A tank waddled up to a house filled with Germans, leaned against -it in a comfortable way, and there was no more house and no more Huns. -He heard scraps of conversation about them as he walked. Yes, Tennyson -was right—a bit of a seer after all that Incarnation of -Victorianism—when he remarked that fifty years in Europe were -preferable to a cycle in Cathay. He went in gayer mood to lunch with -Jackman at a club in the West End, for membership of which his host had -proposed him. The club, like many London clubs, being hard hit by the -war, had taken the unprecedented step of holding an autumn election for -all candidates duly proposed and seconded. Baltazar found invited to -meet him a little party of influential members. He went back to -Godalming forgetful of Weatherley’s idiocy. - -A few days afterwards he met Weatherley by appointment at his chambers -in the Temple. A group of publicists outside professional journalism, of -which Baltazar guessed his friend to be one of the initiative forces, -were about to bring out a new weekly review, devoted to the -international phases of the war; to all racial questions from Greenland -to New Guinea. Its international outlook would be unlimited, but, of -course, it would pursue a relentless anti-German policy. Would Baltazar -care to join the band? If so, would he attend a meeting of the founders -of the Review that afternoon? - -“My dear fellow,” cried Baltazar, holding out both his hands, “it’s meat -and drink to me.” - -“You’ll take up the Far Eastern end of the thing,” said Weatherley. - -“I’ll write about China till I’m dead, if you like,” said Baltazar, “so -long as I don’t have to go back to the infernal country.” - -Again, after the meeting, Baltazar returned to Godalming in a glow. -Thanks to Weatherley, he had at last got a footing in the Great -Struggle. - -In a telephone talk with Marcelle he told her all about it. He heard a -ripple of laughter. - -“Where does the fun come in?” he asked. - -Her voice said: “You’re so young and enthusiastic. You ought to be the -son and Godfrey the father.” - -“By the way,” said he, “what’s the matter with Godfrey? He’s about as -cheerful as a police-court in a fog.” - -Marcelle, who could not betray Godfrey’s confidence, attributed his -depression to the tediousness of his recovery and the uncertainty of the -future. - -“Of course, of course!” replied Baltazar penitently. “I’m a selfish -beast, never entering into other people’s feelings. I must brighten -things up for him.” - - * * * * * - -The opportunity came very much sooner than Baltazar had any reason to -anticipate, in their meeting with Lady Edna Donnithorpe in the lounge of -the Carlton. - -Young, beautiful, royally assured, she advanced laughing to Baltazar. - -“What about your promise, Mr. Baltazar? Pie-crust?” - -He had sat next her at dinner a week before and she had invited him to -come to tea one afternoon; to have a quiet, interesting talk, she said, -away from crowds of disturbing people. She was the wife of the -Parliamentary Secretary of one of the new ministries, the daughter of -the Earl of Dunstable, and in other ways a woman of considerable -importance. Her radiant photographs recurred week after week in the -illustrated papers. Gossip whispered that she had turned the Prime -Minister round her little finger and that when he had recovered from -dizziness, he found he had given her elderly and uninspiring husband a -place in the Government. Certainly no one was more surprised than Edgar -Donnithorpe himself. That he owed his advancement to his wife was common -knowledge; but alone of mortals he was unaware of the fact. When asked -by a friend why she had gone to so much pains, she replied: “To get -Edgar out of the way and give him something to play with.” She was -twenty-five, pulling a hundred strings of fascinating intrigue, a -flashing member of scores of war committees, and contrived for herself -illimitable freedom. - -Baltazar made his apologies. He meant to keep his promise, but it -required courage on the part of such a back number as himself. - -“Back number?” she cried. “Why, on your own showing you’ve only been in -existence a few weeks. You are the newest thing in numbers in London.” - -“It is gracious of you to say so,” replied Baltazar. Then, as she gave -no sign of withdrawal: “Lady Edna, may I introduce my son—Lady Edna -Donnithorpe.” - -“I thought it must be. How do you do?” There were dovenotes in her voice -which, to the young man’s fancy, invested the commonplace formula with -caressive significance; her liquid dark blue eyes regarded him -understandingly and pityingly; her hand lingered in a firm clasp for -just an appreciable fraction of a second. - -“Don’t you agree with me about your father? You and I are old, wise, -battered people compared with him?” - -Youth spoke to youth, making gentle mock of middle age—and youth -instantly responded. - -“My father,” replied Godfrey, drinking in her laughing beauty and her -sympathetic charm, “has brought back from China all sorts of quaint -notions of filial piety—so, until I know whether my opinions of him are -pious or not, I rather shy at expressing them.” - -She beamed appreciation. “I have a father, too, and although he has -never been to China, I sympathize with you. One of these days we’ll have -a little heart to heart talk about fathers.” - -“I should love to,” replied Godfrey. - -“Would you really? Are you sure faithlessness is not hereditary in your -family?” - -“Lady Edna,” said Baltazar, holding out the signet ring on his little -finger. “If you saw this motto of our ancient Huguenot family in a -looking-glass, you would read ‘_Jusqu’à la mort_.’ The word _fidèle_, of -course, being understood.” - -“Death is a long way off, let us hope,” she laughed. “But if the family -faithfulness will last out—_jusqu’à jeudi_—no—I can’t manage -Thursday—I’ll give it one day more—say Friday—may I expect you both -to lunch with me? You have my address—160 Belgrave Square.” - -Receiving their acceptance of the invitation, she shook hands and went -across the lounge to her waiting friends. - -“A most interesting type,” said Baltazar. “A woman of the moment.” - -“She’s wonderful!” said Godfrey. And as her head was turned away, he -looked long and lingeringly at her. “Wonderful!” - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - -WHEN he hobbled into her drawing-room and saw her without her hat, -crowned with the glory of her hair, thick, of silky texture and of -baffling colour, now almost black, now gleaming with sombre gold, and -her slender figure clad in a blue dress which deepened the magical blue -in her eyes, Godfrey thought she was more wonderful still. The clasp of -her bare hand with its long, capable fingers, thrilled him. Her voice -had the added caress of welcome to her house. When, later, she reminded -him of their promised heart to heart talk about fathers, it was in his -heart to say, “The pedantic old bat calls you a type—you, unique among -women!” The criticism had buzzed in his head all the week and on -occasions he had laughed out loud at its ineptitude. It buzzed in his -head while he was being introduced to Lady Northby, the wife of a -distinguished General, and it was with an effort that he cleared his -mind enough to say: - -“I had the honour of serving under the General in France. Oh, a long, -long way under, all the time I was out.” - -“Then you’re friends at once,” cried Lady Edna. “You’ll join Lady -Northby’s collection.” - -“Of what, pray?” asked Baltazar. - -“Of Sir Edward’s officers.” - -“I don’t know whether Mr. Baltazar would like to be collected,” said -Lady Northby. She was a tiny, dark-faced, kind-eyed woman of fifty. Her -smile of invitation was very pleasant. - -“Can you doubt it?” replied the young man. “It must be a glorious -company. I’m only afraid I’m a poor specimen.” - -“Won’t you sit down?” She indicated a place on the sofa by her side. And -when Godfrey had obeyed her, she said in a low voice: “That and -that”—with the faintest motion of her hand she indicated decoration and -footless leg—“entitle you to a place of honour.” Then as if she had -touched sensitive ground, she added hastily, almost apologetically: -“Lady Edna always teases me about my collection, as she calls it; but -there’s a little truth in it. My husband is very proud of his Division, -and so am I, and the only way I can try to realize it as a living thing, -is to get to know some of his officers.” - -“By Jove!” cried Godfrey, his eyes suddenly sparkling. “That accounts -for it.” - -“For what?” - -“For the Division being the most splendid Division, bar none, at the -Front. For the magical influence the General has over it. I’ve only seen -him once or twice and then I shook in my boots as he passed by. But -there isn’t an officer or man who doesn’t feel that he’s under the tips -of his fingers. I never could account for it. Now I can.” - -She smiled again. “I don’t quite follow you, Mr. Baltazar.” - -Suddenly he became aware of his audacity. Subalterns in social relations -with the wives of their Divisional Generals were supposed to be the -meekest things on earth. He was not sure whether their demeanour was not -prescribed in paragraph something or the other of Army Orders. His fair -face blushed ingenuous scarlet. In the meanwhile in her eyes shone -amused and kindly enquiry; and, to render confusion worse confounded, -Lady Edna and his father appeared to have suspended their casual talk in -order to listen to his reply. There was no help for it. He summoned up -his courage, and with an invisible snap of the fingers said: - -“It was you behind the Division all the time.” - -The modest lady blushed too. The boy’s sincerity was manifest. Lady Edna -rose with a laugh, as a servant entered the room. - -“The hand that rocks the subaltern rules the Division. Let us see if we -can find something to eat.” - -There were only the four of them. At first Lady Edna Donnithorpe had -thought of inviting a numerous company to meet Baltazar. Her young -consciousness of power delighted in the homage of the fine flower of -London around her table. Baltazar’s story (heard before she met him) had -fascinated her, he himself had impressed her with a sense of his -vitality and vast erudition, and after the dinner party she had been -haunted by his personality. Here was a great force at a loose end. How -could she apply it? People were beginning to talk about him. The new Rip -Van Winkle. The Freak of the War. It would be a triumph to manœuvre him -into the position of a National Asset. She had already drawn up a list -of the all-important people whom it was essential for him to know—her -husband did not count—and was ticking off the guests for the proposed -luncheon party when suddenly she tore it up, she scarcely knew why. -Better perhaps gauge her protégé more accurately before opening her -campaign. The son added a complication. A fine pathetic figure of a boy. -Perhaps she might be able to do something for him, too, if she knew what -he wanted. She liked his eyes and the set of his head. Besides, the -stuffy lot who would be useful to the father would bore the young man to -death. She regarded the boredom of a guest in her house as an -unimaginable calamity. Edgar, her husband, was the only person ever -bored in it, and that was his own doing. He had reduced self-boredom in -private life to a fine art. She decided that young Baltazar should not -run the risk of boredom. Having tom up her list, she ran across Lady -Northby, dearest of women, the ideal fourth. - -At the beginning of lunch, while Baltazar happened to be engaged in -eager argument with Lady Northby, she devoted herself to Godfrey. In her -sympathetic contralto she questioned him, and, under the spell of it, he -answered. He would have revealed the inmost secrets of his soul, had she -demanded them. As it was, he told her an astonishing lot of things about -himself. - -Presently the talk became general. Lady Northby, in her gentle way, shed -light, from the point of view of a divisional commander’s wife, on many -obscure phases of the war. Lady Edna held a flaming torch over black and -abysmal corners of diplomacy. Godfrey sat awed by her knowledge of facts -and her swift deductions from them. He had never met a woman like her, -scarcely dreamed that such a woman existed. She had been in personal -touch with all the great ones of the earth, from the Kaiser upwards, and -she judged them shrewdly and with a neat taste in epigram. - -“If the Kaiser and the Crown Prince had been ordinary middle-class -folk,” she said, “they would have been in gaol long ago. The father for -swindling the public on a grand scale; the son for stealing milk-cans.” - -She had met King Constantine, then a thorn in the Allied flesh, whose -sufferance for so long on the Greek throne is still a mystery to the -plain Briton. - -“What a degradation of a name for Constantine the Great,” said Baltazar. - -“That’s just it,” she flashed. “His awful wife says ‘_In hoc signo -vinces_,’ and dangles before his eyes the Iron Cross.” - -No. Godfrey had never met a woman remotely like her. She was -incomparable. - -The talk developed quickly from the name of Constantine to names in -general. The degradation of names. Uriah, for instance, that of the most -tragic victim of dastardly treachery in history, now brought low by its -association with Heep. - -“I love the old Saxon names,” said Lady Northby, with some irrelevance. -“Yours, dear, for instance.” - -“It’s a beautiful name,” said Baltazar, “but it’s not Saxon. It’s far -older.” - -“Surely it’s Saxon,” said Lady Edna. - -“Edna was the wife of Raguel and the mother-in-law of Tobias, the son of -Tobit, the delightful young gentleman carrying a fish and accompanied by -the Angel Raphael, whom you see in the Italian pictures.” - -Lady Edna was impressed. “I wonder if there’s anything you don’t know?” - -He laughed. “I only remember what I’ve read. My early wrestling with -Chinese, I suppose, has trained my memory for detail. I’m also very fond -of the Apocrypha. The Book of Esdras, for instance, is a well of -wonderful names. I love Hieremoth and Carabasion.” - -Presently she said to Godfrey: “Your father always makes me feel so -humble and ignorant. Have you ever read the Apocrypha?” - -“I’m afraid not.” - -“Neither have I. If you said you had, I should want to sink under the -table. The pair of you would be too much for me.” - -Her confession of ignorance delighted him as much as her display of -knowledge filled him with wonder. It made her deliciously human. - -When lunch was over and they went up to the drawing-room she left the -elders together and sat for a while apart with him. - -“You’ll go and see Lady Northby, of course,” she said. - -“I should just think so,” he replied boyishly. “You see, I’m New Army -and have never had a chance of meeting a General’s wife. If they’re all -like that, no wonder the Army’s what it is.” - -Lady Edna smiled indulgently. “She’s a dear. I thought you would fall in -love with her.” - -“But you couldn’t have known I was in General Northby’s Division, -unless——” - -“Unless what?” - -“Unless you’re a witch.” - -With a quick glance she read the tribute in his young eyes. It almost -persuaded her that she possessed uncanny powers. She looked charmingly -mysterious. - -“Let us leave it at that,” she said. “Anyhow,” she added, “Lady Northby -can be very useful indeed to a young officer.” - -“Useful?” His cheek flushed. “But I couldn’t go to see any -lady—socially—with the idea of getting things out of her. It would be -awful.” - -“Why?” - -He met her eyes. “It’s obvious.” - -She broke into pleasant laughter. “I’m so glad you said that. If you -hadn’t, I should have been dreadfully disappointed.” - -“But how could you have thought me capable of such a thing?” - -His real concern touched her. Inured to her world of intrigue which had -little in it that was so sensitive on the point of honour, she had taken -for granted his appreciation of Lady Northby’s potential influence. She -was too crafty a diplomatist, however, to let him guess her surprise; -still less suspect her little pang of realization that his standards -might be just a little higher than her own; or her lightning glance back -to her girlhood when her standards were just the same. She gave him -smilingly to understand that it was a playful trap she had set for him, -so that resentment at an implied accusation was instantaneously -submerged beneath a wave of wonder at the gracious beauty of her soul. -This boy of twenty, instinctive soldier, half-conscious thereof when he -came to exercise his power, could play on fifty rough and violent men as -on an instrument, and make them do his bidding lovingly in the ease of -camp and follow him in battle into the jaws of hell, as they had done, -but he was outclassed in his unwitting struggle with the girl of -five-and-twenty, instinctive schemer after power, her clear brain as yet -undisturbed by any clamourings of the heart. - -Baltazar, desiring to bring brightness into the boy’s life, had brought -it with a vengeance. He had not heard of Dorothy. He had no idea of the -state of mind of the Rosaline-rejected young Romeo of a son of his. -Unconscious of peril, he cast him into the furnace. “An interesting -type. A woman of the moment,” commented placid and philosophic Fifty. -“Oh! she doth teach the torches to burn bright!” sang Twenty. Et cetera, -et cetera, et cetera. See the part of Romeo _passim_. Away with -Rosaline! His “love did read by rote and could not spell.” -Rosaline-Dorothy was blotted out of his Book of Existence for ever. - -“What are your plans?” asked Lady Edna, as soon as the little cloud had -melted beneath the very eager sunshine. - -“As soon as I get a new foot I’ll spend every day at the War Office -until they give me something to do.” - -“You oughtn’t to have any difficulty. There are lots of billets going, I -know.” - -“Yes. But what kind? I’m not going to sit in an office all day filling -up forms. I want to get a man’s job. Active service again.” - -“How splendid of you!” - -Her commendation was something to live for. After the British way, -however, he deprecated claims to splendour. - -“Not a bit. It’s only that one feels rather rotten doing nothing while -other fellows are fighting. They may take me in the Flying Corps. But -I’d sooner go where I belong—to the job I know. Perhaps I’m rather an -ass to think of it.” - -“Not at all. Where there’s a will there’s a way.” - -“I’m going to have a try for it, anyhow,” said he. - -He thought vindictively of Dorothy’s light patronage, which would have -resulted in a soft job. No soft jobs for him. He had had a lucky escape. -Dorothy and her inconsequence and flapperish immaturity, and the -paralysing work that General Mackworth would doubtless have found for -him—recording issues of bully-beef or keeping stock of dead men’s kits! -Never in life! In those bright eyes raining influence—no, they were not -bright—they were muffled stars—that was the fascination of them—he -would make himself something to be considered, respected, admired. He -would be the one one-footed man in the British Army to arrive at -greatness. The splendid end compelled the means. Until that moment he -had never contemplated an heroic continuance of his military career. - -Lady Edna, pathetically young, in spite of myriad ageing worldlinesses, -including a half-humorous, half-repellant marriage of calculation, was -caught by his enthusiasm. - -“I should love to see you back again!” - -“That alone is enough,” said he, “to make me move heaven and earth to -get there.” - -She flushed beneath his downright eyes and hid a moment’s embarrassment -by a laugh. - -“That’s a very pretty speech,” she said lightly. “I’m glad to find the -Army is going back to its old tradition of manners.” - -“I perfectly agree with you,” exclaimed Baltazar, for her tone had been -purposely pitched higher than that of the preceding conversation. “I’ve -been greatly struck by it.” - -The little intimate talk was over; but enough had been said before -father and son took their leave, to make Godfrey treasure every one of -her beautiful words and repeat them over and over again. Especially her -last words, spoken in a low voice for him alone: “I don’t want to lose -track of you. One so often does in London. If ever you’re at a loose -end, come and report progress. Ring me up beforehand.” She gave him her -number. Victoria 9857. A Golden Number. The figures had a magical -significance. - -It was not long before he ventured to obey her, and rang up the Golden -Number. He spent with her an enchanted hour, the precursor of many hours -which Lady Edna stole from her manifold activities in order to devote -them to the young man’s further enchantment. - - * * * * * - -In the meanwhile Quong Ho arrived at Godalming. Quong Ho delighted with -himself, in his ready-made suit and soft felt hat, in spite of the loss -of his pigtail, which the treatment of his cracked skull had -necessitated. Baltazar, too, cast an eye of approbation on his European -appearance, regarding him somewhat as a creation of his own. His pride, -however, was dashed by Godfrey, who on being asked, eagerly, after the -first interview, what he thought of Quong Ho, cried: - -“For Heaven’s sake, sir, get the poor devil a new kit!” - -“Why—Why?” asked Baltazar, in his impatient way, “what’s the matter -with his clothes?” - -“They fit like a flag at the end of a pole in a dead calm,” said -Godfrey. “Or like sails round a mast. You’d have to get a pack of hounds -in order to find his arms and legs. And that red and purple tie! It’s -awful. Ask Marcelle.” - -Baltazar had walked Quong Ho over to Churton Towers, and after they had -said good-bye at the gates, he had rushed back to put his question, -leaving Quong Ho in the road. - -Marcelle smiled at his disconcerted face. “It would be scarcely well -received at Cambridge.” - -“Give the chap a chance, sir,” said Godfrey. - -“I want to give him every chance,” exclaimed Baltazar. “I want to -overwhelm him with chances. If his clothes won’t do, get him some -others.” - -At his summons the Chinaman came up. Baltazar caught him by his loose -sleeve. - -“Godfrey doesn’t approve of garments not made to the precise -measurements of the individual human figure. He’ll take you to his -tailor and hosier and hatter and rig you out properly. He knows what’s -right and I don’t. When can you do it? The sooner the better.” - -“I’ll see what my engagements are,” said Godfrey stiffly. - -“That’s right,” cried Baltazar. “Telephone me this evening. His time’s -yours. Get him all he wants. Brushes, combs, shirts, pyjamas, boots. You -know.” - -He wrung his hand, waved his hat to Marcelle and marched off with Quong -Ho. - -Godfrey regarded the retreating figures speechless. Then he turned to -Marcelle. - -“Of all the cool cheek! Without by your leave or with your leave! I’m to -cart this infernal Chinee about Bond Street. My God! My tailor will have -a fit.” - -“So long as Quong Ho gets one, it doesn’t matter,” laughed Marcelle. - -But he was in no humour for pleasantry. He dug his crutch viciously in -the ground as he walked. - -“He takes it for granted that I’d love to be saddled with this scarecrow -of a Chinaman. Don’t you see? It’s preposterous. My God! I’ve a jolly -good mind to set him up regardless, like a pre-war nut—with solid -silver boot-trees and the rest to correspond. It would serve J. B. -right.” - -Said Marcelle with a sidelong glance—in her Sister’s uniform she looked -very demure— - -“Why didn’t you refuse?” - -He fumed. “How could I? I couldn’t hurt the poor chap’s feelings. -Besides——” - -“Besides what?” - -“This father of mine—his big gestures, his ugly mouth—and his infernal -dancing eyes—and behind them something so pathetic and appealing—I -don’t know. Sometimes I think I loathe the sight of him, and, at others, -I feel that I’d be a beast if I shut my heart against him. And always I -feel just like a rabbit before a boa-constrictor. I’m not a little boy. -I’ve seen life naked. I’m on my own. I object to being bossed. In the -Army it’s different—it’s part of the game; but outside—no!” - -He limped along to the house full of his grievance. It was not so much -the clothing of Quong Ho that annoyed him, though he could well have -spared himself the irritating embarrassment, as the sense of his gradual -subordination to a dominating personality. The disconnected dynamo was -hitching itself on to him, and he resented the process. - -“How you’ve escaped being married out of hand, I don’t know,” said he. - -Marcelle flushed. “The moment he realizes other people’s feelings,” she -replied, “he becomes the gentlest creature on earth.” - -“I wish to goodness he’d begin to realize mine,” growled the young man. - -When they reached the front steps of Churton Towers, Marcelle said: - -“I wonder whether I could be of any help to you in your shopping?” - -“You? Why——” He beamed suddenly on her. - -“I’m free on Friday. I could go up to town with you.” - -“You’re an angel!” he declared. “A winged angel from heaven.” The boy in -him broke out sunnily. “That’ll make all the difference. What a dear you -are. Won’t we have a time! I’ll love to see you choosing the beast’s -pyjamas.” - -“They shall be stout and sober flannel,” said Marcelle. - -“No. Silk. Green, red, yellow and violet. The sort of thing the -chameleon committed suicide on.” - -“Who’s going to run the show—you or I?” - -“Oh you. You all the time.” - -He laughed and hobbled up the steps in high good humour. - -Marcelle went off to her duties smiling pensively. What a happy woman -would be the right woman for Godfrey. Wax in her hands—but wax of the -purest. She was astonished at the transformation from cloud to sunshine -which she, elderly spinster nearly double his age, had effected, and her -nerves tingled with a sense of feminine power. Her thoughts switched off -from son to father. They were so much alike—from the feminine point of -view, basically children. Were not her fears groundless? Could she not -play upon the man as she played upon the boy? Recent experience answered -yes. - -But then she faced the root difference. To the boy she surrendered -nothing. To the man she would have to pay for any measure of domination -the price of an indurated habit of existence, the change of which was -fraught with intolerable fear. No. She could take, take all that she -wanted. But she could not give. There was nothing in her to give. Better -this beautiful autumn friendship than a false recrudescence of spring, -in which lay disaster and misery and disillusion. - -As for the boy, God was good to have brought him into her life. - -Meanwhile, Baltazar walked home to Godalming with Quong Ho in gay -spirits. It was just like the modern young Englishman to shy at the -depths and attack the surface. And, after all, as a more alert glance -assured him, the surface of Quong Ho deserved the censure of any -reasonable being. One could almost hear his garments flap in the autumn -wind. - -“I fear,” said Quong Ho apologetically, “that my care in selecting this -costume was not sufficiently meticulous.” - -“Godfrey’ll soon put that right,” laughed Baltazar. “Anyhow, it’s the -man inside the clothes that matters.” - -And when he came to think of it, he perceived that the man inside had -had little opportunity of revealing himself, he, Baltazar, having done -the talking for the two of them. Quong Ho had comported himself very -ceremoniously. His manners, though somewhat florid in English eyes, had -been unexceptionable, devoid of self-consciousness and awkward attempts -at imitation. He had responded politely to the conventional questions of -Marcelle and Godfrey, but there his conversation had stopped. Of the -rare gem presented to them they had no notion. Never mind. Once let -Quong Ho give them a taste of his quality, and they could not choose but -take him to their bosoms. - -Which, by the end of the Friday shopping excursion, was an accomplished -fact. - -Now that Marcelle had assumed responsibility, Godfrey, after the way of -man, regarded the attiring of Quong Ho as a glorious jest. His bright -influence melted Quong Ho’s Oriental reserve. Encouraged to talk, he -gave them sidelights on the life at Spendale Farm which neither had -suspected. His description, in his formal, unhumorous English, of the -boxing lessons, delighted Godfrey. - -“The old man must be a good sport,” he remarked to Marcelle. - -“Ah!” said Quong Ho, bending forward—they were in the train—“A ‘sport’ -is a term of which I have long desired to know the significance. Will -you have the gracious kindness to expound it?” - -“Lord! That’s rather a teaser,” said Godfrey. “I suppose a sport is a -chap that can do everything and says nothing, and doesn’t care a damn -for anything.” - -Quong Ho nodded sagely. “That is most illuminating. I regret that I have -not my notebook with me. But I shall remember. Incidentally, you have -summed up exactly the character of your honourable father and my most -venerated patron.” - -“He’s a joy,” Godfrey whispered to Marcelle as they left the train. “I -could listen to him all day long. He talks like the books my grandmother -used to read when she was a kid. Mr. Ho,” said he, as they proceeded up -the platform to the gates, “you have now a unique opportunity of -studying the Western woman. Miss Baring is going shopping. You see in -her eye the sign that she is going to have the time of her life.” - -“Madam,” said Quong Ho, taking off his hat, to the surprise not only of -Godfrey but of the scurrying passengers, “that is also the superlative -achievement of the ladies of my country.” - -They shopped, they lunched merrily in a select little restaurant off -Shaftesbury Avenue, they shopped again. Godfrey stood aloof and gave -advice; sketched the programme in broad outlines; Marcelle filled in the -details and became responsible for the selection of the various -articles; Quong Ho smiled politely and submitted the various parts of -his body, to be measured. Only once did he venture to interfere, and -that was when Marcelle was matching ties and socks in the Bond Street -hosier’s. - -“I beg most humbly your pardon,” said he, picking out a tie other than -the one selected, “but this shade is the more exact.” - -“Surely it’s the same,” exclaimed Marcelle, putting the ties together. - -“The gentleman is right, madam,” said the shopman. “But not one person -out of ten thousand could tell the difference. I couldn’t, myself, if I -hadn’t been trained at Lyons. I wonder, madam, whether you would allow -me to try a little experiment?” - -He disappeared into a back room and returned with a pinkish mass of silk -threads. - -“This is a colour test. There are twenty different shades. Can you sort -them?” - -Godfrey, amused, took half the mass, and for several minutes he and -Marcelle laboriously sorted the threads. Presently the shopman turned to -Quong Ho. - -“Now you, sir.” - -Quong Ho, without hesitation, made havoc of the piles and swiftly -arranged the twenty groups in an ascending scale of red. - -“There’s not another man in London who could have done that under an -hour,” said the shopman admiringly. - -“When did you learn it?” asked Godfrey. - -“Vain boasting, sir,” replied Quong Ho, “is far from my habits, but to -me these differences are as obvious as black from white. It is only a -matter of informative astonishment that they are not perceptible both to -you and”—he took off his hat again—“to the most accomplished madam.” - -“Look here, old chap,” said Godfrey, “what I want to know is this. How -could you, with your exquisite colour sense, go about in that awful red -and purple tie?” - -“To assume the perfection of English pink,” replied Quong Ho, “I would -make any sacrifice. At the same time, it gives me infinite satisfaction -to discover that the taste of Water End is not that of the metropolis. -_Non omnes arbusta juvant humilesque myricae._” - -“I beg your pardon?” cried Godfrey, with a start, almost, upsetting the -high counter chair on which he was sitting. - -Quong Ho, perched between Godfrey and Marcelle, turned with a smile. - -“It is the Latin poet Virgilius.” - -“Yes, I know that.” - -“He says that shrubs and other bucolic appurtenances do not please -everybody—by which he means the sophisticated inhabitants of capital -cities, who prefer such delectable harmonies of colour”—he waved a hand -to the pile of shirts, socks, ties and pyjamas on the counter—“to the -red and purple atrocities which form the delight of the rural -population.” - -Godfrey, elbow on counter and head on hand, regarded him wonderingly. - -“Mr. Ho,” said he, “you’re immense. Do tell me. I don’t mean to be -impertinent. But for a Chinaman to quote Virgil—pat—How do you manage -to do it?” - -“During my convalescence,” replied Quong Ho, with his engaging smile, “I -read through the works of the poet with considerable interest. Dr. -Rewsby was kind enough to obtain for me the edition in the series of the -Oxford Pocket Classics, _P. Virgilii Maronis Opera Omnia. Oxonii. -MDCCCCXIII_, from which date I concluded that I was reading the most -authoritative text known to English scholarship.” - -“In the meanwhile,” said Marcelle, “Mr. Ho is in need of winter -underclothing.” - -Not the least noteworthy of the day’s incidents was the meeting between -Quong Ho and Lady Edna, who, proceeding on foot to a War Committee in -Grosvenor Street, and wearing the blue serge coat and skirt of serious -affairs, ran into them as they waited for a taxi on the Bond Street -kerb. She stopped, with outstretched hand. - -“Why, Godfrey, I didn’t know you were in town to-day.” - -Then, suddenly catching Marcelle’s curious glance, she became conscious -of his companions and her cheek flushed. He hastened to explain. - -“We’re on outfit duty—indenting for clothing for Mr. Ho, who was badly -bombed, if you remember, with my father.” - -He performed the introductions. - -“I have heard about you, Mr. Ho,” she said graciously. “You’re a great -mathematician.” - -Godfrey wondered at her royal memory. Quong Ho, bare-headed, said: - -“I but follow painfully in the footsteps of my illustrious master.” - -She laughed. “You must let Mr. Godfrey bring you round to see me one of -these days.” - -“Madam,” replied Quong Ho, with a low bow. “As the Italians say, it will -be a thousand years until I have the honour to avail myself of so -precious a privilege.” - -“We must fix something up soon, then—one day next week.” - -She shook hands with Marcelle, nodded to the others, and went away -wreathed in smiles. Quong Ho followed her with his eyes; then to -Godfrey: - -“I have never seen a more beauteous and worshipful lady. One might say -she was one of the goddesses so vividly described by Publius Virgilius -Maro.” - -“Your taste seems to be impeccable, sir,” replied Godfrey. - -In the train, on the homeward journey, Marcelle, who was sitting by -Godfrey’s side—Quong Ho sat opposite reading an evening paper—said to -him: - -“You seem to be great friends with Lady Edna Donnithorpe.” - -“The best,” said he. - -“Do you usually let her know when you’re coming up to town?” - -Godfrey reflected for the fraction of a second. Lady Edna had certainly -committed the unprecedented act of giving herself away. Frankness was -therefore the best policy. - -“Sometimes I do,” he replied innocently. “On the off chance of her being -able to give me a cup of tea. It’s only once in a blue moon that she -can, for she’s always all over the place.” - -“She’s a very beautiful woman, my dear.” - -“Your taste is as perfect as Quong Ho’s.” - -Quong Ho, hearing his name, looked with enquiring politeness over the -top of his newspaper. - -“Miss Baring and I were talking of Lady Edna.” - -“Ah!” said Quong Ho, with a very large smile. - -Before they parted, on reaching Churton Towers, Marcelle put her hand on -Godfrey’s shoulder. - -“Perhaps I oughtn’t to have asked you that question in the train—I had -no right——” - -He interrupted her with his boyish laugh. - -“You dear old thing! You have every right to cross-question me on my -wicked doings. Haven’t I adopted you as a sort of young mother? -Iolanthe. Or the Paphian one which Quong Ho was gassing about. Now, look -here. You just come to me in a rosy cloud whenever you like, and I’ll -tell you everything.” - -“Swear it?” - -“I swear it.” - -He kissed her finger-tips, and she went away half-reassured. But she was -sufficiently in the confidence of the Baltazars, father and son, to know -that, for both of them, Lady Edna Donnithorpe was but a recent -acquaintance. And to her the boy was “Godfrey,” and his presence in -London without her knowledge a matter of surprise. - -A few days later came the order for Godfrey to be transferred to an -orthopædic hospital, where he should learn the new art of walking with -an artificial foot. He parted from her with reiterated vows of undying -affection. From his Iolanthe mother the secrets of his heart would never -be hidden. If she wanted a real good time, she would chuck the -nursing—Heaven knew she had done her bit in the war—and come and be a -real mother and keep house for him. She smiled through her tears. -“Preposterous child!” she called him. - -“You seem to forget,” said he, “that you’re the only female thing -associated with my family I’ve ever cared a hang about. I’ve adopted -you, and don’t you forget it. When I’ve got my foot, I’ll march in like -a regimental sergeant-major and take you by the scruff of your Sister’s -cap, and off you come.” - -She laughed, trying to attune herself to his gay spirits; but when she -lost the last faint sound on the gravel-path of the motor-cab that took -him away, she went up to her room and cried foolishly, as she had not -cried for years. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - -ON Godfrey’s transference from Godalming, Baltazar, with characteristic -suddenness, moved into a furnished house in London. The reasons for his -sojourn at the inn existed no longer. Besides, books and other -belongings were quickly usurping the cubic space at his disposal. -Marcelle, urgently invited to a consultation, advised, according to her -practical mind, a flat or a small house which he could furnish for -himself; and she offered such aid as her duties would allow. He ruled -out her suggestion. There must be rooms for Godfrey and Quong Ho -whenever they should be in town; rooms for servants; decent living -rooms, so that the inhabitants should not have to herd higgledy-piggledy -together; also ample accommodation for Marcelle, should she care to -change her mind. Nothing but a large house would suit him. As for -waiting until painters, decorators, paper-hangers, curtain-makers, -carpet-layers, electric-light fitters and suchlike war-attenuated tribes -had completed their business, it was out of the question. It would take -months. He wanted to establish himself in a ready-made home right now, -and get on with the war. Such a home his friend Mrs. Jackman had -suggested. The owner, poor fellow, killed in the war; the wife and a boy -of thirteen left ill-provided for. As she could not afford to live in -the house, and yet shrank from selling it and its precious contents, the -boy’s heritage, she would be content to let it furnished for an -indefinite period. There it was—Sussex Gardens—near the -Park—admirable in every way. He was accustomed to spacious habitations. -His house in Chen-Chow covered nearly an acre. In his exile at Spendale -Farm he had room to breathe. The Godalming inn was charming in its way, -but now and then he had mad impulses to attack the walls of his -sitting-room with his nails and tear them down. What was wrong with -Sussex Gardens? - -“It’s extravagant, trouble-shirking, and generally manlike.” - -“Marry me,” said he, “and you shall have a house economical, -trouble-inviting and generally woman-like. Any kind of old house you -consider ideal.” - -“You’ll want four or five servants to run it,” she objected, ignoring -his proposition. “Where are you going to get them from in these war -times?” - -“They’re already there. A cook who’ll act as housekeeper——” - -“You’ll be robbed right and left.” - -“Come and save me,” said Baltazar. - -She laughed. “I’m tempted to do so, just out of pity for you.” - -“Pity won’t do, my dear,” said he. - -“Then you must go your own way.” - -“I’m going it,” said Baltazar. “Perhaps you’ll come to Sussex Gardens -now and then to see Godfrey. Possibly Quong Ho?” - -“I might even come to see John Baltazar,” said Marcelle. - -So Baltazar settled down in the big house and gave himself up to the -infinite interests of war-racked London. The weeks and the months -passed. Quong Ho at Cambridge, under the benign tutelage of Dr. -Sheepshanks, began the study of Greek for his Little Go, and wrote to -his patron curious impressions of the University. “I have the option,” -said he, “of taking up for this examination either an infant’s primer on -Logic compiled by an illustrious thinker of a bygone age, called Jevons, -or a humorous work on the Evidence of Christianity, by the divine Paley, -who seems to have been one of the patriarchs of the Anglican Church. As -the latter seems the more entertaining, seeing that it tends to destroy -in the mind of the reasoning believer all faith in the historical truth -of the Christian religion, I am studying it with a deep interest based -on the analogy between English and Chinese academic conservatism. On the -other hand, dear sir and most venerated master, if you could suggest a -course in Theology more in consonance with modern philosophical thought, -I should derive from it much instruction and recreation.” Baltazar bade -him get on with his Greek, so that if he wanted light reading, he could -soothe his leisure hours with Aristotle and Thucydides. “I am working at -Greek, like stags,” wrote Quong Ho later; “with all the more zeal -because I find I have completed already the mathematical course required -for my Tripos.” Some time afterwards he wrote again: “If you, most -honoured sir, would permit me, I should esteem it a privilege to read -for the Science Tripos as well as the Mathematical. I should enjoy the -possibility of the application of my sound mathematical equipment to the -higher branches of physics.” “Do what you like, my dear fellow,” replied -Baltazar. “Suck the old place dry.” Quong Ho delighted him. Sheepshanks -wrote enthusiastically of the rare bird. “He will be a monument,” said -he, “to your sound and masterly teaching. I wish you would come back to -us.” But Baltazar had other things to do. Having set his house in order, -established Quong Ho at Cambridge, seen Godfrey accept his filial -position and cemented relations, such as they were, with Marcelle, he -plunged head foremost into the war. Others floundered about in it, tired -after two strenuous years of buffeting. He came to it fresh, with new -zeal and unimpaired strength of mind and body. With a new, keen -judgment, too, being in the unique position of one with historical -perspective. Others had lived through the fateful years and could not -clear their brains of the myraid cross-currents that had swirled through -them day by day, almost hour by hour, and had systematized themselves -into their mental being, so that, with all their passionate patriotism, -they could not see the main course. Baltazar brought an untroubled and -vigorous intellect to bear on an accurately studied situation. - -“We’re all at sixes and sevens,” cried Weatherley one day in despair, -when they were discussing the new weekly review of the Far Eastern -policy which he had asked Baltazar to control. “Unless we’re careful, -the project will drop to pieces. Russell now declines to edit it unless -we give him an autocratic hand. But Russell’s mad on Slovenes and -Ruthenes and Croats. Clever as he is, he has no sense of proportion. I -don’t know what the devil we’re going to do. There’s no one else can -give the time. For the review to be any good, a man must throw his whole -soul into it.” - -Baltazar had one of his flashes. “If you like, I’ll edit the damned -thing. You’ve all been fiddling about for a title. I’ve got one. ‘The -New Universe.’ I’ll undertake to make a living thing of it, wipe out all -the dreary, weary old weekly and monthly respectabilities. We won’t have -a second-rater writing for it. We’ll appeal to ‘Longleat’s towers’ and -‘Mendip’s sunless caves.’ We’ll make it the one thing that matters in -this quill-driven country. We’ll have it translated into all known -languages and circulate it over the civilized earth. It’ll be the only -publication that’ll give everybody the truth about everything.” - -He went on in his vehement way. When Weatherley asked him where the -money for so gigantic a scheme was to come from, he quoted the Tichborne -claimant. - -“Some has money and no brains and some has brains and no money. If those -with no money can’t get money from those with no brains, God help them.” - -And it came to pass, a few days afterwards, at a meeting of the -committee of the new review, that Baltazar had his way. As he looked -with even vision on Ruthenes, Slovenes, Belgians, Hereros, Jugo-Slavs, -British miners, Samoans, the staff of the Foreign Office, Indian -princes, Mrs. Annie Besant, the denizens of Arkansas, the Southern -Chinese, the gilded adorners of Newport, the Women’s Emergency League, -the Wilhelmstrasse, Armenians, and the Young Men’s Christian -Association, a fact elicited by lengthy discussion of the multitudinous -phases of world politics, and as he succeeded in convincing all the -several zealots of particular interests, that their impassioned aims -were an integral part of his far-reaching scheme, they came unanimously -to the conclusion that no one but he had the universality to edit The -New Universe, and passed a resolution promising him their loyal -co-operation. - -“I’m going to make this darned thing hum,” said Baltazar to Weatherley. - -Money was the first object. Brains he could command in plenty. He -envisaged London as his El Dorado. The history of his exploitation of -the capitalist and landowner would, if it were published, become a -text-book on the science and remain forever a classic. He forced -wealth-guarding doors of whose existence he had been ignorant six months -before; by a stroke of the genius which had brought him his position in -China, he secured the support, financial and moral, without the control -of an important group of newspapers; he enlisted the aid of every -possible unit in his rapidly increasing circle of acquaintance. The -scope of the Weekly had extended far beyond the modest bounds of its -conception. Originally it was to be an appeal to the thinkers of all -nations. “Damn thinkers,” said Baltazar. “They’re as scarce as angels -and about as useful. We want to put thoughts into the heads of those -that don’t think. It’s the Doers we want to get hold of. A thing -academic is a thing dead. This is going to live.” Some of the superior -smiled at his enthusiasm; but Baltazar damned them and went his way. -This was going to be the Great Teaching Crusade of the War, the most -far-sweeping instrument of propaganda known to journalism. He pulled all -strings, brought in all parties. A high dignitary of the Labour World -and a Tory Duke of unimpeachable integrity found themselves appointed as -Trustees of The New Universe Publication Fund. Money flowed in. - -One day he ran across Pillivant, in St. James’s Street, Pillivant mainly -individualized by a sable fur coat and a lustrous silk hat and a -monstrous cigar cutting his red face like a fifteen-inch gun cutting the -deck of a battleship. Baltazar greeted him as a long-lost brother and -haled him off to lunch at his club. Mellowed by the club’s famous -Chambertin and 1870 port, he took a rosy view of all kinds of worlds -including The New Universe, as presented by his host. It was a great -scheme, he agreed. He was sick of all newspapers, no matter of what -shades of opinion. They were all the same. Honesty was not in them. Nor -was there honesty in any Government. Men with not a quarter of what he -had done for the country to their credit, were being rewarded with -peerages and baronetcies. In the New Year’s Honours List he had not been -mentioned. Not even offered a beastly knighthood. But it didn’t matter. -He was a patriot. And it was very fine old brandy, and he didn’t mind if -he did have another glass. Still, if a man put down a thousand pounds -for a thing, it was only business prudence to know where he stood. - -“You’ll stand here,” cried Baltazar, spreading before his eyes a printed -list of the General Committee, a galaxy of dazzling names. “You’ll take -rank in the forefront of the biggest patriotic crusade that ever was. -Your light will no longer be under a bushel. It will shine before men. -What’s the good of your name being lost in a close-printed subscription -list? This is a totally different thing. Your appearance here will give -you position. Look at the people. Have you ever stood in with a crowd -like this before?” - -Baltazar held the mellowed profiteer with his compelling eyes. - -“I can’t say that I have,” replied Pillivant. “But all the same——” - -“But all the same,” Baltazar interrupted, “you’ve been at loggerheads -with the War Office. There was that question asked in the House over the -Aerodrome contract. You told me about it yourself. Now listen to me -carefully”—Baltazar played a gambler’s card—“your coming in with us -will be a guarantee of integrity. It’s obvious that no one on this list -could do otherwise than run straight. The worry it would save you!” He -looked at his watch and jumped up. “By George! I’ve got an appointment -with our Treasurer, Lord Beldon. Would you like to come along and hear -more about the scheme? Waiter! Ask them to get me a taxi. We’ll find our -hats and coats round here.” - -He drove a gratified Pillivant to Chesterfield Gardens and introduced -him to Lord Beldon (with whom he had no appointment whatever) as an -enthusiastic believer in The New Universe, ready to finance it to the -extent of two or three thousand pounds. “Three thousand, wasn’t it?” - -“I said between two and three thousand,” replied Pillivant, flattered at -his reception by the powerful old peer, and not daring to fall back on -the original one thousand that had been vaguely suggested. A bluff, of -course, for which he admired Baltazar, although he cursed him in his -heart; but was it worth while calling it? He could buy up this old -blighter of a lord twice over. He would show him that he had the money. -“I was thinking of two thousand five hundred,” he continued. “But what’s -a miserable five hundred? Yes. You can put me down for three thousand. -In fact”—with a flourish he drew a cheque-book from his pocket—“I’ll -write you the cheque now, payable, I presume, to the Right Honourable -the Earl of Beldon.” - -“Or _The New Universe_. As you please.” - -“Better be personal,” said Pillivant, enjoying the inscription of the -rolling title and the prospect of the elevated eyebrows of the bank -clerk who should debit the sum to his account. - -“That’s exceedingly generous of you, Mr. Pillivant,” said Lord Beldon, -putting the cheque into a drawer of his writing-table. - -“Just patriotic, your lordship,” replied Pillivant, with a profiteering -wave of the hand. - -“I think,” said Baltazar, “that the contributor of such an important sum -ought to be offered some practical interest in the scheme. Mr. -Pillivant’s name will appear on the General Committee. But that’s more -or less honorary. The sub-committees will do the real business. We’re -going to deal with every phase of the war, Pillivant, and the various -sub-committees—their names will be published large as life and twice as -natural—will supply the editorial department with indisputable facts. -Now,” he turned to Lord Beldon, “if Mr. Pillivant will serve on the -Purity of Contracts Sub-Committee, he’ll be bringing us a tremendous and -invaluable business experience.” - -“That’s a most happy suggestion,” smiled Lord Beldon. - -“I think so, too. I’ll get a run for my money,” said Pillivant. - -When he had gone, Lord Beldon turned a puzzled brow on Baltazar. - -“Isn’t that the chap about whom some nasty things were said a few months -ago?” - -Baltazar grinned. “It is,” said he. “We’ve made him disgorge some of his -ill-gotten gains, and, by putting him on the sub-committee we’ll make -him pretty careful about getting them ill in the future.” - -Thus, with ruthless pertinacity he gathered in a great sum of money, and -finally in a splendour of publicity the first number of _The New -Universe_ appeared, and from the first day of its appearance Baltazar -felt himself to be a power in the land. - -Another reputation in certain circles had meanwhile been made by his -trenchant article on Chinese affairs in the _Imperial Review_. It led to -an interview with the Chinese Ambassador, who professed agreeable -astonishment at finding the famous but somewhat mysterious -Anglo-Chinaman of Chen-Chow and the writer of the article one and the -same person. After which he spent many pleasant hours at the Embassy, -discussing Chinese art and philosophy and the prospects of the career of -his prodigious pupil, Quong Ho. In course of time, the Foreign Office -discreetly beckoned to him. It had heard from authoritative sources—it -smiled—that Mr. Baltazar’s knowledge of China was unique, for though -many other men were intimately acquainted with the country from the -point of view of the official, the missionary, the merchant and the -traveller, it had never heard of a man of his attainments who had -divorced himself from all European influence and had attained a high -position in the social and political life of non-cosmopolitan China. If -Mr. Baltazar would from time to time put his esoteric knowledge at the -service of the Foreign Office, the Foreign Office would be grateful. At -last, after various interviews with various high personages, for all -this was not conveyed to him in a quarter of an hour, it not being the -way of the Foreign Office to fall on a stranger’s neck and open its -heart to him, he received a proposal practically identical with -Weatherley’s suggestion which he had so furiously flouted. The Secret -Service—the Intelligence Department—had been crying out for years for -a man like him, who should go among the Chinese as a Chinaman, -thoroughly in their confidence. “A spy?” asked Baltazar bluntly. The -Foreign Office smiled a bland smile and held out deprecating fingers. Of -course not. An agent, acting for the Allies, counteracting German -influence, working in his own way, responsible to no one but the Powers -at Whitehall, but yet, with necessary secrecy, towards China’s -longed-for Declaration of War against Germany. - -“China will come in on our side before the year’s out,” said Baltazar. - -How did he know it? Why, it was obvious to any student of the science of -political forces. It was as supererogatory for a man to go out to China -to persuade her to join the Allies as to stir up a bomb whose fuse was -alight, in order to make it explode. The Foreign Office protested -against argument by analogy. The forthcoming entry of China into the war -was naturally not hidden from its omniscience. But that did not lessen -the vital need of secret and skilful propaganda before, during and after -the period that China might be at war. There were the eternal German -ramifications to be watched; the possible Japanese influences—it spoke -under the seal of the most absolute confidence—which, without any -thought of disloyalty on the part of Japan, might, not accord with -Western interests; there were also the bewildering cross-currents of -internal Chinese politics. There were thousands of phases of invaluable -information which could not be viewed by the Embassy; thousands of -strings to be pulled which could not be pulled from Pekin. “We could -not, like Germany and Austria in America, outrage those international -principles upon which the ambassadorial system had been based for -centuries. At the same time——” - -“You’re not above using a spy,” said Baltazar. - -Again the Foreign Office deprecated the suggestion. It wouldn’t dream of -asking Mr. Baltazar to take such a position. - -“Then,” said Baltazar, “what are you driving at?” - -The Foreign Office looked at him rather puzzled. As a matter of fact, it -did not quite know. Having Baltazar’s _dossier_ pretty completely before -it, it had gradually been compelled to the recognition of Baltazar as a -man of supreme importance in Chinese affairs. He must be used somehow, -but on the way to use him it was characteristically vague and -hesitating. It knew a lot about the Ming Dynasty being a connoisseur in -porcelain—but the Ming Dynasty, and all that it connoted, had come to -an end a devil of a long time ago; which was a pity, for it only knew -the little about Modern China which it gleaned from the epigrammatic and -uninspired _précis_ of official reports. To attach Baltazar in any way -to the Embassy was out of the question. The idea would have sent a -shiver down its spine to the very last vertebra of the most ancient -messenger whose father had run on devious errands for Lord Palmerston. -On the other hand, Baltazar was not of the type which could be sent out -on a secret errand. That fact he had made almost brutally obvious. So, -after looking at him for a puzzled second or two, it smiled invitingly. -Really, it waited for him to make a proposition. - -This he did. - -“Offer me a square and above-board mission as the duly accredited agent -of the British Government—to perform whatever duties you prescribe for -me, and I’ll consider it. At any rate, I’ll regard the offer as an -honour. But to go back to my friends as Chi Wu Ting——” - -“Ah!” interrupted the Foreign Office, turning over a page or two of -type-script. “That’s interesting. We wanted to ask you. How did you get -that name in China? You started there, after your abandonment of your -brilliant Cambridge career—you see we know all about you, Mr. -Baltazar—as James Burden.” - -“Phonetic,” said Baltazar, impatiently. “It’s as impossible for an -ordinary Chinaman to say James Burden, as for you to pronounce a word -with the Zulu click in it. It’s the nearest they could get. It’s good -Chinese. So I adopted it. I’m known by it all through Southern China. -Let me get on with what I was saying. To go back to my friends as Chi Wu -Ting and pretend I was acting in their interests, while all the time I -was acting in the interests of the British Government—well, I’m damned -if I would entertain the idea for a second.” - -The Foreign Office winced at the oath, although it damned lustily in -private. - -“But if Chi Wu Ting goes back, as you say, accredited——?” - -“That’s a different matter altogether.” - -“There’s still the question of—of remuneration,” said the Foreign -Office. - -“I’m by way of being a rich man,” said Baltazar. “I didn’t spend the -eighteen golden years of my life in the interior of China for my -health.” - -The Foreign Office beamed. “That simplifies things enormously.” - -“It generally does,” replied Baltazar. - -A month later the Foreign Office made him the offer which his sense of -personal dignity demanded from them; and, honour being satisfied, he -declined it. He could do better work for his country in London, said he, -than in again burying himself alive for an indefinite number of years in -China. The Foreign Office regretted his decision; but it gave him to -understand that the offer would always remain open. They parted on terms -of the most cordial politeness; but if the Foreign Office had heard the -things Baltazar said of it, its upstanding hair would have raised its -own roof off. - -“Three months,” he cried to Marcelle, “playing the fool, wasting their -time and mine, when the whole thing could have been done in five -minutes.” - -“But I can’t quite see,” she objected, “why you went on when you had -made up your mind from the start not to go back to China.” - -“Can’t you?” said he. “I’ll explain. I’ve sworn that there’ll be no more -idiocy on the part of John Baltazar to prevent him coming into his own. -He is coming into it. That the F.O. should recognize his position was an -essential factor of his own. When a man can dictate terms, he has -established himself. See? I suppose,” said he, halting in his abrupt -way, and thrusting his hands deep in his trousers pockets, “you think -this is just childish vanity. Come, say it.” - -She met his bright eyes and smiled up at him. “If I do, you won’t bite -my head off?” - -“No. I’ll convince you that it isn’t. Vanity, as its name implies, is -emptiness. Negative. This isn’t vanity, it’s Pride. Something positive. -My pet Deadly Sin. If you’ve got that strong, you can tell the six -others to go back to hell. If I hadn’t got it, the others would have -torn me to bits long ago. If I were a mongrel and thought myself a prize -bull-pup—that would be vanity. But I know, hang it all, that I’m a -prize bull-pup, and when I take leave to remind myself, and people like -the F.O. of the fact, that’s Pride. And when I say I’ve sworn to fulfil -the Destiny of the prize pup, John Baltazar, and be one of the -intellectual forces that’ll carry the Empire along to Victory—that’s -not vanity. Where’s the emptiness? It’s Pride—reckoned first of the -Seven Deadly Sins. If I glory in it—well—according to the Theologians, -it’s my damnation: according to me, it’s the other way about. Look. -There’s another way of putting it——” - -Suddenly she was smitten with the memory of Godfrey’s words five or six -months ago, when he fumed at the bear-leading of Quong Ho—“Those -infernal dancing eyes of his—and behind them something so pathetic and -appealing.” The boy was right. She met just that pathetic appeal. He was -so anxious to put himself right with her. He went on: - -“If I were in the habit of vowing to perform impossible extravagances, -that would be the sign of a vain man. But—apart from the Acts of -God—and I suppose technically we must classify the wiping out of my -life’s work under that heading—I have carried out every wild-cat scheme -I’ve deliberately set my mind to. So when I say I’m coming into John -Baltazar’s own, I know what I’m talking about, and that’s the sign of a -proud man. And, my dear,” said he after a pause, occupied in filling and -lighting his pipe, “I think this jolly old sin of mine keeps me from -making an ass of myself in all sorts of other ways.” - -Swiftly she applied these last words to the relations between them and -confessed their truth. A vain man would have pestered the life out of -her, confident in attaining his ends—ends as beautiful and spiritual as -you please—until through sheer weariness she yielded. Such a one would -enunciate and firmly believe in the proposition—she had not spent -twenty years among men in angelic ignorance of their -idiosyncrasies—that just hammer, hammer hard enough, and a woman will -be bound to love you in the end. But there were others, with a deadly, -sinful pride like Baltazar, who, scorning the vain, maintained the -dignified attitude of the late lamented King Canute. He would not claim -the impossible. - -But this was a far cry from the Imperial Government Mission to the Far -East. She asked, by way of escape from personal argument: - -“After all, this Chinese proposition is a first-rate thing. Is it so -very repugnant to you to go back?” - -He stood over her with his clenched fists in the air. - -“My dear,” said he, “you talked last year some silly rot about a locust. -I know the beast better than you do. It ate all those precious years I -spent in that infernal country. The best years of my life. I’m starting -now at fifty-one where I ought to have started at thirty. That damned -Chinese locust has robbed me of everything. You, Godfrey, the vital life -of England, and a brilliant career with Heaven knows what kind of power -for good. I hold the country in the most deadly detestation. Nothing in -this wide world would induce me to go back—not even if they wanted to -make me an Emperor. I’ve finished with it for ever and ever. I swear -it.” - -“You needn’t look as if I were urging you to it,” she laughed. “I’m sure -I don’t want to lose you.” - -“All right then,” said Baltazar. “Let us talk of something else.” - - * * * * * - -In these early months of struggle to enter his kingdom, Baltazar came -nearer happiness than he had ever done before. A man younger, or more -habitually dependent on women, would have counted the one thing wanting -as the one prime essential and would have regarded everything else as -naught. But Baltazar, although wistfully recognizing the one missing -element, was far too full of the lust of others to sit down and make -moan. Marcelle gave him all she could, a devoted friendship, a tender -intimacy, a sympathetic understanding. He wanted infinitely more, his -man’s nature clamoured for the whole of her. But what she gave was of -enormous comfort. It was a question of taking it or leaving it. Perhaps -had his love been less, he would have left it. Love me all in all or not -at all, and be hanged to you! That might have been his attitude. -Besides, he knew that by the high-handed proceeding of the primitive man -he could at any moment carry her off to the cave in Sussex Gardens. In a -way, it was his own choice to live celibate. Sooner accept the -graciousness she could give freely than take by force what she would -yield grudgingly. Let him be happy with what he had. - -For he had much. - -Godfrey, learning to walk on his artificial foot, a miracle of running -contrivance, and allowed, as it seemed, almost indefinite leave until he -should reach perfection of movement, took up his quarters in his house, -at first almost angrily, compelled against his will by the infernal -dancing eyes and the pathetic appeal behind them, and after a short -while very contentedly, appreciating his strange father’s almost womanly -solicitude for his comfort, his facilities for leading his own young -man’s life. Far more attractive the well-appointed house, with a -snuggery of his own made over for him to have and to hold in perpetuity, -with a table always spread for any friends he cared to ask to lunch or -dine, with an alert intellect for companion ever ready to give of its -best, with opportunities of meeting the odd, fascinating personalities -whom the editor of _The New Universe_ had gathered round him, with an -atmosphere of home all the more pleasant because of its unfamiliarity, -than the bleak room at an over-crowded hotel, or the cramped Half Moon -Street lodgings which in his boyish experience were the inevitable -condition of a lonely young man’s existence in London. Once he said: - -“I know it’s a delicate point, sir, but I should be awfully glad if -you’d let me contribute—pay my way, you know. It’s really embarrassing -for me to accept all this—I can’t explain—it’s horrid. But I do wish -you would let me, sir.” - -This was just after breakfast one morning. Baltazar paused in the act of -filling his pipe. - -“If you like, my boy,” said he, “we can discuss the matter with our -housekeeper, Mrs. Simmons, and agree upon a weekly sum for your board -and lodging. I know that you have independent means and can pay anything -in reason. Rather than not have you here, I should agree to such an -arrangement.” - -“It would make me feel easier in my mind, sir,” said Godfrey. “Shall we -have her in now and get the thing over?” - -“Not yet,” said Baltazar. “There’s another side of the question. By -accepting your father’s house as your natural home, you are giving a -very human, though faulty being, the very greatest happiness he has ever -known in his life. By refusing, you would destroy something that there -is no power in the wide world to replace. I don’t deserve any gratitude -for being your father; but, after all, you’re my son—and I’m very proud -of it. And all I have, not only in my house but in my heart, is yours.” -He lit a match. “Just yours,” said he, and the breath of the words blew -the match out. - -When Godfrey next met Marcelle, he told her of this. - -“What the devil could a fellow do,” said he, “but feel a worm and -grovel?” - -Another thing that added greatly to Baltazar’s happiness was Godfrey’s -attitude towards Quong Ho during the vacations, when the young Chinaman -was also a member of the household. - -“I like the beggar,” said Godfrey. “He’s so tactful; always on tap when -one wants him, and never in the way when one doesn’t. And his learning -would sink a ship.” - -Quong Ho, for his part, sat at the feet of the young English officer and -with pathetic earnestness studied him as a model of English vernacular -and deportment, and at the same time sucked in from him the whole theory -of the art of modern warfare. He had a genius for assimilating -knowledge. With the amused aid of Lady Edna Donnithorpe and Burke, he -acquired prodigious familiarity with the inter-relationships of the -great English families. At Baltazar’s dinner-table he absorbed modern -political thought like a sponge. It was during the Easter vacation that -he more especially determined to assume the perfect Englishman. Dr. -Sheepshanks, towards the end of term, had made him an astonishing -proposition. A mathematician of his calibre, said he, would be wasted in -China. Why should Mr. Ho not contemplate, as Fellow and Professor, -identification of himself with Cambridge? The war had swept away all -possible contemporary rivals. It was in his power to attain in a few -years not only a brilliant position in the University, but in the -European world of pure science. Sheepshanks had also written in the same -strain to Baltazar. And when Quong Ho modestly sought his master’s -advice, Baltazar vehemently supported Sheepshanks. - -“Of course you’ll stay. Weren’t those my very words at the hospital at -Water End? Another time perhaps you’ll believe me.” - -“For many years have I been convinced of the infallibility of your -judgment,” said Quong Ho. “I shall also never forget,” he added, “that I -am merely the clay which you have moulded.” - -“I’m beginning to think,” cried Baltazar, “that I’m not your friend Dr. -Rewsby’s colossal ass after all.” - -Baltazar was happy. He went about shouldering his way through the -amazing war-world, secure in his grip on all that mattered to him in -life. His was a name that, once heard, stuck in men’s memory. Gradually -it became vaguely familiar to the general public, well known to an -expanding circle. His romantic story, at first to his furious -indignation, was paragraphed far and wide. The Athenæum, under special -rule, reinstated him in his membership. The intransigent policy of _The -New Universe_ brought him into personal contact with the High and Mighty -at the heads of Ministries. Invitations to speak by all manners of -organizations poured in. As a speaker his dominating personality found -its supreme expression. He exalted in his newly found strength. The -essential man of action had been trammelled for half a century by the -robe of the scholar. The Zeppelin bomb had set him naked. - -Said Pillivant, meeting him in the offices of _The New Universe_: “A -year ago you didn’t know there was a war on. I took you for the ruddiest -freak I had ever come across. Now you’ve blossomed out into a ruddy -swell, bossing everything. I can’t open a newspaper without seeing your -name. How the hell have you managed to do it?” - -“Profiteering,” said Baltazar. - -“Profiteering?” asked Pillivant, puckering up his fat face in -perplexity. “What’s your line?” - -“Brains,” said Baltazar. - -He turned away delighted. Well, it came to that. There was no arrogance -about it. He was giving everything in his power to the country. -Oppressed, at one time, by the sense of physical fitness, and fired by -the sudden, urgent demand for man-power, he had, in one of his -Gordian-knot cutting moods, marched into a recruiting office and vaunted -his brawn and muscle. “I’m fifty,” said he, “but I defy anybody to say -I’m not physically equal to any boy of twenty-five.” But they had -politely laughed at him and sent him away raging furiously. It was then -that he followed the despised counsel of the unimaginative Burtenshaw, -K.C., and joined the Special Constabulary and the National Volunteers. - -“What’s the next thing you’re going to take on?” asked Marcelle. - -“First, my dear,” said he, “the whole running of this war. Then the -administration of the Kingdom of God on Earth.” - -“What a boy you are!” she laughed. - -“A damned fine boy,” said Baltazar. - - * * * * * - -One fine Sunday in May she came up to town to lunch with him alone, -Godfrey being away somewhere or other for the week-end. - -“My dear,” he cried, excitedly, as soon as she arrived, “I’ve been dying -to see you. It’s going to happen.” - -“What?” - -She smiled into his eager face. There was nothing so extravagant that it -could not happen to Baltazar. - -“There’s talk of a new Ministry—a Ministry of Propaganda.” - -“Well?” - -“Can’t you guess?” - -Her eyes glistened suddenly. - -“You—Minister?” - -He nodded. “It’s all in the clouds at present. At least these whifflers -of Cloud-Cuckoo-City think it is. But I don’t. They don’t see the Star -of John Baltazar in the ascendant. I do. My dear, there’s not an adverse -influence in all the bag of planetary tricks!” - -If he could have seen and appreciated what was happening some forty -miles off he might have observed in a certain conjunction of planets, to -wit, Venus and Mars, something that would have modified his optimistic -prognostication. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - -THERE they were in a punt on one of the silent upper reaches of the -Thames above Moulsford; Venus in white serge, with a blue veil around -hat and throat, reclining gracefully on the cushions, and Mars in white -flannels standing, punt-pole in hand. It was one of those days when -Spring, in exuberant mood, throws off her shyness and masquerades in the -gorgeousness of Summer. The noontide vapours quivered over the sun-baked -meadow beyond the tow-path, and the shadows beneath the willows on the -opposite bank loomed black and cool. The punt was proceeding up a patch -of blazing river, and the drops from the pole sparkled like diamonds. -Just ahead there was a bend lapped in the violent shade of overhanging -elms. - -“This is the nearest thing to Heaven,” said Lady Edna. - -“Wait till we tie up under the trees and it’ll be Heaven itself,” said -Godfrey. - -Even in the boating times of peace this stretch was rarely frequented, -being too far both for the London crowd whose general limit was Goring, -and for the Oxford town excursionist who seldom pushed below -Wallingford. Also the _cognoscenti_ declared it an uninteresting bit of -river, dull and flat, devoid of the unspeakable charm of Clevedon and -Pangbourne, and therefore unworthy of especial consideration. Still, the -River is the River. Talk to an Englishman of the River, and he will not -think of the Severn or the Wye, or the historic highway between London -Bridge and the sea, but of those few miles of England’s fairy-stream, -the beloved haunts of beauty and gentleness and love and laughter, where -all the cares of the world are soothed into dreamful ease and the vague -passions and aspirations of youth are transformed into magical -definition. To the Londoner, at any rate, it is as sacred as Westminster -Abbey. So the stretches of loveliness pronounced dull by the superior, -were never neglected, and even this remote section, on Sundays -especially, had its sparse devotees. But now, in war-time, not a blade -or oar or paddle, not a glistening punt-pole disturbed the sweet -stillness of the waters. Only once, since they had left the boat-house, -had a barge passed them; a barge gay as to its poop with yellow and red, -a thin spiral of smoke from its cabin funnel proclaiming the cooking of -the Sunday dinner, while the barge-folk lounged on deck, their eyes and -attitudes suggestive of those who were already overfed on lotus, and one -small, freckled sunwraith of a child flitted along the tow-path beside -the mild old horse. - -But half an hour had passed since then. The very meadows no longer -showed the once familiar pairs of Sunday lovers. Were it not for the -pleasant cows, it would have been a scene of lovely desolation. - -“There,” said Godfrey, shipping the pole, and guiding the punt by the -aid of the branches to a mooring. “Allow me to introduce you to Heaven.” - -She kissed her hand to the greenery and the dark water and laughed -lightly. “How d’ye do, Heaven?” - -Godfrey turned from the rope which he had made fast and stumbled to the -floor of the punt. She started up in alarm. - -“Your foot, dear!” - -He laughed. “It’s all right this time. Sometimes I forget it’s a fake.” - -He sat beside her on the cushions and pointed to a basket in front of -them. “Shall we start on the nectar and ambrosia, or is it too early?” - -“Let us wait a bit and take in Heaven first. What on earth are you -doing?” she asked, a moment afterwards, as he established himself elbows -on knees and chin in hands, and stared close into her blue eyes. - -“I’m taking in all the Heaven that matters to me,” said Godfrey. - -“Do I matter so much?” - -“You do.” - -“Light me a cigarette,” said Lady Edna. - -He obeyed, handed her one alight and she put it between her lips. - -“I love doing that,” said he. “I’ve never done it for any other woman in -my life.” - -She arched her eyebrows. “Does his Sultanship think he’s conferring an -unprecedented honour on a poor woman?” - -“Oh, Edna!” His boyish face flushed suddenly. “You know what I mean. I -never dreamed that a wonderful woman would ever dream of taking anything -from my lips to hers. Look.” He lit another cigarette and held it out to -her. “Let me have yours.” - -“Baby!” she said, making the exchange. - -All of which imbecility was very bad and sad and mad, but to the united -youth in the punt it was peculiarly agreeable. - -“What a difference from last week-end,” she said, contentedly, after a -while. - -“What happened then?” - -“I had all the stuff-boxes in London down, Edgar included.” - -“And my venerable sire. I remember. I was at the War Office all Sunday. -And it poured with rain. What did you do with them?” - -“I stroked them and fed them and put them through their little tricks,” -she laughed. Then she added more seriously, “It happened to be a very -important day for your father. The Government has gone crazy on finding -out new forceful men—and clearing out the incompetent political hacks. -Edgar’s just hanging on by the skin of his teeth, you know. Well, -they’ve discovered your remarkable father, and last week-end they -practically fixed it up with him. A new Ministry of Propaganda. Oh!” she -laughed again. “I didn’t have such a bad time after all. But”—she -sighed—“this is better. Don’t let us think of wars or politics or -Edgars and such horrible things.” She threw her cigarette into the -water, and bent down to the basket. “Let us lunch.” - -It had been indeed an important day for Baltazar. The house near -Moulsford, Lady Edna’s personal possession, a vast square, red-brick, -late Georgian building, standing in grounds that reached down to the -river, had been filled with anxiously chosen High and Mightinesses, -among whom her husband, minister though he was, shone like an inferior -satellite. It was the last move in the game on behalf of John Baltazar -which she had played for many weeks. - -“What are you asking that damned fellow for?” Edgar Donnithorpe had -asked, looking at the list of guests. - -“Because he amuses me.” - -“He doesn’t amuse me,” snapped her husband. - -He was a little thin man, with thin grey hair and a thin moustache and a -thin voice. Up to a few months ago she had treated him with contemptuous -tolerance. Now she had begun to dislike him exceedingly. - -“If you don’t want to meet Mr. Baltazar,” she replied, “you can stay in -London.” - -They sparred in the unedifying manner of ill-assorted husband and wife. - -“I’m sick of seeing this overbearing adventurer in my house,” he said. - -“What do you mean?” - -“You know what I mean. I’m not going to let you make a fool of -yourself.” - -“My dear man,” she replied cuttingly, “if I were looking out for a -lover, this time I should take a young one.” - -She laughed scornfully and swept away. Long smouldering resentment had -been suddenly fanned into the flame of open hostility. She raged in her -heart against him. Never before had he dared to insinuate such a taint -in her political interest in any man. She, Lady Edna Donnithorpe, to -carry on an intrigue with John Baltazar—the insult of it! - -The next day brought a short but fierce encounter. - -“You pretend to be jealous. You’re not. You’re envious. You’re envious -of a bigger man than yourself. You’re afraid of him. You little minnows -hate Tritons. I quite understand.” - -In the wrath of a weak and foolish man he sputtered unforgettable words -which no woman ever forgives. She faced him with lips as thin as his -own, and her languorous eyes hardened into little dots of jade. - -“You had better see to it that I don’t break you,” she said. - -“Break me? How? Politically?” He laughed a thin laugh of derision. “In -the first place you couldn’t. In the second you wouldn’t. What would -become of your position if I were out of the Government?” - -“I can very well look after myself,” she replied. - -On Saturday morning he made some apology for loss of temper which she -coldly accepted on condition of his courteous treatment of John -Baltazar. And so it fell that, when the subject of all this to-do -arrived at Moulsford, he found himself almost effusively welcomed by the -negative Edgar, and thrust into the inner circle of the High and -Mightinesses assembled. As the latter took Baltazar very seriously as a -coming power in the country, and as Lady Edna’s attitude towards him was -marked by no especial characteristic, Edgar Donnithorpe came to the -unhappy conclusion that he had made a fool of himself, and during the -informal discussion on the creation of the new Ministry, for which -purpose the week-end party had gathered together, he had dared do little -more than “just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike” when Baltazar’s name -was mentioned. Which pusillanimity coming to his wife’s ears, deepened -her resentment against him; and only Baltazar’s triumphal exit on the -Monday morning restrained her from giving it practical expression. -Sufficient for the day was the success thereof. - -In the lazy punt, that gracious Spring morning, she strove to drive the -last week-end from her thoughts. She revelled in the unusual and the -audacious. Edgar had gone to Paris on an international conference. Only -an ancient and faded Aunt, Lady Lætitia Vardon, a sort of permanent -aristocratic caretaker, was in the house; Godfrey the sole guest. And -Aunt Lætitia had caught a God-sent cold and was staying in bed. They two -had the whole bright day before them, and the scented evening, with -never a soul to obtrude on their idyllic communion. She had always -snapped her fingers at convention. But, Lady Edna Donnithorpe, chartered -libertine, had always observed the terms of her charter, her heart never -having tempted her to break them. This delicious breach was a different -matter altogether. She had even dared to put off two or three previously -invited friends. . . . - -She told him this while he helped her to chicken and ham. He proclaimed -her the most wonderful thing in the world. - -“Don’t you think I deserve one little day’s holiday in the year? Just a -holiday from the talk, talk, talk, the smiling, the wheedling, the -scheming, with my brain ever on the alert and seeming to grow bigger and -bigger as the night goes on, until it almost bursts my head when I lie -down to sleep?” - -“Why do you do it?” he asked. - -She shrugged her graceful shoulders. “I don’t know. I used to love it. -Now I’m beginning to hate it. I was at a wedding a day or two -ago—Charlie Haughton and Minnie Lavering—you know whom I mean, don’t -you? They haven’t a sixpence between them—and they looked so happy—oh! -so damned happy”—her voice broke adorably—“that I nearly wept.” - -He neglected his own plateful of chicken and ham and bent forward over -the basket between them. - -“I’d do anything in the wide world to make you happy, Edna.” - -“I know you would,” she smiled. “You’re doing your best now. It’s an -excellent best. But it might be better if you fished out the salt.” - -While she helped herself daintily from the paper packet which he held -out, he laughed, adoring her ever ready trick of switching off the -sentimental current. - -“Now you are really just a little bit happy, aren’t you?” - -She nodded intimately, which emboldened him to say: - -“For the life of me I can’t see what induced you to take up with a -rotten sort of cripple like me.” - -“Neither can I,” she replied composedly. “Except perhaps that the rotten -cripple is a very brave and distinguished soldier.” - -“Rubbish!” said Godfrey. “There are hundreds of thousands like me all -over the place, as indistinguishable from one another as peas in a -peck.” - -“Won’t you allow a poor woman just a nice sense of discrimination?” - -“I’ll allow the one woman in the universe,” said Godfrey, “to have -everything she pleases.” - -“Then that’s that,” said Lady Edna. - -They finished their meal happily, drank hot coffee from a thermos flask -and smoked and talked. As on the first day he had sat beside her, so -now, under the spell of her keen sympathy, he told her of all his -doings. For the past two or three months they had been of absorbing -interest. He had besieged the War Office, as he had gloriously -threatened, until one day he received an appointment on the staff of the -Director-General of Military Operations. That it was due to any other -influence than his own furious and persistent attacks, he had not the -remotest suspicion. He had dashed away from the amazing interview in a -taxi to Lady Edna, whom by good chance he found at home, and vaunted his -generalship. His father’s blood sang in his veins. The lady to whom, in -close conspiracy with Lady Northby, he owed the billet coveted by -thousands of men, wounded and whole, welcomed his news with the smiling -surprise of a mother who listens to her offspring’s tale of the wondrous -gifts of Santa Claus. - -It was one of the characteristics of Lady Edna Donnithorpe to love the -secret meed of secret services, a far more subtle joy than the facile -gratitude poured on a Lady Bountiful. Besides, such a reputation would -in itself destroy her power. Many women of her acquaintance who had -enjoyed it for a brief season during the war, had seen the sacred -shoulders of Authority turned frozenly upon them. She was not one of -those women acting from thoughtless impulse or vanity. The game of -intrigue fascinated her; she knew her winnings and hoarded them; but -they were the concern of no one in the wide world. Perhaps the time -might come when she could say to Godfrey: “All that you are you owe to -me. I have made you, and I have made your father. I can show you proofs. -What are you going to do?” Blackmail of a kind, certainly. A woman -driven up against a wall is justified in using any weapons of defence. -But all this lay hidden in the self-protective instinct. No thought of -it marred her triumph. - -She listened to his fairy-tales of the Allies’ war organization with a -twofold pride. First, in this vicarious entrance into the jealously -guarded Ark of the Covenant, whereby she gained exact knowledge of -mighty happenings to come, denied even to the self-important Edgar. -Secondly, in her unerring judgment of men. For Baltazar had told her a -week before of his meeting with one of Godfrey’s chiefs, who had given -the boy unreserved praise. Whereupon she herself had made it her week’s -business to track the social doings of the great man until she ran him -down a day or two ago at a friend’s house, and, in reply to her tactful -questionings, he had replied: - -“Baltazar? Lots of brains. A brilliant fellow, with wonderful power of -detail. Son of that astonishing chap John Baltazar, who has just come to -life again, and everybody’s talking about. Oh, you needn’t be afraid. We -have spotted him right enough.” - -She was sufficiently versed in affairs to know that a major-general does -not speak of a third-grade staff officer, and at the very tail of the -grade at that, in eulogistic terms, even to Lady Edna Donnithorpe, -without good reason. She hugged the word “brilliant” to her heart. - -And while Godfrey talked that May afternoon, she felt that she was -justified in all that she had done, was doing, and was going to do. Yet, -though what she had done gave her perfect satisfaction, and what she was -doing was blatantly obvious, what she was going to do lay dimly hidden -behind a rosy veil. For the moment this handsome, clean run boy to whom -she had given her heart, much to her own amazement, was contented with -platonic adoration in a punt. How long, she wondered, would his -contentment last? How long, indeed, would her own? Well, well, _Vogue la -galère_. Pole the spring-tide punt. Let her drain to its full the -unprecedented glory of the day. - -The cares of her crowded, youth-consuming life fell from her, and she -became young again, younger than she had been before her loveless -marriage. As she responded laughing to his eager, boyish foolishness, -she felt that she had never known till then what it was to be young. She -felt an infinite craving for all she had missed. . . . And Godfrey, -standing there in careless grace, punt-pole in hand, alert, confident, -radiant in promise, was the incarnation of it all: of all the youth and -laughter and love that she had passed by, scornfully unheeding. She -feasted her hungry eyes on him. Not only was he good to look at, in his -physical perfection. He was good to think upon. He had faced death a -thousand times, no doubt as debonairly as he faced the current of the -mild river. He, that boy whom a whisper could compel to her bidding, had -led men through mazes of unimagined blood and slaughter. If he had one -worm gnawing at his heart, it was the desire to get back again to this -defiant comradeship with death. She had looked up the record of the -achievement that had won for him the Military Cross. What a man he was! -And as she watched him, there floated across her vision the figure of a -thin, dry, self-seeking politician, and she shivered in the sunshine. -And, as there chanced to be a pause in the boyish talk, she let her -thoughts wander on. No one had ever called her thin, dry husband a -brilliant man, not even the most sycophantic place hunter who had -intrigued for a seat at her table. But in such terms had the first -Authority to whom she had spoken characterized Godfrey. Not only was he -the ordinary heroic young officer; he was a brilliant man, who would -make his mark as part of the brain that controlled the destinies of the -British Army. And all the sex in her humbled itself deliciously in the -knowledge that this paragon of all Bayards, or this Bayard of all -paragons, loved her with all his youth and manhood. - -Presently she noticed a change in his happy face. A spasm of pain seemed -to pass across it. He drew out the pole, stood with it poised. He drove -it in again, his jaws set in an ugly way. She waited till the end of the -stroke; then she rose to her feet. - -“Stop, dear, stop. You’re overdoing it.” - -“Overdoing what?” - -“Your foot.” - -“Nonsense! Do sit down.” - -He gathered up the dripping pole preparatory for the thrust; but she -caught his arm. - -“I’m sure your foot’s hurting you.” - -“It isn’t,” he declared, bending his weight on it. “Not a little bit.” - -But even as he spoke he made an unconscious grimace. - -“Do you love me?” - -He drew a sharp breath at the categorical question. In a thousand -indirect ways he had told her of his devotion; but he had never spoken -the explicit words. He said quietly and half wonderingly: - -“You know I love you.” - -“Then don’t hurt me by hurting yourself.” - -“Do you really care what happens to me?” he asked. - -“I love you better than anything in the world,” she said. - -They paddled home somewhat sobered by the mutual declaration, about -which they said nothing more. He admitted overstrain of the still -sensitive tissues of the base of the stump, and railed at his -misfortune. It was so humiliating to confess defeat. She smiled. There -might, she said, be compensation. When they landed, she insisted on his -leaning on her for support, during the walk up to the house, and, -although he suffered damnable torture whenever he set the artificial -foot on the ground, for his pressure on her adorable shoulder was of the -slightest, his progress was one of deliciously compensating joy. - -They dined decorously under the inscrutable eyes of butler and -parlourmaid, and after dinner they called for coat and wrap and went out -to sit on the moonlit terrace. As he put the fur-lined cloak round her, -his hand touched her cheek. She put up a hand caressingly and held his -there while she looked up at him in the dimness. He bent down, greatly -daring, and touched her lips. Then suddenly she clasped his head and -held his kiss long and passionately. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - -THEY arranged it all between them in the comfortingly short-sighted way -of thousands of reprehensible couples before them. They spoke vaguely of -a divorce as though the wretched Edgar were the conjugal offender, and -pictured a time in the future, after the war, when they should marry and -live the bright and perfect life. In the meanwhile they proposed to find -much happiness and consolation together. He gave her, she declared, what -she had vainly been hungering for since early childhood—love and -sympathy and understanding. Into his sensitive ears she poured the story -of her disastrous marriage; of the far separated lives of her husband -and herself; of his envies and trivial basenesses. Godfrey had thought -her courted and flattered, a woman passing rich in love and friendship. -Really she had moved the loneliest thing on earth. Didn’t he see now -what he meant to her? She had been starving and he gave her food. If he -withdrew it now, she would die. - -This self-abasement from high estate established her martyrdom in the -eyes of chivalrous youth. He swore eternal devotion, his soul -registering the vow. They wrote frequently to each other, and met as -often as they could. Three mornings a week, at an astonishingly early -hour, she left her house soberly clad, for the purpose of working at a -mythical canteen. On those mornings Godfrey waited for her at a discreet -distance round the corner of the square, in a two-seater car for which, -as a crippled staff officer, he had contrived to obtain a petrol permit. -An hour’s run—Richmond Park, Barnes Common: it mattered little -where—and Lady Edna went demurely home to breakfast and Godfrey to his -day’s work at the War Office. - -Of the canteen Edgar Donnithorpe knew nothing, for she had merely tossed -the invention to her maid, until one morning, coming down earlier than -usual, he met her ascending the stairs. - -“Good lord!” said he. “What have you been doing at this unearthly hour?” - -Irritated at having to lie to him, she replied: “I’ve been doing an -hour’s shift at a canteen. Have you any objection?” - -He shrugged his shoulders. “Why should I? If it pleases you and doesn’t -hurt the Tommies—poor devils.” - -His sneer jarred on her guilty sensitiveness. Her eyes hardened. “Why -poor devils?” - -“Like the rest of the country,” he replied, “at the mercy of the -amateur.” - -He turned with his thin laugh and left her speechless with futile anger. -She wondered how she had ever regarded him otherwise than with -unmitigated hatred. - -She told the incident to Godfrey, having reached the point of confiding -to him such domestic bickerings. He set his teeth and damned the fellow. -How could this incomparable angel dwell in the same house with him? She -sighed. If it were not for the war. . . . But during the war the house -was the centre of her manifold activities on behalf of the country. As -for the social side of it, she would throw that up to-morrow only too -gladly. Heavens, how weary she was of it all! - -“I wish to God I could take you away with me!” said the young man -fiercely. - -“I wish you could, dear,” she said in her caressing tone. “But in the -meantime we have these happy little hours. We mustn’t ask too much of -fate.” - -“I only ask what fate gives to any man—that bus driver and that -policeman—the woman he loves.” - -“I’m afraid,” she laughed, “if you heard the history of their _vie -amoureuse_, you would be dreadfully disillusioned. It seems to me that -everybody marries the wrong person in this muddle-pairing world. We must -make the best of it.” - -At this period, infatuated though she was, she had no idea of breaking -away from convention, even to the extent of setting up a household -separate from her husband’s. Social life was dear to her, for all her -asseverations to the contrary, and dearer still the influence that she -could command. Yet, as the days went on she noticed signs of restiveness -in Godfrey. An hour thrice a week in an open car, when half his -attention had to be devoted to the preservation of their own and other -people’s lives, scarcely satisfied his young ardour. The times when he -could lounge free in her boudoir from four to six were over. As an -officer on the staff of the Director-General of Operations, he knew no -hours. The intricate arrangements for the mobility of the British Army -did not depend on the convenience of young gentlemen at the War Office. -Such had to scorn delight and live laborious days, which on the -occasions of especial military activity were apt to run into the nights. -Now and then, of course, Godfrey could assure himself an hour or so for -lunch, but never could he foretell it on the day before. Only once, by -hasty telephoning, did they manage to meet for lunch at the Carlton. In -the evenings they were a little more successful. Now and again a theatre -together. But Godfrey, suddenly become sensitive on the point of honour, -refused opportunities of dining at Belgrave Square. - -“If I love a man’s wife, I can’t sit at his table and drink his wine and -smile at him,” he proclaimed bluntly. - -“It seems,” she said, at last, “there’s nothing left but for me to run -away with you.” - -“Why not?” he asked, laughing, for her tone was light. - -“What about the British Army?” - -He reflected. If she had said what about morality, or Christianity, or -his immortal soul, he would have damned any item of them off-hand. But -he couldn’t damn the British Army. He temporized. - -“I don’t quite see.” - -“If you ran away with me, you’d have to run an awful long way, and leave -the Army in the lurch.” - -“That would never do,” said Godfrey. - -“So we’ll have to sacrifice ourselves for our country till the war’s -over,” said Lady Edna. - -Then, in spite of philosophic and patriotic resolve, the relations -between them grew to be uncertain and dangerous. Aware of this, she -sought to play rather the part of Egeria than that of the unhappy wife -claiming consolation from her lover. - -Now about this time arose rumours of political dissatisfaction in -certain quarters; of differences of opinion between the civil and the -military high authorities. Wild gossip animated political circles, and -the wilder it became, the more it was fostered, here malignantly, then -honestly, by political factions opposed to the Government or to the -conjectured strategical conduct of the war. Lady Edna Donnithorpe, in -the thick of everything that darkened counsel, found the situation -obscure. What were the real facts from the military point of view? She -discussed matters with Godfrey, who, regarding her as his second self, -the purest well of discretion, told her artlessly what he knew. As a -matter of fact, she loyally kept her inner information to herself; but -her eyes were opened to vast schemes of which the little political folk -about her were ignorant. And one of the most ignorant and most blatantly -cocksure about everything was Edgar Donnithorpe, her husband, whose -attitude, in view of her knowledge, began to fill her with vague -disquietude. - - * * * * * - -To all this political unrest, Baltazar was loftily indifferent. - -“The scum of the world’s hell-broth,” said he. “Skim it off and chuck it -away, and let us get on with the cooking.” - -He was cooking with all his might, preparing the ingredients of the -contemplated new Ministry. Everything must be organized before the final -step was token. No fiasco like the jerry-built Ministry of National -Service should be possible. Brains, policy, a far-spread scheme complete -in detail first; then the building and the simple machinery of clerks -and typists. He worked from morning to night, as indeed he had done all -his life long. _The Universal Review_ sped full-sail on a course of -fantastic prosperity. The man had the touch of genius that makes -success. He spared himself neither mentally nor physically. He found -time for enthusiastic work with the National Volunteers and the Special -Constabulary, which formerly he had scorned. As a Special Constable he -quickly gained promotion, of which he was inordinately proud. Said -Marcelle: - -“I believe that running about in an air raid is the greatest joy of your -life.” - -To which, in his honest egotistical way, he replied: - -“I’m not quite so sure that it isn’t.” - -And Godfrey to Marcelle, discussing him: - -“The dear old dynamo has hitched himself on to the war with a -vengeance!” - -He had. It absorbed him from the moment of waking to the moment of -falling asleep. Since Godfrey’s appointment at the War Office, father -and son, living in the same house, met so seldom that they grew each to -set an exaggerated value on the other. The boy, conscious not only -himself of the force of the man, but of the tribute paid to it by the -gods and demi-gods of the land, withdrew his original suspicious -antagonism and surrendered loyally. - -“I’m proud of him. My God, I am!” he said to Marcelle. “My childish -faith is justified. I take back all I’ve said this last year. He’s a -marvel, and I’m glad I’m his son.” - -He saw perhaps, at this stage, more of Marcelle than of Edna. For -Marcelle, shortly after her lunch with Baltazar on the day of Godfrey’s -river idyll, had broken down in health and left Churton Towers. The -strain of three years’ incessant work had ended in collapse. She was -ordered three months’ rest. After a weary fortnight alone in the Cornish -country, she had come to London, in spite of medical advice, and shared -the Bayswater flat of a friend, a working woman, engaged at the -Admiralty. Chance, perhaps a little bit of design, for the motives that -determine a woman’s decision are often sadly confused; had thus brought -her within easy walking distance of Sussex Gardens and of what the -strange man to whose fortunes destiny seemed to link her, and whom -uncontrollable fears and forces restrained her from marrying, loved to -call the House of Baltazar. Of course, in his headstrong way, he had -vehemently put the house at her disposal. He would fix up a suite of -apartments for her where she could live, her own mistress, just as she -chose. Godfrey, Quong Ho and servants could go to the devil. They could -pig it anywhere about the house they liked. They would all agree on the -paramount question of her comfort and happiness. - -“In God’s name, why not?” he cried with a large gesture. “What are you -afraid of? Me? Mrs. Grundy? What?” - -But Marcelle shook her head, smiling and stubborn, and would have none -of it. As a concession she agreed to run round whenever she heard -through the telephone that she was wanted. Baltazar grinned and foretold -a life of peripatetic discomfort. - -“I’ll risk that,” she said. - -Thus it happened that Marcelle was in and out of the house at all -seasons, Godfrey clamouring for her as much as his father. Under vow of -secrecy he confided to her his love affair. At first she professed deep -disapprobation. He should remember her first suspicions and grave -warnings. A married woman! No good could come of such an entanglement, -no matter how guiltless and romantic. As delicately as he could he -reminded her that she herself had cherished a romantic attachment to a -married man. She had, further, avowed her readiness to run off with him. -Edna and he were no whit worse than the impeccable Marcelle and his -revered father. Whereupon, doting rather foolishly on the young man, she -yielded, listened to the varied developments of his adventure, and gave -sympathy or moral advice, according to the exigencies of the occasion. - -Her position of confidante, however, caused her many qualms of -conscience. Her common sense told her that he was treading the path to -an all too commonplace bonfire. The woman was some years older than he. -Marcelle admitted her beauty and superficial charm; but her feminine -instinct pounced on insincerities, affectations and hardnesses undreamed -of by the guileless worshipper. She divined, to her great dismay, a -sudden sex upheaval in this young and self-thwarted woman rather than a -pure passion of love. What ought she to do? The question kept her awake -of nights. She could not, without breaking the most solemn specific -promise, ask counsel of Baltazar. Nor could she refuse to listen further -to the boy. He would go his own way and leave her in the misery of -incertitude. To go pleading to Lady Edna, like the heavy mother in a -French play, was unimaginable. What then remained for her but to -continue to receive his confidences? And even then, if she met them with -copybook maxims, he would turn on her with his original _tu quoque_, -and, if she persisted, it would be equivalent to the withdrawal of her -sympathetic attention. The only course, therefore, that remained open -was to let things go on as they were, and, as far as it lay in her -power, to keep his feet from pitfalls. His strange mixture, precipitated -by the war, of child and man, appealed to all the woman within her. In -his dealings with men—she saw him with pride at his father’s table—he -had the air and the experience of five-and-thirty. In dealing with -women, even with her own motherly self, he was the romantic, -unsophisticated boy of eighteen. His real age now was twenty-one. And at -the back of her clean mind lay the conviction that Lady Edna, however -indiscreet she might be, could not make the complete and criminal fool -of herself. - -This conviction deepened when she had an opportunity of seeing them -again together, at a little dinner party of six to which Baltazar had -invited Lady Edna and the Jackmans. Between them it was “Godfrey” and -“Edna” frank and undisguised. Their friendship was obvious; obvious, -too, her charming assumption of proprietorship. But she carried it off -with the air of a beautiful woman accustomed to such domination over the -men she admitted to her intimacy. Beyond this, Marcelle could espy -nothing; not a soft word, not a covert glance that betrayed a deeper -sentiment. It is all play to her, she concluded, and grew happier in her -mind. - -Toward the end of the evening after the Jackmans had gone, Lady Edna -said lightly to Baltazar: - -“This boy has told me all sorts of wonderful things about his den here, -and I’ve never seen it.” - -Baltazar waved one hand and put the other on Godfrey’s shoulder. - -“He shall do the honours.” - -“Would you really like to see it?” Godfrey asked innocently. - -“Of course I should. Your souvenirs——” - -Baltazar beamed on them till they left the drawing-room. - -“It’s the best day’s work I ever did for Godfrey,” said he. - -“What?” - -“Getting him in with Lady Edna. A young fellow wants a clever woman to -shepherd him. Does him no end of good. Broadens his mind.” - -“Mayn’t it be a bit dangerous?” Marcelle hazarded. - -“Dangerous? Suppose he does think himself in love with her? All the -better. Keeps him out of mischief.” - -“But she might possibly fall in love with him too.” - -Wise in the hermit’s theoretic wisdom, he dismissed such an absurdity -with a scornful laugh. - -“That type of woman can’t fall in love. She’s of the earth earthly, of -the world worldly. Otherwise she couldn’t have married that rat of a -Donnithorpe.” - -“I suppose it’s all right,” said Marcelle. - -“You belovedest mid-Victorian survival!” he laughed. “I do believe the -young woman’s proposal shocked you!” - -They both would have been, if not shocked, at least brought to a sense -of actual things, had they seen the transports to which the lovers -surrendered themselves as soon as the door of the den closed behind -them. Many hundreds of millions of youthful pairs have done exactly the -same after long separation. She threw herself into his arms, in which he -enfolded her. They kissed and sighed. They had thought they would never -be alone again. He had been thirsting for her lips all the tantalizing -evening. That wonderful brain of hers—to suggest this visit to his -room. Even if the idea had occurred to his dull masculine mind, he -wouldn’t have had the daring to tender the invitation. Her ever new -adorableness! And more kisses and raptures, until, side by side in the -corner of the couch, they began to talk of rational matters. - -“There are great things brewing,” she said, after a while. “Just a -whisper has reached me—enough to make it dangerous.” - -“What things do you refer to?” he asked, with a quick knitting of the -brow. - -She told him of a wild distortion of the plans of the High Command -current in political dining-rooms. - -“It’s damnable!” he cried angrily. “One tiny grain of fact to a mountain -of imagination. For God’s sake, make it your business to go about -crabbing the lie for all you’re worth!” - -“I will. When you really _know_, you can speak with such moral authority -that you’re believed, although you don’t give away a bit of your -knowledge. At least, anyone with a little experience can do it.” - -“And you’re an adept,” he said admiringly. - -She drew him nearer, for he had started away on his proclamation of the -damnability of rumours. - -“What is the grain of fact?” - -“Why, the great scale offensive.” - -“And where’s the rest of the rumour incorrect?” - -“I don’t think I ought to tell you.” - -“But don’t you see how important it is that a woman in my position, and -a woman of my character, should know exactly? Half the calamities of the -war are due to women giving away half secrets of which they’re not -allowed to realize the consequences. Give a woman full confidence, and -she’ll be on the side of the angels.” - -He kissed her and laughed. Was she not one of the angelic band herself? - -She pleaded subtly, her head on his shoulder, her deep-blue eyes looking -up into his, her breath on his cheek. Surely he and she were one. One -heart, one mind, one soul. Individually each was the other’s complement. -He could work out vast schemes—the most junior of Third Grade Staff -Officers glowed at the flattery—and she could see, not that they were -put into execution, but that wicked and irresponsible gossip should not -bring them to naught. In her woman’s wheedling she had no ulterior -purpose in view. She was not the political adventuress unscrupulously -seducing enamoured youth to the betrayal of his country. It was all -insatiable curiosity and lust for secret power. And, as far as lay in -her nature, she loved the boy; she loved him with a sense of possession; -she craved him wholly, his devotion, his mind, his knowledge. His -physical self was hers, at a moment’s call. She played with that -certainty in delicious trepidation. It invested their relationship in a -glamour unknown, mysterious, in spite of her married estate. But the -long-atrophied romantic in her sprang to sudden life and prevailed. - -So subtly did she plead that he was unaware of her overmastering desire. -Secure in her love and her loyalty, and confident in the twin hearts and -souls, he told her what he knew; but the numerical and topographical -details, proving too confusing for her, he laughed and went over to his -desk and, with her sitting over him on the arm of his writing-chair, -sketched a map annotated with facts and figures on a sheet of notepaper. -When he had done, she returned to the sofa and read the notes. - -“Now I understand everything. It’s tremendously exciting, isn’t it?” - -“If it comes off.” - -She folded up the paper and put it in her bosom. - -“Of course it’ll come off.” - -“I say, sweetheart,” he cried, watching the disappearing paper. “For -Heaven’s sake don’t go leaving that about! Better stick it in the fire.” - -“I’ll do it as soon as I get home.” - -She took his hand in delightful intimacy and glanced at his wrist watch. -Then she started up. They must get back at once, lest the others should -subject their absence to undesirable conjecture. - -“Oh, the elderly birds”—he laughed gracelessly—“they love to have a -little billing and cooing now and then. They’ll be grateful to us.” - -But she would not be detained. They went up to the drawing-room. - -“He has got a perfect Hun museum downstairs,” she said. “Each piece with -a breathless history.” - -“What interested you most?” asked Marcelle. - -“Me in a gas mask,” said Godfrey, lying readily, for never a glance had -Lady Edna given to the trophies and spoils which she had set forth to -see. - -Later, after putting her into her taxi, he said through the window: - -“You’ll destroy that scrap of paper, won’t you?” - -“If you doubt me, I’ll give it you back now,” she replied rather -sharply, thrusting her hand beneath her cloak. - -What could ardent lover do but repudiate the charge of want of faith? -She laughed, and answered in her most caressing tones: - -“I’m glad, for where it is now it would be awfully awkward to get at.” - -The taxi drove off. Godfrey re-entered the house, his young head full of -the thought of the paper on which he had written lying warm, deep down, -in her bare and sacred bosom. - -Lady Edna drove home to her solitary house, and, without asking whether -her husband was in or out, went straight to her bedroom. As soon as she -could she dismissed her maid and sat in her dressing-gown for a long, -long time, thinking as a woman thinks, when for the first time in her -life she is not sure of herself, when she is all but at the parting of -the ways and when each way seems to lead to catastrophe. As a cold, -ambitious girl she had sent the Natural packing; now it had come -galloping back. At last she rose and went to her dressing-table. On it -lay the crumpled scrap of paper. She glanced at it. The figures and -lines conveyed no meaning to her tired brain. What was the warfare in -the world to the warfare in her soul? She couldn’t concern herself with -the higher strategy to-night. To-morrow, when she was fresh, she would -tackle the intricate scheme. She put the paper into a little secret -drawer of her writing-table of which even her maid did not know the -spring. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - -SHE would read the paper to-morrow, she had said. But on the morrow she -awoke with a violent headache and stayed abed, and had only time to -scramble into her clothes and attend a twelve o’clock committee meeting -in Westminster. And for the remainder of the day, until she went to bed -exhausted at midnight, she had not a minute to spare. The next morning -she had her early appointment with Godfrey. She went forth into a raw -air with a threat of autumn in it, and a slight drizzle from an overcast -sky. The two-seater, with damp hood up, was waiting round the corner of -the Square. She opened the door and jumped in, almost before he was -aware of her approach, and rather hysterically flung her arms about him. - -“Oh darling, be good to me! I’m feeling so tired and miserable.” - -He proclaimed himself a brute for dragging her out on such a filthy -morning. It was super-angelic of her to come, but he had scarcely -expected her. Wouldn’t it be better to go back home and rest? - -“No, no, dear,” she murmured. “This is my rest. Beside you. Storm or -sunshine, what does it matter, so long as we’re together?” - -“It doesn’t matter to me,” said he, driving off. “Hell and damnation -would be Paradise if I always had you with me.” - -And in the same emotional key they talked all the time during their -drive through a dank and dismal world. They felt like Paolo and -Francesca in Watts’s picture, clinging together alone in comfortless -space, remote from War Office and wars and other affairs of men. She -wailed: - -“Oh, darling, if only I had met you before I made my wretched marriage!” - -“Yes, by God!” said Godfrey, setting his teeth and feeling very fierce. - -It did not occur to either of them, in their unhumorous mood, that when -she married he was a gawky boy of sixteen. - -Gradually they came to vital things. - -“If I were little Mrs. Tomkins, whom nobody knows, we could get a hidden -nest somewhere, you and I. It would be happiness, and it would be -hurting or betraying nobody. But I’m Lady Edna Donnithorpe, related to -half the peerage, and known by sight to everybody who looks at an -illustrated paper.” - -“Why not cut everything and make a bolt of it?” asked Godfrey, glaring -straight in front of him at the cheerless, almost empty road, his young -face set very stem. - -“Your career——” - -He cursed his career. - -“Your soldier’s post. How can you leave it? You’re doing a man’s work -for your country.” - -“Hell take it!” said he. - -“Take what?” - -“The whole infernal universe,” he growled, and swerved viciously so as -to avoid imminent collision with an indignant motor-bus. Again they came -to the bed-rock fact of his soldier’s duty. - -On their return journey it rained in torrents. - -“You’ll get wet through if you walk,” said he, when they arrived at -their trysting spot. “I’ll drive you up to the house and chance it.” - -He chanced it, helped her out of the car and stood on the pavement, -watching her until she had let herself in with her latchkey. She ran -upstairs, to be confronted with her husband at the door of his room -which was on the same landing. He was in his dressing-gown, and one side -of his face was shaven, the other lathered. - -“I thought you went to a canteen in the mornings?” - -“So I do,” she replied calmly. - -“Does young Baltazar work there too?” - -“Young Baltazar very often calls for me, when it rains, on his way to -the War Office, and gives me a lift home.” - -“You’re seeing far too much of that young man.” - -“The last time we discussed the Baltazar family,” she said with a -scornful laugh, “you accused me of an intrigue with his father. My dear -Edgar, go on with your shaving and don’t be idiotic.” She flung into her -room angry and humiliated. After all, Edgar had the right to consider -his good name, even though his jealousy could not proceed from betrayed -affection. This was the first time he had referred to Godfrey in any -way. Uneasiness beset her; so did the eternal question of the deceitful -wife: “How much did he know?” They did not meet that day till -dinner-time—it was one of the rare occasions on which they dined alone -together—when he seemed to be making amends for the morning’s attack by -more than usual courteous conversation on current events. They parted -amicably. - -The next afternoon, arriving home very late, she was surprised at seeing -him coming, half dressed for dinner, from her room. He smiled in a -friendly way and held up a button-hook. - -“Mine’s nowhere to be seen—that confounded new parlourmaid—I hope you -don’t mind.” - -“We’re getting quite domestic,” she said ironically. - -“It’s pleasanter,” said he. - -She wondered much at his graciousness for the next few days. He became -attentive, manifested dry solicitude as to her health and her social and -political interests. She dreaded a recrudescence of the thin sentiment -that, on his part, had sanctioned their marriage. The fear tainted the -joy of her visits to the mythical canteen. Sooner open hostility than -this semblance of conjugal affection. - -“I’m sorry, darling, to have been so mouldy,” she said, taking leave of -Godfrey one morning, “but the situation is getting on my nerves. I’m fed -up.” - -A day or two later Edgar Donnithorpe entered her sitting-room, where she -was writing letters. - -“Sorry to interrupt you, Edna,” said he, “but have you definitely -decided to go to Moulsford this next week-end?” - -“Certainly. I told you. The Barringtons and Susie Delamere and one or -two others are coming.” - -“Do you mind if I don’t turn up till Sunday?” - -“Of course not,” she replied. He was exceedingly polite. - -“Thanks,” said he. “The fact is, I want to ask a dozen men or so to -dinner here. Only men, you know.” - -She glanced at him rather puzzled, for his proposal was an unprecedented -departure from the custom of the house. Hitherto he had given his men’s -political dinner parties at his club. There had been no arrangement or -understanding between them as to this mode of entertainment, but so had -it chanced to be; and he was a creature of routine. - -“Of course. Just as you like. But what’s wrong with the only place fit -to dine at in London?” - -“It’s war time, my dear,” said he, eyeing her shiftily. “War time. All -the clubs have gone to the devil.” - -“All right. If you’ll tell me how many are coming, I’ll see to it.” - -“No, please don’t. Please don’t worry your head about it.” He made a -step forward and held up his thin hand in a deprecatory sort of way. -“I’ll fix it up. I don’t want it to be the slightest bit of a concern to -you. Thanks so much.” - -He hurried out. Lady Edna frowned at her half-written letter. A devious -man, Edgar. What was in the wind? The cook the next day, however, -submitted to her a menu which, with a housewifely modification or so, -she passed, and thought no more of the material banquet. - -During the week the hint of a rumour reached her, when, at a public -meeting, she ran up against the Rt. Hon. Sir Berkeley Prynne, a Member -of the Government who had been hostile to her husband for many years and -had only given the hatchet superficial burial during the party truce. - -“I suppose you know a lot of us are quaking in our shoes?” he said, half -banteringly. - -“I don’t,” she said. “But I’ve no doubt it’s good for you. What’s the -matter?” - -“Signs of underground rumblings. Your quick ears have detected nothing?” - -“No. Really. Honour bright. Do tell me.” - -He shook his head and laughed. “It’ll be a wash-out,” said he, moving -away. - -Gibe or warning, Sir Berkeley’s words were not devoid of significance. -They were aimed at her husband. Underground rumblings meant intrigue. -She had long suspected Edgar of half-hearted support of the Government; -but passionate devotion to anything was so foreign to his crafty, -opportunist nature, that she had not greatly troubled her mind about his -loyalty. Here, however, was cause for deeper consideration. The old -hacks, as she had said to Godfrey, were being squeezed out as decently -as might be, so as to give place to fresher and honester men, and -Edgar’s position was daily growing more insecure. But she had thought he -was sticking to it desperately. Was the worm about to turn? And had the -projected dinner-party anything to do with the turning? - -She asked him casually who were coming. - -“Men connected with the business of the Ministry,” he replied. “People I -must be civil to and who don’t expect us to worry about their -women-folk.” - -And she had to be contented with the answer. - -On the Saturday afternoon, at Moulsford, she was surprised to see -Rolliter, the old butler, who she thought was staying the night at -Belgrave Square to superintend the dinner party. Why was he here? - -“Mr. Donnithorpe’s orders, my lady. He said he could get on quite well -without me this evening. I couldn’t insist, my lady, but I didn’t like -leaving at all, especially as Lord Trevanion was coming.” - -“Lord who?” she cried, for he had mentioned a name that was anathema -maranatha in Government circles. - -“I think it’s Trevanion, my lady,” said the butler, rather taken aback -by her expression of incredulity. He fished a paper from his pocket and -consulted it. “Yes, my lady. I saw the list on Mr. Donnithorpe’s table, -so I copied it out so as to write the name-cards before I left.” - -An idea struck her. “You did this without Mr. Donnithorpe’s orders?” - -“Why, yes, my lady. Mr. Donnithorpe being so busy, I thought it might -slip his memory.” - -“Did you write the cards?” - -“No, my lady. When Mr. Donnithorpe told me to come down here, I asked -him about the name-cards, and he said he didn’t want them.” - -“Let me see the list,” she said, recovering her languid manner. - -“Certainly, my lady.” He handed her the paper. “The only reason I -mentioned Lord Trevanion,” he continued, “was because I happen to know -his lordship is one of the most particular men in England, and I -couldn’t bear to have things done anyhow when he was dining at the -house.” - -She laughed in her charming way. “The blood’s on Mr. Donnithorpe’s head, -not yours, Rolliter.” - -Rolliter had been in her father’s service before she was born and had -followed her, as butler, when she married. - -“Thank you, my lady,” said he, retiring and leaving her with the list of -guests. - -It was an instructive and at the same time bewildering document. It -contained the names of representatives of all the disgruntled and -pacifist factions in England. No wonder Edgar dared not face the -publicity of a club or restaurant dinner! No wonder he had lied to her -about his guests. No wonder he had sent Rolliter to the country without -writing out the cards. He wanted to hide the identity of his guests even -from his butler! At each name a new shiver went down her back. Lord -Trevanion, blatant millionaire Little Englander whom even the Radical -Government of 1906 had joyfully allowed to purchase a peerage, so as to -get him out of the House of Commons. There were Benskin and Pottinger -and Atwater, members of a small Parliamentary gang who lost no -opportunity of impeding the prosecution of the war. Lady Edna gasped. -Finch of the Independent Labour Party. Was Edgar going mad? Samways, -M.P. and Professor of History, pessimistic apostle of German efficiency -and preacher of the hopelessness of the Allies’ struggle. Editors of -pacifist organs—Featherstone, the most brilliant, whose cranky brain -had made him the partisan of England’s enemies all through his -journalistic career; Fordyce, snaky in his intellectual conceit; -Riordan, dark and suspect. . . . There were others, politicians and -publicists, self-proclaimed patriots and war-winners, but openly hostile -to the Government. Altogether the most amazing crew that ever Minister -of the Crown delighted to honour. - -That the ultimate object of this gathering was the overthrowal of the -Government there could be no doubt. How they were going to manage it was -another matter. A rabble like that, thought Lady Edna scornfully, could -not upset a nervous old lady. It looked rather like a preliminary -meeting, held in secrecy, to start the network in which greater -personalities should be enmeshed and involved. At any rate, on the part -of Edgar Donnithorpe it was black treachery. The more she scanned the -list the more did her soul sicken within her. It seemed intolerable that -this pro-German orgy should take place in the house of which she was the -mistress, while she remained here, fooled, with her little week-end -party. She burned with vengeance against her husband. - -It was half-past four. She stood in the drawing-room, which she had -entered a few minutes before, leaving her guests on the lawn, in order -to give some trivial order, and twisted the accusing paper in her hands, -her lips thin, deep in thought. Presently into her eyes crept a smile of -malice, and she went out of the French window and crossed the grass and -joined her friends. There were only three, Colonel and Mrs. Barrington -and Miss Delamere. A couple of men who were to have come down had -providentially been detained in London. - -“My dear people,” she said, smiling. “The war has spread to Moulsford. -There’s nothing in the house for dinner. There’ll be heaps to-morrow, -but none to-night.” - -“I’ll go down to the river and angle for a roach,” said Colonel -Barrington. - -“Or else come with me to town and dine at the Carlton. I’ll take you all -in the Rolls-Royce. It will be a lovely run back.” - -“But, my dear, it’ll be joy-riding!” cried Mrs. Barrington. - -“It will be indeed,” said Lady Edna. - -“But suppose we’re held up?” - -“I’ll say I have to see my husband on important political business.” - -“And I’m a soldier on active service,” said Colonel Barrington, “and -must be fed.” - -“You don’t mind, do you?” asked Lady Edna. - -Mind? Not they. What could be pleasanter on a perfect summer night? -Besides, they had not tasted the guilty sweets of joy-riding for many -months. It would be an adventure. - -They started merrily about six o’clock. Lady Edna was in gay spirits, as -though enjoying a schoolgirl’s freak. Through the perfumed leafiness of -Streatley, Basildon, Pangbourne, they flew at the high speed of the -great car, through Reading and Maidenhead and Slough, through Hounslow -and Brentford. What was fifty miles? As they approached London Lady Edna -said: - -“Will you think me funny if I look in at Belgrave Square for a minute?” - -She spoke a word to the chauffeur. A while later the car swerved to the -right from the direct route to Piccadilly, and at eight o’clock pulled -up at the Donnithorpes’ house in Belgrave Square. Lady Edna sprang from -the car and tripped up the steps. - -“I’ll let myself in with my latchkey,” she cried to the chauffeur who -was about to ring the bell. - -In the hall she threw off her wraps, gave an instinctive tidying touch -to her hair before a mirror, and walked smiling on her errand. She waved -aside the hired stranger men-servants busy with plates outside the -dining-room door and boldly entered. - -For a second or two no one observed her, then one or two guests caught -sight of the slender figure stately in her evening gown, and half rose -from their chairs. So the attention of all was called to her. Edgar -Donnithorpe, sitting at the head of the table with his back to the door, -turned and sprang to his feet with a gasp. To stay polite commotion she -laughed and held up her hand. - -“Please don’t anyone get up.” - -Her husband, in white anger, said: - -“I thought you were at Moulsford, Edna. Is anything the matter?” - -“Only your dinner party,” she replied with derisive graciousness. “I -happened to be dining in town, and it occurred to me to look in and see -that your guests had everything they wanted—especially”—she scanned -the faces deliberately—“as they are all new to the house.” - -She bowed and withdrew. Her husband threw down his napkin and followed -her. Neither spoke till they reached the hall, when they faced each -other. - -“I couldn’t make a scene before all those men,” he began. - -“Of course you couldn’t. I knew that,” she interrupted. - -“But I’ll make one now. By God I will! What do you mean by this -outrageous behaviour?” - -“To queer your game, my friend. I thought it would be amusing to show -all your pretty conspirators that the gaff was blown.” - -“I’m free to ask anyone to my own house. I’m master here, and the sooner -you learn it the better. Are you aware that you’ve insulted the whole of -my guests?” - -“I flattered myself I behaved with peculiar courtesy,” said Lady Edna. -“It’s you who are being rude to them. You had better go back. Are you -coming down to Moulsford to-morrow?” - -“No, I’m damned if I am!” - -He flung away from her, then turned. - -“By God! you shall pay for this.” - -“Willingly. It’s worth a lot.” - -He glowered at her impotently. What scene could he make other than one -of vulgar recrimination? She had caught him in a domestic lie and a -public act of treachery. For the moment his wife had all the weapons. So -they stood there in the rosy light of the hall, deadly enemies; she -triumphant, radiant in her scornful beauty; he small, thin, foxy and -malignant. Presently, with a laugh she moved to the front door. - -“I never thought you particularly clever, Edgar,” she said. “But in -diplomatic crudity you could give lessons to the Wilhelmstrasse.” - -With which Parthian shot she opened the door and rejoined her friends in -the car. - -“Forgive me, dear people,” she said, settling in her place. “I’ve been -having the time of my life.” - - * * * * * - -She returned to town with her guests on Monday morning, but did not see -her husband until late in the afternoon, when, on his return from the -Ministry, he found her alone in her sitting-room. - -“My dear Edna,” said he, in a conciliatory tone, “we owe each other a -little mutual understanding. It’s so undignified to quarrel.” - -She put the book she was reading pages downward on her knee. - -“Most undignified,” she assented. - -“You were rather under a misapprehension as to Saturday night.” - -“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, “for I was going to ask you a -question.” - -“What was that?” - -“Have you sent in your resignation to the Prime Minister?” - -“No, no. Of course not. That’s where your error in judgment, if I may be -allowed to say so, comes in. I’m aware I couldn’t be seen publicly with -that crowd. I had to manage a secret meeting. But it was in order to get -them on our side. I thought a frank discussion with them might produce -good results.” - -“Has it?” - -“I think so,” said he. “Oh yes, I think so. I’m speaking at Bristol -to-night. You’ll see from my speech what my position is. I mean to -define it unmistakably.” - -“I’m glad to hear it.” - -She turned away, hating him and despising him more than ever. She passed -a hideous day, overwhelmed with fears of treason and disaster. - -They were justified the following morning when, looking through the -newspapers brought to her bedside, she first glanced at and then pored -over the leading article in the important daily edited by Fordyce, one -of the guests at the amazing dinner-party. It was an attack on the -Government’s conduct of the war, based, ostensibly, on the rumours whose -inaccuracy Godfrey had begged her to contradict, but, to those with -inner knowledge, on the real facts of the plan of the High Command. It -was done with diabolical craft. Challenged as to the source of his -information, Fordyce could point to the article and defy anyone to prove -that he was possessed of any esoteric information at all. It was mere -logical deduction from the general trend of the war policy of the Allied -Military Authorities. And yet the shivering woman knew that the scheme -had been divulged to Fordyce. How? In terror she sprang from her bed and -opened the secret drawer of her desk. The sheet of notepaper was there -just as she had left it. For a moment or two she stood, her hand on her -breast, laughing in a silly way. Edgar was capable of many things; but -not of rifling her private papers. He was capable of betraying the -Government to Fordyce, but as a Minister, she reflected, he would -possibly be aware of the scheme. As the Saturday evening host he had -communicated it to Fordyce. Possibly to others. But no. That would have -been madness. A man does not blacken himself to a dozen men at once. The -others he had assembled so as to prepare them, in his underhand, -insinuating way, for this master-stroke. . . . She closed the secret -drawer with an impatient snap, and went about the room clenching her -hands and uttering futile words. - -“The villain! The infernal villain!” - -No. Life with him henceforth was impossible. She would break away. . . . -She had her house at Moulsford, her own income. As for her London life, -she could take a suite at Claridge’s. In the indignant moment she almost -forgot Godfrey. Loathing of Edgar overspread all other thoughts. -Suddenly she remembered his Bristol speech, and ran through the _Times_ -to find the report. Condensed, it contained nothing but the facile, -uninspired claptrap that had characterized his public utterances since -the beginning of his career. He was lying to the country which he had -set out to betray. . . . Meanwhile—so her excited fancy told her—he -was a peril running loose about the world. What could she do? Drive off -then and there and denounce him to the Prime Minister? He would -certainly ask her why she connected the leader in _The Morning Gazette_ -with the dinner-party given to her husband’s political opponents. Whence -did she derive her knowledge that anything more than conjecture underlay -the criticism in Fordyce’s paper? And she would not have a word to say. -Once again she opened the drawer and took out Godfrey’s notes. Better -destroy them. Her fingers met in the middle of the sheet prepared to -tear. Then she paused. No. She thought of Sir Berkeley Prynne—a man of -unstained honour in private and public life. She would go to him, this -in her hand, tell the whole story and ask his advice. She thrust the -paper back into the drawer, rang for her maid and dressed. - -A busy woman’s correspondence kept her occupied all the morning. At -half-past twelve came a telephone call from Godfrey: - -“When and where can I see you? Something most important.” - -“Oh, darling, what is it?” Her voice shook. “Where are you?” - -“War Office. I can’t tell you anything over the phone. Besides, I -haven’t a minute. I’ll be free in about half an hour.” - -“Come round here. I shall be alone.” - -“Right.” - -He switched off, leaving her in throbbing suspense. Naturally he was -coming to her about _The Morning Gazette_ article. To her excited fancy -the whole War Office was in a state of blind ferment like an ant-heap -bombed with a drop of kerosene. His tone, too, had been brusque, -imperious, that of a man dealing with crisis. She wished she had gone at -once in search of Sir Berkeley Prynne, instead of wasting her morning -over correspondence. Still, when one is Chairman and Treasurer of -practical concerns, their business has to be attended to. She went on -with her work, her eyes on the little agate clock in front of her. - -The rattle of a car. A moment of horrible waiting. Rolliter at the door. - -“Captain Baltazar, my lady.” - -They stood for a breathless second until the butler had closed the door -behind him. Then he strode up and caught her in his arms. When she could -collect herself she looked into dancing, triumphant eyes. A wave of -relief swept through her. Suddenly she caught the echo, as it were, of -Rolliter’s announcement. - -“Captain——?” - -“Yes. And more than that. I’m going to France.” - -She felt herself grow pale. “My dear——” - -“It’s a great stunt,” he said exultantly. “Northby has got an Army -Corps. He wants me on his staff. I’m going out as the Brainy One, with a -step in rank. Old man Widdowes talked to me as if I were an infant Haig. -You could have knocked me down with a bunch of straw.” - -“I’m so glad, dear. I’m so glad you’ve got what you want.” - -“My God, yes!” said he, all aglow. “It’s the best thing a one-footed -cripple has done up to now. The W.O. isn’t the real thing. Out there it -is. As soon as I met you, I swore I’d make good. To be worthy of you, if -such a thing is possible.” - -“I’m a proud woman,” said Lady Edna. “But I don’t understand—General -Northby—I never heard——” - -“Of course you didn’t. Neither did I. It was all secrecy and -suddenness.” - -He explained roughly the circumstances. - -“And when do you go out?” - -“In three days’ time. I’m on leave till then.” - -“Three days?” She looked at him aghast. “And then you go away -indefinitely?” - -She paused, drew a long breath or two, and sank limply into a chair. He -looked at her rather wonderingly. - -“What about me, Godfrey?” - -In the gratification of his wildest boyish ambitions he had forgotten -her woman’s point of view. He had expected her to share his elation. -Remorseful, he bent quickly over her, reddening and stammering. He was a -selfish brute. Did he really matter so much to her? If she would but say -the word, he would go straight back and refuse the appointment. - -“Don’t talk like a child,” she said. “If you did such a thing, we should -despise each other for the rest of our lives. But three days—only three -days! And I’m at my wits’ end with unhappiness.” - -He sank lover-like by her side and took her hand. What was wrong? - -“Have you seen _The Morning Gazette?_” - -He laughed. “Oh yes! There’s a hell of a hullabaloo! But the beauty of -it is, that the whole thing went fut three or four days ago. I can’t -tell you why. We’re working out quite a different plan. All the same, -there’s loud cursing in the camp.” He looked at her with one of his -swift man’s glances. “Of course, dearest—I’m bound to ask—you never -breathed a word to anybody of what I told you?” - -“Not a word.” - -“And you destroyed that paper at once?” - -“Of course.” - -The lie was out before she realized it. Well, it didn’t matter. The -thing was obsolete. She would tear it up. No. She wouldn’t. She still -had to wage her war against her husband, with the aid of Sir Berkeley -Prynne, and the document would be of great value. - -“It was he who gave it away to the editor of _The Morning Gazette_,” she -said, vindictively. - -“But how the deuce could he have known?” asked Godfrey. “These things -are dead secrets. They never go beyond the Army Council.” - -“He did know, anyhow. I’ve not seen you since. I’ve a lot to tell you.” - -She told him. He scrambled to his feet. - -“My God! what a swine! You must leave him.” - -“I’m going to. I’m going to hound him out of public life.” - -“And then?” - -“It’s for you to say.” - -An hour later Godfrey ran down the steps of the house in Belgrave -Square, his head in a whirl. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - -BALTAZAR and Quong Ho were finishing lunch when Godfrey, flushed and -excited, burst in with his news. An enthusiastically sympathetic parent -failed to detect an unusual note, almost one of vainglory, in the boy’s -speech and manner. He vaunted his success, proclaimed his entry on a -brilliant career. He talked wildly. This to be a war to end war? A -maudlin visionary’s dream. We might crush the Hun this time and have a -sort of peace—a rotten politician’s peace, but the Hun would apply -himself to the intensive cultivation of Hate, and in twenty years at the -latest would have another go at Frightfulness. And that’s where the -modern scientific soldier would come in. That was his career. He saw it -all before him. And Baltazar, led away by the boy’s bright promise, -clapped both his hands on his shoulders in a powerful grip, and cried: - -“I’m proud of you! My God, I’m proud of you! You and I will make our -name famous again, as it was in the days of Admiral de Coligny. We’ll do -things. We’ll make this rocking old Europe hum.” He laughed, and fire -leaped into his eyes. “It’s good to be alive these days!” - -“It is. It’s glorious!” replied Godfrey. - -Quong Ho, smiling, urbane, approached with outstretched hand. - -“I hope I may be allowed to offer you my sincere congratulations,” said -he. “Although I do not see eye to eye with you in your prognostication -of a recrudescence of warfare after the pacification of this present -upheaval, yet——” - -But Godfrey slapped him on the back, interrupting his eloquence. - -“That’s all right, you dear old image. When you get your Fellowship, -I’ll say the same to you.” - -He cut a hunk from a cake on the table and poured out a whisky and soda. - -“My dear boy,” cried Baltazar, darting to the bell, “haven’t you -lunched? You must have a proper meal.” - -Godfrey restrained him. No. He hadn’t time. He must leave London that -afternoon, for a day or two, and the next two or three hours would be a -mad rush. A shade of disappointment passed over Baltazar’s face. - -“I was hoping we might have a little dinner to-night to celebrate your -appointment—just ourselves, with Marcelle—and Lady Edna, if she could -come.” - -A smile flickered round Godfrey’s lips. - -“Dreadfully sorry, sir,” said he. “I’m not my own master. Anyhow, I know -Lady Edna’s engaged. But my last night—yes, if you will. I’d love it.” - -As soon as he had bolted food and drink, he rushed out. He must throw -some things into a bag, said he. Presently he returned and took hurried -leave. Baltazar gripped him by the hand and God-blessed him. At the door -Godfrey nodded to Quong Ho. - -“Just a word, old chap.” - -Quong Ho followed him into the hall. - -Baltazar went to the open dining-room window, and presently saw Godfrey -clamber into his little two-seater. He waved a hand. - -“Good luck!” - -“See you on Friday, sir.” - -The car drove off. Quong Ho returned to the dining-room. - -“I think, sir,” said he, “that we have just parted from a happy young -man.” - -“If a man’s not happy when he gets his heart’s desire at twenty-one,” -said Baltazar, “he had better apply for transference to another planet. -I threw mine away,” he added in a tone of reminiscence. “Wilfully. I -ought to have been Senior Wrangler. But I was a fool. I was always -taking false steps. That’s the wonderful thing about Godfrey, Quong Ho, -as doubtless you’ve noticed—he always takes the right steps. A -marvellously well-balanced mind.” He smiled in a meditative way, -thanking Heaven for sparing Godfrey those storms of temperament in which -he had so often suffered shipwreck. A steady chap, disciplined, not to -be turned out of his course. “Well, well,” said he, “now from -refreshment to labour. Come upstairs and let us get on with the work.” - -It was the long vacation, and Quong Ho, tireless and devoted, was -replacing Baltazar’s secretary absent on a much-needed holiday. A busy -afternoon lay before them. That evening the week’s number of _The New -Universe_ must go to press; the final proofs be passed, modifying -footnotes added to bring statements and arguments up to the hour’s date, -so swift were the kaleidoscopic variations in the confused -world-condition; and Baltazar’s own editional summary, the dynamo of the -powerful periodical, had to be finished. - -They sat in Baltazar’s library, at the orderly piled writing-table, very -much as they had sat, a year ago, in the scholarly room at Spendale -Farm. But now no longer as master and humorously treated pupil. The -years of training had borne excellent fruit, and Quong Ho proved himself -to be an invaluable colleague; so much so that Baltazar, at times, -cursed the University of Cambridge for depriving him, for the greater -part of the year, of one of the most subtle brains in the kingdom. Quong -Ho could point unerringly to a fallacy in an argument; he seemed to be -infallible on questions of fact in war politics; and such a meticulously -accurate proof-corrector had never been born. In such a light at least -did his _rara avis_ appear to Baltazar. They worked in silence. Baltazar -furiously inditing his article, Quong Ho, pen in hand, intent on the -proofs. The open window admitted the London sounds of the warm summer -afternoon. Presently Baltazar rose and cast off coat and waistcoat, and -with a sigh of relief at the coolness of shirt-sleeves, sat down again. - -“Why don’t you do the same?” - -Quong Ho, impeccably attired in a dark suit and a high stiff collar, -replied that he did not feel the heat. - -“I believe it would hurt you not to be prim and precise,” said Baltazar. -“I wonder what would happen if you really ever let yourself go?” - -Quong Ho smiled blandly. “I have been taught, sir, that self-discipline -is the foundation of all virtue.” - -Baltazar laughed. “You’re young. Stick to it. I’ve had as much as is -good for me at my time of life. I’m going to end my days, thank God, in -delightful lack of restraint. I’m going to let myself go, my friend, -over this new job, like a runaway horse. At last I’ve bullied them into -giving me a free hand. It’s a change from a year ago, isn’t it?” - -“I agree that the change has been most beneficent,” said Quong Ho. - -“Yes, by Jove!” cried Baltazar. “Then we were just a couple of grubby -bookworms doing nothing for ourselves or our fellow-creatures. Now—here -you are dealing with thoughts that shake the world; and I—by Jove!—one -of the leading men in England. I should like to see the bomb that would -knock us out this time.” - -He hitched up his shirt-cuffs and plunged again into his article. He had -scarcely written a sentence, when the door opened and Marcelle appeared -on the threshold. He pushed back his chair and rose, and advanced to her -with both hands outstretched. - -“Hello! Hello! What has blown you in at this time of day?” - -She looked up at him as she took his hand, and he saw there was trouble -in her eyes. - -“I know I’m disturbing you, but I can’t help it,” she said quickly. “I -must speak to you.” - -“Perhaps you would like to speak with Mr. Baltazar in private,” said -Quong Ho. - -“Indeed I should, Mr. Ho. Please forgive me.” - -Quong Ho bowed and retired. Baltazar drew a chair for her. “Now what’s -wrong, my dear?” - -“Godfrey.” - -“My God!” he cried. “Not an accident? He’s not hurt?” - -“Oh no, no! Nothing of that sort.” She smiled in wan reassurance. - -Baltazar breathed relief. “I believe if anything happened to him now, it -would break me,” he said. - -“He came round to see me an hour or so ago.” - -“After he left here. To tell you of his appointment. Aren’t you glad?” - -“Of course I am. But I should be more glad if that had been all.” - -“What’s up?” he asked, frowning. “Tell me straight.” - -“Ought I to tell you?” she asked rather piteously. “It’s betraying his -confidence shamefully. I know I’m to blame. I ought never to have given -him my promise. But I can’t see him go and ruin everything without -making some sacrifice.” - -“My dearest Marcelle, you’re talking in riddles. For Heaven’s sake give -me the word of the enigma.” - -“It’s Lady Edna Donnithorpe.” - -“Well. What about her?” - -“I wish he had never set eyes on the woman,” she cried passionately. - -“If he’s in love with her, he’ll have to get over it,” said Baltazar. -“France will cure him. And, as I told you the other evening, the lady’s -perfectly callous. So my dear, go along and don’t worry.” - -“You don’t seem to understand me, John dear,” she said urgently. “The -woman is in love with him. It has been going on for months. He has told -me all about it. She gets up and goes out driving with him in the car at -eight o’clock in the morning.” - -“Silly woman!” growled Baltazar. - -“Silly or not, she wouldn’t do it if she didn’t care for him. Not Lady -Edna Donnithorpe. They meet whenever they can. He comes to me and pours -out everything. I ought to have told you. But I couldn’t break my word. -They’re lovers——” - -“Lovers? What do you mean?” he asked, bending his heavy brows. - -“Not yet. Not in that sense, I’m sure. But they soon will be.” She -looked at him anxiously. “I know I’m going to forfeit Godfrey’s -affection, and perhaps your respect—but I can’t do otherwise.” She -paused, then burst out desperately: “She’s going to run away with him -this afternoon.” - -“The devil she is!” cried Baltazar. He strode about the room and threw -up his hands. “Oh, the damned young fool!” He wheeled round on Marcelle. -“Why on earth didn’t you stop it?” - -She pleaded helplessness. How could she? Naturally she had used every -argument, moral and worldly. As it was, he had dashed off in a fume, -calling her unsympathetic and narrow-minded, regretting that he had ever -given her his confidence. He had promised long ago to let her know -everything. Now that he had kept his word she turned against him. She -had been powerless. - -“He’s old enough to look after his own morals,” said Baltazar, “and I’m -not the silly hypocrite to hold up my hands in horror. But to go and run -away with the most notorious society woman in London and play the devil -with his career is another matter. Oh, the damned young fool!—That rat -Edgar Donnithorpe will get on to it at once. He’s just the man to stick -at nothing.—A filthy divorce case.—The boy’ll have to resign, if he -doesn’t get chucked—then marry the woman five years older than himself. -Where’s the happiness going to be?” - -He resumed his striding about the room, in his impetuous way, and -Marcelle followed him timidly with her eyes. “Oh, damnation!” said he. -He had just been lecturing Quong Ho on Godfrey’s steadiness and balance. -Why, he himself had never done such a scatter-brained thing. - -“Where are the precious pair going?” - -A remote week-end cottage, she said, belonging to a complaisant friend -of Lady Edna’s. Five miles from station, post office or shop. A lonely -Eden in the wilderness. Whether it was north, east, south or west of -London she did not know. An old woman in charge would look after them. - -“I suppose they’re well on their way by now,” said he. - -“I don’t know. Possibly not. He said he had to rush about town to order -his kit. Besides,” she added hopelessly, “what does it matter when they -start?” - -Baltazar cursed in futile freedom. - -“There’s nothing I wouldn’t give for it not to have happened,” he -exclaimed. “I suppose I was a fool. You warned me. And it was I who, -like an ass, encouraged them. I could kick myself!” - -“It’s like you, John, dear, not to blame me,” she said humbly. - -“Of course I don’t blame you. You thought it boyish folly. . . . What’s -the good of talking about it?” - -They did talk, however, in a helpless way. - -“They had no intention of doing anything desperate,” she said, “until -this morning. If he had remained in London, they might have gone on -indefinitely. The prospect of endless months in France set the whole -thing ablaze. . . . When I put the moral side before him, he retorted -with a _tu quoque_.” - -“What did he mean?” - -“That I was ready, at his age, to run away with a married man.” - -“Were you?” he asked. - -“I suppose so,” she replied with a weary little smile. - -“That was an entirely different affair.” - -“Not from the moral point of view.” - -“Oh, damn morals,” said he. - -She laughed in spite of her distress. It was so characteristic of the -man. If anything got in his way, he just damned it, and regarded it as -non-existent. - -He moved restlessly about; then, catching sight of his discarded coat -and waistcoat, plunged savagely into them, as though he were going in -pursuit of the erring pair. - -“What are you going to do?” she asked. - -“I don’t know,” he said, abandoning half-way the furious buttoning of -his waistcoat. “That’s the devil of it, there’s nothing to be done.” - -At that moment Quong Ho discreetly appeared at the door. - -“Will you have particular need of my services for the next hour?” - -“Yes, of course I shall. Look there!” Baltazar flung a hand towards the -paper-strewn table. “We go to press this evening.” - -Quong Ho consulted his watch. “I am sorry then, for I don’t know how I -shall proceed. I promised Captain Godfrey to take his bag to the railway -station at five o’clock.” - -Smiles wreathed Baltazar’s face of annoyance, and he exchanged a quick -glance with Marcelle. “What railway station?” - -“Waterloo.” - -“I thought he had taken his kit with him in the car.” - -“He explained, sir, when he called me into the hall before he left, that -he couldn’t garage the car at Waterloo station.” - -“I see,” said Baltazar. - -“Therefore I am to seek it in his bedroom and convey it by taxi to -Waterloo.” - -Baltazar nodded approvingly, and the humorous light appeared in his eyes -which Quong Ho could never interpret. - -“It’s very lucky you’ve told me, Quong Ho. I want particularly to say a -word or two to Godfrey before he leaves London. I’ll take his bag. You -get on with the work. Perhaps you’ll send somebody out for a taxi.” - -“I’ll fetch one myself,” said Quong Ho, and bowing as usual politely to -Marcelle, left the room. - -Baltazar clutched her arms with both hands and lifted her from her seat -and, laughing exultantly, kissed her a hearty, unintelligible kiss—the -first for twenty years—leaving her utterly bewildered. - -“The Lord has delivered them into my hands!” he cried. “The stars in -their courses fight for the House of Baltazar.” - -“What in the world are you going to do?” she asked. - -“Play hell,” said he. - -Ten minutes afterwards Baltazar was speeding eastwards, grimly smiling. -By skilful contrivance he had despatched the helpful Quong Ho upstairs -to Marcelle at the last moment, and had pitched Godfrey’s kit into the -dining-room and had driven off without it. If the infatuated youth would -not listen to reason or the lady to the plainest of speech, he should go -off to his love in a cottage unromantically destitute of toothbrush and -pyjamas. Ridicule kills. The boy would hate him for the moment; but -would assuredly live to bless him. Once in France, he would have no time -for folly. The imperious man’s thoughts flew fast. The lady herself -should cure the boy. He would see to that. If he couldn’t break an Edna -Donnithorpe, bring her to heel, he was not John Baltazar. In his -jealousy for the boy’s honourable career he swept the woman’s possible -emotions into the limbo of inconsiderable things. What kind of a woman -was she, anyhow, to have married a rat like Donnithorpe? He read her in -rough intolerance. Just a freak of thwarted sex. That was it. If nothing -was discovered, she would return to her normal life and, sizing up the -episode in her cold intellectual way, would discover that the game was -not worth the candles supplied by the old woman in the remote cottage, -and would send Godfrey packing to any kind of Byronic despair. If the -intrigue came out and there was a divorce and subsequent marriage, there -would be the devil to pay. - -The taxi clattered through the gloomy archway approaches at Waterloo and -drew up at the end of the long line of cabs at the entrance to the -station. The summer exodus from London was just beginning, and the -outside platform was a-bustle with porters, trucks, passengers and -luggage. Baltazar, after paying his fare, lingered for a moment at the -great door of the Booking Hall, and then entered and passed through it -into the hurrying station. A queue stood at the suburban ticket office. -He scanned it, but no Godfrey. He walked the length of the platform -entrances, through the crowds of passengers and their dumps of luggage -and knots of soldiers, some about to entrain, sitting on the ground with -their packs around them, others, newly arrived on leave: Australians -with their soft hats, wiry Cockneys still encased in the clay of the -trenches, officers of all grades and of all arms. Presently at the -central bookstall, turning away, his arms full of periodicals, Godfrey -came into view. Baltazar approached smiling. His son’s face darkened. “I -didn’t expect to see you here, sir.” - -“If you want to study the ways of a country, there’s nothing like its -great railway stations. They’re a favourite haunt of mine.” - -“It’s rather stuffy under this glass roof, don’t you think?” said -Godfrey. - -“I don’t mind it, my boy,” replied Baltazar cheerfully. “But it’s lucky -I hit upon Waterloo. I shall be able to see you off. By the way, where -are you going?” - -“Somewhere Southampton way, sir,” said Godfrey stiffly. - -“Lot of light literature,” remarked Baltazar, motioning to the -periodicals. - -“Quite a debauch,” said Godfrey. - -Baltazar’s quick eyes picked out the board by the Southampton platform. - -“Your train, I see, goes at 5.45. You’re a bit early.” - -“Yes, sir. It’s such a long time till the train starts that I couldn’t -think of asking you to wait.” - -“That doesn’t matter a bit, my dear boy. Time is no object.” - -“I’m very sorry to be rude, sir—but as a matter of fact I have an -appointment,” said Godfrey desperately. “An important appointment.” - -“Oh!” said Baltazar. - -“And, if you don’t mind, I must wait outside the station. Quong Ho is -bringing my suit-case. I shouldn’t like to miss him.” - -He made a step forward, but an ironic glitter in his father’s searching -eyes arrested the movement. - -“Quong Ho isn’t bringing your suit-case. I’ve come instead.” - -Godfrey drew himself up haughtily. “I don’t understand. Have you been -kind enough to bring my luggage?” - -“No,” replied Baltazar calmly. “It’s on the floor of the dining-room.” - -“Your interference with my arrangements, sir, is unwarrantable,” said -the boy, pale with anger. - -“Possibly. Unless we adopt the Jesuitical principle of the end -justifying the means.” - -“And what is the end, might I ask?” - -“To prevent you from making an infernal fool of yourself.” - -The young man regarded him inimically. Baltazar felt a throb of pride in -his attitude. A lad of spirit. - -“I suppose Marcelle came straight to you with my confidence. In giving -it to her I made a fool of myself, I admit. As for what I propose to do, -I fail to see that it’s any concern of yours.” - -Baltazar’s heart yearned over the boy. He said in a softened tone: “It -is ruin to your career and a mess up of your whole life. And your future -means so much to me that I’d sacrifice anything—honour, decency, even -your affection which I thought I had gained—to see you off at any rate -to France with a clean sheet.” - -But Godfrey in cold wrath did not heed the pleading note. He had been -betrayed and tricked. Only his soldier’s training kept him outwardly -calm. To the casual glances of the preoccupied crowd passing by them -nothing in the demeanour of either man gave occasion for special -interest. They stood, too, in a little islet of space apart from the -general stream of traffic. Baltazar went on with his parable. He had not -the heart to hint his projected gibe at the unromantic lack of -tooth-brushes. Things ran too deep. - -“I admit none of your arguments,” said Godfrey at last. “Besides, I am -my own master. I owe you a debt for many kindnesses; your affection—I -don’t undervalue it. But there things end. After all, we met a year ago -as strangers. I’ve run my life as I chose, and I mean to run it as I -choose. I expect Lady Edna to arrive at any minute. In common delicacy I -must ask you to let me go my own ways.” - -“All right, go,” said Baltazar. “But I’ll go with you.” - -Godfrey’s eyes flamed. - -“You wouldn’t dare!” - -“My dear fellow,” said Baltazar, “I don’t think there’s a damned thing -in the world that I wouldn’t dare. Haven’t you found that out?” - -So they stood there for a while longer, talking in their islet beneath -the glass roof of the busy station, and the boy’s heart was filled with -anger and wild hatred of the thick-shouldered, smiling man, with the -powerful face and infernal dancing eyes. - -Then suddenly Baltazar strode away at a great pace, and Godfrey, -turning, saw that he was cutting off Lady Edna, who had entered, -preceded by a porter wheeling her luggage. Before he had time to -overtake him, Baltazar was already taking off his hat to an amazed lady -and had imperiously checked the porter. - -“Lady Edna,” said he, “I’m here to prevent Godfrey and yourself from -committing the insanity of your lives.” - -She said, mistress of herself, “I don’t understand you, Mr. Baltazar. -You seem to be taking an outrageous liberty. I am going to stay at the -house of a friend who has asked Godfrey to be my fellow-guest.” - -Before Baltazar could reply, Godfrey came hurrying up with his slight -limp and plunged into angry explanations. She looked at the clock. - -“If you telephone home now,” she said coolly, “a servant will have ample -time to bring your things.” - -“By God, yes!” said Godfrey, angrily depositing the sheaf of periodicals -on her luggage. - -“Have you got the tickets?” - -“Of course.” - -He marched away across the station. - -“Porter——” said Lady Edna. - -But no porter was there, for, unperceived by either of the lovers, -Baltazar had slipped five shillings into the man’s hand and told him to -come back later. - -“There’s heaps of time,” said Baltazar. “Now, my dearest lady, what is -the good of make-believe? Cards on the table. You’re going to make a -bolt with Godfrey and throw your cap over the windmills. There’s a nice -little cottage in a wood—in the depths of the New Forest, I presume, -lent you by a friend who is represented by one solitary old woman.” - -“How do you know that?” she asked, her soft eyes hardening in their -characteristic way. “Godfrey has surely not been such a——“—she paused -for a word—“well—such an imbecile as to tell you?” - -“Godfrey has told me nothing. You may be certain of that. His fury -against me is sufficiently obvious.” - -“Then how do you know?” - -“That’s my affair,” smiled Baltazar. “Lady Edna,” said he, “don’t you -think that my coming the heavy father like this puts you into rather an -absurd position?” - -She replied, white-lipped: “I’ll never forgive you till I’m dead!” - -“I’ve naturally counted on the consequences of your resentment,” said -Baltazar. - -“What do you propose to do?” - -“If you persist, to thrust upon you the displeasure of my company, -without luggage—just like Godfrey.” - -“You——” she began indignantly. And then suddenly: “Oh, my God!” and -clutched him by the arm. - -He followed her stare across the station, and there, in the archway of -the Booking Hall, peering from right to left in his rat-like way, stood -Edgar Donnithorpe. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - -“YOU seem to have managed your little affair rather clumsily,” said -Baltazar. - -“What’s he doing here?” she asked wildly. - -“Probably catching you and Godfrey.” - -“He mustn’t see Godfrey here.” - -“That’s easily managed,” said Baltazar. “I’ll send him flying out of the -telephone box. But what on earth could have put your husband on the -track? What indiscretion have you been committing?” - -“I left a letter for him telling him I wouldn’t stay any longer in his -house. He’s a traitor to his country.” - -Baltazar threw up his hands. “Oh, Lord! The usual idiocy. For a clever -woman—well! Anyhow, I’ll head off Godfrey. When your husband spots you, -use your brains. Don’t say a word to give yourself away.” - -“You’ll come back?” she cried, losing her head. - -“I’ll see,” said he. - -He left her, and fetched a compass round the station, mingling as much -as possible with the never-ceasing throng of soldiers and civilians and -women and luggage, until he arrived at the row of telephone boxes. There -he found Godfrey, waiting his turn and fuming at the delay. - -“My boy,” said he, “here are all the elements of a first-class farce. -The injured husband, Edgar Donnithorpe, has turned up. You had better -make tracks as quick as you can.” - -“I suppose you gave him the hint,” snarled the young man, with set -teeth. - -“You’re insulting your own blood to make such a damfool remark,” said -Baltazar. “Go home, and stay there till I come.” - -Godfrey met the infernal eyes and, for all his anger and humiliation, -knew that he had accused basely. - -“I apologize, sir,” said he, in his most haughty and military manner, -and marched off. - -Baltazar hesitated. Should he or should he not return to Lady Edna? If -he had escaped the eye of Edgar Donnithorpe, it were better to leave -Lady Edna, injured innocent, to tell her tale of solitary retirement to -sylvan depths where she could be remote from the consequences of his -political turpitude. On the other hand, if he had been observed, or if -Lady Edna had avowed his presence, his abandonment of her might be -idiotically interpreted. He decided to return. - -He saw them at once through the moving traffic: the husband, his back -towards him, gripping a handle of the truck on which the luggage was -piled; the wife facing him, an ironical smile on her lips. A devilish -handsome woman, thought Baltazar. The boy had taste. There she stood, -slim, distinguished in her simple fawn coat and skirt and little hat to -match, beneath which waved her dark brown hair, very cool, aristocratic -and defiant. Baltazar came up to them. - -“Ah, Donnithorpe!” - -The thin, grey man wheeled round, and then Baltazar realized that he had -made the wrong decision, for he was the last man the other expected to -see. - -“You? What are you doing here?” he shouted. - -“Hush!” said Lady Edna, with a touch on his arm. “You’re not at home or -in the House of Commons. You’re in a public place, and you’ll get a -crowd round us in no time. Let us pretend we’re a merry party going on a -holiday.” - -Edgar Donnithorpe threw an anxious glance round to see if they had -attracted undesired attention. But people passed them by or stood in -knots near them, unheeding, intent on their own affairs. - -“I ask you,” he said in a low voice, “what you are doing at this railway -station with my wife?” - -Baltazar, his felt hat at the back of his head and his hands thrust into -his trousers’ pockets beneath the skirts of his buttoned-up, -double-breasted jacket, eyed him in exasperating amusement. - -“I am seeing Lady Edna off on a railway journey. Was it necessary to ask -your permission?” - -Lady Edna laughed mockingly. “As far as I can make out, my husband -expected to find me eloping with your son Godfrey.” - -Donnithorpe shifted his eyes from one to the other, looking at them -evilly. - -“He was with you for nearly a couple of hours to-day. I had my own very -good reasons for suspicion. I went round to your house, Mr. Baltazar, -and asked for your son. I saw your Chinese secretary——” He caught -Baltazar’s involuntary sudden frown and angry flush. “In justice,” he -continued in his thin, sneering manner, “I must absolve him from -indiscretion. He knows my position in the Government, and when I -informed him that it was imperative I should see your son on important -political business, he told me I should find him at Waterloo station.” - -“You overreached yourself,” said Baltazar with a bantering grin. -“Godfrey knows no more about politics than a tom-cat. Quong Ho naturally -thought you meant me. You came. Here I am, seeing your wife off. She -telephoned me that she was leaving your house—going to stay with -friends—wanted a man of the world’s advice on the serious step she was -taking—woman-like, of course, she took the step first, and asked for -advice afterwards—and I naturally put myself at her ladyship’s -disposal. Don’t you think you had better let Lady Edna get on with her -journey? Here’s her porter. Come with me and see her safe into her -carriage.” - -He was enjoying himself amazingly. Donnithorpe, baffled, tugged at his -thin grey moustache. The porter came up, touching his cap. - -“Time’s getting on, ma’am. I’ve reserved the two seats——” - -“One seat,” said Lady Edna swiftly. - -“Beg your pardon, ma’am. I thought you said the gentleman was going with -you.” - -“One seat. I said I was meeting a gentleman.” - -The porter wheeled off the luggage. Lady Edna turned to follow, but her -husband gripped her viciously by the wrist. - -“Not yet.” - -“Drop that,” growled Baltazar. - -Donnithorpe released her, plunged his hand into his breast pocket and -drew out a couple of sheets of paper. - -“You did say two seats. You meant to go off with him. There’s some -damned trickery about it. But I’ve got the whip hand, my lady. Just look -at this before you go.” - -Lady Edna turned ghastly white and clutched Baltazar’s arm to steady -herself from the sickening shock. In the desperate rush, after Godfrey’s -departure, the scheming, the packing, the telephoning, the temporary -straightening of affairs, the chase over London for the complaisant -friend whose connivance was essential, the eagerness to get free of the -house before her husband should return, she had forgotten the scrap of -paper in her secret drawer, with its obsolete information. Now the -horror flashed on her. Her husband had gone to the drawer before. Hence -the article in Fordyce’s paper. Her first instinct had been right. He -had gone to the drawer again. Her swaying brain wondered how he had -discovered the secret of the spring. But he had found the paper which in -her folly she had not destroyed—and what else besides? She heard, as in -a dream, her husband saying: - -“If he isn’t your lover, what about these? Here’s proof. Here’s a matter -of court-martial and gaol.” - -She regained her self-control with a great effort, still holding to -Baltazar. “You hound!” she whispered. - -Baltazar, smitten with the realization that comedy had vanished—the -comedy in which he had played so debonair and masterly a part—vanished -in the flash of a cinematographic film, and that something very near -tragedy was staring him in the face, stretched out his hand for the -papers. - -“Let me see.” - -But Donnithorpe smiled his thin, derisive smile. “No. They’re too -precious. I’ll hold them for you to look at. Keep away.” - -And there, in the airless glass-roofed railway station, on that hot -summer afternoon, in the midst of the reverberating noises of trains -letting off steam, of a thousand human voices, of scurrying feet, of -grating luggage trunks, in the midst of a small town’s moving and -lounging population, surging now, at that hour’s height of the suburban -traffic with home-going streams; there, with hundreds of eyes to watch -them, hundreds of ears to hear them, hundreds of successive ears of -people darting bee-like around the busy bookstall not ten yards away, -there three quietly talking human beings stood at grips with destiny. - -“This is written on your notepaper. It is a War Office secret. It -reveals the whole strategy of the High Command.” - -Baltazar’s lips grew grim and his eyes bent on the little man burned -like fires. In Donnithorpe’s hands the document was Godfrey’s death -warrant. - -Then Baltazar remembered the shock he had received in Sheepshanks’s room -at Cambridge when first he saw a letter of Godfrey’s, and Godfrey’s -after explanation of the identity of their handwriting. - -“Don’t you see? It gives the whole thing away,” Donnithorpe continued. - -“I’m quite aware of it,” said Baltazar. “I drew it up for your wife.” - -“You?” exclaimed Donnithorpe in incredulous amazement, while Lady Edna -caught a sharp breath and clung more fiercely to Baltazar’s arm. “Where -did you get your information from?” - -“I am to be Minister of the new department in a day or two,” said -Baltazar, “and I’m in the inner confidence of the War Cabinet.” - -“But it’s in your son’s handwriting!” - -“It’s my handwriting,” said Baltazar calmly. - -He drew from his pocket a sheaf of notes for a speech and handed them to -Donnithorpe. “Compare, if you like.” - -Donnithorpe returned them with a curious thin snarl and held out the -other paper. - -“Then you wrote this too?” - -Baltazar glanced at it. It was the first sheet of a letter from which -the other sheet had been torn. Lady Edna saw it and again swayed, half -fainting with sickening humiliation. The only one of Godfrey’s -letters—and only part of one—which she had kept: two pages breathing -such a passionate love as she had never dreamed that a man in real life -could express to woman. She had forgotten that she had left that, too, -in the secret drawer. She stared haggardly into Baltazar s face. His -lips twisted into a smile. - -“Yes. I wrote that too,” said he. - -“Then you’re a damned villain!” cried Donnithorpe. - -“Very possibly,” said Baltazar. - -Donnithorpe turned in his rat-like way to his wife. - -“What have you to say about it?” - -Suddenly recovered from her fit of terror and shame, she withdrew her -grip from Baltazar’s arm and held herself up with the scornful poise of -her head. - -“Nothing,” she said. “You can flatter yourself now you know everything.” - -He did not heed her words, but once more looked from one to the other -with a thin, chuckling laugh. - -“You’re a pretty pair. You, my lady. And you, Mr. Minister of Publicity. -It strikes me you’ll have to postpone your elopement.” - -“You’ve got elopement on the brain, my good fellow,” said Baltazar. “A -Minister of Publicity doesn’t elope with a lady with nothing but what he -stands up in. Where’s my luggage?” - -“There,” replied Donnithorpe, pointing to the barriers to the platform. -“Didn’t the porter say she had ordered two seats—one for a gentleman?” - -“This is getting wearisome,” said Lady Edna. “I’ve already told you how -the mistake arose.” - -The solicitous porter, already rewarded with five shillings, and -belonging to a race as richly endowed with human failings as any other -in the world, hurried up. - -“I’ve found a corner seat, ma’am. Put everything into the carriage. -You’ve not much time left.” - -Suddenly she became aware of the awful desolation that awaited her in -the remote cottage in the New Forest with one horrible old servant woman -for company. Within her feminine unreason clamoured. No, no! She -revolted against the grotesque absurdity of such comfortless living -burial. She would go mad, cut off from every opportunity of hearing -instant developments of this nerve-racking situation. She couldn’t stick -it. - -“I’ve changed my mind, porter. I’m not going. Get my things out and -bring them back.” - -“Certainly, ma’am.” - -The porter ran off. Baltazar thrust his hands again into his trousers’ -pockets. His face was a grim mask. - -“Why don’t you get your luggage out too?” sneered Donnithorpe. - -“Don’t be a brainless fool,” said Baltazar. - -The fingers in his pockets twitched, and Lady Edna caught a malevolent -flash in his eyes that made her shiver. He would have liked to wring her -neck. Why the devil didn’t she play the game and go to the cottage and -the old woman? He read her through and through. And mingled with his -contempt ran a thrill of gladness. Godfrey was well rid of her. - -Donnithorpe cackled at his abjuration. He turned to Lady Edna. - -“You haven’t condescended to tell me where you were going.” - -“I was going, if you want to know, to stay with Sybil Manning at her -little place in the New Forest.” - -“Indeed?” said her husband, in his rasping voice, and a gleam of triumph -sparkled in his crafty eyes. “Now it happens that I, not being quite the -fool you and Mr. Baltazar have thought me, rang up Lady Manning. It was -the first thing I did when I read your letter. I knew you would bolt, -straight to her. I’ve often thought of bringing in a Bill in Parliament -to deprive her of existence. She answered me herself. She had heard -nothing of you, knew nothing of you.” - -“Naturally,” she said jeeringly. “But,” she added, carrying the war into -enemy’s quarters, “she knows everything about you. Everything, my -friend. So will the Prime Minister.” - -“I was with the Prime Minister this morning,” said Donnithorpe. “I told -him all about my Saturday evening’s effort in the cause of solidarity. -We parted the best of friends, and my position is secure.” - -“What about Fordyce’s article this morning?” - -“This morning I couldn’t conceive how the fellow had got the -information. This evening or to-morrow morning”—he tapped his breast -pocket—“if I am asked, I can point to a dual source of leakage.” - -He folded his arms, the crafty political intriguer, thin and triumphant. - -“Of us two,” said Baltazar, “it strikes me that you are the damnder -scoundrel.” - -“What you think is a matter of perfect indifference to me,” retorted -Donnithorpe. “What does interest me is the fact that my wife was going -to stay with Lady Manning in the New Forest while Lady Manning is in -London, and that when I find her here with you, she decides not to go to -the New Forest after all.” - -Lady Edna flushed angrily. She was out-manœuvred, outclassed, beaten on -all sides by the thin grey man whom she despised. She had acted like a -brainless, immoral schoolgirl. - -“Where do you propose to go now?” asked Donnithorpe. - -She spat her venom at him. “Anywhere to get out of the sight of you. -Yes, I was going alone to Sybil Manning’s cottage. I had just left her -when you telephoned. I wanted to get as far away from you as I could and -from the disgusting impressions of the last few days. Now the whole -thing would be spoiled by this abominable insult. I shall stay with my -mother to-night and go down to Moulsford to-morrow.” - -“I’m glad,” replied Donnithorpe acidly, “you’re not thinking of -returning to my house. I’m not going to have any plea of condonation.” - -Lady Edna moved away haughtily toward the barriers. - -“I see my porter. Mr. Baltazar, will you kindly put me into a taxi?” - -“No, he shan’t. You shall go in my car.” - -Baltazar, in a cold fury, stood over him threateningly. - -“You stay here,” said he, “or by the living God I’ll half kill you!” - -He caught up Lady Edna and followed with her in the wake of the porter. - -She said: “I owe you a debt of gratitude which I can’t ever repay.” - -He felt merciless towards her, murderous. “You let that boy alone, do -you hear? You’ve come within a hair’s-breadth of blasting his life. It -remains yet to be seen whether that hair’s-breadth will save him——” - -“I’d do anything in my power——” she began. - -“For God’s sake stop doing things. Hold your tongue. You’ve been -criminal in your piling folly on folly. You’ve done enough.” - -“But you——?” - -“I can take care of myself—and the boy, if you keep quiet. You’ve got -to remember the position. I’m your lover. Avowed before your husband by -both of us—you implicitly. You’re not to lose sight of that fact. -Understand? If you hold any communication with Godfrey, you’ll get him -court-martialled. Disgraced, probably imprisoned. And then, by God! I -won’t have any pity on you.” - -Talking thus they reached the outer platform of the station and waited -while the porter secured a taxi. She whispered, for they were brushed by -the throng of passengers arriving and departing: - -“If Edgar brings a divorce action——? He’s vindictive——” - -“He’ll bring no action, if you stop playing the fool. I’d advise you not -to interfere with my game.” - -The porter swung from the step of the taxi bringing a new arrival, and -as soon as the latter, a young officer with a suit-case, had alighted -and paid his fare, he piled in Lady Edna’s belongings. She entered the -cab very white and scared. Godfrey had told her enough about his father -for her to realize the unyielding nature of the man. She was terrified, -cowed. He blazed before her irresistibly elemental. . . . She carried -away with her a blurred impression of his thatch of brown hair coarse -and strong like the crown of some relentless beast as he lifted his hat -when the taxi drove off. She shuddered, and hated him. - - * * * * * - -Baltazar let himself into the house in Sussex Gardens, and went straight -to Godfrey’s room. He found him writing hard. When the young man sprang -up, his quiet eye noted the desk strewn with many sheets of notepaper. - -“Writing to her, I suppose.” - -“It’s not altogether unnatural,” Godfrey replied in stiff hostility. - -“Where are you going to address it?” - -Godfrey, looking into the infernal eyes, saw that it was not an idle and -impertinent question. Besides, he had spent a very agitated hour, gnawed -by bitter disappointment and impotent anger and torturing his brain with -conjecture as to what had happened. - -“Where is Lady Edna, sir?” he asked. - -“She has gone to stay with Lady Ralston.” - -“Her mother?” - -“The Dowager Countess of Ralston is, I believe, her mother,” said -Baltazar. - -He threw himself into a chair and mopped his forehead. - -“Why the devil don’t you open a window?” - -“I didn’t notice,” said Godfrey, and went and threw up the sash. - -It was a cosy room at the back of the house, the smoking den of the late -dead owner, furnished with green leather arm-chairs drawn up at each end -of a green leather-covered fender-seat, with a great green -leather-cushioned Chesterfield, with solid comfortable mahogany tables, -writing-desk and bookcases. On the walls hung well-framed old engravings -of solid worth, and Godfrey had added a little armoury of war trophies, -Hun helmets, rifles, flare pistols, gas-masks, bayonets, gleaming shell -cases of all sizes, a framed blood-stained letter or two in German -script. . . . A cosy room more suitable for a winter’s evening than a -close summer afternoon. Baltazar filled his lungs with the fresher air. - -“That’s better,” said he. - -Godfrey stood by the fireplace, his face set and unyielding. - -“Perhaps you might tell me, sir, what has happened. What brought -Donnithorpe to the station?” - -“The hope of catching you, my son, _in flagrante delicto_ of elopement.” - -“Quong Ho was sure that he wanted you.” - -“Quong Ho made a mistake. Donnithorpe was exceedingly surprised to find -me.” - -There was a long pause, during which Baltazar bent his disconcerting and -luminous gaze on the young man. - -“Godfrey,” he said at last, “what made you such an infatuated fool as to -give away War Office secrets in writing to that woman?” - -A look of horror dawned in the young man’s eyes and he took a step -forward. He gasped: - -“What do you mean?” - -And then, when Baltazar described the disastrous paper, he cried -passionately: - -“It can’t be! It can’t possibly be! Only this morning she told me she -had destroyed it.” - -“She lied, my son,” said Baltazar. - -“But she knew it was my honour, my everything——” - -“Of course she did. Do you suppose that matters to her?” - -Godfrey repeated in a dazed way: “There must be some mistake. She told -me she had destroyed it.” - -“Well, she didn’t,” said Baltazar. “She kept it—to gratify some vanity -or ambition. I don’t know. Our talk was too concentrated to divagate -into motives. Anyway, care for your honour didn’t affect her. She left -it about, and Edgar Donnithorpe has got it and means to use it.” - -The distracted young man sat down, his head in his hands, and groaned. -“My God! That’s the end of me.” - -Baltazar deliberately filled and lit a pipe, and said nothing. Better -let the consequences of the lady’s betrayal soak in. . . . Presently -Godfrey rose to his feet and his face was haggard. - -“I’ll go to Donnithorpe and get it back. He daren’t show it. It’ll be -accusing himself of giving away the information to _The Morning -Gazette_.” - -But Baltazar held him with his inscrutable eyes. - -“You’re a brilliant soldier, my son, but you’re no match for a foxy old -politician—a past master of dirty craft. He put himself right with the -Prime Minister this morning. Besides, there’s the lady to be -considered—not that I think she deserves much consideration. Still, -it’s a convention of honour.” - -Godfrey flashed: “I’m not going to bring her name into it!” - -“He will. He’ll get the whole story out of you.” - -“What the devil am I to do?” asked Godfrey with a helpless gesture. - -Baltazar rose. “My boy,” said he, “in two or three days’ time they’re -going to make me, a man suddenly sprung from nowhere, a Minister of the -Crown. That shows I’m not altogether a silly fool.” - -In spite of the welter of disillusion and catastrophe in which the boy -foundered, he detected in his father’s voice the pathetic, apologetic -note which he had never been able to resist, the note conveying his -father’s yearning desire to make good in his eyes. - -“You know I’m proud of you, sir,” he said. “Which is a lot more,” he -added with a break in his voice, “than you can say of me.” - -Baltazar put his arm round his son’s shoulders very tenderly. - -“My boy,” said he, “I’d give my life for you.” And the young man hung -his head. “The only thing is, will you trust me?” - -Ten minutes afterwards Baltazar, cheery and confident, stood at the door -preparing to depart from a chastened though more hopeful Godfrey. Love -had conquered. What had passed between his father and the Donnithorpes -the boy did not know. Of his father’s assumption of the part of -indiscreet lover he had no suspicion. But his father had fascinated him, -dominated his will, evoked in him a blind, unquestioning confidence, -compelled from him a promise of implicit obedience. Of course there were -conditions. He was to petition the War Office to be allowed to sacrifice -his leave and start for France, at the earliest opportunity, the next -day if possible. He was not to communicate with Lady Edna until his -return to England, whenever that might be. He gave the latter -undertaking readily, her lie rankling in his heart, her callous -disregard of his honour monstrous in its incomprehensibility. Whatever -might be his revulsion of feeling afterwards—and his clear young brain -grappled with the possibility—whatever might be his unregenerate -torment of longing, he accepted the condition as his punishment. She, so -his father said, was bound by the same condition. . . . Baltazar stood -by the door. - -“It’s all damned hard, old man, I know. But you’ll worry through. It’s -the English way.” - -He walked out, humming “Tipperary” out of tune, the only modern air he -knew, and ascended the stairs and thrust his head into the drawing-room. -There, as he expected, he found a desolate Marcelle, who, throwing down -the book which she was trying to read, jumped up and ran to the door. -What had happened? Quong Ho had told her of Edgar Donnithorpe’s call. -Godfrey was in black anger against her. - -“Go down,” said he, “and make your peace with him. You’ll stay and dine. -I must go now and finish my work before dinner.” - -He left her and, still humming “Tipperary,” entered his library, where -Quong Ho was patiently and efficiently working at the proofs. - -“Miss Baring and Captain Godfrey have upbraided me for indiscretion in -that I informed Mr. Donnithorpe of your whereabouts,” said Quong Ho. - -“The best day’s work you ever did in your life,” said Baltazar, seating -himself at the table and taking up his pen. - - * * * * * - -The dinner was not quite the success for which Baltazar had hoped, in -spite of his efforts to set a tone of light-hearted gaiety. His best -champagne flowed to little purpose. Godfrey acknowledged the toast to -his promotion and appointment with irreproachable politeness and -lamentable lack of fervour. Marcelle confessed afterwards that she had -never sat through so unjoyous a meal. To make her peace with Godfrey had -been no easy matter. It was but an armistice that she had patched up. -Twice that day had he been betrayed by women, and he felt sore against -an untrustworthy sex. He had admitted her not an inch further into his -confidence. Of the incriminating scrap of paper he told her nothing. She -sat at the table puzzled and unhappy. Quong Ho ate philosophically when -he was not drinking in the words of wisdom that came from the master’s -lips. - -They broke up early. Godfrey retired to his room. Quong Ho departed to -the printers to correct the proof of the editorial. Baltazar walked home -with Marcelle: a somewhat silent and miserable little journey. In vain -he assured her that she had been Godfrey’s salvation. She only realized -that the boy’s faith in her had gone. Of the extent of the salvation he, -like Godfrey, said nothing. The position for the moment was too delicate -and grotesque to be told to another person—even to Marcelle, and his -forthrightness scorned half confidences. He walked back disappointed, -ever so little depressed. Hadn’t he told everybody to put their trust in -him and worry their heads no more about the matter? And they were -worrying considerably. - -At the end of the passage beyond the hall he saw a streak of light -signifying that Godfrey’s door was ajar. He went down, opened the door -and looked in. There was Godfrey, huddled up on the Chesterfield, his -head in his hands, his fingers clutching his crisp fair hair. As he -seemed unaware of intrusion, Baltazar closed the door quietly and -tiptoed away. No one knew better than he that every man must go through -his little Gethsemane alone. But the pity of it! He crept upstairs with -an aching heart. Papers by the last post in connection with the new -ministry lay on his desk. He sat down and tried to deal with them; but -at last abandoned them and sucked a gloomy pipe. Had he saved the boy -after all? Would the woman hold her tongue? Was Donnithorpe such a fool -as to believe his story? Meanwhile he was the avowed lover of the -detested woman and the betrayer of official secrets. And the vindictive -little rat held the proofs. What use was he going to make of them? - -Yet the situation had a grimly humorous aspect. If he had not seen the -boy huddled up in grief and shame downstairs he would have envisaged it -with one of his great laughs. . . . - -The next day passed quietly. Godfrey was absent till the evening. He had -been to the War Office and arranged to leave for France on the morrow by -the staff train. An agreeable evening was marred by no reference to Lady -Edna or the scrap of paper. They spoke of books and mathematics and the -war and the probable scope of Godfrey’s duties. - -Only when they shook hands for the night did Godfrey say: - -“I think, sir, you’re the best father that ever a man had.” - -And Baltazar, with gladness leaping into his eyes and a grin on his -face, replied: - -“God knows I try to be.” - -On the following morning the post brought him a letter from -Donnithorpe’s solicitors. Would Mr. Baltazar make an appointment to meet -Mr. Donnithorpe and themselves, at his earliest convenience, on a matter -of very serious importance? He bade Quong Ho ring up and fix the -appointment for three o’clock that afternoon. - -“Will you not,” hazarded Quong Ho, “be also accompanied by your -solicitor?” - -“No,” said Baltazar in his grand self-confidence. “Damn lawyers.” - -When the long train moved out of Charing Cross station amid the waving -of handkerchiefs and hats, he drew a breath of unutterable relief. As -far as God would allow, the boy was safe. Safe, at any rate, from the -woman with whom he had pledged his honour not to communicate while he -was in France. And the boy would keep his word. He had been disentangled -from the imbroglio. It was all that mattered. He made his powerful, -almost ruthless way through the sobered crowd of lately cheerful friends -seeing off those dear to them, almost heedless of the streaming eyes of -women who but a moment ago had been so brave and smiling. He was unique -among them. His son was not seeking, but escaping death. - -Jubilant he walked across the station yard, up Cockspur Street and Pall -Mall. He felt strong—nay, more—all-powerful. A force before which all -the rats of Donnithorpes and lawyers in the world must crumble. He had -no plan; no idea how he should counter Donnithorpe’s machinations. He -had been accustomed all his life long to wait for the perilous moment -and then get in his grip. He had glorious faith in his destiny. His and -Godfrey’s. The destiny of the House of Baltazar. The war over, Godfrey -would find some sweet English girl and marry her; and there would be a -son to carry on the torch and hand it, in his turn, to the next -generation. Striding up St. James’s Street, he saw the babe; made -calculations of dates. He would last at least till seventy-five. The -grandson then would be on the verge of manhood. . . . He laughed. Odd -that he should have lived for fifty years before dreaming of the -continuance of his race. Those infernal years in China! He cursed them. -Never mind. If he had gone on in the humdrum certainty of the -perpetuation of his name he would have missed the present glory of the -conception. It was a wonderful world. - -He lunched at his club with Weatherley and Burtenshaw, optimistic to -gasconade, prophesying the speedy end of the war; then the millennium; -the world ruled by Anglo-Saxon fibre of brain and body inspired by Latin -nervous force—the combination towards which civilization had been -groping for centuries. At ten minutes to three he waved them farewell -and drove in a taxi to his appointment in Bedford Row. - -He was shown into a room where Edgar Donnithorpe and an impassive -elderly man with a face like a horse awaited him. He felt that he -entered like an irresistible force. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - -HE stood, an hour later, on the pavement of that noiseless and forlorn -thoroughfare, and stared at the latest catastrophe which, like all the -others in his impulsive life, he had of his own deliberate act -contrived. As yet he failed fully to understand his defeat—for defeat -it was, surrender absolute and unconditional. He thrust his hat to the -back of his head and mopped his forehead, and moved slowly up the street -in amazed reaction from the glow of conquest which warmed him as he had -entered the office. He had gone without any plan of campaign, confident -in his intellectual resource to meet emergency. Merciless craft and -cunning vindictiveness met him. Under the fierce sunshine, angry shame -made him hotter, and the sweat poured down his face. He had been able -only to bluster and threaten in vain retaliation. The grey rat of a man -had laughed at him with rasping thinness. The horse-faced lawyer had -smiled professional deprecation of heroics. “I shall do this and that,” -he declared. “Then our action will be so and so,” they countered. Like -the Duke of Wellington, he cried: “Publish and be damned.” They pointed -out with icy logic that not they but he and his would suffer inevitable -condemnation. - -“You and yours.” That was the lawyer’s phrase. On the last word two -pairs of eyes were bent on him narrowly and significantly. The -unmistakable hint—the only one during the interview—of Godfrey’s -complicity, he had repudiated with indignation. The consequences -concerned himself alone. They smiled again. “Let it be so, then,” said -they, “for the sake of argument. . . .” As he walked along the burning -street he wondered how much they knew, how much they guessed. Save for -that significant glance, both the grey politician and the longlipped -lawyer had been as inscrutable as Buddhist idols. And he, John Baltazar, -had been hopelessly outmatched. - -Yet, after all, at a cost, he had won the game. Godfrey was saved. -Mechanically he put his hand to the breast pocket of his thin summer -jacket and felt the incriminating document crackle beneath his touch. -That and the sheet of clotted passion of which he had confessed himself -the author. . . . He continued his way westwards, down the mean and -noisy Theobald’s Road, half conscious of his surroundings. The drab men -and women who jostled him on the pavement and passed him in the roadway -traffic seemed the happy creatures of a dream—happy in the inalienable -possession of their London heritage. . . . Fragments of the recent -interview passed through his mind. His adversaries had threatened not to -stand alone on the written disclosure of War Office secrets. They could -bring evidence of leakage through Lady Edna, for some time past, of -important military information. He could quite believe it. The written -paper could scarcely be the boy’s sole infatuated indiscretion; and as -for the lady—revealed as she was yesterday, he counted her capable of -any betrayal. Bluff or not, he had yielded to the threat. While the -paper remained in Donnithorpe’s possession, Godfrey was in grave -peril. . . . “You and yours.” The phrase haunted him. If he defied them, -they would strike through him at Godfrey. - -Were they aware of farce? If so, why, save for this veiled allusion, did -Godfrey, the real lover, seem to matter so little? During the interview -their attitude puzzled him, until he became aware of Donnithorpe’s -implacable enmity towards him, John Baltazar. And now he wondered -whether the pose of the injured husband were not a blind for revenge -rooted in deeper motives. Only a fortnight or so ago Godfrey had said: - -“The little beast hates you like poison.” - -He had asked why. Parrot-like, Godfrey had quoted from Lady Edna’s -report of the conversation before his father’s visit to Moulsford. - -“A Triton like you gives these political minnows the jumps.” - -He had laughed at the affectionate exaggeration. But was the boy right -after all? Certainly he had paid scant courtesy to Donnithorpe, whom he -had lustily despised as one of the brood of little folk still -parasitically feeding on the Empire which they had done their best to -bring to ruin. Was this the abominable little insect’s vengeance? - -He halted at the hurrying estuary of Hart Street, Bloomsbury, took off -his hat, and again mopped his forehead and the short thatch of thick -brown hair. The words of Dr. Rewsby of Water-End flashed across his -mind—“Have you generally conducted your life on these extravagant -principles?” . . . and . . . “I should say you were cultivating a very -bad habit, and I should advise you to give it up.” And he remembered his -confession, a year ago, to the sagacious doctor: “You have the most -comforting way in the world of telling me that I’m the Great Ass of the -Universe.” - -“That man’s diagnosis,” said Baltazar to himself, putting on his hat, -“was perfectly correct. I am.” - -He marched in his unconsciously hectoring way down Holborn and Oxford -Street, deep in his thoughts. Yes, once again his episodical life -history had repeated itself. The same old extravagant principles had -once again prevailed. They were part and parcel of his being, resistless -as destiny. Once again, without thought of the future, he had cast the -glowing present to the winds. Once again he had proved himself the Great -Ass of the Universe. But what did it matter? Godfrey was saved. Again he -made the papers crackle in his pocket. He had told him he would give his -life for him. He strode along fiercely. By God! Stupendous Ass that he -might be, he had never in his life broken a vow or a promise. . . . -Apart from the passionate love he had conceived for the boy, there was -no reparation adequate for his twenty years’ unconscious neglect. He -swung his stick to the peril of the King’s lieges on the pavement. It -was a young man’s world—this new world that was to follow the war. Old -men like himself were of brief account. Godfrey should have his chance, -unstained, unfettered in the new world which his generation, throwing -mildewed tradition on a universal bonfire, would have to mould. - -He drew nearer to the brighter life of West End London, Oxford Circus, -with its proud sweep of great shops and its plentiful harbours from the -streams of the four great thoroughfares. Reluctant to confine himself -yet awhile within the four walls of his library, he abandoned the -straight course home and went down Regent Street, and at last stood -uncertain at Piccadilly Circus, the centre of London, more than any -other one spot perhaps, the true heart of the Empire. Though it was the -broad day of a summer afternoon, his memory sped swiftly back over -twenty years to the night when he saw it alive with light and flashing -movement and the great city’s joy of life, for the last time before he -sailed for China; when, in spite of decorous and scholarly living, his -heart had sunk within him at the realization that he was giving up all -that, and all that it symbolized—the familiar and pulsating life of -England. And now he stood in the same glamour-haunted precincts, and -again his heart sank like a stone. He turned, crept for a few steps down -Piccadilly and, catching a taxi putting down a fare at the Piccadilly -Hotel, engaged it and drove home to Sussex Gardens. - -The house appeared bleak and desolate. Quong Ho had gone some whither. -Godfrey—he thanked God—was on his way to France. Foolishly he had -hoped that Marcelle might be awaiting him, to hear the latest tidings of -the boy; but she was not there. For all its carpeting and pleasant -luxury of furniture the house seemed to be full of echoes, as though it -were an empty shell. For the first time in his life he shrank almost -afraid, from the intolerable loneliness of the lot to which he had -condemned himself. For the last year he had given way to his -long-pent-up craving for human affection. He had cast his soul into the -orgy of love that he had compelled from the only three dear to him in -the world. It had been more than his daily bread. It had been a kind of -daily debauch. It had lifted him above himself. Marcelle loved him, -Godfrey loved him, Quong Ho loved him, each in their separate ways. They -were always there, ready at hand, to appease the hunger of the moment. -And now, in a flash, he had cut himself adrift from the beloved three. -The love would remain. That he knew. But from the precious food of its -daily manifestations he would be many thousands of leagues sundered by -oceans and continents. At thirty he could forsake love and face solitude -with the brave fool’s confidence. At fifty he gazed terrified at the -prospect. He had embraced loneliness as a bride, three years ago, in -order to save himself from perdition. But then his heart had been stone -cold, unwarmed by any human touch. He had felt himself to be an unwanted -wanderer in an alien planet. Spendale Farm had been a haven of comfort, -an Eden of refuge. But the German bomb had revolutionized his world. It -had magically brought him into indissoluble bondage to human things of -unutterable dearness. And now once more—_finis_ to the episode which he -had thought to be the story ending only in death. - -He sat mechanically at the writing-table in his library and began to -open the letters that had come during his absence. A leathern Government -despatch case containing the day’s papers from the office which he had -only hurriedly visited that morning, awaited his attention. The deathly -sensation that they no longer concerned him held him in a cold grip. -There was a flaming article from a Croatian statesman which had reached -_The New Universe_ through devious channels, fraught with pregnant -information. He glanced through it in impotent detachment, like that of -a dead man brought back to the conduct of his affairs. He was no longer -the dynamo of _The New Universe_. Other forces, who and what he knew -not, would in a day or two take his place. _The New Universe_ would have -to get on, as best it could, without him. He was dead. He had no more to -do with _The New Universe_ than with the internal affairs of Mars. - -He opened an envelope addressed in a well-known handwriting and franked -with distinguished initials. It had been delivered by messenger. Like a -dead man he read the achievement of his ambition: He was a Minister of -the Crown. The public announcement awaited only his formal acceptance. -He stared dully at the idle words. And then suddenly mad rage against -the derisive irony of his destiny shook him and he sprang from his -chair, and, in the unsympathetic privacy of the room which he had not -furnished, he stormed in foolish fury and vain agony of soul. . . . - -It was the end of John Baltazar—the John Baltazar in whom he had always -believed, at the moment of proof positive of the justification of his -faith. To Godfrey he had not boasted unduly. A year ago he had awakened, -a new Rip Van Winkle, to a world for two years at war. In a few months, -God knows how, save through his resistless energy, his new-born and -flaming patriotism and his keen brain, he had established himself in -England as a driving force compelling recognition and application to the -country’s needs. He had won his position by sheer strength of -personality. Transcendental mathematics and Chinese scholarship he had -thrown into the dust-heap of broken toys. He had emerged from -philosophic childhood into the active life of a man, with his strong -hands fingering the strings of the world’s war. Now the strings were in -his grasp. . . . He had looked far ahead. This Ministry, though of vast -importance, was yet subordinate to the Greater Powers of the State. He -was young. What was fifty-one? The infancy stage of statesmanship. Why -should not he, John Baltazar, rise to higher power and guide the -civilized world to victory and to triumphant peace? - -The man had dreamed many dreams. What great man does not? Never yet has -the human being whose day’s vision is blackened by the curtain of the -night reached the shadow of achievement. Then again: was it of England -or of John Baltazar that he dreamed? Who can tell? Can any man of noble -ambitions, of deep conviction of his own powers, strip himself naked -before his God and tell? - -And now the dreams were but dreams. Blankness confronted him. Raving -against fate brought no consolation or relief. In utter dejection he -threw himself into an arm-chair and once more gazed hopelessly at -catastrophe. - -There was no longer a John Baltazar. As far as England was concerned he -had ceased to exist. In that lawyer’s office he had signed his -abdication. There was the letter written and addressed, formally -declining the almost hourly expected offer of the ministerial -appointment. The offer had now come. He had pledged his honour to give -immediate signal for the posting of the answer. That was part of the -price demanded for the surrender of the disastrous documents. He went to -the telephone and curtly carried out those terms of his contract. - -There remained the other condition to be fulfilled, for which they had -no other guarantee than his word. There at least—and a gleam of pride -irradiated his gloom—he had triumphed. He had compelled them to trust -his word without a scrap of written obligation. He would sail for China -within a month. - -He sat there alone in the silent house, wondering again whether he had -not set the final seal on himself as the Great Ass of the Universe. He -had been driven, it is true, into a corner by the malignity and craft of -his opponents; but it was he himself who had dictated the terms of -surrender. Acting on one of the wild impulses that had deflected from -childhood the currents of his life, he had made the amazing proposal. - -It was the end of John Baltazar. He rose, went over to his table and -filled his pipe. Anyhow, the House of Baltazar stood firm in honour. He -would yet dandle the grandson on his knee. _La course du flambeau_ was -the beginning and end of human endeavour. The torch was in Godfrey’s -hands now. . . . Feeling for his match-box, his wrist met the hidden -papers in his jacket pocket which he had almost forgotten. He drew them -out, folded the one fraught with court-martial and disgrace to Godfrey -into a long strip and set fire to it, a torch not to be handed on. He -lit his pipe with it instead and watched it burn till the flame touched -his finger-tips. Then he went over to the grate and burned the -love-letter. - -He sat down and wrote to Godfrey. - - “My dear Boy: - - I think you ought to know that I have been as good as my word. - Three hours after parting from you, I recovered possession of - the document, and this time you may be certain that it no longer - exists, for I have myself destroyed it. Your sheet now is clean - in this respect, and also in others, if the barrage of silence - is maintained. - - I cannot possibly tell you how I shall miss you. - Your ever affectionate father, - John Baltazar.” - -That was all. Time enough to tell him about China when he had made -definite arrangements for the voyage. He prayed anxiously that he might -make the announcement in such a way that Godfrey should never -self-reproachfully suspect the cause of his exile. - -Quong Ho, returning a short while afterwards, found him deeply engaged -with the contents of the despatch-case. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - - -AS he had expected, the Foreign Office beamed on him. It was immensely -gratified that a man of his statesmanlike qualities should have -differentiated so acutely between the values of the two spheres of his -suggested activities. In bureaucratic satisfaction it rubbed its hands -at a departmental score. Mr. Baltazar had only to name his terms and -conditions. With the Foreign Office it was all plain sailing. Nay, more. -If it could have prevailed with an ultra-conservative Admiralty, it -would have sent him out to China in the newest, fastest and most -mysterious battle-cruiser. But in Government circles outside the Foreign -Office there was the devil to pay. Consternation also reigned in the -office of _The New Universe_. For two or three weeks Baltazar had a grim -time. - -The first announcement in an evening newspaper of his retirement from -the projected Ministry smote the eyes of an incredulous and bewildered -Marcelle. She caught him on the telephone. - -“Is it true?” - -“Yes. Quite true.” - -“But I don’t understand.” - -“I’ll come round this evening and explain.” - -“No. I’ll come to you. I shan’t be alone here.” - -“Come to dinner.” - -“Miss Graham and I are just sitting down to ours. I’ll run round after.” - -“All right. I’m free all the evening.” - -Baltazar dined alone with Quong Ho, and talked cheerfully of matters far -remote from the war. No reference was made to his retirement from -English politics, about which Quong Ho knew everything, or to the -Chinese Mission, of which Quong Ho as yet had no official knowledge. -Apart from the expressed desire of the Foreign Office to keep the -appointment from the press, it was characteristic of Baltazar to -maintain silence, even to those dear to him, as to his especially -meteoric doings. Besides, of the two, Marcelle must have the privilege -of being the first to learn from his own lips. - -She arrived about half-past eight, and he received her in the -drawing-room. She wore a simple, semi-evening old black dress into which -she had changed before her quiet dinner with her friend, a long pre-war -confection, a favourite of Godfrey’s, moulding her, as he said, in -soldierly daring, like Juno. Her thick brown hair crowned her -gloriously. Rest had restored her to health, and in spite of the anxiety -in her eyes, she appeared to Baltazar in the ripe fullness of her -beauty. He strode to meet her, with his usual gesture of outstretched -hands, strong, confident, admiring, smiling. Yet never did she appear -more desirable, or more remote from his desires. - -“What is the meaning of it—your resignation? I thought it was the one -thing in life you were working for.” - -“I find,” said he, “I can serve my country better in other ways.” - -She put a hand to a puzzled forehead. - -“How?” - -He looked steadily into her eyes. What was the use of beating the air -with idle words? She would have to know the truth sooner or later. - -“By going to China.” - -She stared at him open-mouthed. - -“China?” - -“Why not?” - -He stood, his hands deep in his dinner-jacket pockets, balancing himself -alternately on toes and heels, with the air of a conqueror. - -“I know more about inner China, I suppose, than any man living. I go out -with a free hand to pull two or three million people together and -establish a wise government and exterminate the German. Hundreds of men -can do my job in England. But those who can do it in China may be -counted on the fingers of a mutilated hand.” - -“It’s all so sudden.” - -“I’m a sudden sort of fellow, as you ought to know,” he laughed. - -“But you always said you hated the place—would rather die than go -back.” - -“In these days you’ve got to do things you hate—for the good of your -country.” - -She sat down, feeling stupefied by his news. She asked: - -“How long will you be away?” - -He shrugged his shoulders. “Possibly years. Who knows?” - -“And when do you start?” - -“As soon as I can wind up here. Say in a fortnight’s time.” She shook -her head and looked at the floor, making little hopeless gestures with -her fingers. “You see, my dear,” said he, “except my own personal -ambitions, which I have scrapped for the time, there’s nothing very much -to keep me here. I’ve done my duty by Quong Ho. He’s on the road to fame -at Cambridge. Godfrey’s settled in France till the end of the war. And -you—well, my dear,” he smiled, “we won’t lose touch with each other for -another twenty years.” - -“No, of course not,” she said in a queer voice. “We’ll—we’ll write to -each other.” She raised her eyes to his timidly. “Won’t you be rather -lonely out there, without us?” - -He turned swiftly aside so that she should not see his face. “Naturally -I’ll miss you. Miss the three of you. I’m human. But, on the other hand, -I’m used to being alone. I’m a solitary by temperament.” Then he flashed -round on her. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll have my hands too full to -be lonely. I’ll have a real man’s job to get through.” - -In his vehement way he sketched the kind of work that lay before him, -went off into picturesque reminiscence, unfolded some of the plans he -had already made for the conquest of those in power in disaffected -districts. Anyone but Marcelle he would have convinced of the -whole-hearted and enthusiastic anticipation of his mission. But a woman -whom a man loves is apt to know him even better than the woman who loves -him. A suspicion, vague but insistent, began to haunt her. Presently she -gave words to it. - -“Have Godfrey’s affairs anything to do with this sudden decision of -yours?” - -He assumed a puzzled look. “Godfrey’s affairs?” - -“Yes. The Donnithorpe business.” - -He laughed. “My dear, we’re dealing in high international politics. What -on earth can a boy’s calf love have to do with it?” - -“You’ve never told me what happened at Waterloo. Nor did Godfrey.” - -“I simply pulled them apart. Sent Lady Edna home, and despatched Godfrey -to France a day before his time. That’s all over.” - -“But you met Mr. Donnithorpe. Quong Ho——” - -“Oh yes, I met Donnithorpe. That’s what saved the situation. He expected -to find Godfrey. Found me instead.” He grinned in the most disarming -manner. “A comedy situation. And off he went defeated.” He took her -hand, apparently in the gayest of moods. “It’s only a woman,” said he, -“that could throw a bridge between Waterloo station and the interior of -China.” - -She let the question drop; but the suspicion remained, and every minute -that passed, until the ormolu clock on the drawing-room mantelpiece gave -her the signal for conventional retirement, converted it into certainty. - -He walked with her as usual to the door of her block of flats. On -parting she found tremulous utterance for the sense of utter forlornness -which she had been trying all the evening to formulate: - -“What’s to become of me when you’re gone?” - -She fled upstairs, not waiting for the lift, and went straight to her -room, with the words echoing in her ears. No. They did not at all convey -her heart’s meaning. They sounded heartless, selfish. Yet they were -true. What would become of her? For a year she had been enwrapped soul -and mind and thought in the dynamic man. Dynamic, yet so tender, so -chivalrous, so childlike. Without him existence was a blank full of -shuddering fears. And then a coldness as of death fell upon her. Never -once, on this night of the parting of the ways, had he hinted at his -love for her. Had she, by her selfish folly, her now incomprehensible -sex shrinkings, killed at last the love that once was hers for the -taking? Slowly she undressed and crept into bed; but sleep mocked her. -Agonizingly awake, she stared at her life. . . . And she stared too, -almost in rhythmic alternation, at the life of John Baltazar. Nothing -but some supreme emotional crisis could have caused this characteristic -revolution, this sudden surrender of the prize of his ambition, this -gorgeous acceptance of exile. For all his contemptuous dismissal of the -suggestion, she knew, with a woman’s unerring logic, that Baltazar had -bought Godfrey’s release from entanglement at the price of his own -career. And never a hint of regret, never a murmur against fate. Never -the faintest appeal to pity. . . . And she arraigned her own narrow -nurse’s self, and condemned it mercilessly. And the lower she sank in -her own esteem, the higher rose Baltazar until he loomed gigantic as a -god above her puny mortality. - -Her throat was dry. She got out of bed and drank a glass of water. On -her way back across the room her glance fell on the little brass Yale -latchkey, lying on her dressing-table, which he, in his big, careless -way, had insisted on her having, so that she could gain entrance, as of -right, to the house, whenever she chose. She took it up, gazing at it -stupidly. The key to his home, the key to his heart, the key to his -soul—all in her keeping. And she had despised it. Now she had lost it. -The home would pass into alien hands. His heart was barred. For the -first time, for a whole year, they had met without his uttering one -little word, playful or wistful or tyrannic, to prove that his nature -was open hungrily for her. To-night she had been but his dear friend. He -had accepted her gift of friendship. She remembered the old French -adage: _L’amitié, c’est le tombeau de l’amour_. She sat on the edge of -the bed and mourned hopelessly the death of his love. - -And the brass Yale latchkey lay mockingly within her range of vision. - - * * * * * - -Baltazar walked home, her last words echoing in his ears. His absence in -China would naturally make a difference to her. She had become part of -his household. Godfrey, to whom she had given a mother’s heart, was -indefinitely in France and alienated from her by his resentment of her -breach of confidence. She had identified herself so unreservedly with -the fortunes of the House of Baltazar that now, cut adrift, she would be -on the high seas, derelict. What could he do to mitigate her loneliness? -If he died, she would be well provided for. He had made his will some -months ago. But he had every hope of living for many robust years. What -indeed would become of the beloved woman now that their new attachments -to life were broken? The nurse’s career, in which she had spent the -splendid energies of her young womanhood? If Godfrey were in London, he -could commend her, with authority, to his care. But Godfrey’s vanishing -to France was the essence of the whole business. There remained only -Quong Ho. His appreciation of the comic put Quong Ho out of court. - -He entered his house in Sussex Gardens remorseful for lack of -consideration for Marcelle. But, hang it all, one couldn’t think of -everything at once. If she had cared enough for him to marry him, -well—there would have been the Light that never was on Sea or Land. He -would have snapped his fingers at the doings of the little planet Earth. -He would have been Master of the Universe. But that was not to be. -Either all in all as a wife or not at all. An irrevocable decision. It -was not Marcelle’s fault that she did not love him in that way. . . . No -use thinking of it. It was all over. They had drifted, however, into an -exquisite companionship, as exquisite to her—he had no false modesty -about it—as to him. And now that was over. What was to become of -Marcelle? - -He was filling his pipe when Quong Ho entered the library with his -little deferential bow. - -“Sir,” said he, “may I be allowed to commit an indiscretion?” - -“You’ll do it so discreetly,” said Baltazar, “that it won’t matter. Fire -ahead.” - -“In the event of your leaving this country on a mission to the Far -East——” - -“What the devil do you know about it?” asked Baltazar. - -“In high Chinese circles in London it is common knowledge,” replied -Quong Ho. - -“Together with lots of other things concerning me, I suppose.” - -“You have many times observed,” said Quong Ho, “that my countrymen are -afflicted with an abnormal thirst for unessential information.” - -In spite of his heavy-heartedness, Baltazar smiled grimly. - -“Well, suppose I am going to China. What of it?” - -“May I postpone Cambridge degree and Fellowship for several years and -accompany you?” - -Baltazar’s brow grew black. “Isn’t England good enough for you?” - -Quong Ho broke into florid Chinese, the only vehicle for his emotion. -England was the land of his dreams. But why should he lie beneath the -passion-flower of luxury while his master ate the bread of exile? Surely -his degraded unworthiness might be useful to his illustrious Excellency -as confidential secretary not unversed, thanks to his honoured master -and patron, in the language and scholarship of the Mandarins. Or, if -that was deemed too honourable a position, his filial piety ordained -that he should offer himself as slave or any debased instrument for -which use could be found. - -“Oh, for God’s sake talk English!” cried Baltazar, his nerves on edge, -foreseeing such endless verbiage in similar perfect phrasing that -awaited him in China. - -Quong Ho spread out his hands and his face grew impassive. “I have -spoken,” he replied simply. - -“I don’t want any more careers upset,” said Baltazar, irritably. “You’re -fixed. You’ve to get your Fellowship. You’ll stay in England. Besides, I -need you here to look after Miss Baring’s interests.” - -“I confess,” said Quong Ho, gravely, “to being oblivious of that side of -the question.” - -Baltazar, lying deep in his arm-chair, pipe in mouth, gazed intently -into the oblique steadfast eyes of the son of his quaint adoption. The -idea of leaving Marcelle under his protection did not seem in the least -comic. He passed an impatient hand over his brow. Was he losing his -sense of values? - -Apart from his intellectual gifts, Quong Ho was a man of shrewd common -sense and of infinite trustworthiness. Marcelle knew this. Unlike so -many untravelled Englishwomen, she did not regard a Chinaman as a sort -of dangerous toy dog. She shared his faith in Quong Ho. - -“I thank you for your offer, my dear fellow,” he said at last, repenting -his ungraciousness. “I know you made it out of affection for me. I -deeply appreciate it. If it weren’t for Miss Baring, I wouldn’t -hesitate. As it is, I leave you here as my agent.” - -Quong Ho bowed. “So long as I can be of service to you, sir, your word -is law,” said he, and retired. - -Baltazar, left alone, resumed his uninspired reflections. He felt -physically and morally weary, a beaten man. He shrank from his Chinese -exile with pathetic dread; shrank from the toilsome journeys, the -eternal compliments of convention that delayed serious discussion, the -perpetual ceremonial, the futile tea-drinking, the mass of tradition and -prejudice and ignorance, the smiling craft that used it as a buffer -against enlightenment. He looked with dismay on his exclusion from the -keen intellectual talk in which he had revelled for the past year, from -the brain-thrilling battle of Western Thought. It was a man’s work, his -mission; a picked man’s work. Hundreds would have regarded it as a -climax of their diplomatic ambition. But to him, who had thrown himself -into vast schemes for the reconstruction of the war-torn world, it was -exile, defeat. It was not in his nature to regret his sacrifice. What -was done was done. The stars in their courses had fought against him -individually, even though, in their inscrutable wisdom they fought, as -he believed, for his House. No man who has saturated himself for years -with Chinese thought can escape the spiritual influence of fatalism. He -was a fatalist. It was written that he should fail in every one of his -great adventures. Yet the fact of it being written made his lot none the -less damnable for the very human and vivid man, once more involved in -predestined shipwreck. - -He smoked many pipes thinking disconnectedly, without method, and -feeling old and lonely and broken, and very, very tired. At last his -pipe dropped to the floor and he fell asleep. - -Suddenly the subconsciousness of a presence in the room caused him to -awake with a start. He looked up and, bewildered, saw Marcelle standing -by his chair. She was crying. He sprang to his feet, passing his hands -over his eyes. - -“You here?” His glance instinctively sought the clock on the -mantelpiece. “Why, it’s half-past two in the morning!” - -She said: “I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t rest. I had to come.” - -He did not understand. - -“What is the matter, my dearest? What can I do for you?” - -“Only go on loving me, and forgive me,” she said desperately. - -“But I do,” he cried, puzzled. “It’s just hell for me to leave you. But -I can’t help it, my dear. My hand has been forced. It’s even harder to -leave you than it was twenty years ago. I love you and want you more -than ever I did in my life.” - -“So do I,” she said, in a shaking voice. “That’s why I’m here, at -half-past two in the morning.” - -Baltazar uttered a great triumphant cry and clasped her in his arms. - -“My God,” said he, “I’ve won after all!” - -He held her at arm’s length and looked at her exultantly. Thank Heaven -she had no suspicion of his sense of downfall. Not Pity, but Love at -last awakened, had brought her to him. - -“Yes,” he repeated. “I’ve won after all.” - -After a while, when he had almost forgotten his words, she asked him: - -“What did you think you had lost?” - -“My faith in my destiny. The star of Baltazar. Once upon a time the -original bearer of my name, with the others, had faith in a star, and he -followed it and found God.” - -She smiled. “Dear, aren’t you talking a bit wildly?” - -“What’s the good of speech if one can’t use it wildly in wild moments?” -He laughed. “Oh, you belovedest woman,” said he, and kissed her. - -Presently: “You’ll come out to China with me? You’ll progress like a -queen. I’ll see to that.” - -“It doesn’t matter how I progress,” she said, “so long as I’m with you. -I’m yours body and soul to the end of time.” - -“To the end of Eternity,” he cried. “I prefer that. It’s bigger. The -biggest there is is good enough for me.” - -His dancing eyes burned like flames of pride and happiness. Twenty years -seemed to have fallen from him, and she saw before her the young man -whom as a girl she had loved. - -“You and I are going over to the greatest work ever attempted by man. -The regeneration of half the continent of Asia. I couldn’t have done it -alone. The prospect frightened me. Yes, it did. I hadn’t the heart. But -with you—I stake my faith in the Star—it’ll be one of the great -accomplishments of the war. Quong Ho will come with us. He’ll have his -chance. I’ll make him one of the great men of the New China.” - -He went on, expounding his vision of the new order of Oriental things. -She marvelled at him, for it seemed as if he had but lived for that -moment. - -And divining his Great Sacrifice, she forgot the selfless years that had -all but moulded her into a mere machine of tender service to maimed and -diseased humanity, and felt a thing of small account before this man -whose unconquerable faith and indomitable courage transformed his -colossal vanities into virtues, and who, for all his egotism, was -endowed with the supreme gift of love. - -“Godfrey will be astonished at all this,” she hazarded. - -“Astonishment,” said he, “is an emotion salutary for the very young. It -stimulates thought.” - - THE END - TRANSCRIBER NOTES - -Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. - -Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed. - -Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors -occur. - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The House of Baltazar, by William J. 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